It All Fell Down | A Marauder's Story

Eighteen

     "Family is supposed to be our safe haven. Very often, it is the place where we find the deepest heartache." - Iyanla Vanzant 

     Charlotte Riggs had barely laid her trunk across her mattress and slung her rucksack from her shoulder, before her mum entered her room with a cheery smile. They had decided since Charlie was now of age, she could just apparate home instead of her mother coming all the way to the station to get her. 

    "How's my girl?" She outstretched her arms to wrap her only child in a tight embrace, unable to stop grinning.

    Charlie breathed in the comforting scent of her mum. "Hey, mum."

    "Have a good term?"

    She nodded against her mother's shirt, choosing not to answer verbally. There was no need to go into the boy troubles or family troubles, and that was when it struck Charlie that she wasn't even sure that her mother was aware that her ex-husband was dead. It was an odd feeling; having a parent that was murdered and not being sure that the other parent knew of it. Charlie felt weirdly split. 

    Her mother arched an eyebrow. "Anything worth mentioning?"

    Charlie leaned away from her mother's grasp and shook her head with a weak smile. "Nah."

    "In a whole year, there's nothing worth talking about? At your age? In a school full of teenagers?" Her mother gave her a look of disbelief. 

     Charlie shrugged, trailing the edge of her trunk with her finger, avoiding eye contact. "I may have briefly dated a boy," she muttered to the floor. 

    "A boy?" She demanded. "Who?"

    "James Potter?"

    Her mum arched an eyebrow. "A Potter?" Charlie could practically see the thoughts coursing through her mother's mind– a pure blood.

    Charlie made a face without voicing a response. 

    "What happened?" She asked gently. 

    Charlie took a deep breath and exhaled loudly. "It's not important, Mum. We're still friends. It doesn't matter, I promise."

    "Charlotte, I-" Whatever her mother was going to say, it was cut off by a sound that came from the kitchen. It sounded like someone had slapped their bare hand against their dining room table. 

    Charlie's head snapped up, body incased in ice. She snatched her wand from her bed and turned to look at her mum. "Is someone here?" She asked, her voice barely a whisper. 

    Emmeline Addington turned to look out her daughter's bedroom door. There was something unrecognizable in her blue eyes that unsettled something deep within her daughter. She didn't look confused or fearful; she was steady.

    "Mum?"

    "It's okay."

    Charlie gripped her wand a little tighter as the pit in her stomach grew. Something was off, and it was making the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. "Mum, who is here?"

    Her mother walked towards the door and motioned for her to follow. She wanted to say no, but by every logical aspect, there was no reason to be afraid– there was no reason to feel the way that she was feeling. So, she ignored her the aching in her gut and walked after her mum. 

    She regretted it immediately. A man–if you could call him that–was sitting at their modest dining room table. His face was pale white and snake-like, right down to the slits for a nose; his eyes were bright red, a striking contrast to his alabaster skin.