Chapter 13: Harsh Realities

An hour later, Isabelle woke up, feeling fairly refreshed, considering the events of the past few days. She tentatively opened her bedroom door, not really looking forward to facing Phillip, or anyone else for that matter. So with dragging, plodding footsteps, she crept towards the living room, where Harry's small voice could be heard growing progressively more frustrated.

"That's home!" she heard him insist.

"Harry," came Phillip's patient baritone voice, "it might look a little like your home, but I don't think it is."

"It is home," Harry said emphatically through clenched teeth. The little boy spied Isabelle and ran headlong into her arms. She purposely avoided Phillip's curious gaze.

"I, uh, want to, um, thank you. For watching Harry," she mumbled, staring at the floor.

"No trouble," he replied. A painful silence fell over the room until Harry grabbed Isabelle's hand and dragged her to the couch where Phillip had a large book opened beside him.

"Look, Aunt Is-belle!" the toddler exclaimed proudly, jabbing at the page. "Home!"

Isabelle humored her nephew and dutifully leaned over him to examine the estate. Her eyes widened as a surprised laugh escaped her lips. "Well, I'll be damned..."

"Aunt Is-belle!" Harry breathed, scandalized. "Only Uncle Sir-us says that. It's a bad word."

"Yes, a very bad word that I learned from your Uncle Sirius. It's his fault," she smirked.

"I know. Daddy said not to learn words from you or Uncle Sir-us."

"Say what?" Isabelle completely forgot Phillip was in the room as she directed her full attention to Harry.

"Yeah, Daddy said that you taught Gracie bad words," Harry whispered quietly.

"I did not!" she defended herself. "Well, maybe a few. But she learned the really bad ones from Sirius, thank you very much. Anyway, I'll watch my mouth from now on, all right?"

"No. I want to learn bad words, too," he pleaded with large, hopeful green eyes. Isabelle tilted her head and thought of a fairly tame 'bad' word to teach Harry. The puppy-dog stare always worked on her.

"Ok, here's one. When people are stupid, you can call them a git," she instructed him.

"Git," Harry repeated with an evil grin, turning to Phillip. "Well, you're a git 'cause you said that wasn't home."

For his part, Phillip pretended to be duly insulted. He looked at Isabelle questioningly. "Is that really--"

"It's home," she said simply, staring at the picture of her childhood home in his British history textbook. "But, why would it be there? How odd."

"Because it's a historic English country estate," Phillip explained, trying to sound halfway intelligent. Unfortunately for him, he always seemed to lose the use of his brain when Isabelle was nearby. She sat down on the sofa and looked at the glossy page, fascinated.

"Go figure," she shrugged. "But, this picture's really old."

"Pardon?" Phillip stammered out, nearly kicking himself for sounding like such a blundering idiot. Luckily, Isabelle didn't seem to notice. She settled Harry in her lap while studying the picture more closely.

"See, look at the trees here," she pointed, lapsing into the rolling English accent of the Dover area. "They're much shorter than I remember. I used to climb them all the time, so I should know."

"You were a tomboy?" Philip asked, completely shocked. To his further surprise, she tilted her head back in a roaring, carefree laugh.

"Oh, gosh, yes. From the time I could walk, I spent most of my time outside playing in the grounds. Mum used to call me her little monkey because I loved to climb everything," she recalled.

"Monkey?" he parroted, fighting back a snicker. Monkey was the very last word he would've ever thought to describe Isabelle with.

"Moncaí, actually. Sounds prettier in Gaelic, doesn't it?"

"That it does," Phillip agreed. He found it odd that Isabelle automatically assumed that he knew her true identity, as if there was no need to maintain pretenses. As if reading his mind, and she most likely was, she turned to him with an apologetic expression.

"I'm sorry. I'm not who I said I was," she offered, unconsciously clenching and unclenching her hands. "But, you knew all along, didn't you?"

"Yeah."

Isabelle nodded slowly, sitting silently for a full minute before speaking again. "I told Severus that moving back here was a mistake. Too risky, but did he listen to me? No, of course not. Then again, he didn't exactly expect me to go babbling off to a random one-night stand. Or make friends with said one-night stand's sister. Or to run away, sort of kidnap my nephew, and bring him back here. Or--"

"Enough already," Phillip interrupted her, stung at how coldly she continued to treat him. As calmly as he could, he gathered up his books and stood to leave. "Well, this random one-night stand has to study for his British history exam tomorrow afternoon."

"Phillip--" she began, realizing how awful her words must've sounded to him.

"Goodnight, Isabelle. Severus should be home in an hour with Jake and Thomas. Please tell them that I'll be in the library if they need me," he said in a tight voice, which softened slightly when he looked at Harry. "And goodnight to you, too, Harry."

"'Night," Harry chirped, waving as Phillip Disapparated with a loud crackle.

"I really messed up this time," Isabelle sighed ruefully.

-----

For the tenth time in three minutes, Isabelle pushed up the sleeve of her heavy winter cloak and checked the time on her watch. She adjusted Harry on her hip and resumed pacing in front of the history building where Phillip was taking his examination. It seemed like an eternity passed before he walked through the heavy wooden doors and walked right past her without saying a word.

"Phillip, wait!" she called out.

He took a few more steps, then stopped, and turned around with his jaw set. When he didn't say anything, Isabelle hurried to close the gap between them while adopting her most winning smile. Harry squirmed to be let down, so she gently placed him on the sidewalk.

"Be careful, love. The walk is slippery," she warned her nephew before directing her conversation to Phillip. "So, um, how was your exam?"

"Long. Boring. Over," he replied shortly, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Oh. I'm sorry."

"I'm sure." The sarcasm practically oozed from his words. "Don't you have somewhere to be, like school?"

"Snow day," Isabelle shrugged. "Listen, I'm honestly sorry about last night. Sometimes I say things without thinking. Actually, I do that a lot of the time. Please forgive me?"

Phillip raised an eyebrow at her hopeful expression. "Sure. So, how'd things go last night?"

"Awful. Severus hit the roof when he saw Harry." Her shoulders slumped.

"Not good, huh?"

"To say the least. Severus plans to take Harry back to Petunia's tonight after he goes to sleep. He can't do that!" A tear streaked down her face, as she stepped closer to Phillip and stared into his deep blue eyes. "I can't let him take Harry away."

"But, what can you do?" he wondered. Isabelle smiled charmingly and wrapped her arms around his neck.

"Well, for some reason, Severus likes you. I think he'd listen if you talked to him for me. I would definitely make it worth your while..." She leaned over and softly kissed him. "I'm sure we could reach an understanding."

Phillip's face twisted in controlled rage as he roughly removed her arms from his neck and pushed her away from him. "Understand this: I'm not for sale."

"Wait!" she cried, running after him and blocking his path.

"No, thank you. I don't know what on earth you had to do to survive--"

"More than you'll ever know," Isabelle said in a tight, steely voice. For a split second, her composure melted away, showing the frightened little girl underneath a brave facade. "I'm not proud of everything I've done."

"Well, neither am I. But, for what it's worth, you meant something more to me than a, how did you put it? Random one-night stand. You know what?" He gestured wildly. "I actually cared about you. Stupid me, considering that you just used me and when you didn't need a distraction anymore, you tossed me aside like a piece of trash."

Isabelle swallowed, trying not to cry. She tried focusing on the falling snowflakes while thinking of a response. "That's not true."

"Liar. Hell, I'm such an idiot that I believed your apology. But, you're not sorry about anything other than not getting your way. I'm through with you, Isabelle. I've spent enough of my life worrying about you. It's obvious that you'll do anything to survive."

"Please," she pleaded. "Harry deserves so much better than Petunia."

"Who says you're an improvement? Goodbye."

Phillip stormed off in disbelief, feeling like a prize fool for falling for such a selfish, unfeeling girl.

-----

Phillip sat at the kitchen table at his parents' house, blankly staring at a page filled with messy, haphazard notes that were barely legible. He'd retreated to the quiet safety of his childhood home under the excuse of needing to do laundry, which was not a lie, but not the entire truth, either. Honestly, he couldn't stand being in the apartment, because everywhere reminded him of Isabelle in some form or fashion.

So he brought over a load of dirty clothes, a bookbag crammed full of notebooks and texts, and a mind overburdened with emotional baggage. And like he had hoped, no one asked questions or wondered why he was there stuffing the washer and spreading out his papers on the table. Even Brittany, who knew what bothered him, stayed far away, holed up in her room.

He vaguely heard a light rapping at the dining room window, which grew increasingly louder and more frantic. The window creaked open slightly, causing Phillip's body to tense up and placed his senses on full alert. He reached for his wand and silently crept to the open doorway separating the two rooms when he heard a whisper.

"Brittany? Brit, are you there?" came a female voice that sounded slightly familiar.

"Told you it was one window down," another voice whispered. Isabelle. Phillip knew her lilting accent anywhere. "Anyway, I told you this was a bad idea. Let's get out of here."

"And go where?" Sarah Lindsay asked sensibly. "You don't want to go back home, and we're certainly not going to my apartment. We could go to Dad's place, but you're not talking to Jake, so that's out, as well as Thomas' place. Where else do we have to go?"

"Anywhere but here," Isabelle pleaded.

"Yeah, well, it's raining and I'm tired. So get your bony butt inside already. We'll dry off, have a nice cup of hot chocolate, and maybe watch some TV. You have to catch me up on all the wizard programs, remember?"

"But--"

"What's going on?" Brittany yawned, flicking on a lamp.She took one look at Isabelle, chilled to the bone and chattering, and rushed to the family room to fetch a blanket, nearly knocking over Phillip in the process. "Hey, bring me a blanket."

He attempted to protest, not wanting to get mixed up in any more Isabelle drama, but Brittany disappeared back into the dining room before he could say anything. Sighing, he summoned his personal favorite blanket, knelt beside Isabelle, and kindly wrapped it around her shoulders. Feeling quite magnanimous, he began a hasty retreat to the kitchen.

"Thank you," Isabelle whispered, stopping him dead in his tracks.

"You're welcome," he replied shortly, forcing his feet to walk away from her. He refused to look like a lovesick fool in front of his baby sister and his brother's girlfriend. As he closed the door between the rooms, Phillip made the mistake of looking at Isabelle one last time. Her brokenhearted eyes bore into his.

"He's gone," she said listlessly. "My Harry's gone. Happy now?"

"Ecstatic."

Isabelle emitted a small angry cry at Phillip's sarcastic response, dropped the blanket around her ankles, and threw herself at him. "You'll pay for that, you heartless--"

Sarah Lindsay gasped as Isabelle's body went completely limp. With a wry half-smile, Phillip neatly caught her in his arms before she hit the ground and winked at the other two girls.

"She's just stunned," he explained to a horror-stricken Sarah Lindsay. "I'm thinking she needs to sleep it off."

"Sleep what off? Losing everything she knew in one day? Somehow I doubt that a good night's sleep will--"

"It couldn't hurt," Phillip said firmly, interrupting Sarah Lindsay. "I'll take her home. Want a ride?"

The petite blonde emphatically from side to side. "No, I'd really rather not go home, thank you."

He smiled sympathetically before Apparating with Isabelle to the apartment complex. Eager to be rid of her, he rushed through the hallways and curtly knocked on her apartment door. While he waited for an answer, he wondered how he always became mixed up in Isabelle's problems.

-----

Isabelle angrily kicked a rock down the sidewalk, keeping her gaze downturned as she shuffled home from school. Because of her recent absences, she had to stay late in order to keep up with her schoolwork, especially in home economics. She checked her watch and quickened her pace. Severus expected her home at five o'clock, sharp, and would be angry if she arrived late.

Part of her didn't really care about Severus' ire. Inside, she felt hollow, deadened, and completely uncaring about the world around her. But she knew that her guardian had the ability to make her life even more miserable, if that was possible. Once she arrived home with Harry, Severus instantly placed her on every restriction imaginable.

Including no more dance lessons. Nothing pierced her very core as much as having the one stable thing in her life taken from her. She longingly pictured her Sugar Plum fairy costume. Telling her instructor that she could no longer be in the Nutcracker broke her heart.

When she arrived at the apartment complex, she dropped her heavy bookbag and winter coat. Using the railing as a barre, she stretched out and began dancing her solo. She lost herself in an imaginary world of beauty, and dance, until a pair of hands stopped her mid-arabesque.

"What do you want?" she seethed crossly, staring at an overly cheery Phillip. "Well? Are you going to say something, or just stun me again like last night?"

"Haven't decided," he shrugged. "Hey, come with me for a minute? There's something I want to show you."

"There's nowhere I want to go with you, Phillip Spence. Ever. And please don't speak to me again. The very sight of you disgusts me." She turned up her nose haughtily.

"Fine, I'll make you a deal. One minute of your time; that's all I ask. And after that, if you want me to, I'll never bother you again. How's that?"

Isabelle crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes. "You have exactly one minute before I'm late for my curfew. So make it quick."

"All right." Phillip walked up the stairs to the second floor, leading her to her own apartment door. "After you."

"You want to show me something in my own apartment?"

"Yes," he said simply.

She frowned, but opened the front door, planning to kick him out immediately and barricade herself in her room for the rest of the evening. To that end, she stormed past Severus and into her bedroom. She stopped mid-stride and stared. A tiny figure lay sleeping on the bed, covered by her sister Lily's old patchwork quilt.

"Is that--" Isabelle gasped, falling to her knees beside the bed and tenderly brushing a stray lock of hair from Harry's peaceful face. She turned around, brightly smiling at Severus, who was hovering in the hallway. "Oh, thank you. Thank you so much."

"Thank him." Severus nodded his head towards Phillip.

"I don't understand," she puzzled, standing up.

"Last night, after he brought you home, that is, we had a bit of a talk, Phillip and I," Severus rambled. "And I realized that maybe I'd been a bit harsh with you."

"A bit?" Isabelle snorted, as her guardian sheepishly looked at the floor. She rather enjoyed this side of him, seeing him lose his carefully guarded composure.

"A bit," Severus repeated. "Truth is, you're a good kid. And if you want a holiday with your nephew, well, that's not so unrealistic, considering. That is, if you're willing to play by the rules from now on."

She threw her arms around him. "Oh, I will! I promise. I'll be a model of responsibility. Oh, Severus, thank you!"

"It's only until the New Year. And just this year," he warned, in a serious tone. "And you're still on restriction."

Isabelle grinned like a Cheshire cat as Severus made a hasty retreat. Underneath his caustic exterior, he was a softie, and she knew it. She rushed back to Harry, sitting beside him on the bed, debating what she should say to Phillip exactly.

"Thank you," she said hesitantly, looking at him through inquisitive eyes. He nodded, looking equally uncomfortable. "Not a problem. Merry Christmas, Isabelle."

"Happy Christmas," she replied, biting her lip as he turned to leave. "Phillip, wait? Can we talk?"

"You don't owe me anything. Just take care of yourself, ok?"

"Why'd you do this?" she wondered quietly. Phillip paused, and looked her squarely in the eyes.

"You're the first real friend Brittany's ever had," he explained. "My sister wasn't exactly popular at Spotswood, and it always made me mad when people made fun of her. You stood up for her. So, one good turn deserves another."

Isabelle blinked indignantly, standing up and getting in Phillip's face angrily. "I stood up for her because she's an amazing person. That's what friends do where I come from, and I don't need a reward for it. Brit's friendship is more than enough. So bugger off already."

"Bugger off?" The corners of his eyes crinkled in amusement. "What on earth does that mean? Speak English."

"I am speaking English."

"American, then."

"In context," Isabelle said in her best teaching-style voice, "the phrase 'bugger off' meant to take your lovely noble words and shove them where the sun don't shine while retreating to your disgusting hovel of an apartment, taking your noble high horse with you."

"Brilliant translation. I thank you, ma'am, and on that note, my high horse and I will take our leave." He affected a low bow.

She smiled shyly, shuffling her feet. "You can stay for a while if you like, as long as the high horse leaves. I like you a lot better without it. It's almost time for tea, if you'd like to stay."

"Tea?" he frowned, pretending not to understand.

"Dinner," she giggled.

"I can't, but how about a raincheck?" Phillip asked slowly, a plan forming in his mind. "For, say, tomorrow?"

"Sure."

"Great, I'll pick you up at seven. Be sure to wear your dancing shoes."

"What do you mean?" Her eyes flew open, wondering what he'd tricked her into.

"You're my date for the soccer banquet tomorrow. It's this huge dinner party, but you're used to those things, being related to the Potters and all," he said innocently, as she fell straight into his trap.

"But--"

"Yeah, you're right," Phillip interrupted. "It'd probably bore you. And I'd already have a date, but I've been so busy studying and looking for you...But, it's no big deal. I'll go alone."

Isabelle felt absolutely terrible, realizing how her recent actions had negatively impacted people's lives. "No, I'd be honored to go with you," she said quietly, wanting to make amends for being so selfish. "But I thought you hated me."

"Likewise," he admitted, dropping his bravado.

"I don't hate you. I hate myself when I'm around you." Her shoulders slumped sadly, as her voice dropped to a whisper. "You bring out the worst in me, and I don't know why. Maybe it's because I'm afraid."

"Afraid of what?" His heart thumped wildly, skipping a few beats as he waited for her nearly inaudible answer.

"Of you."

"Don't be. I won't hurt you again. Isabelle--" his voice trailed off, catching in his throat.

"Yes?"

"I'll see you tomorrow," Phillip said hastily, Disapparating before saying something foolish, like that he loved her.

-----

"Are you sure that you can babysit Harry tonight?" Isabelle asked Sarah Lindsay for the tenth time, looking concerned. She dearly loved her nephew, but he was quite a handful. Especially after being forced to 'behave' for Petunia for so long.

"Yes," she sighed, rolling her eyes. "We're going to have fun tonight, aren't we, Harry?"

The little boy looked up from a picture book he was idly flipping through. "Yup. Hot chocolate."

"That's right. We're going with Thomas for hot chocolate. What else are we doing?" Sarah Lindsay asked, impressed with his memory.

"Shopping for Aunt Is-belle's present. And looking at pretty lights," he rattled off. "You can't come, Aunt Is-belle. Present is a surprise. Where are you going?"

"On my very first real American date," she replied apprehensively. "I'm going to dinner with Phillip."

Harry sat up and crawled into Isabelle's lap. "He thinks you're the prettiest girl ever."

"Does he now?" Isabelle laughed. "And how do you know that?"

"He told me," Harry said, with a surprisingly wicked grin, considering his age. "You tattletale!" she exclaimed, tickling her nephew until he was nearly out of breath. "Was that a secret?"

Sarah Lindsay snorted. "Oh, come on. I think everyone knows how poor Phillip feels about you. He's pathetic. The question is, how do you feel about him?"

"It's complicated."

"What's so complicated? You're single, he's single. You've already, well, you know..."

"Exactly!" Isabelle exclaimed. "What if he has, um, expectations? Because he and I, that was a really random, stupid thing to do, and I'm just not ready for that sort of relationship. Not right now, anyway. But why else would he ask me out if he didn't want to..."

"You're overanalyzing. Just get ready, go out, have a good time, and take things one step at a time," her friend said soothingly.

Isabelle flopped on her bed dramatically, propping her head up on her left elbow. "See, there's um, another problem. I don't have a party dress."

"I don't believe that!" Sarah Lindsay snorted. "As many clothes as you have? Please."

"No, it's true," she said earnestly, handing Harry a stuffed panda bear to play with.

"You don't have a single dress? Nothing at all suitable?"

"Only one. But, Phillip's seen it before," Isabelle sighed, walking to her closet. She reached into the very back, pulling out an iridescent coral ballgown. After freshening and pressing the delicate fabric with a few flicks of her wand, she hung it up on the front of the closet door. "So, what do you think?"

Sarah Lindsay whistled through her teeth. "That's gorgeous. Who cares if he's seen it before? Besides, boys don't remember that stuff anyway. Bet you have matching shoes and everything."

"Yeah. They were a gift." From Sirius, she thought.

"From Uncle Sir-us," Harry exclaimed, bouncing the bear up and down on the bed. Isabelle eyed her nephew warily.

"Yes, and do you know who gave me this wrap?" she asked, wrapping a heavy beaded scarf around Harry playfully.

"Mummy?" he guessed, his fingers immediately reaching for the beaded tassels.

"Nope," Isabelle answered merrily, styling the wrap like a turban around his small head. "Your daddy did. To say he was sorry for being a git."

"Why was he bad?" Harry looked horrified.

"He wasn't bad, love. Just...being a stupid male."

"Oh, now I have to hear this story." Sarah Lindsay raised an eyebrow.

"It's a long story," Isabelle shrugged.

"Excuse me? I've been a really good sport about this you-being-someone-supposedly-dead thing. All I'm asking for is one little, teeny story about your family. Is that too much to ask, to tell your bestest friend ever--"

"Ok! You win!" Isabelle practically screamed, covering her ears with her hands. Sarah Lindsay grinned triumphantly, sitting back on the pillows and folding her hands in her lap.

"Good. Now get to talking."