Chapter 2
Hope sat up abruptly. "What?" she said loudly, causing a few heads to turn and glare.
"Your mother – your real mother – is Ginevra Weasley."
It's the fever, she's not thinking straight, Hope thought to herself.
"You were in danger," her mother continued, "so she asked me to take care of you. I'm sorry I had to tell you now, Hope."
Hope shook her head. "How?" she whispered. How could it be?
Her mother gave her hand a slight squeeze. Hope wrenched her hand from hers, finally reacting. "Why didn't you say anything? All those years, and you tell me now?"
"I know, Hope, and I'm sorry," she rasped.
Hope stood, her fists clenched, and turned her back on her. She could feel her mother's eyes on her, watching her walk away with deliberate determination. Hope wanted to turn around; to say it was okay, but she didn't. The news had been dumped so suddenly on her that she didn't know what to do. So she kept walking.
Hope spotted Michael waiting expectantly at the bottom of the staircase. He looked up through his curtain of coppery hair as he saw her descending. "You okay?" he asked, his brow creased with worry.
It was only then that she realised the tears tracking down her cheeks. "I'm fine," she mumbled.
He put a reassuring arm around her, patting her back. Was it true? Could her real mother actually be someone else? Tears threatened to overwhelm her. She pulled herself out of Michaels embrace and turned to leave.
"Hope," he called out after her.
"Leave me alone!" She quickened her pace, as if running would banish the swirling confusion of thoughts in her head. She ran, dodging people and jumping over sleeping bodies. Her legs burned as she pounded up a flight of stairs. Her breath became laboured as she panted for air.
Suddenly, Hope felt herself falling, tripped up by a stretched-out limb. Her hands slapped painfully on the stone-flagged floor as she fell. Several people snickered, but she was too caught up in her thoughts to care. She crawled over to an empty spot near the wall and lay down. Tears streamed down her face, but it was not because of the fall. Could it be? Could Raylene Stewart, her mother for all of her fifteen years, not be her mother? Could her real mother be out there somewhere?
She didn't know what to make of it all. What had she said her supposedly 'real' mothers name was again? Ginevra-something. Ginevra Weasel? Ginevra Weasley? Yes, that was it. Ginevra Weasley. Hope Weasley, she thought to herself. She shook her head. The name sounded unnatural to her. Hope Stewart,she corrected herself. Not Hope Weasley.
She wondered whether Weasley was her mother's maiden name. If it was, who was her father? No, no, what am I thinking? I am Hope Stewart, I am Hope Stewart, I am –
"Congratulations," muttered a sarcastic voice next to her. She realised she had been speaking her thoughts aloud. She shot a glare at the man, bundled up from the cold in red velvet drapes that she guessed had once been the hangings from a four-poster bed. His face was hidden in shadow, underneath his cocoon of draperies.
Hope reached up to flatten her unruly hair, that, despite being clumped with grease, flicked out in every which direction. Bathing was a luxury reserved for once a month, sometimes even longer. Hope always washed herself down with a wet rag every day or two though, unlike some people who didn't even bother that. She could tell by the smell coming from the man next to her that he was one of those people.
Her legs felt like lead, heavy and sore with exhaustion. She had used up all of the meagre energy gained from the porridge. She felt her eyelids droop until she could only see the corridor through a narrow slit. In her last moments of consciousness, she made a decision. Her mother was delirious. She wasn't thinking straight; it was the fever that was making her say all those things. She would just take a quick nap, and see to her once she woke up. Finally, her mind settled, and Hope let the cloudiness of sleep that was clogging her mind envelope her.
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The distant ringing of the clock signalling dinner roused her out of her sleep. Hope peeked through one eye and sat up abruptly. The corridor was dark, but she could make out the sight of huddled figures clutching their bowls of porridge. She hadn't meant to sleep for this long. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a sly hand reaching for the bowl in front of her.
"Hey!" she said, slapping it away.
It was the smelly man from before. He had finally shed his makeshift blankets and she could make out his features in the dim light. His hair, or what was left of it, was a matted mess. He had disturbingly yellow eyes and when he grinned evilly at her, she was awarded with the sight of his rotting teeth, the top two missing all together.
"Well you weren't eating it, I just thought…"
"You haven't even finished yours!" exclaimed Hope, indicating his own bowl of porridge, which he was now hurriedly trying to hide beneath the drapes.
"Greedy pig," she muttered. Hope picked up the bowl, turned away from the man, and began eating. Today was a good day; the porridge was warm. The bowl was empty in a matter of minutes, and she stood, heading towards the direction she thought she had come from.
Okay, don't panic, Hope thought to herself as she turned another corner to face yet another corridor full of people. You are not lost. Just breathe. Something, which seemed a little bit like hysteria, was beginning to rise in her. Hope gave herself a mental kick as she scolded herself for not paying attention to where she was going before. The castle was a big place after all, and, with no portraits to act as landmarks, you could easily get lost.
Hope picked her way through the sleeping bodies, wishing that the corridor had a lamp. The Death Eaters had taken away all the lamps and torches from the castle on that day, years ago, when a group of people had tried to escape using fire to burn down the entrance doors. Not one of them had escaped. Now that the privilege of fire had been taken away, all activity immediately died down after sunset.
Hope then spotted something familiar: a body wrapped in red drapes. Her heart sank. She had been going in circles. She sank down onto the cold floor; defeated. She swallowed past the lump in her throat, willing herself not to cry. She had to get to her mother right away.
"Hope!"
Hope turned at the familiar voice. The dark figure rushing down the corridor soon came into focus. It was Michael.
"I was looking for you everywhere!" he exclaimed, ignoring the calls of 'shut up!'
"I… I got lost," she said, looking down.
"Hope… your mum."
"What about her? She's alright, isn't she?"
He sat down next to her. "She's - " But Hope already knew. She knew by the tone of his voice what had happened. "Dead," he whispered.
Hope covered her gasp with her hand. Tears welled in her eyes and poured down her cheeks. Her sobs came in sharp pulls as she wept. Michael wrapped his arms around her as he let her cry on his shoulder.
"Its all my fault," she sobbed. "I shouted at her, I said stuff I shouldn't of and now…"
"Shhh," whispered Michael, rubbing her back reassuringly. "Its not your fault."
But he didn't know. He didn't know what her mother had told her, how she had reacted, and what she had said. If she just hadn't said those things, would she have survived? Now she would never get to speak to her again. Her body shook with racking sobs as she cried, letting the tears flow freely down her cheeks.
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The next few days passed by in a blur – a blur full of tears and grief, but most of all: guilt. Whenever Hope was sure that she could cry no more, she was proved wrong by another fresh wave of tears. Michael was a real friend; never once giving up on her; always there to comfort her.
It was another typical day after her mother's death. Hope was sitting in her usual spot in the Great Hall with her back against the cold stone wall. The enchanted ceiling now failed to give her that sense of happiness, that sense of freedom she always felt when looking into the sky. She doubted whether she would ever feel happiness again.
Her eyes were red and swollen from crying and her cheeks were wet with tears. She tried to ignore the ravenous hunger clawing at her stomach. Hope didn't notice Michael walking towards her until he stopped right in front, casting a shadow over her. Hope looked up at him in question.
"Here," he said, putting a bowl of warm porridge next to her as he sat down. "You have to eat something."
"I'm not hungry," she said, pushing it away.
"Hope, you haven't eaten in days. You've gotta eat something."
"I'm not hungry," she repeated in the same glum tone.
"Hope, for the last time, your mother's death wasn't your fault!" he cried, lifting his hands up in the air, clearly losing his patience.
Hope stayed silent.
Michael sighed, taking a deep breath and speaking again, his voice hushed. "There's going to be a revolt, Hope."
Hope looked up at him in surprise. "What?"
"A revolt," he repeated. "Tonight. There's this group of people and they're planning a revolt against the Death Eaters. It could be our chance to escape."
Hope shook her head; she knew it would be pointless. The last time a group had tried to escape, they had all been killed. On the spot. Hope had witnessed it.
"It won't work."
Michael's face changed, then. "What's wrong with you?"
"Me?"
"You've changed, Hope. You used to be full of, well ...hope. Remember when we were kids? And you used to always comfort me when I cried, and tell me we would get out of here someday?" Michael shook his head at her. "Where's the Hope I knew?"
"She's gone," she told him flatly.
Michael stood up. "You know what? Forget it. I'm justgoing togo ahead with it, and if you don't want to join in, fine. See if I care." And with that, he turned and was gone. What Hope didn't know was that that was the last time she would ever speak to Michael again.
Please review! (I know you want to). How was this chapter? Did you enjoy it? I know nothing much happened, but tell me what you thought of it.
Thank you soooooo much to those of you who reviewed! Mwah!
Mrs. Radcliffe 13 (Yeah, hehe, I like cliff-hangers), The Female Nerd (Yeah, Hope is beautiful name isn't it? But her name also has relevance to the story, as you can see in the first chapter: Ginny sees her as hope for the future... or thats what I hoped it would sound like), Phyre's child13 (poor you, at the crack of dawn? Yeesh. Must be hard. Well, I hope you passed some time reading this chapter!), aubreysvampiregirl (Glad you like it. And no, Michael is not a Weasley. Although, now that you mention it, he does seem like it), rosiegirl (hope you liked this chapter!), All-knowing Alien (just a normal sickness that comes from living in crowded conditions, didn't really think too much about it), Aussie-Girl3 (thanks! I'm glad you like it), galleena (yeah, I do get what you mean, but I'm too lazy to change it. Thanks for the that, though), SongOfRoland (thanks! Hope you enjoyed this chapter), Danica01 (lol, ok! Glad you like it), Kates Master (I always have computer problems too. If I told you, it would ruin the surprise!), phoenixtear19 (yeah, it is sad. And there's more to come! But don't worry, it has a happy ending), linac428 (ok!), gohan8k (It is original, isn't it? Not mean to be boasting or anything btw. I came up with the idea when I realized that there were no fics with Voldemort winning), Lsquared (thanks!), surf all day and do the hula (thanks! Glad you enjoyed it, hope you liked this one!), Kittels (yes, it was sad. And there's more sadness to come! But it's a happy ending), Luckygurl12 (here's the update that you wanted!), OperaGustus (Hehe, yes I am evil. I just love cliffies), Britney Lauren (No, Michael isn't a Weasley. Now that I go back and read it, he does seem like one. Just between you and me, there is going to be a Weasley in the next chapter. Or maybe the one after that. And the man sitting next to her in the Great Hall wasn't intended to be Snape. And yes it does have something to do with the Room of Requirement), hippie of purple (no, she's not the heroine. I guess you haven't read chapter 2. Thanks for reviewing!), BLACKvWIDOW(thank-you for reviewing! Here's that update you wanted, hope you enjoyed)