Rachel was out of work sick for three additional days-Saturday, Sunday, and Monday. Much to my dismay, Tom and Martha needed me to fill in for her each of those days. I'd thought I'd be safe from having to waitress again after the embarrassing events of Friday night, but Tom and Martha both seemed to think I could handle myself the rest of the time Rachel was out, much to my disappointment.

"It was them, not you," Martha told me gently after I had reminded her about the spilled drinks incident. "If it were up to me, I wouldn't allow those boys in here. They're rowdy and disruptive. Always have been. But since we can't simply refuse customers, it seems as if we're stuck. Besides, the more you do this, the more confident you'll become." And with that she had handed me my apron with a smile and hurried away.

I had to admit that the next three days I filled in as waitress went a lot more smoothly than Friday night. Saturday night was just as busy and I did make a few mistakes, but none as bad as tripping and falling on my face. Sunday was slow, as always, and Monday was busy around lunch hour, but other than that, a relatively easy day. At least Marcus Flint and his friends didn't come back for the rest of the weekend. They'd probably be back the next Friday, but I'd be back to cleaning tables by then and wouldn't have to worry about them.

On Monday afternoon, one of the Weasley twins did come in to pick up lunch, but I wasn't even sure which one it was. He'd given me a tiny smile and a wave and I'd stared back at him blankly for a minute before quickly waving back and returning to work.

"So, you've heard from Rachel? She's definitely coming back tomorrow?" I asked Martha at the end of the day on Monday as I threw my apron in the laundry basket in the back corner of the kitchen. I then knelt down and picked the basket up, balancing it on my hip. It was full and we were running low on aprons, so when that happened, we usually took the dirty ones up to the flat to be washed.

Martha looked at me with a fond smile as she sighed. "Yes, she'll be back tomorrow and you can go back to cleaning tables. Although...most people would wantto be a waitress. Does it really make you that uncomfortable?"

I nodded as I headed across the kitchen to the back, private staircase that lead upstairs. There was a public one out front that led up to the guest floors, but the one in the kitchen was strictly for employees and led directly to Tom and Martha's flat on the top floor. The door at the top was usually kept locked for added safety, and only Tom, Martha and I were able to open it. It was quite useful really.

"I'm just a very private person, Martha," I said now as I began ascending the stairs.

"Are you really?" Martha snorted, following behind me. Without looking at her, I could tell she was rolling her eyes.

I smiled wryly as I adjusted the laundry basket on my hip. "Martha, I don't want to talk to people or get to know them. You know that. There's no point. I don't plan on staying here long."

"I'd still like you to change your mind," she said. "If you ask me, there's no reason for you to leave. You need to be where people can take care of you, for one thing. I could go on about that for hours, but I know you don't like for me to do that, so I won't. But besides that, it's been nice having someone else here, even if you are terribly quiet. It gives me someone to talk to other than Tom, even if I'm talking and you're just listening. And you've done well as a waitress the last three days," she assured me. "All things considered. You're making less errors than you did on Friday-and the errors you were making even then weren't huge. You're a lot better than you give yourself credit for."

I shrugged, but didn't answer. When we reached the top of the stairs, I stood to the side while Martha unlocked the door and pushed it open, allowing me to go first with the laundry basket. I brought it to the kitchen and set it down next to the table. "I can wash these now so that they'll be ready for tomorrow," I said, pulling out my wand and reaching for the cupboard under the sink, where we kept the wash bin.

"Nonsense," Martha said, waving her hands for me to put my wand away. "It's late. You've been working all day. I can do them tomorrow at some point when it's slow down in the pub."

"But-" I protested, but Martha held up her hand.

"Just because you're working to earn your keep does not mean you have to work constantly. Tom and I would be more than happy to give you one day off a week. Maybe even two. And some shorter shifts. We do have a full staff that rotates their shifts and schedules. None of them need to work all day every day, so neither do you. You'll burn out that way. As it is, you came to us in a terrible state. If you ask me, you needed more rest than you got. And Tom and have been trying to insist on giving you time off since you started, but you seem insistent on working all the time. So now it's time, I think, that I insist that you take some days off each week."

"I need the money," I muttered, looking at my shoes as I pushed my hair behind my ears.

"You also need a break," Martha said. "You need to make friends. You're a young girl, you should be going out and doing things-having a life!"

I bit my lip as my chest constricted and my face heated up. I refused to look Martha in the eye. I wasn't sure I needed to go out and do things to have a life. Compared to where I'd come from, having a place to live, being around nice people, and being able to work was having a life. I hadn't had any of that for a while and there were times where I'd feared I wouldn't make it to see another day. And then I really wouldn't have a life. But I was here now and I was grateful. It was another reason, besides my quiet nature, why I was comfortable staying in as opposed to going out.

"I'm going to talk to Tom again tomorrow about giving you some days off," Martha went on. "We can start with one full day and maybe a half day during the week, and then we'll go from there."

"I'm not sure Tom will-"

"I know he's a little tough, dear," Martha said gently. "but he's reasonable. He's fair. And I know he was a bit suspicious of you when you first arrived, but you're growing on him."

"A bit suspicious?" I asked with a raised eyebrow. "He forced me to drink Veritaserum. I didn't want anyone to know my story, and he-he made me-"

"I know," Martha interrupted, her tone comforting. "At the time, I hated the thought of him using it on you, but he was just being cautious. Protecting himself. Protecting me. And the business. It did prove that you weren't here with bad intentions. And in the time you've been here, you've been a pleasure, albeit a little quiet." She smiled faintly before it faded. "And from what you told us while you were under the Veritaserum, I can understand why. But it still doesn't mean you should isolate yourself. How else will you learn to trust people again? And wouldn't it be nice to not have to be so...alone?" She looked at me hopefully.

I let out a breath of dry laughter and looked towards the kitchen window, out at the night sky. I could remember the night I came to Tom and Martha clearly. I could remember taking the Veritaserum-being practically forced to, really-and talking about things that I really hadn't wanted to talk about. I'd been angry and afraid. They said they'd done it to make sure it was safe to allow me into their home and their business, but I hadn't asked-or even wanted-them to do that in the first place.

Regardless, that first night, I'd ended up too exhausted to try and leave again. And one night turned into two and then turned into three, which turned into four, and so on. Tom and Martha had allowed me to work and earn money, which I figured was a smart idea. They'd also promised to keep my secrets and they'd done a really great job, despite Tom's grumbling when I'd first asked. He and Martha were the only two who were aware of my story-my whole story-and while I'd rather nobody know, I supposed that if two people had to know, I was glad it was Tom and Martha.

"Of course it would be nice not to be alone," I said quietly, tracing my finger along the edge of the countertop. "But I'm not sure if it's for the best that I stay here forever."

"How can it not be?" Martha asked in frustration.

"You know why," I said, raising my eyes to meet hers.

"You're safe here, Sophie, I promise you."

It was quiet for a moment as she and I just stood in the kitchen just looking at each other. Her expression was desperate. Pleading, almost. Begging me to see reason and stay for good. My expression, however, was neutral and exhausted. Determined not to let myself grow too attached to anyone or anything.

"I really do need the hours and the money," I finally said, "so I can be out of your hair as soon as possible and back on my feet. So I can move on."

"Are we all really that bad here?" Martha asked with a chuckle.

"No, you've been great," I whispered with a small smile. "But I have to keep moving. I can't let anyone from home find me here. I can't let them catch up to me. I have to keep moving."

Martha reached out and put a warm hand on my arm. "Personally, I love having you here. You're sweet and a hard worker. You don't need to feel like you have to rush out because you're a burden. You aren't. And I understand wanting to be independent, and that you're scared of your past, but if you want my opinion, you need someone to take care of you-and properly for once in your life. You haven't spoken about yourself since the night you first came, but you can't keep everything inside forever, you know." She paused. "I'd like for you to feel you can open up to me, so if you ever want to talk any more about yourself..." She trailed off. "Or if you find someone else. Make a friend."

I shrugged instead of responding. I didn't know how to respond.

"If you're going to talk, though, it has to be because you're comforable doing so," Martha said. "Don't do it because you feel like you owe anybody. Do it for yourself. When you're ready." When I didn't answer, she tilted her head towards the hallway. "Now go on-go get cleaned up and then head to bed. I'm going to go check on Tom downstairs and make sure he's closed up okay."

I nodded. "Thanks, Martha. Truly. For everything." And then, without being able to quite stop myself, I stepped forward and hugged her. The action seemed foreign to me, but I knew it would mean something to her. Sure enough, she only seemed surprised at first, but then she tightly hugged me back. When I pulled away, there was a soft smile on her face as she patted my cheek.

"Go on, get some rest," she whispered, shooing me towards the hallway. "You must be exhausted."

As if to prove her point, I found myself yawning. I stifled it behind my hand before saying goodnight to Martha and heading down the hallway for a bath and then some long awaited sleep.


Martha was true to her word and talked to Tom about giving me some days off as well as some shorter shifts so I wouldn't "work myself to death." Her words, not mine. Tom had agreed to start with giving me every Sunday off in addition to Tuesday mornings. He surprised me by actually agreeing with Martha about me needing some time off. They also surprised me by informing me of their decision the very morning after Martha and I had talked about it. I hadn't expected them to decide that soon.

"When we came up with an agreement that you work in order to stay here," Tom said at breakfast, "even I didn't expect you to work all the time." He aimlessly scratched the back of his neck and tilted his head, staring as if he couldn't make sense of me in the slightest. I just sat there, unsure of what to say.

"At some point, we'll discuss actual shift changes so you aren't hanging around closing so much," Martha said. "We'll have to get a normal schedule going for you."

"But I need-"

"Sophie, dear," Martha sighed. "I'm hoping you'll be able to finally make some friends. Make plans with Rachel or one of the other girls on the weekend. Promise me you'll try. I worry."

I sighed. No matter how much I tried to tell Martha that I wasn't planning on staying, she always either dismissed it, or acted like I simply wasn't going anywhere. Like now. Before I'd been able to fully get the words out that I needed money, she'd interrupted by telling me to make friends and having me promise to make plans with some of the girls who worked at the pub. I considered trying to say no, but was there really any use? Finally, I simply nodded. "Sure. I'll try."

Martha beamed excitedly. "Glad to hear it."

Once breakfast was over and Tom was leaving the room, he stopped at the door and looked back at me. "By the way, those Weasley boys were asking me about you last Friday," he asked. "I know you're big on not talking about yourself, so I only told them you were passing through and staying with Martha and me for a little while. I didn't even tell them your name."

I nodded. "I know. They mentioned that they talked to you. Thank you for not saying anything."

Martha suddenly brightened. "You should go visit their shop this weekend!" she suggested. "They're closed on Sunday, but you always pop in Saturday during your lunch break...Or you know what? Just for this weekend, take Saturday off instead of Sunday. Just so you can go see the joke shop! It's really quite impressive. I can't believe you've never been. It was quite the rage when it first opened. Brought a lot of business here on their opening day, as people were passing through to get to the alley and stopping in to eat on their way back."

"I don't think I'd want to spend my day off visiting a joke shop," I said. "It's not my thing."

"Well, then just go visit with the twins," Martha said. "I'm insisting, Sophie! Go get to know them! They're very friendly boys, and have I mentioned that you could use some friends?"

"Once or twice, yeah," I said, rolling my eyes as Tom snorted.

Martha either didn't notice or didn't care as she plowed on. "And after what happened last May, I think those boys could use-"

"Martha," Tom said with a heavy sigh as Martha stopped talking and looked at him. He gave her a look before turning to me and shrugging a shoulder when he noticed my quizzical expression. "You aren't the only one around here who doesn't like talking about their past." And then he left the room, but I could have sworn that he winked at Martha and that she gave him a knowing smile in return.


Needless to say, I became quite curious about what Tom meant. He had said I wasn't the only one who disliked talking about my past. Did that mean that Fred and George more like me than I'd thought? From my first impression of them alone, I had thought we couldn't be more different. But there was no denying that there had been something going on. That was evident from what Marcus Flint had said. But if Marcus Flint had known, then it wasn't a secret.

I woke up early on Saturday morning-still in the habit of going to work-and almost immediately, I began to debate whether or not to go to the joke shop. There was a part of me that actually wanted to go. If the twins were any bit like me at all-if they had a difficult past-well, I could definitely relate. And a part of me was aching for someone to relate to. To understand just how brutal pasts could be. But I also kept telling myself that I couldn't do that. Not now. Not when I still felt the need to keep running.

So regardless of if I wanted to go to the shop or not, the better question was should I go? Even if I did, I couldn't flat out ask the twins what had happened to them. From what Tom had said, they probably wouldn't even want to tell me. And I couldn't blame them. I still wasn't planning on telling them about me. Besides, we hardly knew each other. But I felt that Martha's plan all along had been for me to get to know them. She wouldn't have all but forced me into the joke shop otherwise.

While I certainly was curious, I also hated the idea of walking into their shop and having to talk to them. I wasn't used to this whole making friends thing. But on the other hand, I could feel my curiosity starting to get the better of me. And I also needed something to do with my day off. I was used to being busy all the time and now that I had time off, I didn't know what to do with myself. For as long as I could remember, I'd always been busy whether it be with chores back home, or, after I'd left, trying to figure out where I'd be sleeping for the night or if I'd even be eating. Life had simply made it impossible to have time to myself to do whatever I'd like-even make friends.

After I dressed for the day, I went to the kitchen and made myself something to eat. Then I returned to my bedroom, where I tried and failed to occupy myself. An hour passed, but I was restless. I paced around my room for another few minutes, stopping every so often to stare out the window and down the alley. I could just make out the top of a tall, purple building, the only one in the alley that wasn't a drab brown or grey. It had to be the joke shop. Unless it wasn't. Unless the shop was actually the same boring color as the other buildings and thatwas a joke in itself.

I thought of the two redheaded twins and how they'd almost been too much when I'd met them a week ago. Overwhelming. Nervewracking. Talkative. But then I thought about what Tom had said and I became all too curious again. Was it really possible that I could relate to these twins more than I had realized? Did we have something huge in common?

Part of me was a little afraid-what Marcus Flint had said made it seem like Fred was some kind of drunk. But he hadn't seemed it to me. And surely Tom and Martha would not send me there alone if Fred was that dangerous. Fred and George had sat at the bar for a good portion of the night on Friday talking to Tom, who had seemed quite friendly with them. Chewing on my lip, I stared out the window at the purple building for a moment more before turning and leaving the room. I trotted down the stairs and out the back door to the alley's entrance before I could convince myself to change my mind.

I almost fainted upon my arrival to the tall, purple and completely wild joke shop. It was by far the most exhuberant shop in the alley. The front windows were filled with displays that were colorful, sparkling, and some even moving. It was so overwhelming that I had to fight the urge to turn around and go back home. I didn't know how I was going to be able to take the inside if the outside already had me in shock.

But somehow, I managed to make my way inside the building. A bell jingled merrily as I pushed open the door, but I had to wonder if the sound was lost in the mayhem going on inside the shop. It was filled with people talking and laughing and testing out products. The sounds of whoopee cushions came from my left, while the squeaks of Pygmy puffs (according to a sign on the shelf), came from my right. And those were only the sounds of two products.

I was overcome with the urge to turn and leave again. Why had I even come in the first place? It was like I'd suddenly forgotten every reason I'd had for coming here. But even as I wondered the question, a voice in the back of my head answered it for me. Because you want friends. Despite what you try to tell yourself is for the best.

Nevertheless, I suddenly felt idiotic. I hadn't the faintest idea how to go about making friends. What did I do when I found the twins in this chaos? What did I say?

You could start with hello, I told myself.

Shaking my head, I turned and headed back for the door. My hand was reaching out for the knob, when I felt a hand on my shoulder.

"Hey, you decided to visit!" a voice said from behind me.

I gasped and jumped slightly at the sudden touch and the loudness of the voice. I spun around and pressed myself against the door as I looked up at none other than one of the twins.

"Did I scare you?" he asked, tilting his head and peering at me in amusement.

I didn't answer. Instead, I continued to look up at him with wide eyes.

"Ah, that's right, you don't talk much," he said, nodding his head slowly.

I flushed a deep red and my expression turned to one of agitation before I turned and tried to leave the shop again.

"Wait, don't go," he said, reaching out to stop me, his movements less sudden this time. He took me by the elbow and pulled me inside. "Let me give you a tour!"

I didn't seem to have much of a choice in the matter. I listened attentively and gazed around in wonder as I was led around the shop. It was hard to take in everything at once. There was just so much. So many colors and sounds and wild displays. It was nuts.

"So, what do you think?" the twin asked as we stopped towards the back of the shop.

"I, uh..." I began, clearing my throat. "It's...wow."

"I would say you're rendered speechless, but you were pretty speechless beforehand, so..." the twin said with a smirk.

"Will you quit pointing out how quiet I am?" I demanded, crossing my arms. "You don't even know me." My voice sounded unnaturally loud to my own ears and the twin looked surprised.

"See?" he said, recovering quickly. "There is a little spitfire in there somewhere. You've just got her hiding for some reason." When I didn't answer, he smiled wider. "You're Sophie, yes?"

I nodded. "I'm sure you haven't forgotten, considering the last time you saw me, I was on the floor and covered in alcohol."

The twin smiled. "No, I didn't forget. Just like you clearly didn't forget about me or that I owned this shop."

"I did forget which twin you are, though," I admitted, blushing again as I looked down at my feet. "Sorry."

He chuckled. "Don't worry. Happens all the time. Even our own mother forgets sometimes." He paused. "I'm Fred, by the way."

I nodded as I glanced up at him quickly before looking away again.

"You can tell me apart from George by the fact that I'm the better looking one of the two of us," Fred went on.

"You're identical," I commented, glancing up at him.

"No-not quite," Fred answered, shaking his head. "I've told you, George is uglier. Seriously. The bloke's only got one ear."

"He does?" I asked in surprise.

Fred nodded. "You mean you didn't notice last Friday? Can't say I'm surprised, since you barely looked at us."

I snorted and rolled my eyes as I looked away from him again, craning my neck to continue looking around the shop.

"You're doing it again now. You're looking anywhere but at me."

"I'm admiring your joke shop," I said, finally looking at him and fixing him with a hard stare. "Weren't you the one complaining last week about how insane it was that I hadn't been?"

Fred smiled. "Touché," he said, slowly nodding his head as he studied me, a look on his face as if he found me interesting-or rather, found my latest comment interesting. "So," he went on, leaning casually against a shelf, "you aren't going to ask why George only has one ear?"

I shook my head. "Not unless you want me to." My eyes wandered over his face, trying to gauge his reaction. He didn't seem as if he wanted to avoid the subject of George's missing ear. In fact, he had brought it up himself twice now. I could imagine that his twin losing an ear, however it had happened, had been a hard thing to go through. But it just didn't seem to be the event-or even part of the event-that Tom, Martha, or even Marcus Flint had alluded to.

Fred shrugged. "It was a battle wound, essentially," he said. "The whole story's rather long, and believe it or not, George and I are not at the center of it. Ever heard of someone called Harry Potter?"

I blinked in surprise. "Yes, actually."

"It's his story," Fred said. "Very long, and since, as I've said, it's not centered around me and George, it's also a very boring story."

I let out a breath of laughter. "Okay. Sure."

A brief moment of silence passed between us before Fred spoke again. "Did you come here looking for anything in particular or did you just come to see me? I've heard I'm a pretty irresistable guy."

I raised an eyebrow as I studied him. I took in his bright, magenta work robes and his flaming red hair that the robes clashed terribly with. I took in his casual, confident stance and his lopsided smirk. But I also noticed his eyes. To begin with, they were a lovely sapphire blue, but there were also dark circles underneath as if he hadn't slept in a while. And as for his actual eyes, something was...off. It was almost as if his cheerful, loud and confident demeanor didn't reach them. I hadn't noticed that about him last Friday. Then again, I hadn't been paying much attention. As he'd said himself, I'd barely looked at him. But now that I was looking, I found it somewhat sad, really. His eyes were beautiful, but they were almost dull. I wondered what they'd been like before. Before he'd been through whatever had happened last year-the incident Martha had mentioned. And I wondered what the incident even was. What had happened to make him like this?

Merlin, I had to stop being so interested. The plan had been to keep moving without getting attached. To anyone. I couldn't afford to find out what Fred's story was. I couldn't afford to make friends with him. It wasn't part of the plan.

"I came today because I had the day off," I finally answered, pushing a strand of hair behind my ear. "And I didn't know what else to do."

Fred nodded thoughtfully as he stared back at me. "How long have you been here?" he asked curiously. "In England?"

"Just over a month," I answered.

"And you haven't had a single day off since then, have you?" he asked.

I shook my head.

"You are a strange girl," he said, dragging out the word 'strange' slightly. I didn't answer, something that was becoming a trademark habit of mine, but it didn't seem to deter Fred at all. "Would you like to hang out here for a bit? See our back room? It's where all the magic happens. Literally."

I shrugged one shoulder. "Okay."

"Damn, don't get overexcited," Fred said sarcastically, letting out a snort of amusement as he pushed off the wall and turned towards a doorway a few feet away. He pushed open the door and held it open for me to go through. I glanced up at him as I passed and gave him a timid, awkward smile that surely looked odd compared to his giant one. Merlin, he could be so unnerving.

"I was working on a new batch of Fever Fudge earlier before things got chaotic and I had to step out front for a bit," Fred said, walking over to a wooden worktable, covered with a few cauldrons and lots of papers and vials.

"Fever Fudge?" I asked, staying where I was by the door.

"It's part of our line of sweets that make you ill," Fred answered, peering into the bubbling cauldron and giving it a stir. "We've got Fever Fudge, Fainting Fancies, Puking Pastils and Nosebleed Nougats. If you eat one half of the sweet, it makes you instantly sick. Eat the other half, and it cures you. They're designed for people to get out of class easily. People don't use them just for that, though. We've heard of people using them to get out of meetings, baby showers, plans they don't want to attend anymore, but also don't want to cancel...Some bloke once told us he'd used a Puking Pastil to get out of a wedding."

"Not his own wedding, I hope," I said, raising my eyebrows.

Fred glanced up at me and laughed. "No, it was not his own wedding." He rummaged around on the table for a bit until he found a vial of purple liquid. He uncorked it before pouring a bit into the cauldron. The potion hissed and a line of steam rose out of it. Fred set the vial down and looked up at me. He gestured to one of the stools situated around the worktable. "Why don't you come sit down? I don't bite." He smiled wryly and tilted his head. "Usually."

I hesitated, studying him intently for a moment before I smiled slightly and headed over to the closest stool, slowly perching on top of it. Fred held out the spoon he was stirring with to me. I looked at it before glancing up at him. "You want me to stir it?" I asked.

Fred nodded eagerly. "Yeah, want to give it a try?"

"I wouldn't want to ruin it."

"Well, see, here's the thing," Fred said. "Stirring is the easiest part." He grinned and even I had to break out into a wide smile.

"Fine," I said with a roll of my eyes as I took the spoon, slowly swirling it around the cauldron.

"I'm glad I finally got a real smile out of you," Fred said, resting his hands on the table and watching me as I stirred.

"It's literally your job to get people to smile," I said.

"And?" Fred asked.

"It's just another day in the life for you."

"But I love doing it," Fred said. "Why do you think I chose this job? I don't like making people smile because it's my job. I made it my job because I love doing it." He paused as he began sifting through the paperwork on the table, trying t organize it into a stack. "And I'm good at it."

"I'm sure you are," I said. It was quiet again as I continued to stir the potion. "Is there ever a lot of pressure on you? To always be funny, even when you're not in the mood?" I looked up and studied his eyes again. The lack of sparkle, the circles under his eyes.

"I suppose," Fred said with a shrug. "But I try not to let it affect me. In fact, I try harder to make people laugh during difficult times. It distracts me-and them." He cleared his throat before smiling widely at me again. "But look at you! I think this is the most you've said to me since we met."

"We met once. A week ago," I pointed out. "And can we please stop talking about how quiet I am? It's not something I enjoy having pointed out."

Fred nodded as he studied me. After a moment, he reached out and took the ladle from me, tapping it against the edge of the cauldron to get off the excess liquid before setting it down.

"Can I ask you something?" I asked, watching as Fred used his wand to levitate the cauldron and tip it over a rectangular metal tin. The purple liquid began pouring into the tin, slowly filling up the space.

"Go for it," Fred said, his eyes on the moving liquid.

"Why are you talking to me? Why did you want me to stay today? Why did you give me a tour and bring me back here?"

"Every time you've seen me, you've been staring at me as if I'm crazy," Fred snorted. "You don't seem as if you like me very much. To borrow your words from earlier, you don't even know me. Don't I deserve the chance to change that? To change your impression of me?"

"It has nothing to do with you," I said, shaking my head. "It's me."

Fred let out a low whistle. "So you're one of those people?"

"What people?" I asked, looking up at him in surprise and confusion.

"The it's not you, it's me people," he said. "My ex-girlfriend was the opposite. She was an it's not me, it's you girl."

"She told you that?" I asked.

"Not in words," Fred replied, shrugging and looking down at the table again. "In actions."

I was quiet, unsure of what to say to that. I considered asking flat out what had happened, but that wouldn't exactly be fair, considering I had no intentions of telling him about my own life and my own secrets. Besides, he suddenly looked so stony-he'd almost gone rigid. And I didn't want to push him. I knew all too well what that felt like.

Fred finally seemed to relax a bit when he realized I wasn't going to ask any more questions. He sighed, looked up at me and studied my face seriously for a moment. "Besides your apparent distaste of me and George, though, you looked-" he began, before breaking off.

"I looked what?" I whispered.

"You looked like you could use a friend," he finally said slowly. "And I thought that maybe there was more to you than met the eye, as well. And if I deserve the chance of a second impression, then so do you."

"I suppose. But what gave you the idea that I needed a friend?" I asked. "How would you know if I needed a friend or not?"

Fred opened his mouth for a second before closing it and clearing his throat awkwardly as if he was struggling with saying what was going through his head. But then he seemed to recover and smiled widely. The grin was back, but it still wasn't reaching his eyes. "I just know. I'm intuitive like that."

"I see," I answered, falling silent again.

Just then, the door to the back room opened and George poked his head in. "Fred, I'm-" When he saw me, he did a double take. "Hi," he said in surprise.

"George, you remember Sophie, don't you?" Fred asked, stretching his arms above his head.

George nodded and stepped fully into the room as he grinned at me-the same large smile as his twin, except for it actually reached his eyes. Although, again, just by looking at him, I could tell he'd been through something big. I wasn't sure if it was because I now knew something had happened to them, but I could tell that both he and his brother were healing from something. Perhaps George in healthier ways than Fred.

"Fred and I looked for you on Friday during our weekly visit to the Leaky Cauldron, but we didn't see you," George said.

"I was back to clearing tables," I shrugged. "Laying low, staying out of the way."

"Did Flint and his fellow baboons give you any more trouble?" George asked.

I shook my head. "I stayed clear of them," I said. "Kept my head down. Out of sight, out of mind."

"Don't be afraid of them," Fred scoffed. "They feed off of it."

"Yeah, well, I'm sure they've never tripped you or tossed a drink in your face." I sighed. "Anyway, I'm not afraid. They're just your typical bullies. It's nothing I haven't seen before."

Fred gave me a quizzical look, before seeming to think better of it. He rubbed his eyes and turned to George. "I'm exhausted. I'm certainly looking forward to a day off tomorrow."

"Yeah, well, maybe if you slept properly at night," George muttered

Fred nudged his brother and widened his eyes, tilting his head towards me and shaking his head slightly.

There it is, I thought. We were moving into the subject of whatever it was that had happened that Fred didn't want to talk about. The thing that apparently kept him awake at night. And instead of asking questions about it, I came to Fred's rescue, shoved my curiosity aside, and changed the subject. Not tactfully, either. In fact, I started to practically babble.

"Martha mentioned you were closed on Sundays," I said. "Sundays are supposed to be my days off from now on, too. Martha gave me today off just for this weekend. She suggested I come here and check the shop out." I took in a deep breath before clamping my mouth shut in an attempt to put an end to the babbling.

"So what you're saying is that we'll have the same day off," Fred said slowly. He stared at me for a second before grinning. "Are you trying to ask me out?"

"What? No, of course not!" I answered, my cheeks turning pink.

"Relax, I'm just messing with you," Fred chuckled, looking at me in amusement.

"Oh...of course. Right." I nodded my head as if I'd known that all along, but my cheeks turned an even darker shade of pink.

"So," George said, rubbing his hands over his face in exhaustion as he turned to Fred, "Mum wants us over tomorrow by eleven instead of noon. She wants us to help dad clean up the attic. The ghoul made a mess of it again."

"Ghoul?" I asked, my eyebrows shooting up.

"Yeah, there's a ghoul in the attic of our childhood home," George said casually. "He's known to throw stuff around and wail and moan a lot when the house gets too quiet. Which never used to be all that often growing up. But now that we've all moved out except for our youngest sister, he does it a lot more often." He looked back at Fred. "So...eleven's okay with you?"

Fred nodded. "It's fine," he said, turning back to the pan of purple mixture and poking at it. It was the consistency of jelly at this point as opposed to liquid.

George turned back to me. "Every Sunday, Mum has our entire family over for dinner," he explained. "It's been a good way to see each other since we all started moving out."

I nodded. "Oh," I said.

"Would you like to join us?" George asked with an amused smile.

"George, I don't think-" Fred began, giving George a hesitant look.

"Fred, come on," George said quietly.

"I don't want to bring her into all that," Fred said, tilting his head towards me as I bristled slightly. "And I don't know if I can handle what they'll all think. What they'll all say." Fred let out a heavy sigh. "I know what they'll think and I know how they'll act. They'll make a bigger deal of it than it is."

"You don't know that," George argued.

"I do. And I'm not ready for that. It's too soon after Angelina."

George sighed. "Yeah, I know-it's only been five months. People forget that it's not really a lot of time."

I didn't have much of a clue what they were talking about, but I did know a few things for sure. Angelina had to have been Fred's ex-girlfriend. The it's not me, it's you girl. The one Marcus Flint had mentioned had left Fred. He was clearly still having a rough time since the break up. But was that all it was? It couldn't be. There was more to the story than just a break-up. Something had affected George as well, even if it wasn't as much as Fred. I just didn't know what.

The way the two of them had been talking to each other as if I weren't there had begun to make me feel terribly uncomfortable, though, and I suddenly found that I didn't have the energy to stay here any longer. As curious as I had been, I had seemingly forgotten just how exhausting things like this could be. Fred was clearly still suffering from something big, just like I was. And my own problems were suffocating enough. It had been stupid of me to think that I could come here and that Fred and I could connect somehow. I barely knew the guy! And in order to get to know him and to connect properly-in the way a huge part of me wanted to connect with someone-I'd have to tell him my secrets. Which I was not ready for.

"It's okay," I said quickly, standing up. "I don't want to intrude. It's a family dinner and you and I just met." I paused and gestured towards the door. "I should get going anyway."

Fred seemed to suddenly snap out of whatever funk he'd been in. "No, you don't have to leave. You practically just got here."

"Yeah, don't let my moody, sullen brother chase you away," George said.

"You both have work to do," I said, making my way to the door. "I've stayed long enough." I paused. "I'll, uh...see you around. I guess."

The twins looked at each other before looking back at me. Fred gave me a wry smile. "We know where to find you," he said. "And you know where to find us."

I nodded and offered a tiny smile before leaving the room and weaving my way through the shop. I pushed open the front door, jingling the bell overhead as I did so, and made my way out into the alley. There were some people out and about, but it wasn't overly crowded, which was good. I'd heard from Tom and Martha that the place was usually the most packed towards the end of summer when Hogwarts students came to do their school shopping.

I began walking down the alley, taking my time. I was in no rush. It was only early afternoon and I had the whole rest of the day to myself with absolutely nothing to do. Maybe I'd take the time to go into any of the shops that caught my eye.

As I walked, I thought about the twins. I couldn't explain it, but something about them drew me in. I didn't know if it was curiosity and a desire to know more about them or if it was their captivating, vibrant personalities, but there was something. They were nice to me, just like everyone else had been, but they also didn't ask questions. They didn't pry. Mostly everyone else I'd met so far had wanted my entire life story upon meeting me. I suppose I could understand. I wasn't from here and I'd appeared suddenly without reason. I wasn't related to Tom and Martha-hadn't even known them when I'd arrived, and yet they'd taken me in. I'd be curious, too. But the thought of sharing my story with anyone terrified me. I wanted to keep my head down. That was the goal. Keep my head down and fly under the radar. Distance myself from home.

I slowed my walk somewhat as I snapped out of my trance. I suddenly had the feeling that I was being followed. I glanced over my shoulders but saw nobody out of the ordinary, so I turned back around and kept walking, feeling more on alert now. I had nothing to worry about, I reminded myself as I tried to calm my nerves. I was safe. There was no way anything or anyone from home could have followed me here. They didn't know-couldn't have known-where I'd gone.

As I was thinking this, someone jostled me from behind, knocking into my shoulder. I gasped and stumbled a bit and only managed to notice a small, worn book fall to the ground in front of me-probably from the person who'd bumped into me. Without thinking, I grabbed it and stood up, quickly searching for the owner so I could return it, but there was no one. Whoever had bumped me had simply kept walking. They probably hadn't noticed they'd dropped something. I thought it slightly odd-I'd think they'd notice the sudden absence of a book. Especially if they'd pause to apologize for bumping into me, which anyone with manners should have done.

Chewing on my lip, I flipped open the front cover of the book, hoping to find a name, an address-or both-inside. And I did. But the information was useless. That is not to say, however, that it didn't grab my attention. Quite the opposite, in fact. The words made my breath hitch and my chest constrict in shock, surprise and confusion as I read the words on the first page.

The Diary of Elizabeth Ann Proctor. Salem, Massachusetts, 1692

Salem. The very place I'd just run away from. This was exactly the kind of thing I'd wanted to prevent. I didn't know whose diary this was or where it had come from, but if anything, it was a reminder of what I'd just run away from. And it was too odd to be coincidental. A diary from Salem, Massachusetts showing up at my feet in London, England? There was no way this was an accident. No, it was just as I'd feared. My past was following me.