CHAPTER 2

A loud bang on the bedroom door the next morning wakes me up, and, groaning to myself, I roll off the bed—another knock forces me to speed up slightly—and trod over to the door and throw it open. A triumphant Severus Snape smirks down at me. His voice cold when he says, "Good morning, Miss Rodgers."

I rub my eyes as they strain to stay open. "'S the time?"

He looks at his watch. "Six."

My hands drop to my side. "Six? Six in the morning?"

"Yes. That's why I'm waking you up. Breakfast should be ready by seven."

"Professor, you don't have to make me breakfast."

"You misunderstand me," he says with a nasty happiness. "I eat at seven. Therefore, you should be done cooking it by then."

It takes a second for me to realize what's going on, and by the time I do, Snape is already descending the stairs. I look around and grab the first thing I see: a shoe. Then I lean out of the doorway and chuck it at him, successfully whacking him in the back. A brief moment of pride swells in me, but that pride quickly fades when Snape rounds on me, fury in his eyes. I inhale sharply and brace myself for whatever punishment he might inflict, but rather than attacking me, he smiles victoriously, spins on his heel, and disappears down the stairs.

Why can't I ever just let stuff go?

Not really wanting the answer to that question, I rush off to the bathroom and hurriedly get ready for the day.

Half an hour later, fearfully preparing for the moment when I must face the livid professor again, I tentatively make my way do the steps, too worried about what Snape might do to be frustrated at the unfair terms of me staying here. If the Dark Lord wants me here (which Snape should believe), then I should not have to do anything to remain here. I would try to argue against him, but I don't want to test him after my little stunt with the Edible Dark Marks that Snape did not find nearly as entertaining as I did. Perhaps those had not been the best idea.

However, I soon learn that my fear, though warranted, is pointless, for Snape does not so much as glance at me as I make my way to the kitchen. That irritates me for reasons I don't understand, and before I can second-guess myself, I lean my head out of the kitchen and look at Snape, who sits in that armchair of his, reading the Daily Prophet, it seems, and ask bluntly, "Am I permitted to touch things in here?"

Not even giving me the courtesy of looking over at me, he says, "Obviously."

Huffing at my failed attempt to annoy him and his successful attempt to irritate me further, I turn back to the kitchen and look around, unsure of where anything is but certain I wouldn't know how to cook him anything even if I knew where to find the food. As long as I provide breakfast for him, he should be satisfied, right? I walk to the window and glance around at the neighboring houses.

Across the street a woman is cooking in her kitchen. She has no wand and is using no visible magic, so I assume she must be a Muggle. A quick glance over my shoulder assures me that Snape is not watching, and I whip out my wand to summon the breakfast the Muggle woman has just finished. It flies out of her window, soars across the street, and lands on Snape's small table. "Breakfast is ready!" I yell to the professor.

The armchair creaks, and a moment later Snape enters the kitchen, his eyes immediately watching me suspiciously. "From which house did you steal that?"

"The one straight across the street." It's only a few pieces of toast, some marmalade, and some eggs, but it's better than nothing, which is what it would have been had the Muggle woman not been making breakfast when I needed it.

The food being stolen doesn't seem to bother him at all, and he goes to a cabinet, removes two plates, and sits down. The two of us eat in silence, and when he finishes, he places his dirty plate in the sink and says, "Clean the kitchen when you're done."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, I slaved over this meal. The least you can do is clean up."

His lip curls, and he leaves without a word.

I do as commanded, then enter the sitting room nearly ten minutes later and plop down on the sofa, completely disregarding Snape's warning from yesterday. He is once again reading the newspaper and does not acknowledge me until I say, "The Dark Lord wants you to teach me how to duel." This causes him to set aside his paper and look up at me. "And it would be best if I learned Occlumency—but I'm having this odd sense of déjà vu which makes me believe we've already had this conversation."

"And as before, I will teach you at the start of term."

"Why wait when you can teach me now? The more time I can work on it, the better I will become."

Snape sets the paper aside and folds his hands together in his lap and just watches me silently, completely motionless, for almost two minutes straight. I refuse to look away, regardless of how much I want to cower from him and just keep staring right back into those black eyes, my fingers fidgeting by my side. Finally, he says, "We will begin lessons this afternoon."

"Why not now?" I won't be going to the joke shop today because I know that while I'll never say it and neither would Fred, I'm distracting both him and George from their very successful business, and I don't want to become a nuisance.

He stands to his feet, eyeing me. "I have somewhere I must be." He seems to realize something before Disapparating. "It's in your best interest not to go into any room that I have already informed is off-limits to you." Then he vanishes with faint pop.

This is perfect, really, because he can't stop me now. I dash up the stairs, smiling that for once something has worked out for me.

I take out my wand and point it at the mattress in the guest room (the one Snape glossed over instead of letting me stay in), the one I'm forbidden to enter. The mattress lifts into the air, slides out of the room, floats down the hall and into my temporary room, and drops onto the floor. The hard mattress leaves my bed and drops into the hallway. I lift the nice mattress and place it on the bed frame, reducing its size until it fits perfectly. Then I pick up the bad mattress and put it on the frame in the good room, enlarging it to make it fit onto its new bed frame.

I smile at my handiwork, appreciating my own cleverness for a moment before Disapparating from Snape's house.

I am now standing in front of the Burrow. Through the window I can see Mrs. Weasley sitting in the living room, a brown-haired woman with her, and I briskly make my way to the front door. Maybe I should have owled or something. If she already has company, I should leave, right?

No, I don't want to. I want to talk with her.

So I knock on the door, deciding I can leave if she's too busy. Mrs. Weasley answers just a moment later. "Charlotte?" she says, confused. "What are you doing here?"

This is probably a bad idea. I should leave while there's still a chance, but the words "I wanted to talk to you . . ." slip out. I quickly add, "I can come back if—"

"No, no, dear. Come in, come in!"

The brown-haired woman turns. "Charlotte."

Her voice has virtually no emotion in it, and it takes me a moment to register who it is. "Tonks! What are you doing here?"

"Just talking with Molly," she says.

"Why don't we sit down?" Mrs. Weasley suggests. I take a seat next to Tonks on the sofa, and Mrs. Weasley takes a seat on the armchair next to us. We're all silent, and I have a feeling that Mrs. Weasley is waiting for me to say something, to explain why I am here, but I find myself too distracted by Tonks's depressed look to say anything at the moment.

I glance between her and Mrs. Weasley, and when neither of them says anything, I quietly ask Tonks, "Are you all right?"

It takes her a second to realize that I'm speaking to her, and she quickly looks over and says in a falsely happy voice, "Yes, of course. Why wouldn't I be?" Part of me wants to press the issue, but she stands and says, "I've gotta leave. I'm supposed to go to Grimmauld Place to meet S—"

"All right!" Mrs. Weasley interrupts her. Tonks seems to realize her mistake and quickly hushes. "Be careful."

Tonks hugs both Mrs. Weasley and me. "See ya later." And she's gone.

Only then do I look back at Mrs. Weasley, who watches me curiously while waiting for me to begin speaking, which is the whole reason I came here. I somewhat wish Tonks hadn't left because she knows the truth about me and might make it easier to say all of this to another person.

Mrs. Weasley seems to realize that I'm struggling to say anything, and she says, "Are you still at Malfoy Manor, or have your parents—guardian—finally arrived to get you?"

"No one's coming to rescue me from Malfoy Manor, Mrs. Weasley. That's actually part of why I came here to talk to you."

"Do you need a place to stay? I've already told you that our house is open to you if you need it."

I smile sadly at her. "Well, I would, but I wouldn't be allowed to. I—my mother wouldn't allow it." She's about to say something, but I continue, "My mother—Mrs. Weasley, I am the long-lost daughter of Bellatrix Lestrange." Mrs. Weasley waits quietly while I explain to her how I was in the orphanage, the events at Alphard's, and everything following that which led to the discovery that I am Aurelia Lestrange.

"Fred and Ginny and Ron know," I finish. "They . . . they seemed fine with it. But if you don't—if you don't think I should come around anymore, I'll understand."

"Oh, Charlotte," she says, putting her hand on my arm, "your parents have nothing to do with who you are!"

"I'm afraid," I say, choking back the tears I feel approaching, "in my particular case, that isn't necessarily true."

She looks at me compassionately. "What do you mean, dear?"

I glance around the place to make sure no one else is around to hear me. "I'm more than just Bellatrix's daughter. I've been lying to everyone." I swallow. "You will be the first to know besides Dumbledore, McGonagall, and Tonks. And I am asking—no, begging—that you not tell anyone yet. I need to figure the right way to do it." And considering she's Fred's mum, she might be able to help me find a way to tell him.

"Dumbledore knows?"

"He knows." I shift on the sofa and fold my hands together. "My death was faked for a reason. Alphard was trying to protect me."

"Protect you from what?"

"Not 'what' but 'whom.' Voldemort to be exact. He chose me, both as Aurelia Lestrange and Charlotte Rodgers, to . . . to . . ." I don't know if I can go on, even though I kind of desperately want to. Something stops me.

Mrs. Weasley smiles encouragingly at me, but her voice is serious when she asks, "What did he choose you for?"

Her kindness pulls the words from me. "To bear his child." She gasps, her hand covering her mouth for half a second. "I don't want to, of course, but I don't have a choice—that's why he wants me protected." Tears blur my vision.

Mrs. Weasley takes my hands. "You poor thing."

I choke back my tears again. "I don't know how to tell—I don't know how to tell Fred."

"Just be honest with him," Mrs. Weasley says, doing her best to conceal her discomfort with this news. I nod, unable to speak just yet, and she gives my hands a comforting squeeze. After a few minutes, she asks, "Why are you telling me this?"

I hadn't expected her to ask that. "I guess . . . for a few reasons, really. You're Fred's mum, and you're so kind. I figured maybe you could help me find a way to tell Fred so that he'll understand? And I know you're a part of the Order of the Phoenix, you and Mr. Weasley both. So, I just thought—maybe you know if Harry will be able to kill Voldemort." I gulp. "And, well, you've had seven children, and I knew you would be honest . . . is it as awful as Bellatrix makes it seem?"

Mrs. Weasley puts her hand on my shoulder. "I believe You-Know-Who will be killed before . . ." She also seems unable say to say it aloud. She's definitely not the first to be unable to speak it.—for a few years, I was the same way. "Children are a blessing," is all she has to say about my other question. "And Fred will understand if you're honest with him."

I smile weakly at her. "Thank you, Mrs. Weasley. I'll find a way to tell him."

We sit there in silence for a few minutes before I clear my throat and change the subject. "I know it's still early in the day, but will you be cooking lunch any time soon?"

She smiles. "Would you like to stay and eat?"

"I'd like to learn to cook. I've never had the chance before." And I almost don't want to keep stealing for me and Snape. What if the Muggle across the street begins to notice that her food is being stolen? More importantly, what if she decides to make something someday that I don't like?

"It's still early yet," she says, "but you're—"

Stampeding feet on the stairs interrupt her, and a moment later, Ron and Ginny can be heard bickering. "No, Ron, that's why I became Seeker when Harry was kicked off the team," Ginny says.

"But that doesn't mean you're any—"

The two of them stop when they see me sitting with their mum in their living room. "Morning," I greet them.

"Morning," they say. Ginny adds, "I thought you'd be with Fred. He said you spend most days there to get away from the Malfoys."

"I decided not to go today because I feel like I'm a distraction."

"You're an enjoyable distraction for him."

"Mum," Ron says, "There breakfast left?"

"Yes, yes, come eat." The three of us—Ron, Ginny, and I—follow Mrs. Weasley into the kitchen where the already-made breakfast moves from the counters to the table, followed by plates for each of us, and even though I ate toast and eggs at Snape's, I decide I might as well eat here as well. If my life is to be surrendered to Voldemort, I should get enjoy the little things, like free food, right?

Ron loads his plate with food. "How long are you staying?" he asks, his mouth full of eggs.

"I'm not sure."

"You may stay here as long as you'd like," Mrs. Weasley says. "There's no need for you to go back to that place earlier than necessary."

I smile at her but don't have time to say anything before Ginny says, "Well, this works perfectly. Charlotte, you can referee a one-on-one match between me and Ron. I have to prove once and for all that I'm better than him."

"You wish," Ron interjects.

"See what I mean?"

Oh no. "Will I need to be on a broom?"

"It's recommended," Ginny says.

"The only time I ever flew, I ended up crashing to the frozen ground and nearly breaking my neck in front of Snape."

Ron takes a large swallow of his orange juice. "You never learnt to fly?"

"Unfortunately, no. Draco was going to teach me over Christmas, but I had to get out of Malfoy Manor before he had a chance. Bellatrix was not too pleased when she found out who I am, and I had to run, really. She was . . ." I huff. "She was furious to find out that I was alive."

Mrs. Weasley says, "I don't understand that woman. If I lost Ginny and had her returned to me . . ." She smiles lovingly at her daughter, and a surge of jealously courses through me. "I don't think I'd ever be able to take my eyes off of her again."

Ron clears his throat. "We can show you the basics. You really just have to sit there and make sure neither of us is cheating."

"I'll do my best."

Less than an hour later, I am standing in the backyard of the Burrow with Ron and Ginny. "So you know how to get up into the air then?" Ginny asks.

"Yeah, I accomplished that pretty well, actually. It was the coming back down that nearly killed me."

With that, the three of us take to the sky. "Now, all you have to do," Ginny calls to me, "is direct the broom where you want it to go."

Only ten minutes is spent showing me how to direct my broom, and while the idea of it makes sense, I would never trust myself to fly around as freely as the two Weasleys are currently doing. Especially not while trying to maneuver around with a Quaffle in my hand. Honestly, I'm not sure how I'm even supposed to be refereeing this game.

Luckily though, they haven't had any disputes that I'm required to settle. I remain completely motionless on my broom. Flying around used to be a dream of mine, but now having attempted it, I'm terrified at the idea of trying to escape anyone on a broom. I would die so quickly.

Mrs. Weasley saves me from my role of refereeing a few hours later when she calls all of us back inside for lunch, which winds up just being turkey sandwiches. She looks at me apologetically. "The turkey was already made, and I didn't think you'd be interested in learning how to make a sandwich."

"That's fine."

"But you can help with dinner."

I'm finishing my sandwich as Ron finishes his second. He hops up. "Hurry up! Let's go, Ginny."

"You're losing, Ron," she points out airily. "Do you think another couple of hours will let you improve enough to beat me?"

His ears turn a slight shade of pink. He was losing? I'm a terrible referee. "Maybe it can," he says defiantly. "Only one way to find out."

She sighs and stands to her feet. "Are you ready, Charlotte?"

I look over at the giant plate of sandwiches and smile to myself. "I don't think I can right now." Then I turn to Mrs. Weasley. "Would you be offended if I took one of those sandwiches back to someone at the manor? I've been charged with the duty of providing him food."

"With the house-elves they have, they're making you provide food? For whom?" Her voice is full of disgust.

"I can't say."

"Feel free to take as many as you need."

"One will do, thank you." I grab one of the sandwiches with my bare hands. "I should be back, I believe. Unless they decide I've been gone long enough. I never really know with them and their moods."

I Disapparate, not realizing until afterward that I might have to explain how I know how to Apparate when I so obviously should not have that type of knowledge. Snape looks up at me when I pop into his sitting room. "Here, catch." I toss the sandwich at him—it lands on his chest and falls to his lap. "Or not, whatever suits your fancy."

"What's this?" He picks up the sandwich.

"Lunch. Obviously."

"And where did you steal it from?"

"Didn't steal it. It's a courtesy of Mrs. Weasley. Of course, she doesn't know you're the one I'm giving it to."

"And you're suggesting that she would have refused to let you bring the sandwich to me?" He takes a bite of the lunch I so generously brought to him.

"I don't know, would she have?"

"Doubtful. Are you ready for your first lesson?"

"I'm sorry, what?"

"You did want to learn Occlumency and how to duel more effectively, I believe?"

"Well, yes, but that was supposed to happen this afternoon."

He stands up. "I'm prepared to teach you now."

"I'm not prepared to learn right now, though."

"It's now or never."

It's like he purposefully tries to ruin the few good times in my life—which is made even more frustrating because surely he must know by now how rare those have been for me to come by. "But—"

"Now or never, Rodgers. It's your choice."

"May I at least go tell the Weasleys that I won't be returning so they don't think I've died? So they don't think the Bellatrix slaughtered me when I arrived back at the manor?"

Snape shakes his head. "No." Without another word, he walks to the door that leads to his charm-protected basement. "You are only allowed down here with my permission. If I catch you down here—"

"You'll kill me or kick me out. I get it."

His expression looks almost bemused as he turns back to look at me. He nods once and continues down the stairs.

Almost the size of Snape's office at Hogwarts, the torch-lit stone room at the bottom of the stairs is obviously used only for potion-making; large shelves of potion ingredients and potions line the walls and a steel table in the middle of the room houses nothing but a large cauldron. Everything one needs to be a reclusive Potions Master. A single chair sits next to the table, and I can only assume he sometimes chooses to wait down here for the potion to finish rather than wait upstairs.

With a wave of his wand, all of this disappears, leaving behind a barren room, giving the illusion of the room growing a bit. Now more than ever, I am reminded of the caves I too often made my home, and it unsettles me. I'm beginning to regret asking him to do this.