"This has got to be the best chocolate cake I have ever had," George declared, gesturing with his fork to the slice of cake sitting on his plate. "Martha, why don't you sell this at the Leaky Cauldron?"

"She does," Rachel pointed out. "You just have to know to ask for it." She looked at me and rolled her eyes. "They've been to the Leaky Cauldron how many times?" She hissed. "And they had no idea about one of the best things that Martha makes."

I smiled. Martha's chocolate cake was good. In my opinion, it was rivaled only by her blueberry pie. I was almost glad she'd decided on a dessert herself for tonight because if she'd asked me to choose, I wasn't sure I would have been able to.

"I've never seen you boys or your friends actually bother with dessert," Tom pointed out to the twins. "Usually you just come for food and drinks."

"That's because we've never thought of it!" George protested, sticking more cake into his mouth.

"You've been missing out," I said quietly. "Martha's the greatest baker. She's been teaching me a lot, actually."

"Huh, interesting," Fred said. "I might invite you over to bake for us once a week. Forget George doing it."

"I don't do that in the first place," George said with a roll of his eyes. "You're delusional."

"I'm sure your mother wouldn't protest to you boys learning how to cook a thing or two," Martha said knowingly. "I'll bet she's tried many times trying to spark an interest to no avail."

"Right you are," Fred said cheerfully.

"You know, if you can make all those potions you concoct for your products, I'm sure cooking wouldn't be too far off," I said.

"She's got a point," Tom chuckled as the twins looked at each other, clearly trying to formulate a comeback.

"Ah, see, you have no excuses," Martha said.

"I think Sophie should take you up on your once a week cooking lesson offer," Rachel said.

"That's not what I offered," Fred muttered, but Rachel went on as if she hadn't heard him.

"She could use the social interaction and you could use the lessons."

"Rachel, please," I sighed, turning red. If she embarrassed me any more, I was going to kill her. That is, if I didn't die first.

"What?" she shrugged innocently. But I didn't miss the sneaky wink she sent my way.

"You know, I could really use some cooking lessons as well," Noah chimed in. "Want to teach me how to cook too?" He grinned.

"Oh, honestly," I sighed, letting out a quiet laugh of my own.

"Someone's jealous," Kayla teased with a snort as Noah tossed his crumpled up napkin at her.

"Hey, hey, behave," Martha said with a soft smile of her own. "I'm very glad everyone could come today," she added.

"Yeah, I agree. Thank you," I said. "This is truly the best birthday I've ever had."

"It didn't make you uncomfortable having all this attention?" Kyle asked.

"A bit," I admitted honestly, "but it was nice. I really appreciate you all being so nice to me. Thank you. All of you."

"What a nice speech," Kyle said. "Before you know it, you'll be publicly speaking in front of hundreds of people."

"Don't push it," I told him with a snort, leaning back in my seat and sticking a bite of cake in my mouth.

I had to admit, as reluctant as I'd been to have a birthday celebration, I was thoroughly enjoying myself. I found myself forgetting about the diary and the strange woman in Diagon Alley. I suddenly was the normal girl with friends and a family. I wasn't the shy, quiet freak anymore. This is what it felt like to be normal and it felt really good. It was slowly becoming a sort of addiction and I couldn't believe that this is what I had been missing out on for so long, even if it hadn't been a choice.

Maybe it was a good thing I had gotten Fred involved with the diary. Maybe there was a way we could figure out together who had given it to me and why. And if it was my foster father, maybe confronting him would lead to me somehow being free from him completely. I didn't know how, but it was nice to think about. Because then I knew I would be able to truly relax and stay here in London for good.


"Read any more of the diary yet?"

I looked up in surprise from where I had collapsed onto my bed. I had thought everyone had gone home for the night after my birthday dinner, but Fred was standing in my doorway, looking at me.

"I thought you and George had gone," I said, sitting up.

Fred shook his head. "George is downstairs with Kyle and Tom. Tom mentioned he learned a new drink recipe and they decided to be his first victims."

"You didn't want to try one?" I asked.

Fred shook his head, his eyes looking tired.

"Are you okay?" I whispered.

Fred let out a long sigh and looked up at the ceiling. I sat perfectly still where I was on my bed, waiting for him to say something. I didn't want to push the issue, but he seemed off again, as if he'd fallen back into one of his low points.

"I got wasted two nights ago," he suddenly admitted. "And I don't think I'm physically ready to ingest anymore alcohol at the moment, no matter how much my mind is convinced it'll be fine as long as it gets me to stop thinking."

"Oh," I said, not sure how to react to that. I didn't feel as if I was very good at advice. I'd never really had to give it before. I'd certainly never been asked for it. "How often do you drink that much?"

Fred let out a puff of air as he shrugged. "After I was let out of the hospital last year, I was getting drunk at least four or five times a week. It put off me going back to work for even longer. I stayed in the flat all day. One day I trashed it. I was tempted to trash the shop, too, but I had to go and fall down the damn stairs." He let out a harsh bark of laughter. "Verity heard the commotion and ran to the back room. She saw me lying there, my lip busted and blood dripping all over me and she freaked. She went and got George who sent me back upstairs and forced me into bed to sleep it off." He shrugged. "I just...it was a particularly tough day when I realized Percy had never gotten the chance to see the joke shop. He'd never gotten the chance to see all that George and I had done. He had never gotten to see all our hard work actually pay off." He swallowed. "It's funny...George and I butted heads with Percy the most out of all our siblings, but he was the one I wanted to impress the most. Because he was the hardest to impress. And he never got to see any of it. He never got to fucking see a thing!" He laughed dryly again and smacked his hand against my doorframe as I gasped slightly and flinched. "Every so often it's too much," he whispered.

"Understandably," I said quietly. There was a pause. "Do you want to sit down?" I gestured to my desk chair, but Fred ignored my gesture and instead came to plop down beside me on the bed. He sprawled out on his back and stared at the ceiling, one arm behind his head and the other across his stomach. I sat stiffly beside him, gazing down at him wearily, waiting to see if he'd keep talking.

"Lately, I've only been getting drunk once, maybe twice a month," he said, turning his head to look at me.

"That's good," I said earnestly.

Fred snorted. "It's an improvement, but I wouldn't call it good. I never should've been drinking that way in the first place. And I always seem to improve. I'll go days, sometimes weeks, acting like my old self. And then something ends up setting me off and I have to drink to ease my mind."

"My foster father used to drink," I said quietly, staring down at my comforter. It was a lavender and white striped one that Martha had picked out for me. I traced my finger along one of the seams between the stripes. "Not every day...it was more like once a week. But he'd go drink with his friends every weekend and when he came home, he'd be pretty drunk. And he wasn't a nice drunk. He wasn't even nice sober, to be honest." I hesitated, still staring down at my comforter. "I told myself I'd never get that drunk. Never let myself get to that point. But I did once and it felt horrible. It only made me know for sure that I not only never wanted to feel that way again, but I never wanted to act like a complete fool around people."

"What happened to make you get drunk that one time?" Fred asked seriously.

I finally raised my eyes to meet his. "Some of the girls at school asked me to hang out with them during fifth year. I should've known better. They'd never been nice to me before. They used to make fun of my hair, my shoes...anything they could think of to tease me about, they did. But I was so eager for friends that I naively thought they'd had a change of heart." I swallowed thickly, but managed to maintain eye contact with Fred. "We snuck into an empty classroom one Friday night. I was already practically high on the adrenaline of being out after hours and sneaking around with potential new friends. And then they broke out the alcohol. I knew it was wrong and I hesitated to drink any, but the other girls told me not to be such a wimp. They told me not to be such a goody two shoes. I was afraid of doing something to push them away. So I drank. And the more I drank, the easier it was to let them hand me one after the other. They'd ask, I'd say yes. They'd refill my cup, I'd drink it." I stopped as my chest and stomach constricted unpleasantly.

"What happened?" Fred asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

"They led me down to the entrance hall, sat me on the steps and told me to wait. Then they left and never came back. I vomited all over myself and the floor. It seemed to go on forever. I could barely breathe and I was convinced I was going to die. But then I passed out and stayed there until the morning, where half the school discovered me on the way to breakfast."

Fred rolled onto his side and propped his head up on his hand. "That's not right. At all. You were alone, wasted, and you threw up...If you'd been lying the wrong way, you could've-"

"I know," I interrupted curtly. "Trust me, I know. And I almost got expelled. I got a pass that time because it was only my first offense. I never broke the rules. And of course the first time I did, it was something huge. I'd never been so scared as I sat there in the hospital wing, a bucket beside me to catch the second round of vomit that eventually came up. I could hear the headmistress talking to the nurse out in the hallway before she came in to talk to me. I was mortified and scared."

"It wasn't your fault," Fred said. "They tricked you and put you in danger for a laugh."

"It wasn't even the first joke or prank they'd pulled on me. But I was so stupid and lonely that I actually fell for their act of trying to be nice."

"Did you even rat them out?" Fred asked. "Or did you keep quiet? Please tell me you didn't keep quiet to protect them."

I shook my head. "I told on them. I didn't want to at first. I was afraid of what they'd do to me for telling. But my headmistress knew I wasn't the type to sneak alcohol into school on my own or even get drunk on my own. She pressed me for names and I was more afraid of getting expelled for not spilling, so I told her. And they were even less nice to me than before. In fact, their teasing got worse."

"You mean they didn't get expelled?" Fred asked. "And they then continued bullying you and even still nothing happened?"

I shook my head. "Their families were rich, a few of them had parents on the board of governors-including Priscilla's dad-Priscilla was the ringleader."

"Priscilla sounds like a piece of trash," Fred said definitively.

I smiled faintly. "She was pretty horrible."

"Why didn't you say anything to the headmistress?" Fred asked.

"I wasn't going to bother the head of the entire school with my bullying issues."

"What about a teacher?" Fred asked.

I pursed my lips and looked away. "I don't want to talk about it anymore," I said, instantly shutting myself down. To be honest, the amount of information I was so openly and easily giving Fred was starting to frighten me. I'd never been so vulnerable with someone, and so easily! It was starting to all be too much.

"Okay," Fred said after a moment. There was another pause. "What you must think of me," he finally said. "I make my living on selling prank items, I was constantly pulling pranks back in school, and now I get wasted regularly. I'm a combination of everything you hate."

"You're kindhearted," I said. "There's a difference, which I'm not quite sure I realized until I met you. I told you that I was weary of you at first. The jokes made me nervous. I thought it was all one in the same. But it's not. You've never made fun of me. You don't pull pranks to hurt people-unless they've already hurt you. You do it to make others laugh. You do it to make other people's days a bit brighter. You do it because you love to see people smile. I also don't think any of your products were invented with the idea of putting someone's life at risk in mind." I paused. "Were they?"

Fred shook his head.

"And I get that drinking makes things feel different. If you're hurting...it can seem to fix your problems. But it's a temporary, false fix. It's not the answer and you know it's not the answer. The way you talk about it-you're frustrated with yourself for doing it. And you're trying to do the right thing. I can tell. But it's not always an easy thing to do."

"I'm not a mean drunk," Fred told me. "I don't try to hurt anyone. Usually I'm a really fun drunk. But this past year, alcohol has enhanced the bad parts of me instead of the good ones. I started being destructive. Mostly to my own things instead of people." He paused. "I'd gotten drunk before Percy...you know. And I was just more talkative, louder, rowdier. Only after the battle did I start acting destructive. Only then did I try to destroy my own business."

I sighed and shifted on the bed, mirroring Fred and lying down on my side, facing him. "It did scare me at first, you know. The fact that you own a joke shop, and then I got the sense that you and alcohol were pretty good friends..."

"How'd you pick up on that?"

"Remember at the Three Broomsticks? After you hit me in the head with the door? We were at the bar and you said you were feeling the alcohol, but needed another drink. And then George came over and stopped you. He was trying to cut you off."

"Ah, that's right," Fred said. He paused. "Did you happen to notice two of the people at the table I'd been sitting at that were kissing for quite a bit?"

"How could I not notice?" I asked.

Fred snorted. "The girl was my ex-girlfriend. Angelina Johnson. And the guy was Oliver Wood, my ex-Quidditch captain and one of my good friends. Apparently they developed a thing for each other. In fact, Angelina dumped me, essentially for Wood, because I was an alcoholic."

"She said that?" I asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Not exactly," Fred shrugged. "What she said was that I had issues to sort through, I was going about it all the wrong way, and she didn't even recognize me anymore. And she said she didn't think she could help me if I didn't want the help." He sighed. "She told me that she'd developed feelings for someone else-wouldn't say who, but I eventually found out. Word travels and I have eyes. Anyway, then she dumped me and said she hoped I worked through everything. We'd been dating for nearly four years. She dumped me a month before Christmas and our four year anniversary."

"I'm sorry," I whispered. I let out a quiet sigh as I looked at him. So this was what Marcus Flint had been talking about. The pieces were all falling into place now. The way Marcus Flint had talked, part of me had thought the worst of Fred. But now I saw that it was all a lot more complicated than that.

"Ah, what did I tell you?" Fred said with a small smile. "No pity. About anything."

"I don't pity you," I said. "I'm just...sorry."

"I'm glad you came to me about the diary," Fred said, changing the subject. "Like I said earlier, it feels good to have something new to focus on. Something to occupy my thoughts besides Percy and Angelina. It feels good to be helping someone instead of being the one who needs help."

I felt myself instantly deflate a bit inside. What was he saying? Was he really still saying that I was a distraction to him and nothing more? That me and my problems were just a distraction from his problems? The idea stung a bit. Especially after everything we'd just talked about. I'd told him I didn't want to be his distraction, too. I'd told him just this morning, in fact. And tonight was truly the most vulnerable I'd ever been with anyone so far and it was terrifying. I couldn't even stop myself. Fred's ability to share his worst experiences made mine just seem to float out from inside me. And for what reason? To comfort him? To show him I could somehow relate to his experiences? To finally get all that horrible stuff all off my chest and tell the one other person I knew that had been through an incredibly tough time himself? I couldn't make sense of it. But the fact that Fred and I had already shared so much with each other had made me feel close to him and I barely knew him. My head was spinning. And then to find out that all this still was to him was a way to distract himself.

But that was good, wasn't it? It still meant I was helping him to move forward, even if our relationship didn't seem as scary, complicated and exhilarating all at once to him as it did to me. Maybe it was because he had a group of close friends and a big family. He was used to sharing things with people. He was used to being close to someone and sharing secrets and telling someone what you're afraid of and about moments when you've felt ashamed of yourself. He had done this all before. I was nothing new. Just another person to listen to him.

"You okay?" Fred asked suddenly, jolting me out of my thoughts.

"Fine," I said, shaking my head.

Before Fred could answer, someone rapped on the open door to my room. It was George. "What do we have here? Is this what I think it is?"

"Yes," Fred said at once, grinning at me without rolling over to face the door. "Now if you don't mind, Sophie and I would like some privacy."

"Stop it," I hissed, looking away to try and hide my smile.

"Stop it," Fred mimicked in a whiny voice, scrunching his nose up and making a face.

I blushed, feeling a bit odd at the teasing. I reminded myself that Fred never meant it in a mean way. He just did it to be funny. He wasn't being mean to me.

"Come on, you big ugly git," George laughed, coming over and shoving Fred to a sitting position. "Say goodbye to Sophie and let's get you out of here."

Fred laughed along with his brother and then turned to me. "Bye, Soph. Happy birthday." His expression became serious again. "Thanks for the talk."

I nodded solemnly. "Anytime."

He reached over and patted my arm before getting up and heading out of the room. I looked up to see George smirking at me.

"What?" I asked.

"Talk?" George said. "What'd you talk about?"

I shrugged. "Just how utterly rotten life can be," I said.

George actually smiled. "So much for not talking about your feelings, huh?"

"Well we didn't exactly discuss feelings. We discussed situations, but not necessarily how we felt about them."

"Still, that part might've been obvious even if you didn't say it in words. For instance, you can see how Fred's dealing with Percy's death. That's a giveaway of his feelings without him having to say a word."

"I guess you have a point," I said.

George smiled. "I know I do. And thank you. For not pushing him away because of all this. It means a lot. To both of us."

I smiled as my throat constricted. "You're welcome."

"And happy birthday," George added quietly. "Thanks for inviting us over."

I nodded. "Of course. I enjoyed myself. Thank you for coming."

"See you soon?" George asked, backing towards the door.

"See you soon," I repeated.


March 30th, 1692

Poor little Dorothy. After she was taken into custody, she was examined for three whole days by the magistrates. They questioned the poor child relentlessly, demanding her to answer their questions about her and her mother's actions. Eventually, she broke down, most likely under the impression that if she forfeited some information, she would be let go.

She told them the truth. That her mother was a witch and could do magic. Obviously, the actual accusations were not true, but the magistrates never gave her the chance to speak about those. If they had, I'm not sure what she would have said. If she would have denied it or just told them what she thought they wanted to hear in order to be let go or in attempt to see her mother again.

The worst part of it all is that they did not charge her with anything, but instead they used her as another accusal towards her mother, and locked Dorothy up anyway. They did not even release her! I suppose they're afraid that, as a child, she won't be wise enough to not cause anymore trouble, but she did come forward and 'turn someone in', even if it was not technically of her own accord. There is no doubt that she was manipulated, frightened and bullied into saying what she said.

I can only imagine what being held in jail is doing to the poor girl. The longer she stays in that place, the worse the toll on her well being. And the only way it has been declared that she can be let go is if her father comes forward and pays her bail, which he most certainly cannot afford right now. I've begged John to give him some money, but he said it will make people suspicious. Even if it is an anonymous gift, we cannot afford anyone investigating where the money came from. Or what is worse, Mr. Good might even be accused of theft and thrown in jail as well.

Besides, John is right. We have been hearing rumors. John and I. We have been hearing that some of the younger girls-the same ones who have done most of the accusing so far-have started to whisper about John and I.

The girls stare at us in church, whispering behind their hands and giggling. I am sure Ann Putnam's father told his family just how outraged I was over Dorothy's arrest. The girls must know about how I had defended her. And defending an accused person, who also happens to be someone the town has rejected and refused to help even before now, does not look good to the others in town. They take it as some sort of betrayal. Almost an assumption that if I am not with them, I am against them. I suppose that is the truth. I do not agree with any of this nonsense. But how can I speak out without putting myself in danger? I tried to defend Dorothy and she was locked up anyway, and soon I fear that I may be joining her. John seems to feel the same way. We are not very sure how much time we might have left together.

The last half of the final word of the diary entry was smudged, as if it had gotten wet. Probably with tears. Now that I looked closer, there were other smudges on the entry, smudging other parts of the ink. Some were on the outer margins, making the yellowed pages wrinkled in the way only water could do. A different sort of wrinkled than the age of the book.

I sat back in my desk chair and let a puff of air out of my nose as I stared back up at the ceiling. I was almost afraid to go on to the next entry. If there was one, that is. I knew how this was going to go. There was no doubt in my mind that Elizabeth was going to be arrested. I only wished I could remember more details about her from back home. Still all that was familiar to me was her name and I couldn't remember where I'd heard or seen it.

In any case, I was almost afraid to flip the page. I was afraid it would be empty and that would be it, leaving me to assume the worst: that Elizabeth had been arrested, convicted and killed. But even if there were another entry, it wouldn't necessarily mean good news. It would just mean she had managed to sneak her diary with her into jail. There were a few plausible options here and I wasn't sure which one I was hoping for.

It was the Sunday after my birthday and I had woken early, only to pull out the diary and read another entry. I usually found it difficult to read more than one entry at a time, and if I did, I was reading one major entry and one short entry that simply told me some basic information about Elizabeth's life in Salem so that way it still wasn't too overwhelming.

So far I'd found out that she and her husband ran a tavern in town, which was interesting because it was just like Tom and Martha. Some of Elizabeth's stories about working there made me smile, because even back in a completely different century, some of the same kinds of things happened to her that happened to us. Things that just came with the territory of working with people. Anything from the regular, friendly customers to rowdy ones. From what I could tell, though, Elizabeth had never fallen flat on her face or gotten alcohol splashed on her. It looked like that was just me. It also didn't look like she was ever too shy to handle anyone either. It sounded like she loved talking to her customers, but if there ever was a problem, she wasn't afraid to confront someone. I found myself admiring her and wishing I could be the same way.

I found her interesting to say the least. I liked her. Which made it even harder to continue reading, considering my suspicions of what went down back then.

Part of me wanted to go find Fred, but I ultimately thought better of it. I wasn't going to bother him so he could read one more entry in order to catch up to me. I'd have to force myself to read a bit more before I handed it off to him. Besides, today was Sunday. He'd be going to his family's house in another few hours.

So what was I going to do today? I looked at my watch. It was only ten past eleven. I knew Rachel was working a half shift today. She'd began work at six and worked until noon. Allie and Kayla were working later shifts, but at least Rachel would be free after twelve o'clock. Maybe she'd want to hang out. But what would we even do?

I shut the diary and hid it in the back of my closet again before stepping back and letting my eyes wander over my clothes. I flicked through the hangers one by one. Jeans, jeans, jeans, purple sweater, green sweater, maroon sweater, black shirt, white shirt, dark blue shirt. I sighed. Rachel was right. My clothes were plain. Most of them were plain, single colored items without a design, pattern or anything unique. A lot of them were too big on me, too. Baggy sweaters and shirts. Everything was boring and too big. Everything besides that maroon shirt with the lace I'd worn the night I'd gone to the Three Broomsticks, and now the sundress Rachel had gotten for me.

These plain clothes weren't even me. Not really. When I was younger and in foster care, if it had been up to me, I would've picked more colorful clothes. I'd see things in stores that I liked. But it had never been up to me. I wore what I was given and it was always basic. And I eventually didn't have the energy to fight it, as if my spirit had become as drab as my wardrobe.

And now I had the freedom to choose my own clothes and wear what I wanted. No more second hand items or hand me downs. I could do what I wanted, but I wasn't. I was doing what I was used to, for one thing. And for another, I had told myself this was more practical and functional. I didn't need anything but the basics. I didn't need the extra attention. Why bother making anything personal, even clothing, when I wasn't even going to be here long?

Shutting my closet door, I left my bedroom and made my way through the flat before taking the stairs down to the kitchen at a slight jog. When I entered, I saw Kyle, Martha and Tom busy cleaning up from breakfast and getting ready for lunch.

"Where's Rachel?" I asked.

"She's out finishing up with her last two tables from breakfast," Martha said, glancing at me. She turned to Tom. "Which reminds me, dear, Mr. and Mrs. Bernstein are supposed to be checking out of their room after they finish eating and then we have to get their room ready for another guest coming through this afternoon."

"I can do it," I offered. "Get the room ready, I mean."

"Sophie dear, it's your day off," Martha said, gazing at me wearily as she sighed. She smiled slightly and shook her head. "What am I going to do with you?"

I simply shrugged and looked down as I dug the toe of my shoe into the floor.

"I can handle the bedroom," Martha said. "It won't take long. Kyle can manage the cooking for a bit while I'm gone. Trust me, we'll manage." She looked at me curiously. "Did you make any plans for today?"

I hesitated. "I was going to ask Rachel if she wanted to go clothes shopping when she's done with her shift," I said. "I think I need something a bit...different."

"She'd love that!" Martha exclaimed.

"That's an understatement," Kyle muttered as Martha nudged him and Tom laughed.

"I'm so happy you're doing this," Martha went on. "I'm very proud of you."

"Does this mean you want to stay here instead of running off and being homeless again?" Kyle asked as Martha swatted him and sent a menacing glare his way.

I shrugged one shoulder. "I always wanted to stay, it was just a matter of if I should."

"Not for us," Martha said. "That's always been obvious."

"For you, maybe," Kyle butted in. "Not so much Tom."

"If you say one more word," Martha scolded, "I'm sending you home."

"Terrifying," Kyle deadpanned, wiping his hands on a dishtowel.

"Keep in mind, you'd lose nearly half a day's pay," Martha told him.

"Now that is terrifying," Kyle said, looking at me with wide eyes. I smiled slightly.

"Listen to Martha and knock it off," Tom said with a small smile of his own. He squeezed my shoulder as he walked by me. "Rachel should be back any minute. She's just finishing up her tables."

I nodded and leaned backwards against the large, deep sink as I watched Kyle and Martha continue to work and I waited for Rachel. A moment later, she entered the room in a hurry, carrying a tray of dirty dishes. I moved out of the way and she deposited the dishes into the sink.

"Ugh," she groaned, turning around and putting her hands to her head. "That one customer sitting by the window is so irritating!"

"Mr. Sampson?" Martha asked. "The Healer from Glasgow that's here for a conference?"

"Sure, I guess, if he's the one who was sitting by the window," Rachel shrugged, lowering her hands. "He was so condescending! He was giving me advice on how to do my job. As if he knows anything about working in a pub. You shouldn't carry so many dishes at once," she mimicked. "You shouldn't fill the juice glass that much. It'll spill. It wasn't more than three quarters full! I had half a mind to refill his glass with only an inch of juice. And then he had the nerve to ask me what there was to do for fun around here once his conference was over and if I'd like to give him a tour of the area." She made a gagging sound. "Yeah, right! Besides, he must have been about fifty!"

Martha clucked her tongue. "He's only here two more nights, but his check out date can't come fast enough. Honestly." She scoffed and fixed her apron.

"I had to say I already had plans for the next two days," Rachel said with a shudder. "Even though I completely don't."

"Well, actually," I said with a slight smile, "I was going to ask you if you'd like to go shopping once you're off work. I need some assistance with my wardrobe."

Rachel's eyes widened with surprise and glee. "Yes!" She squealed. "Thank you for officially saving my life. I've never been so grateful for a wardrobe that needed some help. And now I have a legitimate place to be. Not that it mattered..." She shrugged and glanced at her watch. "Half an hour until I get off and then I'm going to go change. I'll meet you back here at twelve fifteen?"

I nodded. "Okay."

"Great!" Rachel said enthusiastically. "This is going to be so much fun!"

And with that, she practically skipped out of the room.


I never knew shopping had the potential to be such hard work. Rachel and I had hit every clothing store in Diagon Alley and had now moved on to Hogsmeade. I was exhausted to say the least.

But on the plus side, I'd found some new clothes. Clothes that weren't just jeans and plain sweaters. Clothes that actually fit me and weren't too big. Rachel had even coerced me into getting a few more casual dresses. I fought those the most, due to my fear of the scars on my back being revealed. But I was also afraid to fight them too much in case Rachel decided to pry. And there had been some cute ones, I had to admit. So I had caved and bought them in the end.

"How much do I have to absolutely beg you to try this on?" Rachel called from a few feet away. We were in the first shop we'd come to in Hogsmeade and I was flipping through a rack of jeans, while Rachel conquered shirts.

I looked up to see her brandishing a bright red halter top.

I shook my head forcefully. "Save your breath because it won't work. I'm not trying it on."

"Just to see how it would look!" Rachel protested. "I just want to see it on you. You don't have to buy it. Please?"

"You try it on," I said. "It would probably look better on you anyway."

Rachel sighed. "No, it would look just as good on you. Now that you've filled out a bit and aren't scrawny, of course. Your old wardrobe just didn't give people the opportunity to see how good you look because eighty five percent of your closet consisted of things that were half a size too big. At the very least."

"I'm not trying it on," I said. "It's not me. It would show too much skin."

"Come on, I know you're not that much of a prude." Rachel scoffed and rolled her eyes.

"How do you know that?" I asked.

"I can sense it," Rachel said. She looked at me as she held back a laugh. "Plus, George told me he found you in bed with Fred the day of your birthday."

I almost dropped the pair of jeans I'd just picked out from the rack. "What? That's not true! Why would George tell you that?"

"So Fred was not alone with you in your room the night of your birthday dinner? After the rest of us went home?"

"He was," I said slowly.

"Mhm," Rachel said with a smile. "And where did he sit?"

"I offered him my desk chair," I told her, my face flushing red.

"I didn't ask you what you offered him," Rachel said, clucking her tongue. "I asked you where he actually sat. Or should I say, where he laid down?"

"Fine-on my bed," I practically snapped. "But I just told you, I didn't ask him to do that. And we weren't even touching! Merlin, you act as if we were-."

"I know you weren't," Rachel said with a laugh. "I wasjust messing with you." She shrugged and held up the red halter top again, wiggling it back and forth slightly. "You really won't try this on?"

I shook my head. "I just don't really like to wear things like that."

"I've noticed," Rachel said. She hesitated for a moment before looking down at the top. "So if you're sure you don't want to try it on, do you mind if I go for it?"

"I already told you that you should," I said. "Definitely go for it."

"Okay, cool," Rachel said breathlessly as she grinned and hurried towards the changing rooms in the back of the store. I smiled slightly and ambled after her, pausing every so often to look at clothes that caught my eye. I stopped at one table that was covered with various kinds of jewelry. Earrings, necklaces, rings, bracelets. Everything a girl could dream of.

"It's true what they say, isn't it?" a voice said from my left. "Diamonds really are a girl's best friend."

I looked up and saw a woman standing next to me. She had dark brown hair pulled back into a bun and crystal blue eyes. Her lips were coated with bright red lipstick. The same color as the halter top that Rachel was currently trying on.

The woman smiled at me as she fiddled with some of the jewelry on the table. "It's so hard to choose one thing when they're all so pretty."

"Mm," I agreed quietly, looking back down at the display.

"You know what would look great on you?" the woman asked. And without waiting for an answer she held up a necklace that consisted of a thin, dainty silver chain and a small teardrop shaped pearl pendant dangling from it. Simple, yet beautiful. It was something I'd like. I hadn't even seen it on the table or else I'd have picked it up.

"It is pretty," I said. "But I'm sure it's out of my budget. A lot of the jewelry on this table seems to be slightly too expensive for me."

"Ah," the woman said. "Every girl needs at least one good piece of jewelry though, don't you agree?"

"Uh, sure," I said slowly, trying to subtly glance towards the changing rooms for Rachel. What was taking her so long? I wished she'd come back and spare me from this awkward small talk and from this woman trying to push jewelry on me. She didn't even work here, for Merlin's sake.

"Successful shopping day, then?" the woman asked, looking at my bags.

"Yeah, I guess so," I shrugged, glancing towards the changing rooms again.

The woman smiled widely. "Good, good," she said as she continued to smile at me.

Now feeling more uncomfortable than ever, it was a huge relief when Rachel appeared at my side, holding the red halter top and a few other items. "Sorry it took so long," she said, holding up the extra articles of clothing. "I couldn't resist." She looked past me at the jewelry table. "Ah jewelry!" she exclaimed. "I knew we were forgetting to look at something."

"These are all pretty much out of my budget," I said.

"I think we can afford to splurge a bit," Rachel said. "Every girl needs jewelry, doesn't she?"

"That's essentially what-" I turned to look for the woman who had been talking to me, but to my surprise, she was gone. I looked around the shop for her, but she was absolutely nowhere to be found. Odd.

"What were you saying?" Rachel asked.

"There was a lady here a second ago," I told her. "She said pretty much what you just said. She was showing me a necklace that she thought would look good on me."

"Which one?" Rachel asked.

I scanned the table for the pearl necklace, but couldn't find it. "It's not here," I told her. "Maybe she bought it for herself."

"What a tease," Rachel snorted. "She taunted you with it and then bought it for herself."

I rolled my eyes. "I probably wouldn't have bought it anyway."

"Killjoy," Rachel teased.

We spent a few more moments in the shop before Rachel purchased the clothes she wanted and we headed back out onto the streets of Hogsmeade. We visited a few more shops before stopping at the candy store and the Three Broomsticks for an early dinner. And then we headed home. Rachel stayed at Tom and Martha's with me for a bit before heading back to her own place. I, on the other hand, headed to my room to unpack my new things and hang them in the closet.

Eventually, I had emptied the last bag and I swiped it off my bed to throw it away. I stopped in my tracks, though, when I heard something fall out of it and clatter to the floor. I looked down and my heart stopped. I bent down and gingerly picked up the fallen item, holding it between my fingers. The pearl necklace.

I couldn't believe it! That woman must have slipped it into my bag when I wasn't looking! I doubted she paid for it. And she had put it in my bag, which meant I'd be the one who got busted for shoplifting. I had to return it straight away. I couldn't get arrested.

I dashed down the stairs and out into the back alley, practically shaking with nerves. Once there, I hastily Apparated to Hogsmeade and began running towards the shop the necklace had come from. I got there just as the shopkeeper was closing and locking the door.

"Wait, please," I said breathlessly, resting my hands on my knees.

"We're closing," the woman said, looking at me with a raised eyebrow.

"Yes, I know," I said. "But-but-I was in your shop earlier with my friend and I think someone slipped this into my bag without me knowing. I wanted to return it." I held out the necklace towards her. She took it and examined it before holding it out to me again.

"This isn't one of our pieces," she said.

"Wh-what?" I sputtered, looking at her as if she had seven heads. "No, you must-I saw-" I broke off and stared at her. What had I seen? I hadn't seen the woman pick the necklace up off the table. I had only first seen the necklace when it was already in her hand.

"I think I'd know what I sell in my own shop," the woman said. "I've never seen this before." She paused. "Maybe you bought it somewhere else and forgot. Or maybe your friend bought it as a surprise. Either way, I can tell you it wasn't purchased here."

"Maybe," I said slowly, taking the necklace back when the shopkeeper held it out to me again.

"Have a nice night," she said, before turning and stepping back inside the shop, closing and locking the door behind her and leaving me standing outside in disbelief, the necklace clutched in my hand.