CHAPTER 5

The first thing I realize when I wake up that next morning is that I am not alone in this bed. While this would not normally be surprising, this time it is due to the fact that I did not sneak into Severus's chambers last night, so it is not Severus whose arm is draped over my waist, whose front is to my back, whose breath is on my neck. Keeping my body as still as possible so as not to awaken my bedmate, I turn my head just enough to see a mess of long hair covering my sleeping companion. Daphne. We must've fallen asleep last night while talking. Either that or I fell asleep and she didn't want to leave me alone while I was upset, especially now that she knows about my short stint in Azkaban.

My breath catches in my throat when I realize how warm it is under the blankets. Daphne is soft against me, different than Severus but very reminiscent of someone else. Zoe. Lying here like this, she reminds me of Zoe, and that realization causes my chest to ache, to tighten. I miss her more now than I have in months. How have I managed to squash this feelilng for so long? Now that it's reemerging, I can't imagine what it felt like when I wasn't constantly mourning her, when my chest wasn't constantly aching, when my throat did not burn with grief. Zoe. My dear Zoe. A tear escapes my eye before I can suppress it, and once it breaks free, more begin to follow it with the power of a stream. I pull my knees to my chest and begin crying with the force of someone vomiting on all fours.

Zoe's dead because of me. Severus might die because of me too.

Daphne sits up, rubbing sleep from her eyes. "Charlotte?" she says, shaking me.

My body continues to convulse as I try to suppress these reopened wounds, try to tamp down this pain and shove it back into the box where it's been stored silently for so long.

"Charlotte?" She mutters what I assume is a spell, then moves away from me so she can see me better. "Charlotte."

I try to look up at her but can't see anything through my tears. So I pull my pillow against my chest and bury my face into it, taking painful gulps of air. "Charlotte," she coos, running her hand through my hair. "What's happening? What's wrong?"

Without thinking, I snatch her hand, pull it back around my waist, and hold it close to me. Then she lowers herself down beside me and holds me firmly. "Charlotte," she says gently, "it's all right."

"It's not," I cry.

"Charlotte—"

"Zoe's gone."

Daphne kisses my shoulder. "I know, I'm so sorry."

I turn to face her, and she lets me rest my head against her, just beneath her head. She wraps her arms around me, rubbing my back gently, and places her head atop mine. I tighten my hold on her. "It'll be all right," she whispers. "Everything will be all right."

Though part of me desperately wants to believe her, too much has already proven to me that nothing will ever be all right. With the bad luck already drowning my life, it's only a matter of time before my luck runs out and I wind up pregnant. And if Harry doesn't stop Voldemort, I'll give birth and wind up dead. Nothing will ever be all right again. It's only a matter of time before I lose everything, before Voldemort destroys the few remaining shreds of happiness in my life.

I got Zoe killed. Had I convinced her to leave, to hide away until Harry defeated Voldemort once and for all or until I escaped him, she would still be here. It was selfishness that allowed me to not dissuade her from continuing her life. The moment the Muggle-born Registration began, I should have gotten her out of the country, far away from any Death Eaters or Voldemort, but I wanted her close because she was such a nice reprieve from the rest of my life. And now she's dead because of my inaction. Her death is a direct result of my choices. Being apart from her would have been difficult, but living with the idea that she's far away and will one day be reunited with me is infinitely more tolerable than knowing that she is dead and gone and there will be no reunification. She's gone forever, and I have to live with the fact that I will never see her again, never speak with her again, never hear her laugh or see her smile again.

"I'm sorry," I whisper to no one in particular. Maybe I'm speaking to Zoe. Maybe I'm speaking to Daphne. I don't know for certain; I'm just speaking.

Daphne continues playing with my hair. "It's fine. You're fine. I promise."

And now there's Severus. If I'm not careful, my choices and my actions will lead directly to his death as well. How can I possibly allow him to go to Azkaban? How can I possibly allow him to risk his life for a Death Eater who only recently switched sides to go against Voldemort? How could I ever live with myself if he dies?

Though unsure how long we stay there like that—too long, probably—it's clear we have wasted too much time to make it to breakfast or to class, so we don't even try. Instead, we continue lying there. She lets me weep for as long as I need to, quietly offering as much comfort as she possibly can.

By the time I can pull myself together enough to start the day, it is almost lunch, but Daphne does not complain, not even when I hear her stomach growl angrily. We make our way to the Great Hall together. I wipe my eyes and look over at her. "Thank you," I whisper. "For everything."

She just shakes her head. "Don't thank me. You're important to me. The least I could do was try to help you. Will you be all right today?" I shrug. "Does this happen often?"

"No. I haven't cried over—I haven't been this upset for a few months now." At that moment, I catch sight of a head of long red hair. "Can I meet back up with you at lunch? I need to speak with Ginny."

"Right now?" she asks suspiciously. "About what?"

"About Luna."

"Oh. Yeah, go ahead. I'll save you a seat."

I catch Ginny before she enters the Great Hall. "What's up?" she asks, moving over to the side with me.

"I was able to speak with Luna."

"When—you left Hogwarts?"

I glance around and lower my voice. "Do you remember at Bill and Fleur's wedding when I arrived and was sick and—"

"You looked like you were dying, yes."

"The Dark Lord does the same thing to me once a month. Twice this month, actually, because I defied him over Christmas." Her eyes widen, but I continue before she can ask her question. "She said she's fine and can handle whatever they do to her. And she told me to give you and Neville these." From my pocket I pull the Spectrespecs and hand them over.

Ginny smiles sadly at them as she takes them from me. "She was doing all right though? She seemed fine?"

"Yes. I didn't have much time to speak with her because Narcissa found me, but from what I could see, she's doing fine. She knows none of the D.A. has forgotten about her."

"Thank you, Charlotte. I'll pass the news on to Neville."

I leave her standing there and join the Greengrass sisters at the Slytherin table. Astoria doesn't question our earlier absence, which can only mean that Daphne must have told her something about it while I was speaking with Ginny. Based on the concerned expression Astoria now wears, I fear what information might've been shared between them.

While leaving the Great Hall after lunch, I approach the second-years. None of them cast me a disgusted look, which I take as a good sign. "Hey, Christopher, do you have some time to talk? Do you have a free period at all?"

He watches me for a moment as if debating, then nods. "Yeah, I can talk now. Let's go to the dungeon." He waves to the other second-years, and we walk in silence back to the common room. I follow him up to the second-year boys' dormitory, and he motions for me to sit on his bed with him.

I take a spot at the foot of the bed, my legs crossed beneath me, and he sits up by the headboard and stretches his legs toward and crosses his ankles. He pulls the curtain around us and says, "Can you make it so no one can hear?"

With a nod, I wave my wand.

"Do you want to start, or should I?" he asks.

"I will." Christopher nods and folds his hands into his lap. "I never meant to hurt you," I whisper. "I . . . I had no idea Rodolphus was the one who . . ."

He frowns, his eyes shining. "I know. And I know it's not your fault she was killed."

"But I should have told you the truth about me when I found out about Rodolphus. You never should have found out the way that you did, and for that especially, Christopher, I'm so sorry. I wanted . . . after I heard what happened—I wanted to tell you much more . . . gently, I guess, than I did."

"To be fair you didn't really tell me," he says with a sad grin. "I overheard."

"Well, still. I didn't want you to overhear like that. I wanted to sit down with you alone and speak with you. I wanted to dedicate enough time for you to be able to ask anything you wanted."

"I don't blame you, you know. I mean, I was angry. Super angry. But I talked to Mum and Dad. They made me realize that . . . it wasn't your fault. You were . . . just kinda caught in this mess the same as my family. I've just needed some time to adjust."

I watch him for a moment, his blue eyes filled with unshed tears as he looks back at me. My heart swells, my chest tightening. "Do you have anything you want to ask me?"

"When did you find out who you are?"

"Not that long ago, actually."

I give him a brief explanation of what happened that fateful Christmas that changed my life. His eyes widen. "She wanted to Cruciate you? That's insane. She should've been happy to see you! What my mum wouldn't give to—to have Helena back."

"It's been rocky."

"Has she gotten nicer to you?"

I click my tongue, our last interaction coming to mind right alongside her telling me that she's fine with my death. "We were. I can't say much else about it, but things fell apart after I left your place. She and I fought. It's been tense since then."

"I hate that for you."

"Thanks."

"Have you seen him? Rodolphus?"

"Yes."

His face turns to a scowl. "Does he know who you are? Did he get his daughter back after killing my sister?"

My heart plummets. "Yes. I told him after leaving your house. I went to my parents' cottage, and he was there. We argued, and I told him."

Christopher wipes a tear. "And was he happy?"

"Until my mother arrived and things fell apart, yes."

"And will you be seeing him again?"

Tears fill my eyes, and I have to look away from him. While I don't want him to know that my dad is in Azkaban because that is something that will bring him great joy to hear, lying too him seems to be an incorrect decision. "I don't think so," I whisper. "He's an Azkaban." His mouth moves as if to smile, but he fights it down. "My mother told the Dark Lord that my father knows who I am. So he threw him into Azkaban. To punish me for telling him the truth."

"I won't pretend to be upset that he's locked up, but I am sad that you've lost an opportunity to someone in your family."

"Thanks." He can never know if I break my dad out. A smile comes to my face, and I tap his ankle with my foot. "I love you, you know."

He grins at me. "Yeah, I love you too. I'm sorry I got so angry with you."

"You had every right to be. I'm sorry I didn't tell you the truth before I told your parents."

Christopher just shakes his head. A short moment passes before he says, "Oh, I forgot. You weren't there to open your Christmas gift." He slides off the bed and disappears beyond the curtain for a few seconds before returning to his spot with two brightly wrapped packages. "Here."

"You didn't have to—"

"I know," he says, "but I wanted to."

"I guess I can't argue with that."

"No, you can't, so open it."

I place the two gifts in my lap before choosing the heavier one and carefully removing the wrapping. Underneath the paper is a small, plain-colored cardboard box. Slowly, I lift the top off and glance over at Christopher who watches me with unbridled glee. "It was from our collection," he whispers to me. I look back down at the book in my lap, my throat burning, my eyes watering, my chest aching. It's a copy of Charles Dickens's Great Expectations. I obviously cannot accept this. "It's about an orphan who manages to lead a good life. It reminded me of you, though . . . now I know you're not really an orphan . . ." He grins, which surprises me a bit because I never believed he'd be ready to make jokes about that this soon. "But I thought you might like it."

My hands run along the top of the book. How could he have given me this—a book that was once shared with Helena? Attempting to reject it would undoubtedly offend him, and hurt him, which is something I cannot do, not now, not after everything he's just discovered about me. A small burst of effort brings a smile to my face. Should he ever appear to feel regret over giving this to me, I will absolutely give it back. Unsure what to say to him, I turn my attention to the other package begin opening it. This one is exponentially lighter, and I quickly figure out why after opening it. Lying on some paper are two pictures without frames. My breath catches.

The photos are of me and Daphne in the Slytherin common room. If my dress is any indication, this is one of the pictures Christopher took before Slughorn's Christmas Party.

I smile at the memory. In the first photo, I stand leaning against the table where Daphne is working on (most likely) an essay. On a constant loop, she's looking at the dress, then saying something that makes the both of us smile.

In the second photo, though still standing near the table, I'm slightly turned away from Daphne. In this one, on a constant loop, I look over at Daphne and wink at her. This was when I was trying to upset Pansy, and I couldn't be more grateful that she does not appear in the photo.

A deep feeling of longing soon washes over me. Whether or not I want to believe it, that Christmas party was actually enjoyable. Or at least the parts before and kicking Zabini's arse. It's been so long since I've felt that light, that free. That was my last Christmas before Voldemort destroyed everything and began torturing me.

Part of me wishes I could go back, just disappear into the picture and relive that whole night, from beginning to end. How can I possibly be looking back at the Slughorn Christmas party with any type of nostalgia?

Tears prick my eyes. "Thank you, Christopher," I whisper. "I love it. All of it."

His bright white smile lights up his face. "Excellent."

I give the pictures one last longing look before sliding them into the book for safekeeping.

"I wish I could've given them to you on Christmas instead of right now. I never should've shouted at you, Charlotte."

I nudge his leg with my foot. "Don't. It's fine. Everything worked out the way it should have. I was able to see my father."

"Does he . . . regret it at all?" Christopher whispers.

"A lot. He's remorseful. He lost me, so he knows what it was like to lose a child. He regrets his choices."

Christopher nods and clears his throat. "It doesn't bring her back, but . . . is it wrong of me to—I don't know—enjoy that he's been struggling since then?"

"I don't think so."

A comforting silence falls over us, and I lean my head back against the bedpost, partially wishing everything could stay like it is right now. Calm. Warm. Things aren't dangerous in this moment. Voldemort could very well be dead, never to harm me again. Bellatrix might never have chosen Voldemort over me. My father isn't actually in Azkaban.

Except all of that is untrue. And soon I will be forced to face it. But for right now I'm happy.

Christopher sighs heavily. "I need to tell you something, Charlotte."

"This sounds serious."

"When you were talking with my parents—I didn't just hear you telling them about who you are." Heat drains from my face. "I haven't told anyone, and I won't tell anyone. But I know what You-Know-Who is doing to you."

I clear my throat uncomfortably, and he scoots across the bed toward me, pulling his legs underneath himself. Then he reaches over and takes my hand. "I know the real reason you leave Hogwarts every month—why you disappear."

Surely he can't know the truth. No one was ever supposed to find out without my express permission. Well, then again, I did foolishly tell an unsafe amount of people, so it was only a matter of time before someone heard when they weren't supposed to. This is my fault, really, but I can't bring myself to look at him. "Don't . . . don't tell anyone."

"I never planned on telling. I just . . . you must want—there's no way you can keep that kind of burden to yourself. I—I'm here if you need . . . you know, to talk to someone. I—I wanted you to know that I'm here. And I'll be here for you forever. Anything I can help you with, let me know."

"Do any of the others know?"

"No, it didn't seem like the type of thing I should share. Julia might know if she overheard, but she hasn't spoken to me about it, so I can't be sure. Either she heard and is refusing to tell me in case I didn't, or she didn't hear it at all."

"Please keep it to yourself," I say, still unable to look up at him and deciding instead to keep my gaze fixed on our hands.

"Of course." He inhales loudly. "Charlotte"—his voice is much quieter than it was moments before—"can I ask you something?"

What's the harm now? I force my eyes to meet his. "Sure."

"Say—say you get—say you become . . . you know . . . What will happen?"

My breath catches. Obviously, telling him that Voldemort will kill me is not an option, but keeping it from him might only make it worse when the time comes for me to die. Both choices carry with them such positives and negatives that it's hard to choose which instinct to go with: lie or tell the truth. I meet his eyes, his beautiful blue eyes that are so innocent yet have seen so much pain. His eyes make the decision for me. "Nothing. I'll have to deal with it, but once everything is finished, life will continue the way it always has. Stressfully."

He smiles weakly but accepts my answer as truth. And why wouldn't he? "Good. I can't lose you too."

"You won't."

"Is there any way I can help you?"

"I know you want to, but I don't think you'll be able to, Christopher, I'm sorry." I squeeze his shoulder. "I have family members—the Malfoys. Draco and Narcissa have offered me their help, as have Andromeda and Nymphadora Tonks, all of whom are related to me through my mother Bellatrix. If I'm—I will not be able to stay and give birth to the child of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. I'll have to go into hiding."

"But—"

"And if I go into hiding, I can have the child without anyone really needing to know."

"So you're just going to leave me, just like that?"

I shake my head. "I would never just leave you, Christopher."

"I can help you too, you know. You don't just have to rely on your family."

"I know that. And I might use your help."

"You will use my help. Just tell me what I need to do."

"If it happens according to how I hope it will," but things hardly ever do, "I'll need you to help convince everyone that I am dead. I'll disappear, but I promise to find a way to contact you."

"How?"

"I'll think of something. You'll know it's me."

"And how will I know you truly went into hiding rather than actually being taken or killed?"

"I haven't quite figured that out yet."

Christopher gives my hand a gentle squeeze. "I have faith in you."

He might be one of the sweetest people I've ever me. "You're a gem in a world of rocks, Christopher."

"I love you, too."

"Why don't you go find the others to finish out your free period? I think I'm going to go lie down for a bit." He walks with me out of the dormitories and to the common room, then waits and watches as I go up the stairs. Once out of his eyesight, I cast the Disillusionment Charm over myself and make my way out of the common room. I need to talk to Severus.