CHAPTER 1

With a loud pop!, I land on a dirty street lined with dilapidated, neglected brick houses. It's dark out, the only light coming from the streetlights and the moonlight. "Come on!"

It takes all my willpower not to attack. My wrist is seized, and I am dragged through the streets, nearly stumbling with every step, until we reach the front door of one particular house. Maybe this was not the best idea I've ever had (I tend to have a lot of bad ideas). Maybe I shouldn't have asked. "Let go of me!"

My mother turns to me, fury in her eyes. "You do not give me commands."

I turn my chin up defiantly, though the desired effect is slightly missed since she stands so much taller over me.

"Still bitter about dear Sirius? Or are you angry about your wand?" she asks me with a cackle, her grip on my wrist tightening. "Come along! The faster Malfoy Manor rids itself of you, the better!"

"I know you don't want it to be true, Mother," I say, trying to upset her further, trying to find a way to feel better about how much she hates me, "but I am your daughter, and you should still try to treat me as such."

"My daughter is dead! You are not Aurelia. You will—you will never be Aurelia."

"Except I am." Bellatrix is the only person to whom I admit that at all. I deny it if anyone else brings it up but now throw it in her face as often as I can without risking her killing me. It upsets her, and that brings me a twisted joy, almost makes it bearable that she dislikes me so strongly.

Her lip curls furiously. She takes her frustration out on the front door, banging on it as loudly as possible. A short moment later, it flies open with the irritated mutterings of a man. He tries to speak but is frozen after laying eyes on me and my mother.

I lift my bag into view. "Hello," I say. "Looks like I'm spending the summer here, Professor."

Snape frowns at the two of us. "The Dark Lord's orders," Bellatrix informs him. With her hand on my shoulder, she shoves me forward. I grab the door frame to keep from running into Snape. She addresses him with a simple, "Good luck." Then she watches me for a short moment before placing my wand in my hand. "Enjoy your time in this Muggle dunghill." With that, she Disapparates, leaving me alone with Professor Snape. This has definitely been one of my absolute worst ideas yet. He steps aside to let me in. I enter his home, the place where I will be staying for the rest of the holidays.

Snape closes the front door to his little home on Spinner's End and watches me closely. Neither of us takes a step farther into his house, and neither of us speaks. Perhaps I shouldn't have done this. Sure, it might be slightly better than living in Malfoy Manor with Bellatrix and Voldemort, but was it really worth it? I mean, at least the manor was large enough for me to find different hiding places—this little house surely won't have many places like that.

But I won't go back there to the manor, I just won't. I will not spend my holiday in fear of running into Voldemort. The last thing I want is any domestic setting for the two of us. I will not eat meals with the Dark Lord, I will not catch sight of him under the same roof as me. I will not sleep knowing that he is just a few floors below me.

And that alone makes staying with Snape worth it.

I spin on my foot and walk into Snape's small sitting room, taking in the sight of bookshelves full of black or brown leather-bound books lining the walls and darkening the room, giving it a feeling of neglect. I could easily be back in one of those lonely caves I used to hide in.

Besides the gloomy bookcases, the room contains a tattered sofa behind an old, unstable little table, and a well-worn armchair. Only candles light the tiny room, their flames casting flickering shadows around. Maybe it'll be brighter during the day, but at this rate, it seems fairly unlikely that anything that nice will happen to me. Snape seems like the type to purposefully keep his domain dark so as not to allow too much happiness and warmth into his life.

This place is awful. At face value, Malfoy Manor would be the obviously better choice, but the fact that Bellatrix, Voldemort, and Draco are at the manor makes this little house the safest place for me to be. I give Snape a fake smile and offer a weak lie, "It's nice."

"You could always go back to the manor," he says coldly.

I shake my head and reply in a chipper voice, "Why would I want to do that? I like this place much more. It's much—it's cozier than the manor." He probably knows the real reason I am here but doesn't say anything about it, though I'm surprised he's not taking the opportunity to taunt me about it.

Actually, he's not speaking at all, which is very discomforting, and for the second time in as many minutes, I find myself quietly staring back at Snape, trying to pretend that he does not look homicidal at the current moment. His hand twitches, and I have a sudden fear that he wants to reach for his wand and attack me.

But he doesn't, and we both remain motionless, still staring in silence. Is he waiting for me to say something? Is he trying to make me so uncomfortable that I ask to leave and go back to Malfoy Manor? Well, that certainly won't work. I'll take any amount of discomfort here at Snape's if it keeps me a bit farther from Voldemort. I clear my throat and lift my bag into the air. "Is there anywhere I can put this?"

His lip curls into a snarl, and he starts walking away, which I assume is his answer. We go up a tiny flight of steps and enter a short hallway. There are four doors, two on each side of the hallway, all but one of which are open, and I immediately want to know what's in the closed room.

Across from that closed room is a bedroom that I get a glimpse of before we walk past it. This clearly unused room contains a plush-looking, full-sized bed and a nice bedroom suit, but I don't really have a chance to examine it because Snape is still walking. The last two doors house another bedroom and a bathroom. This bedroom is diagonal from the closed room, and it is the door Snape stops at. Peering inside immediately irritates me—this particular room really contains only a bed, which is against the far right wall, half the size of the bed in the room down the hall, and a small nightstand. I throw my bag down next to it and sit down, grimacing at the sound of creaking. This mattress is almost as hard as the one he forced me to sleep on when he kept me captive in the potions storeroom.

Snape raises his eyebrow at me as I look around my temporary room. No doubt he gave me the worst room to make me want to return to Malfoy Manor, but this won't break me. "What's the empty room down there?" I ask, pointing in the general direction. "It looked better than this one."

He scowls at me, which is exactly what I was hoping for. "It's a vacant room," he says coolly.

"And you didn't put your guest in the better room?" I ask, making sure to sound both surprised and slightly offended.

"You are not a guest. You are a nuisance."

I give him an irritated smile then get up, leaving my bag beside the bed. "Fine then," I say in a sweet voice to impersonate Umbridge that does not impress Snape. "Shall I take a tour myself or will you be showing me around? If I'm going to be staying here, I should know where everything else is, yeah?"

"You are not going to wander around my house," he says firmly.

"So you'll be leading the way then?"

He steps out of the room and points to the bathroom. "The only restroom you are allowed to use." He motions to the empty room. "A room you are not to enter." He skips over the closed room altogether. I reach for the knob when he's not looking, but his hand pounces on my arm and throws it aside. "A room you are not permitted to enter," he says softly. Slightly intimidated though I'd never actually admit that aloud to him, I follow him down the steps. "The sitting room. Do not touch anything that is not yours." Connected to the sitting room, which is at the bottom of the stairs, are the front door, a closed door beside the bookshelves and the fireplace, and an opening directly across from the stairs. He walks through the opening to reveal a tiny, crowded kitchen with a rundown table that only has three mismatched chairs. "Can you cook?"

I inwardly moan, guessing where this is going. "Not really."

"Then you will learn, and that will be how you can make payment for intruding into my home. Cook three meals a day, and your stay here will not be as . . . intolerable for you."

"Are you serious? Can't you cook for yourself? You're the Potions Master. Isn't cooking roughly the same thing? You know, adding ingredients, mixing it exactly how it should be mixed, cooking for the right amount of time?"

"I can cook, but you need to earn your keep," he says, looking at me with dark, intimidating eyes. "I had a something of a servant; Wormtail was his name." Why was Peter Pettigrew serving Snape? "The Dark Lord called him away earlier today." His face becomes annoyed. "Now I see why." Bitterness seeps out of him. "And since it was your fault that he's gone—"

"It was the Dark Lord's orders."

He continues as if I had never spoken, "You are to cook three meals a day. If you are to stay here, it will not be for free." We leave the small kitchen, and he points to the closed door. "An Undetectable Charm that leads to a basement. Usually it's hidden. You are not to touch that door unless I give you permission, understood?" I nod. He points to the only other door in the room as he walks over to it. He wrenches it open—it leads outside. "Where you will go if you do not obey my rules."

I nod again. "Yes, sir." He closes the door and takes a seat in the armchair. Then he blocks himself from my view with a large newspaper. I go to the shelves, searching for a book, my hands running along the leather bindings.

"What are you doing?" he asks me.

I jump and look at him, his newspaper now lowered enough so he can peer over the top of it at me. "Trying to find a book."

"Did I not tell you that you are to touch only the things that are yours?"

"All right then." I go to sit down on the sofa.

"I do not believe that is yours either."

"Where am I supposed to go?" I ask him through my gritted teeth.

"You are free to go to the room I have so graciously lent you."

Rolling my eyes, I sigh and pull Alphard's pocket watch out of my pocket and see that it's nearly noon. I told Fred I wouldn't be able to go to the shop until two. Oh well, I'll just show up early, because I'm definitely not about to stay here with Snape. "I'll be back later," I say to him.

"Leaving already?" he asks.

"For a short while, yeah."

"Where are you going? I'm sure the Dark Lord does not want you roaming about."

"Diagon Alley. And he doesn't care. They didn't stop me before." Until he arrived and they took my wand . . .

"That was at Malfoy Manor. You're no longer there."

"You're right," I answer cheerily. "And I'll make sure to bring something back for you to eat as a thank you." I Apparate to Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes before he can say anything.

I scan the shop for Fred until my eyes land on him. He stands on the second floor. Just seeing him brings a smile to my face. I dodge around shoppers and rush up the stairs. "Fred!"

He turns. "Charlotte!" He makes his way to meet me, weaving his way through his customers.

I wrap my arms around him. "Busy today, aren't you?"

He pulls away. "What?" he asks, his voice is full of false indignation. "You act like we're not always like this! Thought you wouldn't be here 'til later."

"Got away from them. Bellatrix was happy to see me go, too."

"I don't get why she hates you so much. Is she afraid you'll try to take her place in You-Know-Who's Inner Circle? She ever actually met you? It's pretty obvious that you dislike the whole lot of them."

It's been long enough, really. I need to tell him about Bellatrix being my mother. "I think I might know why she hates me so much, actually."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah, I—"

"Charlotte!" George calls over to me. Four customers between him and us dart out of the way as he rushes over. "Has Fred shown you—I interrupted something, didn't I?"

I shrug. "It can wait. What hasn't Fred shown me?"

George pulls his hand from behind his back. "Edible Dark Marks!"

"No!" I laugh and snatch them from George's hand. "I need twenty of these!"

"Whoa, calm down there, Charlotte," Fred says, timidly taking them from my hand. "Too many'll make you sick." Then he grins. "Don't tell my mum I said that."

I smile at him, relinquishing my hold on the candies, before quickly taking one back from him. "But I am going to eat this one because I'm starving. Here"—I hand him some Sickles—"is that enough?"

"You don't have to pay," Fred argues.

"Sure I do." I tear open the packaging of the Edible Dark Marks, which turns out to be something like a green apple lollipop.

George opens his hand, Fred dropping the money into his twin's palm, and takes the payment to the register. "You haven't had lunch yet?" Fred asks.

"Are you about to take on the role of mother and tell me not to ruin my appetite?"

He shrugs. "I've already given you a mother spiel. I was planning to offer to take you up to our flat so we can get something to eat."

"That'd actually be quite wonderful. I didn't eat much breakfast. Draco was eating around that time and I didn't want to be around him any longer than necessary."

Fred's face drops. "Come with me, you're getting some real food." He takes me up to his and George's flat above the shop. The moment the door behind us closes, Fred says, "I don't like you being there with them. I thought you would've gotten away from them by now." He must see me stiffen, because his brow furrows suspiciously. "Charlotte?"

I can't even meet his eyes when I say, "There's something I need to tell you." Then I take Fred by the arm and lead him over to the tan cloth sofas, forcing him to sit down with me. I angle myself toward him, holding one of his hands in both of mine, quivering, more afraid to tell him than I probably should be. I force myself to meet his eyes. "Can you . . . can you promise not to hate me, Fred?"

He cups my face with his free hand and bends to press a quick kiss to my lips. "Of course I won't hate you."

"But I'll understand, you know, if you don't want —if you decide you don't want me to come around anymore."

"It can't be that bad."

I take a shaky breath. "There's a reason Bellatrix hates me. And I do know what it is. I've been lying to you about that, and I am sorry." I rub the back of his hand and continue uneasily, "I'm not who you think I am. My parents—they didn't send me to Hogwarts because Karkaroff went missing. I actually have never stepped foot inside of Durmstrang. I didn't even know what that was until Dumbledore told me. My parents—I didn't know who they were until the Christmas holidays."

"When you left with Malfoy?"

I nod. "I was in an orphanage until I was ten, when I found out I am a witch." My eyes focus on our hands. "I thought my mother died in Azkaban, but I learnt . . . I learnt that—she didn't die in Azkaban. She escaped." I force my gaze back to Fred's. "Bellatrix was at the manor for the Christmas holiday. And that's when—that's when I found out Bellatrix is my mother."

Fred pales a tiny bit. "You're Bellatrix Lestrange's daughter?"

I close my eyes. "Yes."

"And that's why you and Malfoy—"

"We couldn't continue dating after learned that, could we?" I laugh sadly.

Fred sighs. "So I guess you weren't trying to spare him when you said you didn't dump him ruthlessly."

"No, that was—that was true. We just . . . came to an end because of it."

"And Bellatrix hates you because you're her daughter? I don't get it. If Mum was reunited with Ginny after sixteen years, she'd forget who the rest of us are!"

"We weren't simply 'reunited.' She buried me before I was a year old. Narcissa says Bellatrix can't—can't handle the idea of me being alive, because what if she loses me again?"

"And you were afraid to tell me this because you thought I'd hate you?"

I nod.

"You daft girl! I won't blame you for who your parents are! If anything, this makes you that much more interesting. There's a whole new side of you I'll get to know!"

I quickly lean forward and capture his mouth with mine, my hands slipping away from his and grabbing his collar to pull him closer. His hands grip my hips tightly. Fred's lips are soft, and I want nothing more than to get closer to him and feel those soft lips kiss the rest of me, but as I haven't told him everything yet, I force myself to pull away from him, ignoring the sad puff of air that escapes him. "I'm sorry," I whisper, "there's more I need to tell you."

He smiles. "Go on then."

Voldemort has chosen me to bear him a child. Voldemort has chosen me to bear him a child. I don't want to do it, but I was chosen. Voldemort has chosen me to bear him a child. That's all I have to say, nine words—Voldemort has chosen me to bear him a child—and my conscience can be clear. Nine words. You learned your lesson about hiding this from people. Just tell him. "You were right before—when you asked if Bellatrix thinks I'll take her place in the Inner Circle. She's afraid Voldemort will favor me over her. He wants me to join his Inner Circle, and Bellatrix doesn't like the idea of a younger version of herself joining his Death Eaters and taking her spot."

"Does she know you at all?"

"Not really, no."

"Well, she's missing out." Heat rises to my cheeks. "This doesn't change anything." He smiles at me. "Would you like something to eat?"

"Yes, please," I say, grateful that he's changed the subject.

I stay with Fred and George at Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes until dinnertime.

"You're welcome to join us at the Burrow," George says to me.

"I know," I say, handing Fred a few Sickles for the handful of Edible Dark Marks I'm buying. "But I can't."

Fred places the Sickles in the register while George wanders off, heading to the second floor. "And there's no convincing you otherwise?"

"Not today. I have to take a meal to . . . someone."

His jaw clenches, and he asks, rather angrily, "Is it Malfoy? Is he making you bring him dinner now?"

"Of course not. If it were for him, I'd be too tempted to poison in it."

His mood lightens. "Where're you getting the food from? You can go to the Burrow with us and bring something back. I'm sure Mum won't mind."

"As much as I'd love to, and as tempting as that is, I can't. This meal won't be good for them. If they're making me bring them dinner, it's going to be horrible."

"Take care of yourself." I know it makes him nervous that I am staying in the same place as Bellatrix Lestrange. If only he knew that Lord Voldemort had been there too. At least now my biggest worry is Severus Snape.

"Of course."

He takes me into his arms for a goodbye kiss. One of his hands finds its way to my lower back to pull me close to him while his other weaves its way through my hair. I put both of my hands behind his neck and hold him tightly, sinking into his kiss. All of my worries seem to vanish when I'm with him. All I want to do is stay with him.

"Hey, Fred!" George's voice rings through the shop.

Fred and I pull away from each other. "Bloody hell." Fred closes his eyes as if praying for patience. "Yeah, George!"

"I've got idea for the shop!" he shouts back.

Fred smiles at me. "Sorry about that."

"It's all right. I really have to go." He hugs me one last time before I leave the shop. The last I see of Fred is him running up the stairs excitedly to see what George was thinking of.

I stop at the Leaky Cauldron and get Snape some soup. I know it's not good soup; I've had it before. I wait there at my table until it cools significantly, and only then do I Apparate from Diagon Alley to Snape's front door. Without knocking, I throw the door open and walk straight in, quite like when I barge into his office.

Snape looks up then glances at the clock. It's almost eight now, since I wasted time in the pub. "Dinner was an hour ago," he says.

"Yeah, well, I brought you some soup." I walk over and hand it to him.

"It's cold."

"Is it really?" I do a pretty good job of sounding surprised. "I don't suppose you can explain to me how things grow cold?" I take a few of the Edible Dark Marks from the Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes bag and toss them to him. "Eat some of those, then."

He doesn't smile at the treats I got from Fred. "Is this your idea of a joke, Rodgers?"

"'Course not."

"Where did you get these?"

"Diagon Alley."

He huffs. "What shop in Diagon Alley?"

"Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, the greatest shop in Diagon Alley—I added the last part, of course." He doesn't reply. "Well . . . goodnight then." I go up to the tiny room he stuck me in and close the door.