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This chapter is a bit longer, but it wasn't long enough to split into two chapters. So here's a longer-than-average chapter!

CHAPTER 43

The moment we've all finished the dinner that Mrs. Collins so kindly prepared, Paige takes me by the hand and pulls me toward the stairs while Mr. Collins begins helping clean up the kitchen. I feel like I should stay behind and help as a sort of thank-you, but I don't know how to say so to this young child who is pulling me around. Matthew and Andrea follow us closely while Christopher runs ahead of us. My guess is that he already knows where we're going.

The three children usher me up the stairs to the top floor.

"This is my room!" Paige rejoices as she pushes open one of the three doors up here. A giant, white stuffed dog rests on lime green bed. Paige runs forward and grabs it. "His name is Toto. Helena gave him to me." She gingerly places it back on the bed.

For the next few minutes I am in a heartbroken stupor as the other two show me their rooms as well as the toys Helena got for them too. I don't know how I managed to live this far in life while someone like Helena was killed by Death Eaters. Honestly I'm beginning to wish that I were able to switch places with her. If I'd never been around, no one's lives would have changed, but this family's lives have been ruined because Helena was taken. Voldemort's cruelty knows no bounds. Not that I didn't know that already, but seeing it affect an innocent family like this makes it almost worse.

Once the three of them have finished showing off their rooms, they escort me back to the living room. "Mum!" Matthew says. "Can Charlotte play Gobstones with me?" Do I even want to know what Gobstones is?

Mrs. Collins looks at me then back at her daughter. "If she wants to."

"She doesn't want to play that, Matthew," Christopher announces, a tone of annoyance in his voice.

"She might!" Matthew argues.

I offer Christopher a kind smile to let him know that I don't mind. Then I sit down on the floor with the little boy and start playing a game that I have never seen before and will probably not enjoy. Off to the side, Christopher and Andrea play a game of Exploding Snap while Paige talks sits on the sofa chatting with her parents.

It takes nearly an hour, and three games of Gobstones with Matthew (I still don't know what I'm doing exactly, but it's not nearly as terrible as I feared it'd be, although I do now smell pretty terrible because of the spray the little stones shoot out), before Mrs. Collins calls us back into the kitchen for dessert, and I leave behind the game and walk with the family to the table. I can't help but wonder if this is what life could have been like had I not "died" and my parents not gone to Azkaban. Would I have had meals like this with Draco and my parents? Would I have been raised in a seemingly normal household full of love and happiness? Envy pricks my heart, but I do my best to push it aside. Nothing can change what's happened.

But I suppose if I make it through this duty alive, I might be able to have a family one day. Not with Zoe like I had once hoped, but a family nonetheless. A family where we sit around the dinner table and enjoy a nice meal together. Hopefully whatever child is there won't actually be the child of the Dark Lord because that's not the future I like to imagine. I take a breath and force that thought from my mind altogether as I put a piece of cake on my plate.

Another thought comes to my mind. What if I get pregnant with Severus's child? The idea of taking something like that away from Voldemort fills me with a twisted kind of joy, but I'm not sure how I would handle it. Or how Severus would handle it. Surely he would help me, especially since we'll have to keep the child hidden so no one who knows about my duty will assume that the child is Voldemort's.

I clear my throat and force those thoughts from my mind as well. I'll worry about all of that later, if it comes to that.

"Is the food at Hogwarts good?" Andrea asks.

"I remember it being extremely enjoyable," Mrs. Collins says.

"It's still pretty great. It's probably one of my favorite parts of Hogwarts." That's a lie, but they don't have to know that Severus is my favorite part of Hogwarts. I turn to Mr. Collins. "Where do you work, if you don't mind my asking?"

Christopher begins collecting all of the dirty plates from the table and carries them to the sink. Mr. Collins smiles at me. "I don't mind at all. I own a shop in Diagon Alley—Twilfitt and Tattings. Trista stays home with the girls and Matthew."

"You own Twilfitt and Tattings?"

"You've been there?"

"A few times," I say, making sure not to mention how I stole from it rather than buying from it. I don't think that's the best way to make a good impression. Perhaps Severus was right about how bad I am at good first impressions. I do not plan on telling him that he was correct.

"What do your parents do?" Mr. Collins asks as we all make our way to the living room. "Christopher's never said."

Mrs. Collins quickly smacks his arm as if to make him stop talking, but I smile good-naturedly to let her know that it's fine. "My mother was killed when I was ten."

"Killed?" he asks, only to be hit by his wife again, a tight look around her eyes.

"A Death Eater. Another man stepped in to protect me after my mother... He took me in after avenging her, but he died of old age a couple years later. I've essentially been on my own since then."

"What about your father?" he asks.

"Gideon," Mrs. Collins says quietly but authoritatively, "stop interrogating the poor girl."

"It's fine," I assure her. I look back at Mr. Collins. "I never knew him."

"Charlotte's a bastard," Christopher laughs.

"Christopher!" his father quickly chastises him.

"Sorry."

"So you've been on your own since you were—what?—around thirteen?" Mr. Collins asks as Matthew climbs into his lap.

"Pretty much. I stayed at Durmstrang for a while, but in 'ninety-five I came to Hogwarts with permission from Dumbledore. It felt wrong staying there after the whole Karkaroff thing happened. Well, that and the Dark Lord's return but…" It's only after I've said this that I realize I should stop referring to Voldemort as "the Dark Lord" rather than "You-Know-Who" or "He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named" in front of non-Death Eaters.

"What was he like?" Andrea asks. "Dumbledore, I mean."

I don't know where to begin describing Dumbledore. "He was a great wizard, cared about all the students. He was a genius, a really nice man."

"How well did you know him?" Mrs. Collins questions.

"Oh, well, I wouldn't say I knew him really well, but I… I wasn't close to him, but we had a few interesting conversations."

"I'm tired," Matthew mumbles into Mr. Collins's chest. He stands up with his son in his arms, followed by Mrs. Collins who motions for the other two girls to go with them and offers me an apologetic look. They say goodnight to me and Christopher then go up the stairs.

"I'm sorry about all their questions," Christopher says quietly.

"I don't mind. I'm used to it." I glance up at the rooms on the balcony, which overlooks the living room. Mr. and Mrs. Collins have disappeared into one of them. "Do they always go to bed this early?"

"Yeah, the three of them do. I moved downstairs with Helena when Matthew turned three, and Paige moved out of the room she shared with him."

"Ah. Got to move away from the younger siblings?"

"Thank Merlin."

Christopher's parents start back down the stairs a few moments later. "You said you knew Se-Snape? You were at Hogwarts with him?" I ask.

"We didn't get along that well," Mr. Collins laughs. "I was friends with many Muggle-borns, Trista being one of them. That was frowned upon by Slytherins."

Christopher grins mischievously. "You should have heard what Dad said when I told him Snape was the Head of Slytherin House last year. I heard some choice words that day. I never knew there were so many curse words."

Mrs. Collins rounds on her husband, who jokingly makes a show of dodging away from a swat that never comes. "What exactly did you say to him?"

Mr. Collins playfully pushes Christopher over on the sofa as he takes a seat. "That was supposed to be our secret!" The boy just giggles to himself. "Snape and I never got along. He called Trista the 'm' word on more than one occasion."

"Let's be fair, Gideon," Mrs. Collins says, "he called everyone of my blood status that, it wasn't just me. And it wasn't like he dropped the word every chance he had. Besides, he stopped using that word altogether after our fifth year." After the incident with James Potter. For a moment I wonder if they know the details of what happened that day but decide it's best to keep quiet.

"His friends almost killed you," her husband argues.

"That was twenty plus years ago, Gideon. And he wasn't involved in that."

Christopher leans over and whispers, "Recently they've been arguing about stuff like this."

"But it wasn't 'twenty plus years ago' that his friends—"

"Don't," she hisses. Without another word, she stands and goes to the kitchen, leaving the three of us awkwardly watching one another. A moment later she returns, much calmer, with four bottles of butterbeer and gives one to each of us. "He wasn't involved in that, and you know it."

"Charlotte was close to him last year," Christopher offers. I jerk my head toward him, wide-eyed, but he just shrugs. "What? You were. You had private lessons with him all the time. You could get away with almost anything. You Stunned him. He actually seemed to like you. And if he wasn't headmaster and still spent time teaching us or as our Head of House, I'd wager he'd still be nice to you." Little do they know how nice he actually is to me.

"We won't hold that against you, of course," Mrs. Collins says with a smile.

Christopher grins sheepishly. "You never said why he was so willing to teach you."

"You're right, I didn't. Dumbledore asked him to help me, so he did." I take a swig of my butterbeer to keep my mouth busy for a short moment so as not to have to say anything else. "It was Occlumency."

"Why did he do what Dumbledore asked if he was just planning to kill him later?" Christopher asks.

"I guess to seem trustworthy or loyal. I can't be sure."

"Why did you need to learn Occlumency?" Mr. Collins asks.

"I unfortunately find myself around Death Eaters more often than the average witch my age. Not by choice, of course, please don't think that. I'm just… I'm forced into dangerous situations, and Dumbledore wanted to keep my mind hidden. I realize now that it was foolish of us to trust Snape to teach me. He knows everything there is to know about me."

Mr. Collins grimaces. "That…seems to put you in a vulnerable position now, doesn't it? With his being the headmaster now?"

"Well, the spell rebounded a few times, so I know enough about his past to keep him quiet."

"Like what?" he asks excitedly.

"I can't turn over my blackmail that easily. What if I need it someday but others already know?" He laughs and nods approvingly, and I change the subject away from Severus. With everything that's happened, I don't know if I want to keep this train of conversation going. "So did you know James Potter and his group of friends and Lily Evans as well?"

"The Marauders," Mr. Collins says. "That's what James and his friends called themselves. Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, and Peter Pettigrew—the troublemakers of Hogwarts." He smiles. "Sometimes they could be cruel, particularly toward anyone they disagreed with, but they always kept the school year lively. If anyone could start violent rows with the Slytherins, it was the Marauders."

"If anyone could start violent rows with anyone, it was the Marauders," Mrs. Collins adds. "They could be needlessly cruel. Bullies. I didn't care for spending time around them."

"So you weren't friends then?"

"Not at all, thank Merlin," Mrs. Collins says, "just acquaintances. We had a few classes together over the years, but I did my best to avoid them."

"And Lily Evans?" I continue, not really knowing why I am so curious about it. No, I know why I'm curious about her—I just don't want to admit that.

"Sweet girl," Mrs. Collins says. "It's a shame what happened to her."

"She and Snape were friends for a while," Mr. Collins adds. "Imagine that, a Slytherin and a Gryffindor. It was completely unorthodox."

"But it was nice," his wife says. "As I recall, inter-House friendships is how we met."

"Inter-house relationships aren't bad, that's not what I was saying. What I was saying is that not many Gryffindors are friends with Slytherins. And they weren't friends for long either. Snape ruined it by calling her the 'm' word. It just goes to show you that Slytherins and Gryffindors will never get along."

"Charlotte dated a Gryffindor," Christopher interjects, "and she's a Slytherin." My mouth drops open, and I look over at him, completely speechless. "What? It was nice too."

"You…you never saw us together!" I laugh.

"I hear stories," he says nonchalantly.

"What was his name?" Mrs. Collins asks.

Heat fills my face. "Fred Weasley."

"I've met him. He and his brother have a shop in Diagon Alley, yes?"

I nod. "We don't really talk much anymore, but I hear they're doing well." Again I change the subject, not really feeling like talking about the Weasleys any longer. "You're a Muggle-born, aren't you, Mrs. Collins?"

"My whole life," she says with a smile.

"How have you not had to go into hiding? The father of a good friend of mine had to go into hiding because of the Muggle-born Registration thing."

"Who?" Mr. Collins asks.

"Ted Tonks."

"We didn't know him—he was before our time."

Mrs. Collins looks away. "They did come searching for me, but the two Death Eaters that came…looked the other way. They knew I was hiding in the lake with the Bubble-Head Charm, but they didn't take me back to the Ministry."

"Why…why would they do that?"

"It was their way of making amends," Mr. Collins says quietly. "Had it been just one of them, I would have killed him. But they both came, the brothers…my two cousins."

"Amends?" I ask softly.

"They realized their mistake," he says. "They realized Helena wasn't who they thought she was. They weren't going to take my wife as well."

I open my mouth to speak but don't know what to say, so close it again. As desperately I want to ask more about this, now that Helena has come into the mix, I don't want to, for their sakes. Talking about her is surely difficult. No one speaks for a moment, or even moves, and it's not until Mr. Collins raises his butterbeer to his lips that I feel I am allowed to as well. I take these few short moments to gather my thoughts.

Luckily for me, I don't have to ask any more questions because Mr. Collins continues speaking. "My cousins killed her—Helena. Then they came back to make sure Trista was not taken, not after what they did." He pauses. "Rodolphus and Rabastan Lestrange"—the butterbeer goes down my windpipe during my gasp at this new information, and I begin coughing in a poor attempt to catch my breath—"I owe them my wife's life, but they killed my daughter."

My father and my uncle killed Helena Collins, killed the sister of one of my best friends. I almost wish I would have stayed at Hogwarts, if only to prevent myself from hearing this information. I don't want to know this. My voice is hoarse when I struggle to say, "They're your cousins?"

"You know them?"

"I…um…" How can I tell them that my father killed their daughter? That's easy, I can't. "I've…I've met them once or twice. They…they killed a close friend of mine." Christopher places a kind hand on my arm. "But I've…heard a lot about them. Them and Bellatrix. I know the Longbottoms' son."

"Well, for obvious reasons, we don't claim the Lestranges," Mr. Collins says.

"I understand," I reply, a strange cold piercing my heart. They don't claim the Lestranges. How would they react if they found out who I am? I don't think I really want to know the answer to that question.

Silence falls between us, and when it seems to become too much, Mrs. Collins kindly suggests that Christopher and I go downstairs. The two of us readily agree, say goodnight to his parents, and make our way down to the basement. But even when we close the basement door and I'm away from the sad faces of Mr. and Mrs. Collins, I don't know what to say or how to act. How could my father have killed their daughter? I can't make the connection. Because I don't want to. I don't want to believe that the man who was so kind to me that day in Malfoy Manor, that the man who tried giving Zoe a chance to run, could have killed a child in cold blood. How well do you actually know him though, Charlotte?

"You haven't just met the Lestranges, have you, Charlotte?" Christopher asks.

"What do you mean?"

"You know them, don't you?"

"I've spoken with them before, yes. Those dangerous situations I'm in? They're typically around."

He watches me skeptically. "What kind of dangerous situations?"

A quick lie comes to my mind, and regardless of how much I hate myself for it, I say it. "My death was faked when I was a baby in such an extravagant way that the Ministry has no record of me. The Ministry now believes that I might be of use to them. So I'm taken and questioned every month."

"How can you be of use to them?"

"I don't know. But they seem to think I can be."

He seems to accept that answer, and he goes to a sofa facing the large window and sits down. I roam over to the bookshelf and look over the books. On top of it is a stuffed monkey with a book leaning against it. I stare at it for a moment, then reach out to it, but a panicked, "Don't touch that!" stops me. Christopher is suddenly by my side. "Don't touch that," he says again, much calmer.

"I'm sorry," I say. "I didn't realize—"

"It's fine." He smiles at the monkey. "His name is Captain Flint, like from Treasure Planet. Helena and I used to read it together. She got me the monkey a few years back."

"The two of you read Muggle books rather than those such as The Tales of Beedle and the Bard?"

"Mum grew up with the Muggle classics, so that's what we read together. Besides, it kept us connected to the Muggle world, it felt like. There were certain books Helena read with each of us. Matthew was the Alice in Wonderland books. Paige was Oz. Andrea, The Jungle Book. I was Treasure Planet." He touches the monkey's face. "Helena bought all of us some type of stuffed animal. It was sort of our thing to name it after a character in the book." He looks back at the rest of the books that are on the shelves. "Mum typically reads to the others, but Helena and I were working our way through all of these." His voice becomes quiet. "We never finished."

Christopher steps away from the bookshelf and sits back down. "I think that's one of the things I regret the most. We never finished reading all of them." I try to say something, but he continues. "She showed me how to create light from the tip of my wand. Well, it was my dad's wand at the time."

"Like Lumos?"

"Not exactly. Watch." He waves his wand. "Trabes lucis, blue. A continuous beam of blue light shoots out of the tip of his wand. "She worked forever on it until she got it right."

"She came up with that?"

"Yeah, try it."

I point my wand at the wall. "Trabes lucis." My beam is white.

"Say a color, any color."

"Green." The beam turns green. "How did she do that?"

"I have no idea," he says. "We used to play a game with it. She would rearrange some of the furniture, and we would stay up for hours attacking each other with our lights. It was a game of honor, of course, because we had to be truthful about whether or not the light hit us. But we trusted each other. So it was fun."

I smile at him. "Did the others ever play this game too?"

He shakes his head. "They got upset when they lost. Besides, it has to be dark, and it was typically really late when we played. So it was usually just us."

"It sounds like she was a good sister," I say quietly.

His smile is sad but a smile nonetheless. "Yeah. Yeah, she was the best sister." His eyes are watering. "I miss her, a lot, especially over the holidays."

I wrap my arm around him.

"You…you've lost people before, Charlotte. Does it ever get easier?"

I take a deep breath. "Honestly, Christopher, it never gets 'easier.' But after a while, you realize that you don't mind carrying it around with you. You make room for it. It doesn't cripple you anymore." I rustle his hair. "You'll be fine."

He plays with his wand. "So do you want to play or what?"

"What?"

"The game. Do you want to play it?"

"Are you sure? I mean, it was yours and Helena's thing. I don't want to come between the two of you."

"I'm positive," he says, standing to his feet. He takes my hand and pulls me up as well. "Transfigure some of the furniture into obstacles." I begin to do just that. "First rule, no going into the rooms. Second rule, no camping in a certain spot for more than a minute and a half. Third rule, be honest if the light hits you. And a tip for you, only make the light when you think you've found me; if not, you give away your position."

"Ready?" I ask him.

He starts running through the six-foot tall maze I created. A minute later, he shouts, "Go!"

It takes me almost no time at all to regret making this maze so difficult to navigate. I have not seen a single sign of Christopher since we began this odd game, and this is round three! It's becoming somewhat frustrating. Through the maze wall I suddenly hear a footstep, and I silently cast the Disillusionment Charm over myself and slide to the back wall, sufficiently trapping myself in this little nook. Another footstep creaks on the floor. Is that a silhouette? Surely not, it's too dark. Another footstep, but this one is going away from me. I've missed my chance. I take the Disillusionment Charm off myself and go toward the exit of my little camping spot. "Trabes lucis, green," I whisper. The beam shoots off, straight at the direction to which I believe Christopher is.

But it misses him. Either that or he's not there. Then suddenly he pops out from around the corner and I hear, "Trabes lucis, blue!" followed by a beam of blue light that hits me in the stomach. I sigh. "That's three times in a row, Charlotte," Christopher states. "You've seriously got to get better at this before Julia comes over. She'll eat you alive."

I wave my wand, and the lights come back on. Then the maze disappears, once again becoming the furniture. "When's she coming?"

"Tomorrow at some point. She'll probably stay the night. She typically does."

"And she's good at this game?"

"She's bloody brilliant! Helena and I had to team up to beat her! She was born to play Beams."

"'Beams'?" I laugh. "That's an awful name."

He smiles. "I know. We were really tired, and it just slipped out when we were coming up with names. It caused a laugh…and it kind of stuck after that." He glances at the stairs then looks back at me with a very conspiratorial look. "Do you want some cake?"

I look over at the stairs as well. "Don't your parents believe we're asleep right now?"

"That's the point." Without another word, he rushes toward the steps and starts up. "Are you coming or not?" I follow, and he drops his voice to a whisper, "We have to be quiet. We don't want to get caught. That happened once." He shudders. "Never again."

"I don't want you to get into trouble!"

"We won't unless one of the girls sees us. They'll throw a fit, and that doesn't go over well." He grins. "Use that charm on us. You know, the one to make us invisible."

"The Disillusionment Charm?"

"Yeah, that one."

I cast the charms, and we slowly open the door and leave the basement, glancing around before moving forward and into the kitchen. I'm almost there when I hear a loud thud followed by a quiet moan. "Christopher," I whisper. "Are you okay?"

"Yep," he whispers, doing his best to bite back his pain. I struggle to bite back the laughter threatening.

We push on. Christopher dashes to get the cake while I get the plates. When I turn around to the general direction I suspect he's in, the container almost seems to float in midair. The boy cuts two large pieces and puts them on the plates, and we rush to get out of there. I'm reaching for the handle when I hear yet another thud. But this time, Christopher does not moan in pain. This time, he groans in frustration. I turn to see the cake lying on the floor. "Are you—"

"Shut up," he hisses. "I can't see my feet! It's not my fault!" I laugh, but it's short-lived because a light comes on in the far room. "That's them! Hurry!" Both the piece of cake and the plate are picked up from the floor, I'm assuming it's his doing, and we run down the stairs. The door closes behind me, and I assume that means Christopher has followed me. I wait a moment before removing the charm from us. "That was a failed mission…"

"Next time I'm going without you," I say.

He sits down on the sofa, and I follow his lead. "Mum cleans the floor on a semi-regular basis. I'm still eating this cake." I laugh as he places his piece on his plate and begins eating. It doesn't take us long after that to finish our dessert. He clears his plate quickly, then leans back, rubbing his stomach and exhaling loudly. "We should probably go to sleep soon. I'm not sure when Julia and her family will be here tomorrow."

"Good plan."

We separate, heading in our different directions to go to sleep. I flop onto the bed as soon as I can. For hours I've been looking forward to this alone time. But with it comes this overwhelming guilt that I've been feeling a lot today. How can I sleep in the same house, just a few feet away from Helena's room when I know that she was killed by my father?

How can I accept this family's hospitality without telling them the truth?

But it's impossible to tell them about me. It would be wrong on so many levels…or is it worse to keep this kind of information to myself? And how the bloody hell did I not know Christopher is related to me? Our fathers are cousins. My father killed his cousin's daughter. What was it that Mr. Collins had said? "They realized Helena wasn't who they thought she was." What the hell is that supposed to mean?

Who am I kidding, I know exactly what that means. I can't convince myself otherwise, and I know that. I take a shaky breath, my throat tight and struggling for air as the guilt pushes against my chest.

The door opens, and I hear a faint, "Charlotte, can we talk?"

I sit up. "Of course."

He slowly walks into the room, leaving the door open behind him, then lumbers over and sits at the foot of the bed. "The holidays…the holidays are a really difficult time for me," he whispers. "Helena and I…we were close. I…I miss her more than…more than I let on around my parents. I don't want to make things more difficult for them, you know? If they knew…if they knew how badly I… I'm afraid it would make things much harder for them. I mean, they already miss her so much and if they knew that I was in pain as well…"

I pat the spot next to me. He slides up and sits criss-cross, facing me with a heart-wrenching sorrow in his eyes. "I loved her, Charlotte," he says. "I still love her. And it seems…it seems as if that only makes it worse. It only makes me miss her more. Sometimes I wish she had been an awful sister, just someone who treated us terribly, that way I wouldn't miss her like I do now. Is that bad?"

I reach out and take his little hand. "It would be wrong for you not to miss her, Christopher. She's your sister, and you love her. Eventually, the pain will become normal, and you'll see that you don't mind it as much anymore. At least, that's what I learned when my mother died. Zoe still hurts, but eventually I'll get used to that as well. And you will too."

He wipes a few stray tears. "During the holidays, I usually sleep in Andrea's room with her."

"If you'd like to go up there, I promise I won't mind."

"I don't want to leave you down here all by yourself. That's rude."

I smile at him. "Christopher, honestly, it's okay. It's not like I've never slept in a strange place by myself before."

"CouldIstayinhere?" It comes out as one word, as if he was unsure if he should ask or not, and the vulnerable look in his eyes kill me. I pull the sheets back and gesture for him to lie down. He snuggles up next to me, and I feel my heart cave for a second. This poor child…he's been through hell. "I love you, Charlotte," he mumbles, sleep already taking over.

"I love you too." I close my eyes and will sleep to take over me as well.