CHAPTER 1

My eyes fly open, and for a moment I'm filled with dread, a chill rushing down my spine, terror gripping my heart. Then I hear a soft snore, and a smile comes to my face. I roll over and come face-to-face with a sleeping Zoe, her face relaxed and calm. I inch closer to her, her warmth washing over me, and I can't stop myself from sliding my hand over to her stomach and placing it on the jagged scar just below her heart.

She was supposed to die, Zoe told me just last night, in the car accident that had claimed the lives of her parents. Had the broken metal door frame pierced her just a few inches northward, it would have gone through her heart and ended her life prematurely. She had warned me—with a certain self-consciousness in her voice that I have never before heard come out of her and that I hope to never hear from her again when she speaks to me—that she has a nasty scar. I assume she had worried I would judge her. As if I would have any right considering the mark Avery left on me with that damn knife. That scar is embarrassing and long and dark and jagged and just generally makes me cringe to look at. That scar makes me ache still when I see it and touch it and have to acknowledge its existence in general. Her scar was nothing.

But she had been adamant in telling me, and, I have come to believe, was trying to make it seem worse than it is so it wouldn't be as terrible when I actually saw it, before I was allowed to remove her shirt.

"You know, Marcus," I hear her say groggily, one of her eyes cracked open slightly, a smile tugging at the corner of her lips, "it could be considered rude to grope someone while they sleep."

I pull my hand away quickly, grinning back at her. She reaches over and takes my hand in hers. "Sorry, I was just—I was just thinking—I almost never met you." She watches me closely, and I refuse to remove my gaze from her honey eyes, even though I can hardly see them in this dim light. But I can imagine them, the crisp honey color mixed with the dark flecks of brown that I never want to look away from. I could get lost in her eyes, would likely be happy to do so. "I can't even imagine where I'd be without you."

"At your super-secret hideout place that you're not allowed to tell me about."

If only Spinner's End was a nice hideout place and not a blight on the lives of both Snape and me. I lift our hands up to my mouth and press a soft kiss to the back of hers, smiling into the soft, creamy skin beneath my lips. "You could have died so young," I whisper.

A wicked smirk comes to her lips. "'But I've only had three acts . . .!'" she says. I stifle the laughter building in my throat, already aware that nothing will stop her now from finishing her quote now that she has begun. When she speaks again, her voice is lower, wiser almost, like she is attempting to sound similar to Dumbledore, "'Yes. This drama will be in three acts, the length fixed by the power that directed your creation and now directs your dissolution. Neither was yours to determine. So make your exit with grace—the same grace shown to you.' Your life would have been different had I died, but we'd both be fine."

"You make me happy, Zoe. I feel safe here."

A broad, white smile cracks across her face, and she pulls me close to her, wrapping her arms around me and just holding me for a moment, the issues we face completely forgotten about in this moment. Do I love Zoe as much as I know she loves me? I'm not sure. But being with her has been the happiest I've been since Fred left me, and that must mean something.

She pulls away from me and smiles. "All I want is for you to feel safe. You deserve to feel safe." I lean closer and press my lips against hers. Zoe slides her hands around my waist. I can sleep later.

When I awaken again, I find Zoe's side of the bed empty. After just a few minutes to pull myself together and actually, fully wake up, I slide out of the bed and put my clothes back on, then leave the little bedroom area. Zoe is placing plates on the table when I walk in, and she looks up and smiles at me. "I made breakfast," she tells me in a singsong voice. "Come sit down with me."

"Next time you need to wake me up so I can help you," I say once I've seated myself.

"That'd be too domestic for me," she laughs. "But I might be willing to make an exception for you."

The thought sends a jolt of joy through me, and I can feel the heat on my cheeks. But I don't have the heart to tell her that cooking together lost all of its cute domesticity for me when I spent weeks cooking with and for Snape last summer. Snape . . . I wonder if he's in a panic right now because I have not yet returned to Spinner's End. Looking back, I should have warned him that I might not be returning last night—but how was I supposed to know how the night would go? How was I supposed to know that I would be staying the night at Zoe's flat? I can't see the future.

I will need to offer him an intense apology when I get back after breakfast. Perhaps I'll take the leftovers as a peace offering for giving no word last night.

"What are you thinking about?" she asks softly.

"I hate to ask this, but do you think it would be possible for me to take some of this back with me?"

"Yeah, I made extra. But you could always just come back if you want to eat more of my food."

"This isn't actually for me. It's for someone else."

She nods and wipes her mouth with her napkin. "Take it. I won't be eating all of this anyway. Did I tell you that I got another letter from you little friend Ella?"

I take a bite of eggs. "Does she write you often?"

"About once a month, I guess. She's so sweet. She told me that she has a massive crush on Julia. You know her?"

"Indeed I do."

"Don't tell her I told you that."

"And betray your trust like that? Never."

She grins, and we go back to our meal.

Though I wish to stay with her longer, I only have a short time after breakfast, during which I clean up the kitchen and pack away a moderate amount of food for Snape while Zoe readies herself to leave for the Three Broomsticks. It just feels right to wake up in Zoe's bed in her flat in Hogsmeade and eat breakfast with her then clean it up while she gets ready for work. It feels natural, like this is what I was really born to do. I was born to be happy with Zoe.

No you weren't, a voice in my mind says to me, you were born to have the Dark Lord's child.

I most certainly was not born to do that, I tell myself, because that was a punishment designed for my mother after I had been born. It was not the reason I was born. It was not the reason I was born.

"So do you think you'll be back again today?" Zoe asks, coming out of the bedroom area, flattening down the front of her shirt.

"I certainly hope so, but I make no promises. Who knows what Bellatrix has in mind for me? Especially since I didn't come home—go back to Malfoy Manor—last night." Spinner's End is not your home. You don't have a home. You've never had a home and you never will.

"Don't get in too much trouble on my behalf."

"It'd be worth it if I did." She smiles at me. "But I probably should be going now, all things considered. I'll have to face it at some point, right?"

She walks over to me and embraces me. "So last night was fun," she says, pulling away from me but leaving her hands on my hips. "You should come back soon."

"Oh, definitely." I cover her lips with mine before I regretfully force myself to stop, say another goodbye, grab Snape's breakfast, and Disapparate.

Snape, who is sitting in his regular armchair, his fingers wringed together, his brow furrowed, hops to his feet. "Charlotte, what the—"

"Breakfast?" I ask, lifting the container into his view.

His eyes shift to the food in my hands, and he grunts. "You can't just bring food and expect all to be forgiven! You didn't come back last night! Don't you realize what that could mean for the both of us?"

"Professor, I'm sorry. Truly. I didn't plan to stay out, but . . ." I shrug. "Things happen."

"Where were you?"

"Why?"

"Because if something comes up and I have to track you down, I need to know where you are. What if we had been called to the manor this morning and you hadn't been here? What then?"

He has point, no matter how badly I hate to admit it. "If I tell you where I was, can you promise me three things?"

Snape eyes me suspiciously, his gaze roaming around my face as if trying to read my expression to find out everything he needs to know. "It depends on what those three things are."

"One, you'll let me go back. Two, you will not judge me. And three, you'll eat the food I so thoughtfully brought for you."

Snape takes the container from my hand. "You cannot go back today as I fear the meeting Malfoy Manor might not end until much later tonight—I'll explain that more in a moment. You know much of my past and what I have done, so have I any grounds on which to judge you?"

"I don't think I want to know more about this meeting. Is it possible for me to avoid it altogether?" He grimaces. "Disappointing. What if I were to disappear?" He opens his mouth as if to snap at me, and I hold up my hand. "I know, I know." I sigh. "And perhaps you're right, perhaps you have no grounds to judge me. Alright then. I was with Zoe Accrington."

He pauses for a moment, watching me closely as if trying to detect a lie, then nods slightly. Without another word he turns and goes to the kitchen where he sits and begins eating. "Did Miss Accrington cook this?"

"Yes."

"I thought so. It's much too good for you to have made it. Tell her I appreciate the gesture."

"Oh, she doesn't know I'm staying with you."

He smirks and continues eating. "It's good to know you haven't confessed everything," he comments a few minutes later.

"I wouldn't betray you like that. How dare you even imply it."

Snape shakes his head and continues eating. "It's surprising, really," he says a few minutes later.

"That I didn't tell Zoe the truth or that I wouldn't betray you?"

"That you didn't tell Miss Accrington the truth. You seem rather loose-lipped when it comes to the ones you love."

"Yeah, well—" I stop short, my mouth still open a bit. Then I say, "Had you wanted to know, you could have simply asked me." Do I love her? Or do I just think I love her? I don't know, honestly. None of this was really supposed to happen. I didn't plan for it.

"Would you have told me?" He takes a swallow of his juice.

"Perhaps, if you had asked nicely. You've told me plenty, right?"

Snape remains quiet, still eating his breakfast, and I suddenly begin to feel self-conscious. Heat rises to my face and neck, and it becomes increasingly uncomfortable to sit across from him. Though I'm unsure why, I am unable to find a position in this chair that doesn't make my legs itch or feel twice as heavy as they usually do, but Snape seems blind to my discomfort. He continues to eat in silence, only sparing me a glance every few minutes. I clear my throat, which captures his attention. "Do you . . . I mean . . . am I . . .?" I fail to form the question brewing in the back of my mind, and for a moment all I want to do is saunter back upstairs and lock the door for a while because I certainly cannot deal with this unbearable discomfort coursing through me.

"Out with it, Charlotte, if you have a question."

"I do have a question, but I'm struggling to form it."

The corners of his lips twitch, like he's holding back a smile, and all I want to do is smack it off him. He knows how difficult this is for me to ask, and yet he is trying to pull the question out of me. I clear my throat again. "Your opinion of me has grown to mean a great deal to me. It has not changed, has it, since . . . since you've learned this about me?"

"Charlotte, whether you decide to spend your free time with boys or girls does not change my opinion of you in the slightest. You're the one person left in this world who knows the truth about me. Why would I discard our . . ." He drifts, seeming as if trying to find a word that accurately explains what we are to each other.

After a moment of his silent failure, I offer up the word I think he's looking for. "Friendship?"

He pauses for a moment, then dips his head as if accepting the term. "Because of something so unimportant as who you're dating?"

I smile, then take his empty plate and cup to the sink for him.

"However," he says, sending fear straight to my heart, "not everyone you come into contact with will be as unaffected as I." I turn around and lean against the counter. Snape, standing now, levels his gaze at me. "It would be best to keep it from other Death Eaters. Not only is Miss Accrington not a man who can eventually help you produce future little Death Eaters, but she is also a Muggle-born, is she not?" I nod. "She will be in grave danger if the wrong people—every other Death Eater you will come into contact with, as well as the Dark Lord himself—find out about her."

"Not only that," I sigh, "but I have not been given permission to date anyone. I'm currently still property of the Dark Lord, right?"

"Don't think of yourself as property," Snape says. "Think of yourself as a prisoner. It'll at least make you think more highly of yourself. At least you'll still see yourself as a person rather than chattel."

I look away from him, not sure what to think about his advice, but when he walks out of the kitchen without another word, I find myself following him silently.

"So about this meeting of the Death Eaters," he begins, a sad look in his eye. I don't really know how much more bad news I can handle today, but I watch him expectantly nonetheless because I'm sure he will tell me even if I am not ready to hear it. "All of the Inner Circle must be there, and the Dark Lord has requested your presence as well." He watches me as if expecting me to argue. "You will need to go to the manor tonight after dinner."

"I will have to go?" He nods. "And you? You're part of the Inner Circle as well, right? Aren't you going to be there as well, Professor?"

"Not until later."

"I'm sorry, what?"

"There are things I have to do—"

"And you expect me to waltz into Malfoy Manor without anyone there—"

"There will be many people there."

"Not any who cares—"

"An aunt, a cousin, a father—"

"A father who thinks I'm dead!"

He grimaces. "Nevertheless, there will be people who don't want to see harm come to you."

"'People who don't want to see harm come to me'?" I scoff. "Has no one told you about the Cruciatus Incident, Professor?"

Snape clenches his jaw. "Of course I know about the Cruciatus Incident!" I immediately regret bringing this up, because on every occasion I've mentioned this, he has seemed to blame himself for that. He believes he should've stopped Bellatrix from taking me to Malfoy Manor in the first place—as if he could've actually forced her to leave me behind. He pauses. "You almost died. Of course I know about that. But when you go to the meeting, the Dark Lord will unveil you as the witch who will have his child, and any harm brought to you after that would set a bad precedent. He'll want you protected, and after the meeting, you'll be safer than you've ever been before."

"But I'll still be going in there without you. You're the only Death Eater I trust. I can't be left alone in a room with them without you there to calm them down! You're high-ranking in Death Eater terms. They'll listen to you if the Dark Lord isn't there to stop them."

"And as much as I hate the thought of sending you in there alone, I have no other choice. I'll be there later. You—"

"But—"

"You need to continue trusting me."

I sigh and reluctantly nod my head. "Fine. I will continue trusting you. But if something goes wrong—"

"Which it won't."

"—then you need to avenge me."

He chuckles and agrees, but that still does not calm my fears. I'm nauseated by the idea of going alone into Malfoy Manor while it is full of Death Eaters who might not know who I am, and suddenly I find it difficult to breathe. Anything could go awry with those people around.

I mean, the last time I was at the manor when an array of Death Eaters was there, I ended up being Cruciated by my own mother and almost killed by another Death Eater's knife of Dark Magic. And that was only like two weeks ago. This just sucks. I don't want to go there without Snape. And if the Dark Lord's followers decide to attack me, I doubt even Bellatrix would do anything to stop them. She would have to keep up appearances because Merlin forbid she display any sort of affection for me. If she truly had any affection for you, she wouldn't have Cruciated you.

She could have killed you but chose not to, a voice in my mind says. That should mean something to you.

I try to shake off the idea, but it has already taken hold of me. I want to believe that Bellatrix did not have another choice, that she hurt me because otherwise the Dark Lord would kill me.

But I can't let myself think like that. Bellatrix Lestrange, my own mother—she lost the right to be called your mother when she tortured you, Charlotte—tortured me because it was the easy choice, not because it was the only choice. And that means I can't trust her. When I walk into Malfoy Manor later, I will be alone, defenseless against an army of Death Eaters, unprotected by anyone other than possibly a wizard who is younger than I am and is therefore hardly any help at all (despite how much I love my cousin, he won't be able to protect me from the other Death Eaters), and at the mercy of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named himself.

All the Death Eaters will soon know who I am and what I am to do—the thought sends another wave of nausea through me—and they will all either hate me, or they will all revere me as Bellatrix did before learning who I truly am.

On the bright side, I might see my father for the first time. He still won't know who I am, and I fear it will have to stay that way or else the Dark Lord will try to murder him as well, but I might see him in the flesh, be able to put a face to his name, finally be able to picture the man who once loved Bellatrix with all of his heart.

I'm ashamed to say I partly cannot wait until this evening.

Snape seems to register the change in my demeanor, for he says, "Don't get your hopes up too high about it, Charlotte."

"About what?"

He looks at me knowingly. "You act as if I didn't spend months probing your mind. Rodolphus will not be what you expect. He spent years in Azkaban. Brace yourself for that."

I look away from him, hiding the annoyance I feel at his ability to read me so easily. "I should . . . I should go . . . I'm gonna go take a nap or something. I have a long—a long day ahead of me, yeah? I'll—um—I'll see you tonight, I guess."

Snape does not stop me as I retreat from the living room and make my way up to my bedroom. I change into more comfortable clothing and slide under the sheets on my bed, pulling them up to my chin and staring at the wall in the dark. With any luck, whether or not Snape believes it will be a good thing for me, I'll see my father. Perhaps, if I play my cards right, I will be able to get Bellatrix to tell me more about him.

Or maybe, if I get the opportunity, I will be able to convince Bellatrix to introduce me to him. Even if he knows me as Charlotte Rodgers and not Aurelia Lestrange, I would like to meet him. I would like to have a conversation with my father.