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Like last time, this chapter is a bit longer than usual, so enjoy! The next chapter will be up some time around the first of March?


CHAPTER 44

"Has Christopher told you that Julia and her parents will be coming over today?" Mrs. Collins asks me as I help her set the table for our really late breakfast.

"He mentioned something about it last night. Do you know when they'll be here? He wasn't sure when he told me."

"In a few hours. They wanted to meet you."

"You're the Guest of Honor!" Christopher laughs, coming into the kitchen and taking the silverware from my hands to put on the table. "Everyone wants to meet you!"

I force myself to smile at him, all of us taking a seat around the table to eat. None of them would have wanted to meet me if they knew who I am, none of them would want to meet me if they knew that I've been withholding the true reason for why Rodolphus killed Helena. I feel like an evil person, a selfish person who only cares about myself, almost as bad as Voldemort. I mean, I'm not really better than he is, am I? We are both keeping back vital information for our own good. How can I claim to hate Voldemort when I do so many of the same things that he does?

"Charlotte," I hear. My eyes dart up at Christopher. "Did you hear me?"

I shake my head, embarrassed. "No, sorry, I was…thinking."

"Do you want some more bacon?"

I glance at my plate. "No, I'm good, thanks."

"Are you feeling all right, Charlotte?" Mrs. Collins asks.

I need to pull myself together and stop stressing over Rodolphus. They don't need to know about my relation to him. They don't need to know any of that. At least not right now because right now I can't deal with all of this just yet. "I'm sorry. I'm fine, just a little tired."

Mr. Collins suddenly chuckles. "Is that from the two of you sneaking around up here last night?" I smile when I see that Christopher's face has gone pale. "It's no big deal. It's the Christmas holidays. Stay up as late as you want."

Mrs. Collins clears her throat. "Well, maybe not as late as you want…"

"Come on, Trista," Mr. Collins laughs, "it's two days until Christmas. Let them enjoy their time away from school. You remember those strict curfew rules."

She gives him a stern look, one that he quickly returns, and they stay like that for a long moment, fighting the smiles that threaten the corners of their mouths. Finally, Mrs. Collins breaks and smiles, then rolls her eyes and looks at me and Christopher. "Stay up as late as you want, just don't push yourselves too much."

"Thanks, Mum," Christopher says.

After breakfast, we all migrate into the living room and sit in the sofas and chairs facing the lake. Matthew and Paige begin playing Gobstones, and I would offer to play with them but if I lose a game to a child one more time I'm going to lose my mind. So I sit around with the rest of Christopher's family, just chatting, but I can't bring myself to join in on whatever it is that they're talking about. Something to do with Mr. Collins's store. A rough curiosity tugs at my mind, and I can't bat it down. When a small lull in the conversation arrives, I cave. "Mr. Collins." He looks away from the game of Gobstones and at me. "You said something about being a cousin of Rodolphus Lestrange. How are you cousins, if you don't mind my asking?"

"I don't mind at all. Whenever someone finds out, they usually ask questions. I'm surprised you're just now asking." If he knew my reasons for avoiding the subject of Rodolphus, he wouldn't be surprised. Nor would he be answering these questions. "My grandfather had a son and two daughters. His son, Rodolphus's father, was very much a follower of You-Know-Who. He was in the first group of Death Eaters back when He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was at Hogwarts. But his youngest daughter, my mother, fell in love with a Ravenclaw. My father was a pureblood, as was my mother, but he did not agree with the Dark Arts. My mother was disowned, but she didn't care. Rodolphus and Rabastan tried recruiting me for the Death Eaters; after all I'm a still a pureblood. But I love Trista, so I wouldn't join. When we married, I was just as much disowned by the Lestranges as my mother was." Like Andromeda was disowned by the Black family.

Mrs. Collins comes over, sits down beside her husband, takes his hand in hers, and smiles sweetly at him. He kisses her cheek. "And I am eternally grateful for you choosing me over them, Gideon."

"There was never really a choice. It was always going to be you."

"Hey, gross, stop," Christopher says.

They both laugh at their son. "Are we embarrassing you?" Mr. Collins asks.

"A bit. And I'm sure you're making Charlotte uncomfortable."

I am forever grateful that I can steer the subject away from the Lestranges. I don't know why I allowed myself to ask him anything about them. "Don't pin this on me," I say. I look back to Mr. and Mrs. Collins. "So when did the two of you first start dating?"

"Our fourth year," Mrs. Collins says. "We were friends all throughout our schooling, but we spent a lot of time studying for the O.W.L.s together."

"And when I finally mustered up the courage to ask her," Mr. Collins says, "I hardly got the words out before she said yes."

She playfully hits his upper arm. "You make it sound like I was desperate to date you."

His face becomes stricken. "You're telling me you weren't?" His voice carries the perfect amount of shock and hurt, and a laugh bubbles out of me.

His wife smiles at him. "I wasn't desperate to have you ask me to date you, Gideon. I was desperate to see you man up to ask me."

"Ouch," is his only response.

She twines her arm through his. "You know I love you."

"Seriously," Christopher says, "you're making Charlotte uncomfortable."

I don't comment, but I can honestly say that his statement if far from correct. It's rare that I ever see a married couple still love each other. The only ones I can think of are my aunt and uncle—Ted and Andromeda Tonks—and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley. But I haven't seen any them in a while. And sure, Narcissa and Lucius might love each other, but that is certainly not the type of relationship I would ever want. So seeing a happy couple gives me hope, hope that I might one day find that, hope that I might one day be that happy despite everything that's happened to me.

A knock at the door stops whatever comment Mr. Collins was about to make, and Mrs. Collins extracts herself from him, smiling broadly, and rushes to the door. In walk Julia and who I assume are her parents, her father dark with a broad white smile, her mother with brown hair and gray eyes. Mrs. Collins and Mrs. Mitchells forcibly wrap their arms around each other. "You'd think they hadn't seen each other in months," Mr. Collins comments. "It's only been three days."

I stand and hug Julia. "Mum, Dad," she calls to them. "This is Charlotte."

"Ethan Mitchells," her father greets me.

"Jennifer," her mother introduces herself. I shake their hands. "It's an honor to meet you."

"Likewise," I say.

"Julia speaks of you often," Mr. Mitchells informs me. "We want to thank you for all that you do."

"It's a pleasure to be able to help," I say. "They're great fun to be around. They keep me grounded really. I don't know what I'd do without them."

I walk with them back to the living room and sit down with the second years on the sofas. "Julia!" Christopher says. "Charlotte played Beams with me earlier. You've got to play tonight." He glances at me then back at the girl. "She's awful."

I'm about to defend myself when Julia replies, "Don't listen to him, Charlotte. He loses to me ten times out of ten."

"That's so not true! I call for a match! Right here, right now!" He stands to his feet, already pulling his wand from his pocket. "No one tarnishes the reputation of Christopher Lewis Collins and gets away with it!"

Mr. Collins ruffles Christopher's hair as he walks around him. "You can play it later."

Christopher points at his father. "We will," he says firmly. Then he sits back down. "We will."

Mrs. Collins and Mrs. Mitchells walk over to the group of us but do not sit down. "We'll be back later," Christopher's mum announces.

"Where are you going?" her husband asks.

"Christmas is in two days, as you so kindly pointed out this morning," she says. "There is still some last-minute shopping we must do." The women turn to their children. "Would any of you like to come with us?"

Matthew and Paige quickly jump on the offer. "We'll be back later," Mrs. Mitchells says.

"How much later?" Mr. Collins asks.

The two women look at each other for half a second before laughing. "We don't know yet. We'll be back later," Mrs. Collins says. Then they say a quick goodbye and leave.

Mr. Collins shakes his head. "They'll come back carrying two sleeping little children."

"It's that way every time, isn't it?" the other man chuckles. He glances at me. "Last time they were basically carrying us back. I don't know where they get their energy."

"They're friends—they feed off of each other." Christopher's father waves his wand, a chess set appearing that the two men immediately begin playing.

"Come on," Christopher says to the rest of us. Without waiting for an answer, he heads toward the basement. We—Julia, Andrea, and me—follow him without a single protest.

"What are we doing?" I ask him.

"Getting out of there before the chess match starts," he says. "They get into it."

Julia nods vigorously. "It's not a pretty sight…"

Christopher turns to me. "Charlotte, if you would be so kind as to set up a maze for me and Julia. It's about time she puts her skills to the test, wouldn't you agree?"

I begin setting up a course for the two of them to battle it out in a game of Beams. Once I have set up a maze that I believe will be difficult for the both of them, I sit down in a chair with Andrea and make the chair rise so we can see the entire arena. "Julia, what's your color?" I ask.

"Red," she answers.

"Christopher?"

"Blue."

"Separate," I say. Christopher goes to the far end by the window while Julia rushes closer to the back wall where Andrea and I sit. "Are you ready?"

"Ready!" they both answer.

With a wave of my wand, the sheets from my bed spring out of the room and cover the large window, darkening the room. "Go!" Andrea commands.

As Julia predicted, she beats Christopher kind of easily, and despite his calling for the best out of three, then the best out of five, then the best out of seven, he does not manage to win a single round. Julia is apparently not the type to throw out a pity win, and I can't really say I blame her because if I were this good, I don't think I'd let anyone beat me either. To prove her point further, Julia even allows Christopher a full ten rounds, and as she told me before, she beats him ten times out of ten.

Before they can wrangle me into playing a game against Julia, their fathers come downstairs and usher us to the kitchen for us to eat dinner because their wives will apparently never forgive them if they forget to feed us. "So who won your first match?" I ask Mr. Collins as we start on our sandwiches.

He lets out a short bark of laughter. "Neither of us has won yet, but I'm closing in on him."

"In your dreams," Mr. Mitchells replies.

It's dark out when Julia's and Christopher's mums return, Matthew and Paige sound asleep in their arms and carried to their rooms. Mr. Collins hadn't been joking about how long the two of them would be gone, and I can't help but laugh a bit at how well he knows his wife.

Christopher and the rest of us leave behind the basement and our games, Julia having beaten Christopher and me and Andrea a grand total of sixteen times, Christopher having beaten Andrea and me four times, and Andrea having beaten me twice. I did not win at all and am slightly ashamed at the loud laughter that greets us when the children inform their parents of my ineptness at Beams. I try to defend myself, but there's nothing I can really say because I should be better at that game than I am, all things considered. I grew up running from Death Eaters. But maybe that's why I'm not good at the game—I'm used to running, not hunting. I don't voice this aloud of course. I take their laughter with a smile because for some reason their teasing makes me feel like I'm a part of this family even though I have no right to feel this way considering the information I'm keeping to myself.

It's when we're saying goodbye to Julia's parents for the evening that the decision is made for me. I watch as Mrs. Mitchells puts a comforting hand on Mrs. Collins's upper arm and gives her an encouraging smile and Mrs. Collins blinks back tears and takes a deep breath and closes her eyes, seemingly to brace herself and gather herself; I watch as Mr. Mitchells tells Mr. Collins that everything will be okay, that the holidays will get easier, that they can be over here in a matter of minutes if the Collins family needs them; and I know in that instant that I can't keep this secret to myself. They don't even know why their daughter was killed. I can offer them that understanding, and I no longer have a choice.

They've been without their daughter for so long, and they're still hurting. And they don't even know why she was taken. But I do. I know exactly why. Rodolphus—he wanted to spare Voldemort's broodmare from her fate. His mistake was thinking that Helena was to be that slave. Helena and I look alike. We're the same age. Rodolphus wanted to hide me with the Collins family when I was a baby. Why wouldn't the Dark Lord have taken it upon himself to switch me and Helena, putting me with the family and taking away Helena? Rodolphus wouldn't know what I looked like grown up. He would just know that I looked something like I do now—like Helena did.

The only reason Rodolphus would kill Helena to spare her would be if he believed she was to do what I am forced to do. Rodolphus doesn't want me to have the Dark Lord's child. What kind of Death Eater is he? Why would he try to foil the Dark Lord's plans so fully as to kill the girl who would help fulfill them?

I glance over at Mrs. Collins once Julia's parents have gone. She stands by the door, her arms wrapped around herself, her back to her family. One arm moves, and it almost looks like she's wiping a tear. Her eldest child is dead, and I'm one of the only people who know why. How can I keep something like that from her? I can't. I know I can't. Regardless of what the Collinses might think of me once I've explained everything to them, at least they'll know why the Death Eaters murdered their child. At least they'll know why Rodolphus and Rabastan spared Mrs. Collins rather than taking her way because she is Muggle-born.

"Everything all right, Charlotte?" Julia asks me.

I force my gaze away from Mrs. Collins. "What? Yeah, I'm just…thinking."

"What are you thinking about?" Christopher says.

"I'm just trying to figure out why Julia is so much better at Beams than anyone else."

"There's no real reason," Julia says loftily. "I'm just phenomenal at everything I do." She's much chattier when away from Hogwarts, and it almost makes me smile through my guilt.

I glance over at Mrs. Collins who works her way back to the sofa and sits down beside her husband. "Do either of you play Beams?"

"We have before," Mr. Collins says.

Mrs. Collins smiles through the pain still on her face. "We weren't very good at it."

"That's okay, neither am I."

"Yeah, I'll say," Julia interjects.

My laughter doesn't really seem genuine to me as I try to enjoy this moment with the rest of them. Knowing what I know now about Helena stops me from finding happiness right now. I don't deserve happiness when I'm keeping something like this from the two people sitting before me who have lost their child. Because of me. Because of what I am and what I have to do.

I'm not really sure how we pass the time. All I know is that the minutes tick away faster than I really want them to. Because I know what comes next. Because I know what I've got to do. I'm an imposter as I sit here with this family, taking part in their joy and their love—I don't deserve any of it.

When slowly Andrea begins struggling to keep her eyes open, I know that my time is running far too short. I almost want to beg her to stay awake just a little bit longer so that I can postpone my confession. But I can't do that to her, and when she asks Mr. Collins to carry her to her bed, I wave goodbye to her as her parents take her to her to her room. Then I turn to Julia and Christopher, who are smiling broadly. "So," Julia says, "we're going to guilt them into playing Beams with us, right?"

I can't guilt them into doing anything right now, so I remain quiet while Christopher wholeheartedly agrees and they begin plotting how they're going to go about achieving their goals. They're still talking about it, growing annoyed with my lack of help, when Mr. and Mrs. Collins start back down the stairs. Mrs. Collins slows almost immediately. "What are the three of you planning?" she asks.

"The two of them," I correct.

"Oh no."

"We want the two of you to play Beams with us," Christopher says innocently. "We're thinking that if you both agree to play with us, Charlotte might finally get at least one win before the holiday is over."

I cut him a glance, but Mrs. Collins speaks before I have a chance to. "You think I want my Beams reputation ruined further so that Charlotte doesn't remain winless? No, thank you."

"C'mon, Mum," Christopher tries again. "Look at her sad face. She's tired of losing."

"Really, it's fine," I say quickly. "I don't mind going down in history as the worst Beams player in history."

"Charlotte!" Julia whines. "You're supposed to be helping us."

"I won't let you guilt them into playing with us."

Mrs. Collins grins. "Take a note from Charlotte. Respect your elders."

"Elders?" I laugh. She winks at me.

Try as they might to convince Mr. and Mrs. Collins to play even one round of Beams with us, Christopher and Julia do not accomplish it, and it's only after we've gone back downstairs that I realize I should have put real effort into helping them. It could have helped postpone this awfulness for just a short while longer. But I guess I can play at least one round, or watch Julia and Christopher play one round, before I go speak with Mr. and Mrs. Collins.

I lose within five minutes of playing and then watch as Christopher and Julia continue playing. Once I'm sure that they're far too into the game to notice me, I leave the basement and creep back up the stairs.

For a moment I stand in the doorway, just watching Mr. and Mrs. Collins. They sit on the sofa together still, Mrs. Collins's legs thrown over her husband's lap, a book in her hands. Another book floats in front of Mr. Collins, the pages turning by themselves every now and then. He rubs her leg absentmindedly. They seem so content—so normal.

I don't want to ruin this. Perhaps I should just Disapparate. I can go to the manor or the cottage. I can get away from them and pretend that I haven't seen them suffering. I can just…disappear. I can spend the holiday with my mother or go back to Hogwarts and stay there with Severus.

Suddenly Mrs. Collins gasps and looks over the top of her book to watch Mr. Collins. "You're joking. This can't be serious." He starts laughing. "Tell me you're not serious!"

"I felt the same way, I promise,"

"Gideon Collins, this book has thirty pages left, and if this isn't resolved—"

"It's almost like you don't trust my taste in literature," he says, setting his own book aside to gaze back at her.

"Because I don't."

"Yet you take my recommendations anyway. Either you're a glutton for punishment, or you just really trust my book selections. You can't lie to me."

"Humph." She lifts the book up to block him from her view. "I'm just warning you that if this doesn't have a satisfying ending, I'm going to be very displeased with you."

"I think I'll live."

Mr. Collins goes back to reading his book as well, and I wait a few moments before stepping out of the basement and closing the door. "Sorry to interrupt," I say, coming closer to them just a bit.

Mrs. Collins sits up, removing her legs from her husband's lap and setting her book aside. "Is something wrong? Are Christopher and Julia all right?" Mr. Collins closes his book too.

"Yes, they're fine, I—" I glance away for a moment to steel my nerves. "May I sit down?" She gestures for me to do just that, so I do, taking a chair close to them but not one close enough for them to feel like I'm crowding them. "I actually…I do need to talk to the two of you."

"Sounds serious," Mr. Collins quips.

I clear my throat. "It…kind of is, actually." They wait patiently and quietly, and I take that as permission to continue. "I believe I need to tell you something. I feel like you deserve to know, and I can't…I can't keep it to myself anymore." Another breath. This is fine. This is fine. "You're not gonna want to hear this but… I…I know why Rodolphus and Rabastan killed Helena."

Mrs. Collins inhales sharply, while her husband's hands immediately clench into fists. "What do you mean?" she asks quietly.

"I mean…" I exhale through my nose, trying to keep myself somewhat calm. "I know the Lestrange brothers—I've spent, well, a decent amount of time with them when I'm…around the Death Eaters and all—and I think…I think I know why they killed your daughter, and I…I thought you deserved to know. If you want to know, that is."

"Is this some sort of joke?" Mr. Collins asks, his voice strained as if he's trying incredibly hard not to yell at me.

"No. I've spoken with Rodolphus at length and I—I know why he killed Helena."

"Don't say her name again!" Mrs. Collins puts her hand on his knee, and he takes a deep breath, then says, "Never speak of her again, and we'll forget this ever happened. We can pretend that you didn't come in here and—we invited you into our home and you—"

"Gideon," Mrs. Collins whispers. "We should listen."

My breath escapes me for a moment. I understand why he is touchy about the subject of his dead daughter, so I ignore the sudden urge to shout at him and defend myself.

He looks at her with a type of anger that almost frightens me, but something on her face calms him, and he closes his eyes for a moment to gather himself before looking back at me.

"Mr. Collins, I want you to know that I would never joke about something as serious as this," I say, hoping he believes me. "I know why she was killed. I know why Rodolphus did it. And…and I can tell you, if you want. If it'll give you some sort of closure."

"If I were you, I would proceed with caution," Mr. Collins warns me.

"I'll keep that in mind. It…this won't be easy to hear, so if you don't want to hear it, I'll understand."

Mr. Collins looks like he's about to say something, but Mrs. Collins exhales unevenly, tears in her eyes, and says, "I need to know. I need to know why she was killed. If—if you could—if you could tell us—" She covers her mouth with her hand and shakes her head. "My baby was killed. I need to know why." Mr. Collins puts his arm around her, and she leans into him.

"Every word you're about to hear is true, unlike basically everything else you know about me."

"Go on then," Mrs. Collins says quietly.

I exhale. "I'm not who I say am. My name is not Charlotte Rodgers. I am not a bastard born out of wedlock. My parents are not dead. I never went to Durmstrang. My death was faked when I was a child. My mother knows I am living, but my father does not. A select group of people know the truth about me."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Mr. Collins says. "Let us get this straight—"

"Everything we know about you is truly a lie?" Mrs. Collins asks, something oddly uncomfortable in her voice. It almost makes me want to crawl under a rock somewhere and hide. But I've started this, so I need to finish it.

No matter how badly I do not want to continue, I must. "Pretty much, yes. But I had to lie to you for your own well-being because no one is really supposed to know. Only a handful do—and even then, most of them only know because the Dark Lord allows it. My own father doesn't know who I am because the Dark Lord has sworn to make me watch as my mother tortures and kills him." Mrs. Collins opens her mouth a bit but remains quiet. "And honestly, if it wasn't for what I now know about Helena, you wouldn't be learning this at all. You would've forever believed me to be Charlotte Rodgers. But that's not who I am, and I really have no choice but to tell you what's happened. Because…because you of all people deserve to know."

"Who are you?" Mrs. Collins asks softly.

"My real name is Aurelia Celaeno Lestrange, the daughter of Bellatrix and Rodolphus Lestrange."

Mrs. Collins finds her husband's hand as she gasps. His free hand rubs the back of his neck. "I thought…I thought Aurelia Lestrange was dead. She…she is dead. She died in nineteen eighty," he says. "I remember…because he said something about it…when he was killing Helena. He said that he knew what it was like to lose a daughter and that he was sorry for what had to happen to Helena. So I did some digging and found out that his daughter was killed."

"That was another baby," I answer calmly, trying to make sure neither of them becomes too upset. "Everyone thought it was me, because the Dark Lord wanted to hide me—because he has uses for me. Only he was aware that I was the daughter of the Lestranges and that I was alive and well. He put me in an orphanage…and that's where I lived until I found out I'm a witch. The Death Eaters came for me, and I ended up at Hogwarts."

"When did you learn that you are… that you're Aurelia Lestrange?" Mrs. Collins asks.

"Two Christmases ago. I was dating Draco Malfoy—at the time we were unaware of our relation. Bellatrix was at the manor when we arrived for the holidays. It all came out because of this." I bring out my pocket watch. "Narcissa recognized the Black family crest. This belonged to Alphard Black, the man who took care of me for a short time when I was a baby." I hand it over to them.

Mr. Collins turns it over in his palm a few times, inspecting it closely, his face hard and unreadable, before asking, "What does this have to do with Helena?"

"That's the thing," I say softly. "I was raised in that orphanage where the Dark Lord stashed me. I was protected and watched after by a woman named Abigail Avery, whom I just recently learned from M—Bellatrix—was working for the Dark Lord the whole time. She was to stop any Death Eater other than the Malfoys from collecting me from the orphanage. Her father came to get me. They got into an argument. He killed her. I killed him—"

"How old were you?" Mrs. Collins suddenly asks.

"I was ten," I breathe. "My grandfather—Rodolphus's father—was there, but he did nothing to stop me. He told Rodolphus and Rabastan and Avery what had happened. After the mass breakout from Azkaban. He's dead now, apparently." I clear my throat. "From what I've heard, Helena and I are—we have similar appearances."

"It's shockingly true," Mr. Collins says.

I nod at him. "And we were around the same age. When they sent me away as a child to protect me—my parents, I mean, when I was an infant and my life was threatened—Rodolphus wanted to send me to his cousin because his cousin had a daughter my age. I'm assuming now that that was you. He wanted to send me here, to live with you, so that you could keep me safe."

"They had disowned me," Mr. Collins says.

"And they had disowned Alphard as well, but…the Dark Lord wanted me safe. It didn't matter how that was accomplished." I have to look away from them. "I think…I think Rodolphus and Rabastan thought that grown Helena was me—Charlotte Rodgers, not Aurelia Lestrange."

"So you're saying that our daughter was murdered for something you did eight years ago?" Mr. Collins whispers evenly, his breaths steady, his face growing red (probably with anger, though I don't really want to find out). "She was murdered because you killed that Death Eater?"

"No. She was killed because of something I would have to do—something I am being forced to do, something I am doing now. It made more sense when Christopher told me Rodolphus said that Helena would be better off dead than have to face her future and when you told me that they said they realized Helena wasn't who they thought she was. Rodolphus, I believe, truly killed her out of mercy. Or what he thought was mercy. But he killed the wrong girl. He meant to kill me—he's asked me enough if I fear what I'm being forced to do. He doesn't even know who I am, and he's uncomfortable with…everything." I swallow. "Believe me, if I could change what happened, I would. If I could've been the one to die, I would gladly choose that route."

"What are you doing that is so dreadful you would rather be dead?" Mrs. Collins asks, a strange motherly concern in her eyes.

Heat rises to my cheeks. "I need you to understand that I don't want to do this," I whisper. They nod. "I…I am…I am being forced…I have to…I was chosen to…" I exhale. "The Dark Lord—I have to give him a child. And that is why my father killed Helena. I think…I think he believed she was me. He thought he was saving her from this awful fate. He was trying to protect her…in his own twisted way. Azkaban…kind of ruined him."

"Oh, God…" Mrs. Collins mutters. "He doesn't…you don't… Charlotte…"

I shake my head. "I'm forced to go to the manor once a month, where You-Know-Who tries to impregnate me."

"How long?" Mr. Collins whispers.

"Since the end of July."

Silence lingers over us for a few moments.

"Rodolphus Lestrange…his daughter…you've been alive all this time…" Mr. Collins seems to be talking to himself more than anyone else.

"'HIS DAUGHTER'?" a voice shouts. "RODOLPHUS LESTRANGE'S DAUGHTER?" Christopher and Julia throw the basement door open.

"Christopher," I say quietly.

"SHUT UP!" he roars. "EVERYTHING YOU'VE EVER TOLD ME WAS A LIE!"

"Christopher," Mrs. Collins tries.

"IT'S YOUR FAULT HELENA IS DEAD! MY SISTER IS GONE BECAUSE OF YOU!" Christopher runs at me, and I instinctively stand to my feet, only to have him shove me back down onto the sofa. "HOW COULD YOU?" Mr. Collins hops to his feet and grabs his son up in his arms, pulling him away from me. "GET OUT! GET OUT! I NEVER WANT TO SEE YOU AGAIN! GET OUT! YOU SHOULD BE DEAD, NOT HER!" His father lifts him into his arms and rushes him out of the room.

I look at Mrs. Collins. "I…I should go…"

"No, Gideon will speak with him. It'll be fine soon enough." Her eyes are glistening, and I can hardly look at her. "He'll calm down."

"But it'd be better if I was not here when you try to calm him down. I should go."

Without warning, she takes me into her arms. "Where will you go?"

"I have an idea."

"Will you be safe?"

"As safe as possible," I say.

"Charlotte—"

"It's fine."

"I can't thank you for what you've told us—but I do appreciate knowing. I know how hard it must have been for you to—to say all of this." I nod, unable to find my voice. "Come back tomorrow," she says. "Come back around dinner. By then we will have this whole mess sorted out." She pulls away and looks me in the eye. "Promise me that you will come back tomorrow. He'll be fine by then."

I shake my head. "I…I don't think that's the best idea. I'll let your family spend Christmas together, and I'll talk him when he gets back to Hogwarts. I'm…sorry." I wave my wand, and my rucksack flies up the stairs to me. I sling it over my back. "Um… Thanks for everything." She smiles sadly at me. "Oh, and there's a bag of…gifts in the basement if you think… If they'll accept them."

I Apparate without waiting for an answer.