Somehow, they had figured it out. Her face was now plastered in the Daily Prophet, on the walls of shops, even in muggle newspapers and on their televisions. They were onto her; they knew that she had the children. She still hadn't decided what to do with them. Annica and Andrew… they were hers. She could take them and run. It was her right. She was their mother, she had felt them kick in her stomach, she had given birth to them. Not Hermione. Not that… that stupid, frizzy haired bookworm who'd stolen his heart from her just as easily as she'd stolen the children's hearts.

But the little one. Rose, or whoever, she was not Lavender's. Rose belonged strictly to Hermione and Ron. She had first taken the little girl as a way to get back at Ron. It was only after she had seen the child, small and scared and crying, that she had realized how wrong she had been. Maybe she had a right to take Annica and Andrew, but she didn't have any right to Rose. Maybe she could leave the little girl somewhere. Someone would recognize her and return her.

For Annie and Andrew, she had a plan. She would cut Annie's hair, and Andrew's. She could charm it darker, browner, charm their eyes a different color as well. She could change it, and modify their memories. She would do it well this time. No. She would replace their memories. The charms could easily be removed and broken, but if they were in another country, and they didn't look anything like they had while they were here… Maybe she could get away with it. She could have her babies back.

She stares at her reflection in the cracked mirror. Her hair is a mess, her eyes are slightly wild, and she smiles to herself as she reaches for her lip gloss. Before long, she will look like herself again. And she'll have her babies. She'll give Rose back. Rose doesn't know Lavender's name, and is only four. And by they time they find a way to track her, Lavender and her children will be long gone. She starts laughing.

Lavender is laughing again. Annica can hear her. She laughs a lot, but it is insane laughter. It isn't the happy laughter of her mother, or of her father. It is hysterical laughter. Rosie is in her lap, and Annica strokes her hair lightly. Annica and Rose look much alike. Their hair is the same shade of red, though Rose's hair is a bit more bushy, like their mother's. They have the same freckle pattern as well. Both of them have blue eyes. Andrew has blue eyes too. But Andrew… now that she looks at him, she can see it. He looks more like Lavender than she does. She wonders what her Daddy thinks when he looks at Andrew.

It's late, Annica can see this. The sun has been down for what seems like forever. The three children are on the bed. Annica is sitting with her back to the wall, Rose is curled up in her lap. Andrew is at the foot of the bed, curled into a ball. Annica can see the mark on his face, though it's faded slightly. Annica doesn't know what will happen, but Andrew needs to learn to simply go along with it. He needs to stop denying that their mother isn't biologically their mother. It only makes Lavender mad. Annica can see that the woman is unstable.

How would Andrew have taken it if this had never happened? When their Daddy told him about Lavender, would he still have said it wasn't true? Would he still deny it? Annica thinks so. He and his mother are close. She and her Daddy have always been closer than she and her mother. Or, the woman who counts as her mother. Andrew wouldn't like to think that Hermione wasn't really his mother. Annica can see that no matter what, she is.

Rose starts crying, and Annica shushes her hurriedly. Lavender doesn't like crying. Not even from four year olds who are scared and miss their Mummy and Daddy. Annica wonders how they're getting out of here.

Andrew is not sleeping, though his sister thinks he is. He can't sleep. His mind is reeling. He's come to accept it now, though he wouldn't at first. His mother is not really his mother. His mother is the crazy woman who smells and hits him. How is that possible? He had always thought that his mother was the woman who smiled and smelled of sugar cookies, who slept in the same bed as his Daddy and kisses him goodnight. He had always thought that this mother was the woman who dresses up and then blushes when Daddy says that she looks nice. He had always thought his mother was the woman who sang him to sleep, who holds him, who fixes his scrapes. Apparantly, he was wrong.

Annica never had any trouble believing it. From the very beginning, Annica called the crazy woman Mum, or mother. Annica smiles at her, and it makes him mad. Then, Rose came. The crazy woman got Rosie too, and Annica, that traitor, has been taking care of her. Even now, Rosie is cuddled up in Annica's lap. Andrew wants to scream, to pull Rose away from his big sister. He's worried that Annica's caught whatever disease is making the woman crazy, and that Rose will catch it. But he doesn't want Rose to cry and get hurt, so he does nothing.

The sun is rising on their third week here.

It's dark. She wants her Mummy. She wants her Daddy. She wants her purple blankie. She wants Mr. Moo Moo. Annie is here. Annie is holding her. Annie smiles and says it's okay. Andy doesn't talk to Annie, and Rose doesn't understand why. But it's nice to see them again. It's dark, and Annie shushes her as she starts to cry for her Mummy. Someone is laughing, but it's scary laughing. She doesn't like it. She doesn't like the cracked window, or the creaky floorboards, or the dust. Her house is never this dirty. Her Mummy cleans it. She sticks her thumb in her mouth, and crawls off of Annie's lap, over to Andy.

He reaches out and grabs her quickly, and she squirms. She wants to go back to Annie now. Annie's bigger, and the scary lady doesn't hurt her. Andy gets hurt all the time. Rose can see the mark. She smiles at him, and kisses his cheek as his grip relaxes. She kisses the mark again, and then smiles. "All better!" she announces. "Kisses make owies better. Mummy says so, right Andy?" And then Andy does a funny thing. He looks at Annie strangely, like he's angry, and then he nodes. "Yes she does."

And outside the cracked window, a bird is singing.