CHAPTER 31

"Just give us hint!" Fred pleads. "C'mon, there had to be a reason!"

I sigh. For the past half hour, the Weasley twins have been bombarding me with questions about Draco and what happened over the Christmas holiday. Each time, I give them a vague answer, but they are very persistent. "Family problems," I say again. "There's nothing that can be done about it."

"Family problems?" George asks. "Like what? You can't just leave it like that!"

"Oh, I can and I will." I take a gulp of my water. "He and I are over, and there's no desire to ever be together again. The family problems were that bad."

"Just tell me this one thing," Fred says. "Who ended it?"

"I've told you this so many times!" This part of the conversation is the only part that angers me. "Neither of us 'ended' it. It just . . . came to an end. It was mutual."

"But there's gotta be a reason!" George argues.

"Not beyond that, there isn't." I look around, wondering when Tonks will show up. I don't even know what she looks like. "Seriously though. Listen. It was mutual. It came to an end. Nothing can be done about it. We'll never date again. We're still on . . . semi-cordial terms."

"'Cordial' terms with Malfoy?" Fred scoffs. "You can't be serious. You've gotta know what he's actually like by now surely."

The memory of Draco cornering me to ask about the D.A. comes to mind. "Of course I realize what he's actually like. But . . . he's in my House, you know? If I make an enemy of him, I make an enemy of basically all of the other Slytherins—with the exception of a handful. They've known Draco for five years and seem to fawn over him. They've only known me for a few months. I can't be alone like that. I can't go back to that again."

"You won't be alone," Fred says. "You'll have the sensible Slytherins. You'll have the D.A. You're in a school with hundreds of students, and you're afraid of being alone?"

"Yes. Because I know what it's like to be alone."

They watch me carefully for a moment. "Where were you before Hogwarts? Durmstrang had hundreds of students as well. How were you alone?" Fred asks, his gaze intent.

I smile sadly. "I can't really answer that, not without endangering you both."

"Well, now I'm curious," George says, leaning slightly closer to me, resting his head in his hand.

"I'll tell you eventually. Maybe. I can't run out of interesting details about myself so soon in the friendship."

Fred looks like he's about to say something else when George suddenly asks, "What's Tonks doing here?" My head jerks to where he is looking at a woman with bubblegum pink hair standing at the entrance. George waves to her, and I find myself smiling at how cheery she looks. Surely someone this bubbly-looking won't be quick to turn against me because of my parentage. "Tonks! Over here!"

She approaches us. "Wotcher?"

"Trying to coax secrets from our new friend," Fred says. "What're you doing here?"

"I'm here to meet someone." Her friendly spirit is infectious, and I can't help but feel happier when she talks, my nerves slowly dissipating by just being around her. "Have either of you seen a Charlotte Rodgers?"

"This is her right here," Fred says while pointing at me. Then he looks me in the eye. "You didn't tell me it was Tonks you were meeting!"

"Charlotte?" She offers her hand, and I readily accept it. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

"You too. How do you know Fred and George?"

"Family friends," she says.

"But the real question is: How do you two know each other?" Fred asks us.

"Long story." Then she sits down beside George, across from me, and says to the twins, "Can you give us a minute?" Watching us suspiciously for a moment, they nod and leave the Three Broomsticks. Only after the door is closed does Tonks look back at me. "You look like her."

"I noticed that when the Ministry released their pictures. I didn't notice when we met in person."

"Do you have any proof other similar appearances?"

I can't really blame her for being skeptical. "Well, there's this." I show her my wand and explain to her what Ollivander told me about it being made from the same dragon heart as Bellatrix's wand had been.

She doesn't seem convinced. "Got anything else?" I should have expected that, really.

"One thing." I hand her Uncle Alphard's pocket watch. "It was Alphard Black's," I explain. "He watched after me for a short while before putting me in an orphanage under the cover of Charlotte Rodgers. He left me a letter, and when I got it and left the orphanage, I went to his home. This was one of the only things left."

"I spoke with my mother. She said that Bellatrix had a daughter who died."

"Bellatrix believed I was dead. She was just as shocked as I when it came out that I was—that I am—Aurelia."

"What was her reaction?" she asks me, still examining the watch.

"Anger, shock, disbelief. Hatred." I swallow. "Jealousy."

Tonks looks up rather quickly. "Jealousy?" she repeats. "Wasn't she the least bit . . . happy to know her daughter was alive?"

I shake my head. "She would have preferred me dead . . . she offered to do so herself."

"What was she jealous of?" Tonks hands the pocket watch back to me.

I look around and say in a low whisper, "Is there somewhere a little more private where we can talk?"

She looks at me for a moment before saying, "Yes. I'll Apparate with you to my parents' house. Neither of them is there right now, so you won't be overwhelmed with a load of people asking tons of questions. Of course, you might have to explain why you left Hogsmeade if they question you."

"They won't know."

"If you're under seventeen, the Ministry will detect it."

I shake my head. "Trust me, Tonks, I've been performing magic for the last five years without the Ministry knowing. And I'll explain that when we're not around people."

She nods. "Then let's step outside."

Tonks and I leave the Three Broomsticks, passing Hermione and Luna as they enter. Tonks and Hermione say a quick hello before we all carry on with our respective plans. Once we're behind the Three Broomsticks, Tonks offers me her arm, and we Apparate.

The two of us are suddenly standing in a room roughly half the size of the Slytherin common room. It's extremely homey, and I'm suddenly unspeakably envious that Tonks got to grow up here while I was in an orphanage and in caves, borrowed homes, and any other secluded area. Brown sofas sit atop soft, tan carpet, a few multi-colored blankets thrown over the backs of them. Candles and the sunlight from the open windows brighten the house. It just . . . feels so comfortable here. Tonks and I sit down on one of the sofas. If Tonks' mother knew of my existence, would she have let me live alone the way I did?

"Now," she says, "what is Bellatrix jealous of?"

I don't really know why I want to tell her this. After all, I hardly know her. What if she can't be trusted? The truth will explain much of why you were running, Charlotte. Of why you've been missing for so long. Of why Voldemort wanted you hidden from all of the records. Just tell her. You know you want to. Besides, what's the harm in having a few more witches and wizards in your corner before Voldemort calls upon you? "I'm only telling you this because McGonagall and Dumbledore seem to trust you and because it'll help me explain other things." I exhale. "She's jealous of my duty to Voldemort."

Her face darkens. "You implied in your letter that you were against You-Know-Who."

"I am against him!"

Tonks watches me closely, still very unconvinced. "Then what is this duty to him?"

I look down at my hands, wringing my fingers together. "Voldemort chose me when I was just a baby—I have no choice, I need you to understand that." I force my eyes to meet hers. "He chose me . . . He chose—he chose me to-to have"—I close my eyes, nauseated, then open them and force out—"to bear him a child."

Tonks pales, her eyes now full of compassion rather than doubt. "And Bellatrix wants that position herself? That's why she's jealous?"

I nod. "And I would gladly give it to her if it were possible." I look away from her compassion-filled eyes. "But it's not in the cards for me." My next question falls out of my mouth before I have a chance to stop it. "Do you think—do you think Harry will be able to stop him again?" I regret the pathetic sound in my voice.

"I believe so. I really do."

"There's no way to get you out of it?"

"He sent me to Hogwarts to be watched over, to learn to defend myself in case anyone finds out what he wants me to do." She doesn't seem surprised that Voldemort has someone watching me at Hogwarts, which seems suspicious. Why wouldn't she ask that? "I don't think he'll change his mind."

She nods solemnly. "Well, if Professors Dumbledore and McGonagall know what's going on, I'm sure there's a plan to hide you."

I don't want to put too much faith in getting out of my duty to Voldemort, so I don't let my mind roam with that sort of hope. "The article about the Death Eaters breaking out of Azkaban—"

"Which was obviously delayed," Tonks adds with a smile.

"Very delayed. It said that Sirius was involved."

"He wasn't," Tonks says firmly. "He has always been—and will always be—against He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. He would never have freed them."

"Good," I say quietly. Silence descends on us.

"You said the Ministry doesn't know you perform magic, even though you're underage. How?"

"From what I gathered from Dumbledore, someone has magically taken my name out of the records—it's as if I truly died. The Ministry has no current record of me. Aurelia Lestrange is dead, and Charlotte Rodgers does not exist."

"How did that happen?"

"Dumbledore seems to think Voldemort had something to do with it. He wanted me kept a secret. Though why he kept that from Bellatrix, I'm not sure."

She gives me a slight nod. "And where have you been all of these years?"

"I was placed in an orphanage until I turned ten, when I learned that I'm a witch. I left to find Alphard, but he was already dead. After that, I just began living in Muggle homes when the families were away and . . . other places that were vacant . . ."

"Charlotte," she says sadly. "Had we known . . . That's no way for a child to live . . ."

"Narcissa, surprisingly, said the same thing. Quite a few people have said that to me, actually." I look away from her and swallow the lump in my throat. "But what's done is done, and it made me who I am today. So I guess I wouldn't change things." That's not entirely true though. No matter who my mother is, if I could have grown up with her, I don't know . . . I miss what I never had in regards to that. But I can't even tell anyone that because my mother is a Death Eater who tortured people to insanity. And what kind of person does it make me that I wish I could have grown up with her? "Could you do me a favor?"

"Sure."

"Could you tell your parents—and Sirius, too, if you can—about me? Not the duty to Voldemort; I don't think I can handle too many people knowing that right now. But could you tell them about me being against Voldemort? I want my family to know that I stand with them in this. I want them to know that I'm on their side."

"Yes."

"Do you think it'd be possible for me to meet them?"

She averts her eyes from mine. "From what McGonagall has told me—well, you might stand a chance of meeting them. If Dumbledore thinks it's a good idea."

Unwilling to continue that conversation because of the discomfort inching through me, I change the subject and say, "I hope you don't take offense to this, but . . . what's with the bubblegum hair?"

"I'm a Metamorphmagus!" My face drops, and she must take this as me wondering what that is, for she says, "it's where I can—"

"I know what it is," I interrupt her without thinking, unable to stop the smile that comes to my face unbidden. "I was just surprised—I've never met another one before."

"Another one? You're a Metamorphmagus?"

"Yeah, but no one else knows. It's how I've managed to blend in over the years."

Tonks smiles. "I'll keep it to myself."

I then stand to leave, because it's probably about time I head back anyway, and she says, "It was nice to meet you, Charlotte. It's good to know that the House of Black is still fighting against You-Know-Who every day."

I put my hand on her arm. "Thank you for . . . for listening—for not hating me because of what I must do."

Tonks Apparates me back to Hogsmeade, then leaves. This is the happiest I've been since the Christmas holidays. Things are finally beginning to look up for me. I head back to Hogwarts with a smile that cannot be suppressed. Not even the fact that it's Valentine's Day and I'm spending it without Draco can make me stop smiling.

Even so, I don't want to risk anyone ruining this new emotional high that I'm on, so I go straight for the library. I don't want to chance certain Slytherins being in the dungeons, which leaves the library as my best choice to avoid people. I want to take this time to imagine all the ways that my life might begin to look up. Perhaps being the daughter of Bellatrix Lestrange is not as awful as I feared because it has led me to the Tonkses.

I push the library door open to find that there are more little first- and second-years sitting around in here than I would have imagined, at least twelve. This isn't how I wanted to spend my time—I wanted to process all of this without the prying eyes of other students—so I move past them to go to one of the window seats. Hogwarts, despite how depressing the place has been since Christmas, is still a wondrously beautiful place.

But as I turn the corner to sit down, this light happiness in my heart plummets. They don't see me, but I see them. And it hurts worse than I thought it would. I thought they were in Hogsmeade. Standing against one of the bookshelves is none other than Pansy and Draco. And even from this angle, I can see her body pressed against his, and his lips attacking hers.

My breath catches in my throat, and I dart from the library, making sure not to look at anyone. Before I know it, I'm running through the corridors of Hogwarts, but I don't know where to go. The walls are closing in on me, and the floor is falling beneath my feet. Bitter cold overwhelms me.

It's been two months since Draco and I had to end things. Our relationship collapsed the second day of the Christmas holidays, and even though we didn't make it official until he got back to Hogwarts, we had both known that we were over. I just . . . I don't understand why this hurts me so badly. Probably because it's Pansy Parkinson that he's kissing. She'll no doubt give me grief about it. I don't want to deal with any of this.

I lean against the stone wall, trying to catch my breath, trying to expel this sorrow from my chest, then sink to the floor. I'm just as alone as I was before I came here. It was foolish to think that would ever change. I was completely wrong about nothing ruining the joy Tonks had given me. Draco ruined it. Burying my face into my hands, I let myself cry for a moment, my breaths becoming choppy. It's stupid to cry over this—I know that—but it's not like I had much experience having everything and then losing it. I never had anything until Draco.

Fire burns in my throat and through my veins. How could this have happened? Voldemort has ruined everything. Had he not chosen me, I could still be living in Muggle homes and teaching myself magic. I would never have met Draco, would never have fallen in love with him, would never have suffered learning that he's my cousin.

Adrenaline rushes through me, and I take off running again, not really sure about my direction or plans. I'm just letting my feet carry me, letting my subconscious control me, hoping it's trying to find somewhere secluded so I can push down these thoughts and feelings that I really shouldn't have anyway. "Where are you going?" I hear a high-pitched, extremely girly voice ask me. Not wanting to talk to some little first- or second-year, I keep running, trying to find a place to wallow for a while. I want to hurt Pansy Parkinson.

I stop in front of a door and start knocking, not truly registering where I am because my mind is so fuzzy with thoughts of Draco, Bellatrix, Voldemort—so, really, anything that causes me pain. It's like my mind is pulling up every sad memory I've ever had, from reading Alphard's letter, to finding Alphard's dead body, to seeing Mrs. Stoico's death, to running for my life, to being hunted and chased by Lucius Malfoy. Memories pour into my mind like the blood pouring out of my torn heart.

The door opens. Through my blurry vision, I see Professor McGonagall. "Rodgers?" she asks me. It's then that I realize what I must look like. I can only imagine the disheveled features, the blotchy face from crying, the red eyes, the smeared makeup. "What are you doing here?"

I take a deep, calming breath. "C-can I—can I come in?"

McGonagall nods and steps aside so I can enter. "What's happened?" she asks me, closing the door. She puts her hand on my shoulder and leads me to the same chair I sat in the last time I came in here with a problem.

Again, I take a calming breath and fight back my tears. Draco and Pansy aren't worth my pain. I just want to get control over my feelings and then relay to McGonagall my conversation with Tonks. That'll keep me plenty distracted until I can retreat to the dungeons and go to sleep for a while to put this whole mess out of my mind. "Nothing important," I say, calming myself down. "Just give me a second." I take another deep breath. Then I wipe my eyes and smile broadly at her. "I just got back from meeting Tonks, and I think it went well. She—"

A knock at the door interrupts me. McGonagall's lips thin with what looks like frustration. She closes her eyes as if praying for patience before granting permission for the person to enter. Umbridge pushes the door open and walks in. "Do you need something, Dolores?" McGonagall asks.

"I believe Charlotte Rodgers is in here," she says. It's the same little voice I heard while running to McGonagall's office.

"Do you need her?" McGonagall asks.

"I do."

I take one more deep breath and will myself to calm down, then stand and face her. In a voice much stronger than I would have imagined possible, I ask, "Yes, Professor Umbridge?"

"When I ask a student where they are going," Umbridge says to me in a cold voice, "I expect an answer. Do I make myself plain?"

"Yes, Professor."

Umbridge takes a seat in the back of the room. "Do you need something?" McGonagall asks her.

"Miss Rodgers seemed oddly upset to be asking you a question about Transfiguration, Minerva. According to the Educational Decree Number Twenty-Six, teachers are forbidden to discuss topics with students other than the subjects that they are paid to teach."

"Right you are, Professor. Though I am upset, I was not coming here to discuss why with Professor McGonagall. I had questions about Conjuration and why it is considered part of Transfiguration and not a branch of magic of its own. But I suddenly feel as if I cannot stomach any schoolwork, so perhaps I will save my questions for a later time—when I am not so obviously upset about something else. I'll just be going now. I apologize for wasting your time, Professor McGonagall. Professor Umbridge."

The two professors watch me silently as I leave the room, neither making a move to stop me.

I close the door and release a deep breath, laughter bubbling in my chest at having found a way to stop Umbridge from whatever lecture she was about to give me. I quickly set off toward the dungeon, breaking into a run when I hear McGonagall's door open again and fear I might have to speak with Umbridge. When I turn the corner and slam into a thick body and topple to the stone floor, taking the human wall with me. "I'm sorry."

"Do you always run people over, or is it just a habit you've made when you greet me?" Fred Weasley asks me.

I smile at him. "It's not on purpose, I swear."

"No worries, I was Beater for the Gryffindor Quidditch team. I can take a hit," he says, pushing to his feet. I follow suit and try to get around him. "Malfoy again?"

I look up at him. "What?"

"It looks like you've been crying," he says. "Last time I saw you cry was the first day back from the Christmas holidays. When you and Malfoy were talking."

"Oh . . ." Heat flushes my face as I wipe my cheeks and around my eyes in a poor attempt to hide my emotions.

"Nothing to be ashamed of."

"Where're George and Lee?" I ask him, trying to change the subject while I continue trying to remove the remnants of my tears.

"Off trying to sell some of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. Wanna see some?"

"Later." We begin walking in the same direction, but I'm not sure where we're going.

"Are you sure you'll be all right?" he asks me quietly.

"From the fall? Please, I've experienced far worse."

"Good to hear. But I meant, will you be all right about Malfoy?" Fred takes my shoulder and forces me to look at him. "You deserved better than him anyway. Like I said, he's a tool."

"Thanks, Fred."

"Take this." He hands me a box. "It's one of our Skiving Snackboxes." He opens it and shows me one of them. "Eat this half, and it'll make you ill so you can get out of class. Then eat this one, and it'll make you all better so you can do whatever you want."

"How much?" I ask.

"It's on the house, for dumping Malfoy," he chuckles. "I hope you did it ruthlessly."

"Thanks, but like I've said—it was mutual."

"Well, if he agreed to let you go, he's a right fool. I hope he's hurting." He grins at me. "But you certainly don't deserve to be in pain over him. He's not worth it."

Something about what he says makes me feel better. Sure, he doesn't know the truth of why Draco and I ended things, but I feel that in this short conversation Fred has helped me more than he knows. Maybe it's because he cut down Draco, and that's all I really need right now. I close the Skiving Snackbox and smile at him. "Thanks." He's still smiling at me, and before he has a chance to reply, something takes over me. I reach up and kiss Fred Weasley. He stiffens for a moment, then relaxes and wraps his arms around my waist to pull me closer to him.