Chapter 10: Revealed

"He lost a bet," Thomas said, smirking down at Sarah Lindsay. "Just like you will, my dear."

"Why are you standing on your head, anyway?" Isabelle wanted to know, joining Brittany at the kitchen table.

"Because Thomas said that I couldn't stand on my head for thirty minutes, and I'm proving him wrong. How much longer do I have to go?" Sarah Lindsay asked, trying not to fall.

"It was a half hour five minutes ago," Thomas replied with a smirk.

"No! You little snot! How can I lose a bet that I've already won, anyway?"

She righted herself with a thump. Knowing he was in deep trouble, Thomas quickly ducked out of the back door with Sarah Lindsay tearing outside after him. Her irate voice could be clearly heard in the kitchen, which made the others laugh. Individually, Sarah Lindsay and Thomas were funny; but together, they were plain goofy. Nothing was ever dull with them around.

"What bet?" Isabelle choked out in between laughs. Phillip rolled his eyes.

"The summer before junior year, the other captain of the soccer team had this piece of crap Chevelle that he said would beat my TA. The loser had to take Home Ec all year. I swear to this day that he poured something into my fuel line to make my car mess up," he seethed, smacking a pot onto the stove top with a thunderous bang.

"Phillip's a sore loser," Brittany whispered across the table.

"I heard that," he grumbled. "I'm not a sore loser when it's a fair competition. Well, maybe a little. Who likes to lose?"

"No one," Isabelle said soothingly, wondering why she felt the need to comfort him. "Apparently you had a much better time in Home Ec than I did, so I think you got the better deal, anyway. What woman doesn't think a man who can cook is just the sexiest thing?"

"You think this is sexy?" Phillip tried to keep his voice even, and his ears from turning pink as he chopped potatoes.

Brittany fought the urge to beat her head against the table repeatedly. Seeing Isabelle and Phillip cautiously flirt with each other was painful to watch. Although, it was better than Isabelle with Jake. She sat for a minute thinking about the past month, and how her perpetual crush simply doted on her best friend. Her eyes narrowed as she silently vowed to help her big brother win Isabelle's heart.

"Soccer season's over soon, right?" Brittany asked innocently from behind her book.

"Yeah, why?" Phillip answered, puzzled at the question.

"Never mind," she said in a falsely contrite tone. "I forgot that you're a big, bad college boy and all."

He looked over from the stove. "Not too busy for you, Brit. What's up?"

"It's not for me. It's a mission of mercy for my Home Ec challenged friend over here. See, Isabelle has to do extra credit work to keep up her A in the class. But, if someone taught her to cook..."

"Brittany!" Isabelle exclaimed, totally embarrassed. "I'm not going to inconvenience..."

"It's no inconvenience," Phillip eagerly interrupted her, making a mental note to get his sister a particularly good Christmas present. "Really, Muggle cooking isn't so bad once you get the basics down. You'd learn in no time." "Sure," Isabelle's tone dripped with sarcasm.

"Fine, reject my offer. I see how it is," he said in a convincingly hurt voice. Brittany internally smiled, knowing her friend would cave at Phillip's crestfallen face.

"Well, maybe after Christmas..." Isabelle offered diplomatically, giving herself a nice, big cushion of time to think of a good excuse. She lowered her voice to a whisper. "Where are Sarah Lindsay and Thomas?"

"Probably making out in the garage, as usual," Brittany replied without looking up from her book.

"What about Jake?" she inquired curiously, wishing he was around to rescue her from awkward conversation with Phillip.

"He and his dad always get here at exactly four o'clock."

"Oh. Your parents?"

"Talking to Bubba in the family room. Mom's banned from the kitchen when Phillip cooks because he says that she's too bossy and makes him burn stuff," Brittany explained, casting him a sidelong glance.

"Mom's a control freak, and you know it," he protested, still dicing potatoes. "Look, y'all are the ones who want me to make dinner, so don't hate on the cook."

"Um, I think I'm going to introduce myself to your parents," Isabelle said, wanting to put some distance between herself and Phillip Spence.

The longer she spent in his presence, the more she liked him. And, having already crashed and burned with him once, she didn't want to jeopardize her friendship with Brittany by having another unpleasant incident with her oldest brother. So, she excused herself to the family room.

-----

Meggie's Author's Note: All right, so far I've managed to stay fairly impartial. But, Mom's gotten personal. I can't believe she blabbed my private life to Stephen's dad! I feel so...violated...you know, I was beginning to feel guilty about spying around in Mom's stuff. Not anymore! Turnabout is fair play, Mother dearest. Please forgive the my childish responses mixed into the regular story. I just have to vent a little, and then I'll return to my normal objectivity. Humph.

-----

Trying to hide her shaking knees, Isabelle walked into the family room where Severus was politely chatting with Mr. and Mrs. Spence. She swallowed back her nervousness and sat beside her guardian on an overstuffed tan and green sofa. The family room was decorated in a country style, nearly filled to the brim with knick-knacks and homemade details such as colorful afghans on the furniture and crocheted doilies on the end tables. Severus turned to her with questioning eyes, wondering how her conversation with Phillip had turned out. She smiled reassuringly before taking a deep breath to introduce herself.

"Thank you for inviting me to share Thanksgiving Day dinner with you, Mr. and Mrs. Spence," she said politely, standing up and extending her hand.

Instead of a handshake, Mrs. Spence engulfed the teenager in a warm, motherly hug. Taken aback, Isabelle's eyes filled with tears. Not since Mummy P died had she felt motherly affection, and she hadn't realized how much she craved a mother figure in her life. Her emotions in a tailspin, she distractedly shook Mr. Spence's hand, noting how much Thomas resembled his father.

"Are you sure that you can't join us, Bubba?" Mrs. Spence asked in a warm, friendly tone. Severus shook his head no, trying to hide his frown at her use of his nickname.

Apparently it was around to stay, he thought ruefully. "I'm sorry, ma'am, but I promised a friend that I'd keep her company at her father's dinner. In fact, I really need to head out, or I'll be late."

Isabelle snickered, picturing Stacey's temper tantrum if he was in fact late. Stacey absolutely deplored going to her father's house, so she was automatically on edge. If Severus did anything to set her off...well, it wouldn't be pretty. Snickering as she walked him to the door, Isabelle asked him to give her regards to Stacey and her family and heavily sighed as he Apparated to New York City to pick Stacey up before heading to Abilene. She was on her own.

Luckily for her, shortly afterwards, the doorbell rang, followed by Jake and his father Apparating in the front entryway with a loud pop. Both Isabelle and Brittany jumped up from the kitchen table and rushed towards the living room. Before Brittany could think of anything clever to say, Isabelle raced through the room and engulfed Jake in a huge hug.

"Wow, you really know how to make a guy feel welcome," he joked lightly. She tightened her grip, as Mr. Parker shook his head amusedly and excused himself to go talk to Mr. and Mrs. Spence.

"I am so glad that you're here," she whispered. "You're early."

"Figured that you might need some moral support because of, you know." He tried not to notice the evil stare Phillip was shooting him from across the room.

"You have no idea."

Jake stepped back, brow knitted. "Something else bugging you?"

"It's nothing." She turned her gaze to the picture window.

"Right. Come on, let's go talk."

Assuming that Phillip was behind her upset mood, Jake decided to irritate him by wrapping his arm around Isabelle's shoulders and leading her through the front door. With a small smirk, Jake closed the door and followed her to a comfortable swing at the end of the porch. Isabelle listlessly sat swinging back and forth, eyes downcast.

"Do you want me to go beat up Phillip? Because if he's giving you a hard time..." Jake broke the silence. Isabelle snorted.

"What is it with you men that you believe everything can be solved by throwing a few punches?" Her voice became old and weary sounding. "No, it's not Phillip."

"Then what's up?"

Isabelle began nervously wringing her hands. "It's hard to explain. I had this precognitive dream, and I don't know what to make of it."

"Well, what was it about?" Jake asked helpfully.

Too helpfully for my taste. Back off my mom, buddy. By the way, here's where Mom starts blabbing my private life, almost twenty-five odd years before the incident actually happens.

"It was the future, and I think it was at Hogwarts."

"Hogwarts? The school in Great Britain? But, I thought you went to Beauxbatons," he puzzled.

Thought wrong.

Isabelle didn't know how to respond to his statement, so she simply ignored it. "There was a girl, a new student, and she was crying. I think it was my...my niece."

Try daughter.

"You have a niece?" Jake wondered.

Nope.

"In a manner of speaking," Isabelle carefully hedged her answer. "Gra–, uh, Hermione is my brother-in-law's niece. Complicated family tree."

"Sounds like it." He raised an eyebrow thoughtfully.

Smooth, Mom. How many children are actually named Hermione? Not to mention that you gave enough of Gracie's name for Stephen's dad to figure out that you could've been talking about Hermione Grace Black. Duh!

"Anyway, she was upset that she was sorted into Slytherin," Isabelle continued.

Damn straight. Worst day of my whole life, until Stephen made me feel better about it all. Thanks to him and Uncle Sev, I'm proud to be the Slythie diva that I am now. I even have a Slythie diva-in-training, hee hee hee.

"What's the big deal about that?" Jake asked, shrugging.

"Well, both of her parents were Gryffindors, and she thought her parents would be ashamed to have a Slytherin as a daughter. There's a huge inter-house rivalry between the two houses," Isabelle explained, seeing his confused expression. "Then, this really sexy blonde guy comforted her. Fabulous accent and everything."

Hey! Back off my man. I wish he was mine, anyway...

Jake frowned jealously. "So, what's the big deal about this vision? Doesn't sound that bad to me."

"It was weird!" She shuddered at the memory. "You wouldn't understand unless you've had a vision, I reckon."

"I had a vision once," he drawled slowly, smiling charmingly. "It was in Divination class and we were doing a unit on Seeing our progeny. Absolutely hilarious. Thomas threw a temper tantrum when he saw his future daughter making out with a redhead. I think he broke his crystal ball and threatened to break the guy's face."

"How did he know that his child wasn't the boy?" Isabelle asked sensibly.

"Because if you manage to have a true vision, your progeny will have this weird blue aura. This one girl, Laurie, had something like six kids. Her nickname has been Little Bunny Fu-Fu ever since," he snickered.

"Little Bunny Fu-Fu?"

"Bloody ignorant Brits," Jake teased, not in the mood to explain. "Anyway, it took me a while, but I even managed to see my future granddaughter. I got extra credit for that one."

Isabelle's eyes lit up, and she eagerly sat up. "Details?"

"Well, I didn't recognize the place, but it was a garden with a huge angel statue in the middle of it. There were like a hundred people around, most of them redheads, speaking of. Anyway, it was the weirdest thing because my son supposedly will be blonde. I don't know how that's even remotely possible, considering that my hair's so dark, unless his mother's a blonde."

Bloody hell! No, he just didn't say that. Jake Parker thinks that my mother is the mother of his blonde son? That is awfully presumptuous, and just plain wrong! Ew, gross. Gross, gross, gross.

"I don't know. I've seen two black haired parents have a child with light brown hair before. Depends on what surfaces in the gene pool," Isabelle replied cluelessly, her mind still on her vision and Gracie. "So, what happened next?"

"Not much. This pretty little girl, also blonde, runs up to him holding an Easter egg. My son then picked her up and makes this big fuss about the egg she decorated."

"What's her name?" Isabelle clapped her hands together excitedly, like she did when she was a child. Visions of the future could be fun sometimes.

"Stevie," Jake replied with a grin.

"Like Stevie Nicks? What a cool name!" she exclaimed.

Traitor. Mom's turned traitor. Stephen having a namesake is all fine and good. But, why Stevie? Why twist the cool blade of rejection that he stabbed in my heart? I have so many memories of us singing Fleetwood Mac songs in the common room. How cruel can a man be?

"Isn't it?" Jake said proudly.

"What about your son's name? Or his wife?" Isabelle pressed.

"I didn't catch his name, or his wife's. But, I did see him talking to this hot blonde chick almost the whole time."

"Aw, one big happy blonde family. We do have more fun, you know." She winked and nudged him with her shoulder playfully.

Ok, so it's her fault. Whoever the tart is that steals Stephen away from me and then gives him the family that he's always wanted. She's responsible for making my life miserable. Stupid bimbo. And here Mom is, happily swinging away, completely ignorant of the fact that my life's effectively over before it even begins! Or that history is doomed to repeat itself, unless I do something about it...

-----

"Eight ball, corner pocket," Thomas said, calling his pool shot. He skillfully made the shot with a flourish, which greatly impressed Sarah Lindsay, who rewarded him with a kiss. Jake shot his friend a dirty look as he walked into the garage, but surprisingly didn't say anything smart.

"Where's Isabelle?" Phillip asked, taking a swig of his beer. As the only person of legal age, he took great pleasure in drinking front of his siblings, since their parents wouldn't let them touch the alcohol stash in the refrigerator.

"Asleep on the sofa," Jake answered. "We were talking to my dad after dinner, then he left. And the next thing I knew, she was sound asleep on my shoulder. So, I let her sleep."

"Living a lie must be exhausting," Phillip muttered into his bottle, hurt that she preferred his friend's company to himself.

"What do you mean by that?" Brittany inquired sharply, looking at him wide-eyed. "You're not thinking what I'm thinking, are you? Please tell me--"

"What's going on here?" Sarah Lindsay was confused.

"Phillip thinks that your new best friend is the missing Evans girl," Thomas informed her matter-of-factly.

"Thinks, nothing! She is Isabelle Evans," Phillip said defensively.

"Oh, yeah." His brother rolled his eyes, tossing his pool stick from hand to hand. "The missing aunt of the Boy Who Lived is passed out on our parents' sofa. Sure, bro. Keep dreaming."

Jake couldn't believe what he was about to say. "I think Phillip's right."

"What?!?" Thomas exclaimed, throwing up his arms in exasperation. "Don't tell me that you're buying into my crazy brother's conspiracy theories. I mean, please. Why would Isabelle Evans end up in our neck of the woods?"

"There's an old saying that the best way to hide something is in plain view. Williamsburg has the highest concentration of magical people anywhere in America, except for maybe Las Vegas. So, here would be a great place to hide one teenage witch," Phillip said logically, staring his brother down.

"All right, here's another question, lawyer boy. Isn't the drinking age different in Great Britain?" Thomas challenged.

"Yeah, it's eighteen. Had a blast when I was in London. You know, when I first met Isabelle Evans," Phillip replied pointedly. "Actually, it was what kept me sane in Nikki's company; being trashed the majority of the time."

Jake doubled over laughing, picturing the scene. "Nice. Bet the Wicked Witch didn't appreciate that."

"No, she didn't." His eyes twinkled evilly.

"Anyway, isn't it true that not only is the drinking age lower, the age a person becomes an adult is lower, too?" Thomas brought the conversation back on track.

"It's sixteen," Phillip shrugged, missing his point.

"I'm not an expert on the Evans girl, but wasn't she sixteen when she disappeared? As in, a legal adult? Why would she come to America, where a guardian could tell her what to do?" Thomas asked.

"That I can't answer," Phillip admitted. "The best guess I can wager is that she didn't have a choice in the matter somehow. And I don't know how this Severus guy fits into the picture. Still working on that one. But still, everything else fits."

"Like what, lover boy?" Sarah Lindsay's eyes narrowed, mentally siding with Thomas.

"Since when do you know about the laws in Great Britain?" Phillip asked his brother incredulously, holding up his hand to indicate that he did in fact hear Sarah Lindsay's question. But, his curiosity got the best of him.

"I didn't until Jake told me that you messing around with the Evans girl was illegal. Big difference between fifteen and sixteen, apparently. You hooked up with jailbait," Thomas teased.

"We didn't hook up, not that it's your business. But, yeah, I'm glad her family didn't know my age, to tell the truth." Phillip turned to Sarah Lindsay, deciding to stir things up a bit. "Doesn't it bug you that your boyfriend here knows when girls in other countries become legal?"

"Yeah, what's it to you?" Her hands flew to her hips.

"Nothing." Thomas boyishly grinned, which made the petite blonde smile and shake her head. It was far too difficult to be irritated with him for long.

"Anyway, can we please stay on point?" Brittany reminded them, genuinely curious.

"Fine," Phillip said, leaning against the pool table and crossing his arms. "Jake's done more research on Isabelle Evans than I have. Spy Boy's been to England and everything. So, I yield the floor to the expert."

"Ok. Isabelle Rose Evans, born June 28, 1965 in Dover, England to John and Catherine Evans. She has two sisters, Petunia, who lives in Surrey with her husband, son and nephew, and Lily, who is deceased. Isabelle Evans was a ballet dancer, left-handed, loved chocolate covered pretzels and shoes," Jake rattled off.

Brittany decided to put in her two cents' worth. "Sounds like our Isabelle. So, are y'all going to talk to her about it?"

"Oh, that's brilliant. One way or the other, she's going to be traumatized if y'all suddenly start asking her all these personal questions. Why can't you leave well enough alone?" Sarah Lindsay defended her friend.

"Because what if she is who I say she is? Living a double life has to be rough. Isabelle needs someone to talk to, especially around the holidays," Phillip shot back.

"Awww! That's so sweet," Sarah Lindsay gushed, clutching her hands to her heart. "Maybe you are worthy of my girl in there."

"She won't talk to me." Phillip nervously ran a hand through his blonde curls and nodded at Jake. "It's all you, buddy."

"Huh-uh. I love my brother, but he can be really pushy and intimidating. Better to leave Isabelle be. If she wants to talk, she'll talk," Sarah Lindsay suggested.

Outside the room, a petrified Isabelle stood in the hallway listening to the conversation. She silently cursed herself for telling Phillip the truth the night they spent together, and him for remembering it. Although her mind told her to run, her feet wouldn't move. Where would she go, anyway? Severus made it perfectly clear that they were to stay in Williamsburg until she took the N.E.W.T. tests. She managed to crawl back to the sofa in the empty den, and curled into a frightened ball, not knowing what to do, or who to trust.

-----

Barricaded in her room, Isabelle sat at her bed, blankly staring at her poster of the white cliffs. For the past couple of weeks, she had barely talked to any of her friends. Which was no small feat, considering that Sarah Lindsay practically lived with her. Claiming ill health, extra dance practices, and any other excuse that she could dream up, she avoided speaking to them at all costs.

She was scared senseless. Last year, Severus was angry enough that she blew their cover with Stacey. She could only imagine his ire when he found out that she blabbed everything to Phillip Spence, who in turn told others her true identity. Maybe he would decide to move to New York after all, but somehow she doubted it.

And part of her was tired of running. In spite of everything, she rather liked Virginia, although she wouldn't admit it to anyone. The area reminded her of a larger, odd Hogsmeade, especially the wizarding quadrant of Williamsburg. If she could stay under cover, then perhaps she could've learned to fit in, become American. But, she blew it.

"Isabelle? Are you in there?" a voice called through the door.

"I'm busy, Jake," she hollered back.

"I'm coming in, whether you want me to or not." He barged into the room, earning a look of pure venom.

"Go away," she said in a low, quiet tone.

"No." He crossed his arms defiantly. "Not until you tell me what's wrong." Using wandless magic as intimidation, Isabelle slammed the door shut and locked it. "Why don't you tell me what's wrong, considering that you're such a bloody expert on my life?"

"What do you mean?" he asked, jaw dropping.

"Well, Mr. Jake-I-Know-Everything-About-Everyone Parker, why don't you fill me in on more details about my life?" Isabelle snapped irritably.

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Don't play cute or innocent with me. How long have you been Phillip's little spy? Since we met? Oh, it's so lovely how you pretended to be thick with me just to find out all my little secrets. So, you know I like chocolate pretzels. Do you know why?"

"Uh, no," he stuttered.

Isabelle's eyes clouded over briefly. "When my mum had the cancer, we used to have indoor picnics on her bed. I was very little then, but I remember eating chocolate pretzels. What about shoes? Why do I have a fondness for interesting shoes?"

Jake actually took a step back; she looked fearsome when angry. "I don't know."

"Ah, but you're supposed to be a smart one! I'm a dancer, and my feet look horrible. So, I like nice shoes because they make my feet prettier. Why do I dance?" Her voice raised to a fevered pitch. "Oh, don't know that one, either? Because it made my family proud. There, now you have plenty to tell Phillip. Leave."

"Where is this coming from?"

Isabelle's eyes hardened. "I overheard your pow-wow in the garage after Thanksgiving dinner. Congratulations, you've found the missing Evans girl. I am she. Happy now?"

"But, how?" Jake tripped over her wastebasket, and landed flat on his back.

"I was born that way. Do you think I'm going to trust you with the particulars of my story? I merely acknowledged what you and Phillip had deduced by ferreting around in my life. Now, please stop spying on me and go back to your own apartment, preferably for the remainder of my life."

Jake scrambled to his feet, and reached for his wand. "Isabelle, you're upset. I can see that."

"You have no idea," she said in a dangerously flat tone, standing up and circling him slowly. With her face mere inches from his, she narrowed her eyes and a small smile turned up the left corner of her mouth. She ran her index finger down his face, shaking her head from side to side slowly. "Oh, Mr. Parker, do you know how it feels to have someone invade your privacy?"

"I don't have anything to hide," he said bravely, not answering the question. Isabelle's face lit up in grin.

"Is that a fact? We all have our little secrets, Mr. Parker. Better lock your door tightly when you go to bed from now on. You never know when I'll be feeling vengeful and decide to smother you with your pillow," she said maliciously, searching his mind for any and everything she could use against him.

His eyes froze in fear. "How'd you know that I have a fear of suffocating in my sleep?"

"I have my ways." Isabelle circled him again, laughing manically. "But that's not your biggest fear, is it? That would be having to watch the people you love die, and there's nothing you can do to stop it. You really are a lot like him; it's remarkable."

"Who's him?" Jake clenched his fists by his side.

"In all of your research, you never noticed the similarities between you and he? That's all right. You've used friendship with me to prove to Phillip that I'm not who I actually am. You remind me of him, which is more comfort that anyone will ever know."

"Sirius Black, right?"

Isabelle's head whipped around, with bright, fiery emerald eyes. "Do not speak of him again, especially here. And certainly not in front of Severus. Do I make myself clear?"

"Crystal." He limply sat down on the edge of her bed, and put his head in his hands. "I'm sorry your sister died. Really, I mean that. Yeah, so I wasn't totally honest, but I'm sorry about that, too. Just answer me one question – how the hell did you know that stuff about me? Are you some sort of mind reader or something?"

"Maybe. What's it to you?" She casually studied her nails. Albeit a little rusty, her Discerner skills let her know that Jake was sincere. But, she wanted to teach him a lesson. "Does Sarah Lindsay know that you used to spy on her when you were kids?"

"Look, if you knew what kind of freaks her mother used to bring home, you'd be worried, too," Jake defended himself.

"Used to bring home? Have you met Clyde?" Isabelle asked, shuddering.

"No, and something tells me that I don't want to. So are you a mind reader or not? I read about people who can do crazy stuff like that. If so, then you should've known who Phillip was and no offense, stayed far away from him. What's the deal?" he pressed.

Isabelle flopped on the bed and stared at the ceiling. Mummy P's warning against telling people about her gifts flashed through her mind, but she figured that he already knew enough about her as it was. "How would you feel if everyone's thoughts invaded your brain constantly? Even if you could focus on one person, or a small group of people, after a while, you feel crazy. Sometimes a mind needs a break. It just so happened that I met up with Phillip on a break. The rest is history."

"I see. Can you read everyone's mind, know exactly what they're thinking at all times?" Jake thought of his crush on her, and a nervous pit settled in his stomach.

"Nah," she said, stretching lazily. "Since I came back to Williamsburg, I've only read your mind, and it was just for about thirty seconds or so. Amazing what I can learn about a person in such a short period of time, huh? But unlike certain snoopy people I know, I prefer to get to know a person the old-fashioned way. By conversation."

"Point taken," he sighed. "Why'd you answer my question honestly, anyway? You're making it pretty clear that you don't trust me worth a flip. How do you know that I won't run to the Ministry in London and expose you? For that matter, why are you even here?"

"Pretty much what Phillip said over Thanksgiving. The whole hiding me in plain view thing and Dumbledore wanting to make sure I'm a fully qualified witch before unleashing me to make my way in the world," Isabelle said flippantly. "As for why I'm in hiding or how Severus fits into the picture, I'm not telling, never going to tell, so don't ask."

"I never could figure who Bubba really is. Believe it or not, Severus is a pretty common name in Europe. Do you even know who he is? What if he's some cold-blooded killer or something?" Jake's face fell into a worried frown.

"What if he is?" she repeated in a deathly quiet whisper. "Don't you think I know his secrets, too? Severus has plenty to hide, but he's still a good man. What do you have to hide?"

"Nothing. I told you that earlier," he said, full of bravado.

"Does Phillip know how jealous you are of him?" she smirked, deliberately changing the subject from Severus.

"What?" he said, a little louder than he intended.

"Phillip has something that you want. What is it?" Isabelle paused as Jake set his jaw firmly and emptied his mind, praying that she wouldn't go snooping. "Oh, you are a smart one. But, I'll crack you, too. It's only a matter of time before I have you all figured out."

"You're being unfair," he protested, backing towards the door.

"No, threatening to expose me is unfair. Do you think I really want to be here? Don't you think I'd rather be somewhere I can dance? Where I'm not living in a glorified dumpster?" she asked, frustrated. "Haven't you seen pictures of where I'm from? What my life used to be like? Adjusting to life here is hard enough without worrying about someone spying on me."

"Ok, answer me this: what would be so horrible about people knowing you're really alive?" Jake wondered.

Isabelle's eyes glassed over. "Sirius would die."

"Why?"

"Because Gracie lives."

"So damn what? Sirius Black betrayed your family. Every intelligence report says so. Why are you defending him? Take your life back, Isabelle," Jake persuaded, as Isabelle stood up and her porcelain complexion flushed blood red.

"I defend him because I--" She turned around to face the window. "I was there. It wasn't Sirius' fault." Isabelle reached underneath the bed and pulled out a large duffel bag. She rushed to her dresser and began haphazardly throwing items in the bag.

"What are you doing?"

"Isn't it obvious? I'm running away. Coming to Williamsburg was a mistake. I told Severus it was a mistake, but he didn't listen to me. Just like Sirius didn't listen to me about Peter. Or how Lily didn't listen to me when I tried to warn her. Well, I'm sick of people bossing me around and making my decisions for me. I'm out of here."

Jake blanched. "But, you can't leave."

"I can, and I am. Goodbye, Mr. Parker. Please tell Sarah Lindsay I'm sorry I had to go. And Brittany, too." Isabelle zipped up her bag, and hoisted it onto her shoulder. She had no clue where to go, but anywhere was preferable to here.

"Isabelle, please calm down," he begged.

"No. No! I'm not calming down. Not for you, or anyone else." An idea slowly formed in her mind as she filled the room with thick, choking fog. She suddenly knew exactly what to do, and where to go.

By the time the room cleared, Isabelle was long gone.