Chapter 11

As usual, the nightmares came without warning, sweeping her away in their icy grips and tossing her violently from one image – one memory – to another. For a while she was lost, helpless against the onslaught, but finally she managed to fight and claw her way free.

She sat up with a silent gasp, gripping the edges of her camp bed with bloodless fingers as she sucked in one ragged, dry breath after another in the inky blackness.

It was a long time before she calmed enough to still the pounding in her ears. As her breath evened, she pried her cold hands open and wiped the slick sheen of tears from her cheeks before reaching for her glasses.

There would be no more sleep tonight.

Hermione moaned and rolled over, but neither she nor Ginny showed any signs of waking. With a quiet stealth born of years of practice, Sadie pulled on the jumper Mrs. Weasley had given her earlier, then snagged her new Sherlock Holms book and started to slip from the room. She paused in the doorway, however, and tiptoed back, grabbing up her wand as well. It didn't feel right to leave it behind, with no one to watch over it. The pockets of her nightdress were deep, so she stuffed it inside and continued out of the room. She would stop by the kitchen to find a drink of water, then curl up in the sitting room and try to push the night terrors back to the edges of her mind with a good dose of fiction.

00000

Fred hummed another verse of "Old MacDonald Had a Dragon" to himself as he puttered about the kitchen, pausing to stir the filling that bubbled happily on the cooker before going back to his work of cutting the lard into the pie crust.

It was the wee hours of the morning but he couldn't sleep. The secret he unwittingly stole was weighing heavily on his mind. He hated keeping it from George. He knew it wouldn't be right to blab, but the guilt of shutting his twin out of something ate at him. Combine that with the burden of knowing something Sadie obviously didn't want to share and his insides were a writhing mess. Who could sleep through that?

So he did what he always did when he had issues to work through – cooked.

He knew most people would be shocked to learn that the Great Fred Weasley, Dashing Entrepreneur, Trouble-Maker Extraordinaire, was also a good cook. But it's not like they regularly broke into the kitchens just to steal food, nor was it coincidence that the first jokes they chose to market were sweets.

No, he had inherited his mother's gift for cooking, and while it wasn't a talent he chose to advertise, it was still something he enjoyed. Especially when he needed to think.

Plopping the dough for the crust onto the kitchen table, Fred threw a liberal sprinkling of flour over the top and proceeded to roll it out, switching up the tune he was humming to "A Magic Carpet Built for Two." He was just about to perform the trick of maneuvering the crust from the table to the pie plate when he felt the little hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.

Someone was staring at him.

It couldn't be his mother. She would have already yelled at him for being out of bed, then moved over to taste his pie filling, offering a suggestion on what he could tweak to make it even better. They'd had many a heart to heart in the early hours of the morning over tarts and biscuits.

He turned slowly to find a pair of curious, glasses-framed brown eyes gazing down at him through the railing of the stairs. Sadie sat on the top step, her knees pulled up into her nightgown and her forehead resting against the wood.

"Oooh, a spy!" he said with a grin. Sadie flinched backwards when he spoke. Fear crossed her face at being discovered, so he hurried on to put her at ease. "Do you like pie, little spy?" he asked, gesturing to the messy table. "A beautiful pie, made by…erm…I?" That last rhyme was a little lame, but it brought a timid smile to the corners of Sadie's lips so he figured it still did the job.

Quiet as a mouse, she stood and finished creeping down the stairs until she was standing beside him in the kitchen. The top of her head barely reached his shoulders and he suddenly felt extremely tall. The lamp he'd placed in the center of the table illuminated her features and he took a moment to look her over. He noticed her face was ghostly white, but in some places the skin seemed blotchy and flushed with the faintest glint of fading moisture. She'd been crying not too long ago. It made him incredibly sad, but for her sake he chose to ignore it, focusing instead on the book clutched in her hands.

"Out for a little early morning reading are we?" he asked as he turned back to the pie crust he'd been working with.

Sadie nodded, but set the book aside on the table without opening it. Instead, as soon as her hands were free, she turned the question back on him with a pointed finger and a curious expression.

"Me? I'm making pie."

Her response was the first time he'd ever seen her roll her eyes.

"So she gets snarky at three in the morning," he laughed. "Good to know. Now, why am I making pie at three in the morning?"

She nodded, her smile growing.

A typical, joking answer was on the tip of his tongue, but he surprised himself by going for honesty. "Sometimes, things just get stuck in my head, y'know, all mushed up together like guests at a wild party. Gets so loud in there, I can't sleep. Cooking helps me sort it all out." He gave a shrug, not at all sure that made any sense, but Sadie gave him a startled, knowing look and nodded.

On the cooker, the pie filling let out a gloopy bubble, reminding him it was there. "Could you give that a quick stir?" he asked, his hands still covered in dough.

She nodded a third time and he went back to his crust as she moved away. Ever so careful he folded the bottom crust into fourths, picked it up and slid it into the plate, then meticulously unfolded it.

Perfectimundo!

Which really wasn't a word, but deserved to be and best described the amazing cooking feat he'd just pulled off. Not even a crack or a little tear. He turned to get the filling only to find Sadie standing there, waiting with the pot already in her hands. He moved back and she poured it in, carefully wiping the last drips off the edge of the enamel with the spoon.

"Not bad," he said. "I do believe this is not the first time you have baked a pie is it, Miss Sadie?"

With a smile she shook her head.

"Though probably your first at half-past-three in the morning." While he talked he placed the top crust on the steaming filling, then cut off the extra and crimped the edges. "And, behold!" he held up the pie, showing off the large W cut into the top. "The Perfect Pie."

Sadie laughed, but when he went to put it to bake, she stopped him. Grabbing up the cinnamon and sugar shakers she sprinkled on a little of both. He grinned at her, then shoved the creation in the oven and closed the door.

"And now comes the excruciating wait for the sugary goodness to cook," he said with a melodramatic sigh, sinking into one of the kitchen chairs and staring morosely at the stove. "Y'know I tried a spell once, to speed things up with this part, eliminate the waiting… Guess how much a new cooker costs? Birthday and Christmas money for almost three years."

The red-haired girl smiled at him, but she didn't sit. Instead her fingers crept back toward her book as the shy, nervous look started to reclaim her features.

She was going to leave. Take her book and go. Fred wasn't sure if it was because of the awkwardness of spending twenty minutes alone with him in silence while a pie baked, or if she sincerely wanted to get back to her reading, but he suddenly knew he couldn't let her. The secret he held burned inside him, and if he didn't do something about it soon, it would spill out into the light of day. He couldn't risk that – a cavalier slip of the tongue – not when Sadie was already so skittish. This secret was far too big and emotionally raw for her. He couldn't treat it with his usual lack of restraint. An action like that would break the fragile trust he'd gained and most likely frighten her off for good.

Unintentional though it was, he'd invaded the privacy of her soul and taken something from her. He knew he had to fix that.

His hand snaked out and grabbed her wrist softly just as she started past him. "Sadie, wait," he said quietly.

She stopped, turning tired and puzzled eyes on him.

"Don't leave. I…well I need to tell you something." Still gripping her arm, he gently swung her over to another kitchen chair.

What? her eyes asked as she sat down slowly.

He gulped, not sure how to start. Fred Weasley prided himself on never being at a loss for words, but here in his mother's kitchen at half-past three in the morning while the scent of baking cherries floated around him and timid, brown eyes gazed at him expectantly, he found himself hesitating.

"The other night…in the forest…" he started, wincing as Sadie visibly flinched again and drew back. "When you ran off, and I followed and grabbed you…you were seeing something horrible, weren't you? A memory?"

Sadie started to tremble as he finished asking, her eyes wide and wounded like a frightened animal. After a few seconds, she gave a nod so slight he almost missed it.

The aroma of the baking pie drifted up from the stove, warm and cheery. Such a contrast to the topic Fred hated himself for having to bring up. Still, he'd started…it would do no one any good to retreat now.

"Well…I don't quite know how to say…and I'm not at all sure how it happened…I sure as heck didn't mean to…" He broke off. Oh stop muttering like a nutter and just spit it out, Fred, he chastised himself. "Sadie, I saw it. I saw your memory, of what happened to your family," he finished quietly.

Shock washed across her pale face and she just sat there, staring at him – frozen in place. The silence and the intensity of her gaze unnerved him.

"I'm sorry," he blundered on hastily. "I know that's something so personal, and I had no business seeing it, or knowing about it, and I still don't know how it even happened, but…I…well, I couldn't go around pretending that I hadn't seen it, because I stole it and you didn't even know."

Fred trailed off, running out of words to say, especially as he watched two small tears crest her eyes and run down her trembling cheeks. The same pained expression she had worn in the woods was back on her face. His gut twisted to see her anguish.

"Sadie, I promise, I will never tell anyone about that memory, not even George. And I tell George everything," he said with total seriousness.

Suddenly, Sadie stood and just slipped quickly from the kitchen and disappeared up the stairs.

Fred sighed and let his head drop into his hands. He sat there sadly for a moment before glancing sideways at the book she'd left behind. He pulled it over, thumbing through it absently. Just hours earlier, while they'd been in the Alley, she'd finally seemed a little bit happy, and now he'd just ruined it all.

"Way to go, Weasley," he berated himself under his breath as he stood and went to the stove. A quick check of the pie told him it still had a few minutes left, so he shoved his hands in his pockets and turned to lean against the counter while he waited, only to find Sadie was back. Clutching her notebook, she stood at the base of the steps, pale and trembling. She sucked in a deep breath and sat back down at the table, opening her notebook and writing hesitantly.

Fred returned to his seat, renewing his resolve to hurry up on the project George and he had been working on.

With vulnerability filling her eyes, Sadie pushed the notebook over to him. Curiously, her handwriting was scraggly and uneven, like that of a much younger kid.

I'm sorry. That you saw that.

"I'm sorry that you lived that," he answered quietly, hoping she believed him.

I try to forget that day. Bury it.

Fred nodded as he read. He would probably do the same thing.

Sometimes I forget too well. Sometimes I can't remember what they looked like. What their voices sounded like.

He didn't know what to say to that. To have everyone you ever loved be gone and not even have a photograph to remember them by.

"Why did I see it, though?" he asked after a moment of silence, really curious. He'd never heard of something like that happening before, sharing memories between two people without any sort of magical instrument to help out.

For a long moment, Sadie just looked at him, her eyes seeming to scrutinize him down to his very bones. Finally, she tugged her bottom lip between her teeth and leaned over, writing hesitantly.

There are some magical gifts that run in my dad's side of the family.

"And you have one?" he asked.

She nodded. Mine is connected to thoughts and feelings – memories – images that have happened, and sometimes ones that still might.

"Legilimency?" asked Fred, a little wary. He'd read about that, and while it seemed cool, it also sorta gave him the creeps. He was pretty sure he didn't want anyone besides himself rifling through the contents of his brain.

Sadie shook her head. No, it's different than that. It's… She paused, seeming frustrated with her inability to communicate what she was trying to tell him. Instead, she timidly reached out and clasped his hand, then squeezed her eyes shut.

Suddenly, a scene floated into his mind, like a puff of smoke growing to fill a room. At first it was hazy and washed out, but it quickly sharped.

Golden sunlight, warm and bright, lit the yard of a weathered farmhouse filled with squealing kids. Armed with buckets, hoses, and anything else that would hold water, they ran and slipped through the grass, drenching each other with gusto. Some sported dark hair, others bright red, but they were all obviously siblings, and having a blast with each other.

Just as quickly as it had come, the image disappeared, and Fred was staring at Sadie's timid face once again as she pulled her small hand away. A million questions about what had just happened raced through his head at once, jumbling up and banging at him to ask, but he managed to hold them in. Deep conversations about the mysteries and how-the-heck's of magic could wait until they were on even ground in the communication department.

"Your siblings?" he asked instead, smiling gently.

She nodded, then leaned over and wrote, To replace the other memory.

He was still thinking how to respond to that when he realized there was a new smell filling the kitchen, one not nearly as pleasant as the aroma of baking cherries.

"Oh, crap, the pie!" he cried, jumping up. He grabbed a potholder and yanked the oven door down, reaching in to snatch his creation to safety. It came out golden brown and steaming, but unharmed. Some of the filling had simply bubbled out and spilled to the bottom of the oven, causing the horrible burning smell. "Whew!" he exclaimed. "Thought we'd lost it there for a second, but it's all good. So," he said, turning with a flourish, "you ready for a piece of the most spectacular pie in…" He trailed off as he realized he was speaking to an empty room. Sadie, her notebook, pencil, and novel, were gone, as if they'd never been there at all.

"Masterful escape there, Sadie McLauchlin," he said quietly, setting the pie on the table and cooling it to eatable temperature with a quick flick of his wand. "At least a nine. She's definitely got skills. Gonna have to remember that." He shook his head, his smile a little sad and regretful. Grabbing an extra plate and a square of Pastyparch, he carefully cut an extra-large slice of cherry goodness and piled it on the plate, labeling it simply For Sadie. Then he grabbed the rest and a fork from the drawer and wandered off to enjoy, his mind full of a thousand new thoughts, but still somehow lighter than it had been for days.