I sighed as I flipped through the last few entries in Elizabeth's diary. She was still locked up in the Salem jail and the entries simply described the harsh conditions she was living in. There had been one more entry in May and two more in June. She mentioned that she did have a lot of time on her hands and could have had enough time to fill up the entire diary within a month or two, but nothing was happening to her that was even worth writing about. It was the same thing day after day. She sat in her cell avoiding the bugs and rats and the water that poured in during high tide. She sometimes talked to Dorothy and Sarah through the hole in the wall. She ate the three small meals provided to her throughout the day. Sometimes she threw them back up due to her pregnancy. Usually, no one would ever come in to clean it. Sometimes the smell would make her eventually throw up more.

Most of all, she wished she could see her husband. She'd tried begging the guards to let her see him, even for a few minutes, but they would either ignore her completely or laugh in her face. She'd tried to convince them to give messages to John, but that didn't work either. She was completely cut off from him and she also knew they both were waiting on the same fate. She didn't think she'd ever see him again. She didn't think he'd ever meet his child. And that broke her heart most of all.

She wrote a bit about how draining being imprisoned was and how miserable she was becoming because of it. She felt as if no matter what she did, she couldn't win. She tried to stand up for Dorothy and all she got was negative attention turned in her direction. She hadn't wanted to sell out any of her friends or family members, so she refused to hand out names of anyone who could perform magic, giving up any chance of being let go in return. And yet, her friends and husband were imprisoned anyway. She did what she thought had been the right thing and it was costing her her life.

Worst of all, she was responsible for her unborn child and she was locked up in jail in horrible conditions. She'd tried to protect everyone else and failed and now there was a chance she'd fail in keeping her baby alive. And if her baby did survive through birth, Elizabeth would be executed shortly after and her child would be an orphan. She blamed herself and her choices for landing her in the position she was in. But she also wondered if she hadn't done any of it, would she still be in this same exact position?

She mentioned a few times in her desperate state that she needed to figure out how to survive. She had to save herself for once in order to keep her child safe. She'd tried to protect Dorothy and she'd tried to protect her friends and family and even herself. She had failed, but she couldn't fail at protecting her child. She had to figure something out. A way for both her and the child to survive.

She wrote that she'd spend her days coming up with escape plans, each one more impossible than the next. Each plan would have ended with her getting caught and killed at some point in the process. With each realization that nothing she was coming up with was helpful, she'd grow more and more helpless.

I gently tossed the diary to the other end of the bed as I leaned back against the pillows. Reading the entries was almost too sad. My heart broke for Elizabeth and I usually found that I could only take a few entries at a time. Her story was captivating, but also heard to read. Especially knowing that it was all real and that it was her firsthand account.

I'd been reading the entries because I wanted to know what happened next, of course. But I was also reading them in an attempt to distract myself from grieving Noah. I wasn't sure they always helped, though. When I stopped reading them, my mind went right back to the fact that Noah was dead. In addition, the diary entries weren't cheerful, so they usually left me with an even heavier feeling of grief and sadness.

I rubbed my eyes and sat up. A week had passed since I'd arrived at the Burrow and it was now nearing mid-September. I'd been spending my days helping Mrs. Weasley around the house. She'd insisted I didn't need to, but I refused to live there and not at least help her out a little bit. I didn't mind it, actually. It kept me busy and kept me from thinking about everything that was going on. It was also usually more successful at doing so than reading the diary. And a lot of times, it distracted me from what I had just read in the diary. It was a distraction from a distraction, but after a while, I found myself actually enjoying it.

Being at the Burrow all day every day also gave me and Mrs. Weasley a lot of time to get to know each other. At first it was me just listening to her stories. I actually liked hearing them. In fact, I'd only been there a few days when she started telling me about her family over breakfast. I'd complimented her on the delicious scrambled eggs she'd made me and she'd smiled, thanked me, and then mentioned that she used to make scrambled eggs for her brothers until they were well into their teenage years. She'd never trusted them to do it themselves. Apparently they used to make a huge mess whenever they tried to do anything involving eggs.

"The entire yolk would be everywhere," she groaned.

"You have brothers?" I asked, looking up at her with a smile.

She paused. "Had," she commented as my smile faded. "Fabian and Gideon were their names. They were twins, just like Fred and George. In fact, they even behaved like Fred and George do and had the same red hair and freckles. I swear, sometimes being around my own sons is like seeing my brothers reincarnated." She shook her head and gazed out the window, lost in thought.

"What happened to them?" I asked quietly. "Fabian and Gideon."

"They were killed during the first war," she said quietly, turning away from the window and sinking into the chair across from me, starting in on her own breakfast. "Murdered, actually, by a Death Eater named Antonin Dolohov. Fred and George were only three at the time. Ron was one. Ginny wasn't even born-I was eight months pregnant with her. Bill remembers it the most. He was eleven."

I didn't know how to respond to that. I never realized just how much loss the Weasleys-Mrs. Weasley in particular-had gone through. She'd lost her brothers and she'd lost a son. I could only imagine the toll three big losses like that had taken on her.

"I'm sorry," I finally said.

"I was almost thirty-two at the time," Mrs. Weasley went on, wrapping her hands around her mug of tea. "Fabian and Gideon were only twenty-seven. Still so young. They didn't have family of their own yet, but Gideon had a serious girlfriend at the time. I swear he planned on marrying her, but then—" she broke off and cleared her throat. "I lost contact with her shortly after, but I think about her often." She cleared her throat again and shook her head.

"I'm sure she thinks about you as well," I whispered comfortingly. "If she loved your brother the same way he loved her, I'm sure she never truly forgot him or you."

Mrs. Weasley shrugged. "I should've done something. Something to prevent their death. I was their older sister and it was my job to protect them. But I wasn't very involved in the Order back then. I was pregnant, first of all. And I had six children already, four of them were aged five and under. I had to be there for them, and in turn, I couldn't be there for my brothers. I tried to talk them out of being involved themselves, but they were stubborn, just like Fred and George. And I didn't push it because on the flip side, I knew how important fighting You-Know-Who was and I knew they felt strongly about needing to do something and needing to participate in essentially helping to protect the ones they loved. But ever since they died, I've felt like a failure for not doing more to protect them." She paused and glanced up at me. "I don't even know why I'm telling you this."

"Have you told anyone else?" I asked, twirling my fork slowly in my fingertips.

"Arthur," she shrugged.

"Well," I said slowly, "speaking from my own recent experiences, sometimes it's better to talk to more people about how you're feeling. And it's good to have a lot of people you can trust. I didn't until recently, and I've found that the more people I talk to, the easier it is to talk and the better I feel." I paused. "We don't know each other all that well, so I'm a little surprised myself that you'd choose to tell me something like that, but I'm glad you did. I don't mind. Sometimes it's more helpful that way and if it does help you, then...I'm glad I could listen."

Mrs. Weasley stared at me a moment before she sniffled slightly. "More pumpkin juice?" She asked, standing up and reaching for the pitcher of juice on the counter, despite the fact that my glass was still about half full. I smiled slightly as she refilled the glass and sat down again.

"Thanks," I whispered.

Mrs. Weasley sighed. "You know, I thought nothing could top the way I felt after my brothers died," she said. "But then we lost Percy and I felt like a failure all over again. This time as a mother. And then the way Fred was reacting...He didn't like us to hover, but we were all so scared. Especially me. I couldn't help it. I was afraid he was going to hurt or kill himself. But I started to fear that in the end it would be my hovering that would cause him to snap and me to lose another son."

I looked at her sadly. "You're not a failure," I told her quietly. "You did all you could with your brothers, with Percy, and with Fred."

"There's no way of knowing..." Mrs. Weasley began, staring into her tea again. "I should have done more. I should have known what Fred needed from me to recover. I'm his mother. How could I not have known?"

I thought of Elizabeth just then. "Sometimes we think we're doing all the right things, but bad things happen anyway. The things that we wanted to prevent happen anyway. And sometimes you just can't save people or stop bad things from happening." I shrugged. "I've spent years blaming myself for my mother leaving me. I figured there was something I must have done to make her not want me anymore. But I was a child. And she was my mother. She was supposed to take care of me. So I'm starting to realize that I need to stop blaming myself for something someone else did. Someone whose job was to always be there for me. Someone who instead, chose to give up. Give me up. So, as far as I'm concerned, it's people like her that should have done more. She's the failure. My father's a failure. You're nowhere close to a failure, Mrs. Weasley. You've always tried and you've always done what you thought was best."

I stared down at my own breakfast as I thought about the diary again. Elizabeth had put so much guilt on herself-for not being able to help her friends and family and then for having to survive in jail to give her unborn child a chance of life. It took her a long time to realize that she could have only done so much and that there came a point where she needed to come to terms with what had happened, not blame herself, and do what she could in order to survive. Maybe I was getting to that point as well. Maybe I had been. I'd gotten away from Eric, hadn't I? And I was here, at the Burrow. Safe and sound. Well-fed and healthy.

When I looked back up at Mrs. Weasley, I saw she had tears in her eyes again.

"We're always going to tell ourselves we could have done more or should have done more," I went on. "But sometimes you just can't. I never met your brothers, but I've met Fred and George. And I think they'd say that you always do more than enough."

She scoffed. "I was beginning to fear that Fred had started to resent me for how I was behaving."

I shook my head. "No. I think he knows you were just worried for his safety. He always knew. I just don't think he really thought about it much until you told him you were scared of losing him." I paused. "Also, for what it's worth, I think you're doing more than enough. You took me in when you didn't have to. You barely even know me and you've invited me into your home. You've put yourselves at risk again for me."

"It's the right thing to do," Mrs. Weasley answered, wiping at her eyes. "It is a risk for all of us and I know that and I worry about everyone's safety getting involved with this-I won't lie. But I also worry about your safety. How could I turn my back and let you fend for yourself? After all you've been through? What kind of person would I be?"

I smiled at her. "That's what I mean. You didn't have to do that. You're doing something so unbelievably kind for someone who needs it ." My voice dropped to a whisper as I shrugged one shoulder. "And I'm extremely grateful."

Mrs. Weasley looked up at me, her eyes still slightly watery as she put her hand over mine. "Of course, dear. Like I said, I couldn't refuse you if you needed somewhere to go."

I nodded and smiled a bit wider. "Well, regardless, thank you."

After that day, Mrs. Weasley and I ended up making a habit out of eating breakfast together every morning and lunch together every afternoon. I'd help her cook, too. I'd had plenty of practice from when I'd lived in Salem and I found that even though I'd considered myself a decent cook, it was nothing compared to Mrs. Weasley. She knew so much and she'd shared recipes and cooking techniques with me that only helped me improve. She also taught me all sorts of household spells that I hadn't had a chance to learn. While at Eric's, I had done everything the Muggle way and never had the opportunity to learn or practice any of the spells she taught me. But I loved that I finally got to catch up on things that I felt I'd missed. Especially the part where I got to spend time with someone that felt like a mother figure to me.

I also continued to help clean the house once a week. At one point, she hesitantly asked if I would mind cleaning Percy's room. She explained that it usually was hard for her to go in and she couldn't always bring herself to do it every week, so it would sit uncleaned.

"Today, I'm not sure if it's a day that I can," she said. "Some days are harder than others..."

"I understand," I told her. "And I don't mind cleaning it. I've got it, don't worry." I sent her a smile and she seemed to instantly relax before thanking me and heading back into the living room to finish dusting.

I gathered some cleaning supplies and headed up the stairs to Percy's room. I hesitated a moment before turning the doorknob and letting myself into the room.

I set the cleaning supplies down and looked around. I'd never been in here before. It was a little eerie. Everything was neat and undisturbed. The bedspread neatly covered the bed, not a wrinkle to be seen. The desk was empty except for a lamp and a wooden cup holding a few quills. The nightstand was also empty except for another lamp and a picture frame.

I picked up the photo and let out a sigh I looked at it. It was a color photo from the Weasley's trip to Egypt. The same one that had been printed in the newspaper-Fred had shown me the clipping, so I recognized the photo at once.

I let my eyes wander across each member of the family, pausing a little longer on Fred's face to take in his wide smile, his freckles, and his clear, blue eyes. He looked so genuinely happy. I knew from what I'd heard and also been told that this wasn't long before things started to get bad. Voldemort came back a few years later and things quickly spiraled downhill from there. Blood traitors like the Weasleys were in more danger than ever, Percy walked out on them, and then finally, there was the battle where Percy not only came back and saved Fred's life, but was also killed the same night.

My eyes shifted to Percy's face. He looked really happy as well. His expression in this photo was so different than in the photo on the mantle downstairs, despite both of them being taken around the same time. In the photo downstairs, he was solemn, clearly taking his new responsibility of being Head Boy seriously, only moments after he'd received the badge in the mail. In the photo from Egypt, however, he was smiling almost as widely as Fred and George. He was standing with his arm around Charlie, grinning as he reached up to adjust his glasses. I suddenly wished I could have met him.

With another sad sigh, I set the photo back down on the nightstand before beginning to clean the room. First, I flung open the curtains and the window itself to let some light and fresh air into the gloomy room. Then, I magically got the curtains started on cleaning themselves. I cleaned the windows using magic as well, but I took on the dusting and sweeping by hand. There wasn't much else to do after that, though, considering that the room had been untouched for at least a year and a half.

One of the last spots of the floor I cleaned was the area under the bed. I had decided to do that area by magic as well to save me from reaching underneath or having to move the bed. After a moment, I knelt down and peered underneath to see how it was coming along and also to grab the cleaning supplies. As I did, I noticed something shiny glinting from behind one of the back legs of the bed. It was wedged between the bed and the wall, and I would have missed it if it hadn't caught the light from the open window that happened to hit it at just the right angle.

I grabbed my wand from the floor beside me and held it up, aiming it under the bed. "Accio," I muttered. The shiny object flew towards me and came to rest in the palm of my hand. It was a little dusty and landed facedown in my hand, but I had a suspicion of what it was even then. I flipped it over in my palm and wiped off the dust, my eyes widening as I read the words on the front of the metal badge, my suspicions confirmed.

"Bighead Boy," I whispered, with a quiet laugh of disbelief.

I had found Percy's Head Boy badge. The very one that Fred had practically torn apart the shed looking for. The one that he so desperately believed would remind him of the person he once was. The person that would go to great lengths for a laugh, even if it would cause Percy some annoyance. But I knew that despite Fred's constant teasing of his older brother, his intentions had always been for laughter. They were never out of malice. He loved Percy. That much was evident. But the thing was that it wouldn't have been evident if I hadn't gotten to know Fred first. If I'd remained of the belief that teasing only ever came from a place of malice.

I pocketed the badge as I stood up and gathered the cleaning supplies. There was no question that I'd give the badge to Fred. I knew it would mean a lot to him. He had been the one looking so frantically for it. I just couldn't believe that I'd actually found it in the first place. It almost felt as if it had been some sort of miracle considering that it was a small object and had been on the floor, wedged between the bed and the wall.

I finished what I was doing in Percy's room and made my way to the door. I stopped in the doorway and reached behind me so that I could pull the door closed on the way out. I hesitated for only a moment and let my eyes sweep over the room one more time. I'd left the curtains open and I couldn't help but notice how much better the room looked that way. Brighter. Less eerie. It was almost as if a bit of life had been breathed back into the room.

If only the room hadn't had to turn eerie in the first place.

Dinners at the Burrow were usually a bit more crowded and lively. Mr. Weasley would be home from work by then and the twins had been stopping by nearly every night as well. Sometimes Bill and Fleur would come by, or even Harry, Hermione, Ron and Ginny. Ginny was actually around frequently during the day as well. She had started training with the Holyhead Harpies-which was very impressive, even by my Quidditch-indifferent standards. So she was busy in the mornings, but would typically turn back up at the Burrow in the late afternoon.

In the entire first week that I was there, I didn't hear anything from Kingsley, but I'd done a lot of thinking about what had happened and the information I'd been given. My mind had kept wandering to that one possible explanation for how we'd seen Noah alive after he'd apparently already died. Someone had to have been posing as him between late Saturday night, when he died, and sometime after Tuesday night, when I'd last seen him at his house. I knew there were ways to do it, the most common being Polyjuice Potion. But who could have done it? Eric couldn't do magic. So unless he'd gotten help...

I thought about that possibility frequently the past few days. I'd wondered if I should say anything. Surely someone involved with the investigation would have considered it by now, so there might not have been any need. But at the same time, maybe it couldn't hurt to mention it.

Finally, Kingsley showed up on Sunday, a little over a week since Noah's body had been found and I'd arrived at the Burrow. I'd decided ahead of time to mention my idea to him and see what he thought or if he'd come to the same conclusion himself.

We were all eating dinner-Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, me, Fred, George, Ron, Harry, Hermione, Ginny, Bill and Fleur-all eleven of us crammed inside the house since it was too cold that night to be outside. Kingsley showed up shortly after we'd started eating and apologized for interrupting. Mrs. Weasley insisted it was fine and essentially forced him to sit down and eat with us.

"Any news?" Mr. Weasley asked as Kingsley took a seat and smoothed a napkin in his lap.

An odd hush fell over the room as everyone waited for Kingsley's response. It seemed as if every noise had stopped. No one was moving, there were no sounds of creaking chairs or clinking silverware or even breathing. Even Mrs. Weasley had paused at the stove, glancing over her shoulder with the soup ladle poised in the air above the bowl she was filling for Kingsley.

"Well, as you all know," Kingsley said, "we've been looking for Noah's mother since we discovered that she'd gone missing."

"You've found her?" I asked hopefully.

Kingsley shook his head sadly. "We haven't, but..." He hesitated. "We believe her to be dead."

There was a clunk and a splash as Mrs. Weasley dropped the soup ladle directly back into the pot of steaming soup.

I sucked in a breath as my insides constricted. "No," I whispered.

"What makes you think that, Kingsley?" Mr. Weasley asked quietly. "If you haven't found her or a body."

Kingsley sighed. Mrs. Weasley finally managed to jerkily set down his soup in front of him and he thanked her. She nodded and returned to the stove, waving her wand to retrieve the fallen ladle.

"We received an anonymous tip," Kingsley finally said. "A note, actually." He paused. "It was hastily written and it said Noah's mother's name at the top and then gave a list of directions. We followed them to a forest just outside of London. The directions were specific enough to lead us to a certain spot and we were sure we got it right, but there was no body and no evidence of anything being buried. However, we did find evidence of a fire being burned in the area and we found a bracelet left behind." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a silver bracelet with an opal charm hanging from it.

"That's hers," I said. "I recognize it-she was wearing it when I first met her. Noah gave it to her for her birthday. Opal is her birthstone."

Kingsley nodded and slipped the bracelet away. "I was going to ask if you recognized it."

"So you're saying that you think someone killed Noah's mother and burned the body?" I asked slowly, clasping and unclasping my hands in my lap as I gazed down at them.

Kingsley nodded again. "That's what it seems like. We have no idea who or how or why. We have no idea who tipped us off. As of now. But we intend to find out."

"Do you think it could've been the same person who killed Noah?" Ginny asked.

Kingsley shrugged and sighed heavily. "Maybe. But there's the question of why would they get rid of his mother's body, but leave Noah's dumped behind the Leaky Cauldron where someone was sure to see it?"

"To scare me," I said suddenly, swallowing and looking up. "Eric. He must have done it. It had to have been him. He wanted Noah's mother out of the way. That's probably why he killed her. And then he got rid of the evidence because she didn't matter to him in the least and he couldn't have too much evidence left behind to be investigated. He had to leave Noah's body intact because he wanted me to find it-to see it. He wanted to scare me. He wanted me to know what he's capable of and how far he'd go to-to-"

"To what?" Fred asked quietly. He reached over and put a hand over mine and it was then that I realized my hands had been trembling in my lap.

"I don't know," I whispered, turning my hand so that I could lace my fingers through Fred's. "I don't know what he wants with me anymore." I took in a deep, shaky breath as I tried to calm my nerves. I was terrified, thinking of the fact that Eric was here for certain and that he was once again messing with my life. Taunting me before he actually tried to force me back to Salem.

"So if that's true, you don't believe the anonymous tip would have come from him?" Kingsley asked. "As a way of letting us know what he did? He seems like the type who gets a sick sort of pleasure out of telling the world what he's done-and if he is trying to frighten you, then wouldn't two murders effectively do that?"

I shook my head. "No, like I said, Noah's mother would have just been in his way. He needed Noah to get to me. It was Noah I was close to. And he couldn't do what he had to do with her around. Of course, he wouldn't care if I did find out. I just don't think he quite wanted me to. So, I think that note you received came from someone else."

"Who?" Kingsley asked. "Any ideas?"

"None," I whispered. "But I do also think that someone-possibly Eric-was impersonating Noah between the Saturday he died and the Tuesday that I last saw him. It's the only thing that makes sense."

Kingsley nodded slowly. "I agree with you. But how would a Muggle man be able to accomplish that? Eric's either involved in this or he isn't."

"He could have gotten help. For him to have put Noah's body behind the Leaky Cauldron, he must have gotten access to the Leaky Cauldron. Just like we talked about. It was the reason we decided the Burrow was the safest place for me, wasn't it? Because if he'd gotten someone with magic on his side, then he can get to me. And he suddenly can do a whole lot more than his Muggle capabilities would have allowed on his own." I shook my head as I fought back tears and looked at Kingsley. "If he can get into the Leaky Cauldron, though...Tom and Martha-if they get hurt..."

"I can promise you that Tom and Martha are safe," Kingsley said. "They've updated the charms around the property and added a few more for added measure."

I nodded, hoping to myself that those charms would be enough. And also hoping that the charms here, surrounding the Burrow, would also be enough.

"I can also promise you that you are extremely safe right where you are," Kingsley said, as if he were reading my mind. "Trust me."

I believed him, of course. I knew I was safe. I felt a hell of a lot safer than I normally did. But I still couldn't feel completely safe until I didn't have to worry about Eric anymore. Until he was gone for good, I feared that I'd be trapped here like a bird in a cage. If I left, I risked letting Eric get to me.

"And," Kingsley continued, "we'll find not only whoever did this to Noah and his mother, but we'll find Eric as well. And if it just so happens to be the same person, well then that makes things a whole lot easier in a way."

I nodded slightly and continued to stare down at my lap, and at Fred's hand that was still holding mine.

"Noah's being buried tomorrow," Kingsley went on. "We've finished all the examinations that we need to do and he's all set for burial. It's unfortunate that we don't have a body recovered for his mother, but sadly-"

"Can I go?" I asked urgently, my head snapping up to look at him. "To the burial?" I surprised myself by asking. I had just been mulling over the fact that I'd be putting myself at risk if I left the Burrow's charms. I'd just been fighting off a surge of terror about being found by Eric. But Noah's burial would be worth any risk. I felt that I had to go.

Kingsley was quiet for a beat. "I don't think that's a good idea," he said. "Whoever did this, and whoever is after you-Eric or otherwise-he might expect you to go. They might be waiting."

"I could go in disguise," I insisted. "Please. I-"

"Like I said, I don't believe it's safe," Kingsley said, his voice firm. "I'm sorry."

"What if George and I go with her?" Fred suggested.

"I can't ask you to do that," I said quickly.

"We don't mind," Fred insisted. He looked at Kingsley. "We're more than capable. We can take her."

"Please, Kingsley." My eyes filled with tears. I couldn't believe I'd resorted to begging. It sounded so pathetic. But if I didn't attend Noah's burial, I'd feel-well, I'd feel terrible to be honest. If it weren't for me, he'd probably still be alive. I felt like I owed him this much.

Kingsley looked at me sadly and for a moment, he looked to be considering my request. But then he sighed and shook his head. "You need to stay here. It's too much of a risk to let you leave, even for a little while."

"I've stayed here for a whole week! A week and a half to be exact!" I cried. "I'm grateful for the protection, honestly I am. I haven't tried to run away or leave, and trust me, the last thing I want to do is put myself or anyone else at risk. But if I don't go to the burial, I'll feel awful."

"You have nothing to feel awful about," Kingsley assured me. "If you don't want to put anyone at risk, you'll understand why you need to stay here." He shook his head. "I'm sorry, Sophie, but my decision is final." He looked at me sympathetically for another moment before he got to his feet. "I'll be in touch if I have any more questions or if I receive any more news." And with that, he said his goodbyes and left. Just like that.

I sat there in my chair, almost dumbly, blinking back tears as I stared aimlessly at the wall across from me.

"Sophie..." Mrs. Weasley began gently. "I'm so sorry, but Kingsley's right. You've already been attacked once and you said yourself that you think Eric wanted to scare you and show you what he's capable of. If you go out unprotected-or even if you were protected-who knows what you might walk into? Like Kingsley said, Eric could be expecting you to go to the burial. We care about you-we don't want you to get yourself hurt-or worse, killed."

"I know," I whispered, glancing at her and managing to aim a tiny smile in her direction. I was quiet for a moment more, until I found that I couldn't sit there at the table any longer. "I'm sorry-I just need a minute," I managed to get out, my voice thick with tears.

And with that, I stood up, forcefully pushing my chair back and quickly walking from the room, heading up the creaky wooden steps to the bedroom I'd been staying in-which I still felt weird calling mine. It wasn't mine. I was a guest here and nothing more. I hated that I'd brought so much on so many innocent people who'd already been through enough of their own hardships. I suddenly felt entirely like too much of a burden, a mess, a walking disaster.

As I pushed my way into the bedroom and curled myself into a ball on the bed, I suddenly thought I was a little more in tune to how Fred must have felt. All of these efforts to protect me and help me were nice and I was appreciative, but they suddenly felt too much and they felt almost undeserved. These people barely knew me and they wanted to help me so badly. I'd walked into their lives and brought a bunch of personal baggage and bad luck and they'd helped me without complaint. I'd led a psychotic man straight to them and two people were dead because of it. Who would be next? I almost wanted to put myself out there and get myself found. I wanted it all to end. I wanted to stop the death count at two because it was two more than necessary.

There was a quiet knock on the door and a moment later, I heard it creak open. Footsteps crossed the room to the bed and I felt the mattress sink down a bit.

"Sophie?" Fred's voice asked, lightly putting a hand on my lower back. I stiffened slightly and I felt his hand freeze before retracting. "Sorry."

I rolled over to face him and peered up at him with watery eyes. "I can't do this anymore," I whispered tearfully, shaking my head as more tears leaked from my eyes and dripped down my cheeks.

Fred reached out and wiped the tears away with his thumb before letting his hand come to rest on the side of my face, his fingertips grazing the side of my neck while his thumb lightly trailed back and forth across my cheek. I was mildly surprised that I actually didn't mind the touch.

"I know more than anyone how this feels," he said quietly. "All this guilt and shame and pressure that you should've done more or done something different." He swallowed and shook his head. "You're not the only one who's ever felt this way. I've gone through it too. And-" He tilted his head towards the diary on my nightstand, "it's also been going on for centuries."

I looked up at him. He did have a point. I may have known all about guilt, but so did Elizabeth and so did Fred. Even his own mother had experiences with guilt. Hadn't she just told me that she herself had struggled with feeling that she should have done more to save her brothers? And I'd told her that she'd done what she could and that she wasn't a failure because she hadn't given up. I just needed to take my own advice and refuse to give up or be so hard on myself. It was way easier said than done, though.

"I know you miss Noah and I know you're hurting and that you're scared," Fred whispered. "But if you give up now, everything we've done-everything you've done so far will have been for nothing. Don't you want justice? For Noah? For his mother? For yourself?"

I continued to stare up at him for a moment before slowly nodding my head.

Fred smiled. "Then you can't give up. Besides, if you give up, you'll officially lose your title as Fred Weasley's role model." He grinned.

"Role model?" I snorted a laugh as I sat up and Fred's hand dropped from my face. "Sure, if you want a role model whose life is a complete mess."

That's exactly the kind of role model I want," Fred answered. When I looked at him with raised eyebrows, he laughed. "I'm serious!" he exclaimed, lightly nudging my knee. There was a pause. "Sort of. What I mean is that your life may not be perfect, but no one's is. It's all in how you handle it."

"And I handle it well?" I asked, pulling my legs to my chest and wrapping my arms around them as I rested my chin on my knees.

Fred nodded. "You've kept fighting. Even when there have been several reasons for you to completely give up. Even when you say you don't want to keep going. Even when you say you're done. You still keep going. You've gotten out of bed every single day, for Merlin's sake. There were days where I couldn't even do that. You've been helping my mother cook and clean and you've kept her company."

"As much as I've enjoyed her company as well, I've also liked keeping busy because it prevented me from thinking too much about what happened."

"So what?" Fred asked. "It still kept you busy and made you feel better. Soph, you haven't once shut down the same way I did. Instead, you've done the opposite and you've opened up. Opened up to me—and a lot of other people who want to help you. As much as you say you don't want help, you've accepted it. And as much as I've said I didn't want help, I've learned to do the same. I've let you into my life with that crazy little diary and I've been better for it." He shrugged. "Mind you, I'm still not perfect, but at least I'm not trying to jump into the pond anymore, right?" He smirked at me.

"Don't joke," I whispered, but a tiny smile had appeared on my face.

"Ah, but that's what I do," Fred answered with a smile of his own. "As I've said, it's-"

"Better than the alternative, I know," I interjected. "And, okay, so if what you say is true, your entire family are all my role models. You all keep fighting too. You've all been through a lot and you've never given up."

"Are you sure about that?" Fred scoffed, looking away.

"Yes," I said firmly. "Fred, if you'd given up-if you'd really given up-I don't think you'd be here right now. I think if you were truly done, you wouldn't have ever allowed anyone to help you. Not your family, not George, not me and not even that diary. But you're getting better." I paused. "When's the last time you got drunk?"

Fred looked at me. "That night you chased me back to my flat after I returned that necklace to you and acted like a nutter over you growing closer to Noah."

"Yeah?" I asked with a proud smile. "But that was, what, two months ago?"

Fred nodded slowly, his eyes still on mine. "I think I always knew deep down that what I was doing was hurting people," he said. "I didn't know the extent of it and just never really cared or thought about it that much. I was selfishly too wrapped up in my own pain to worry about anyone else's."

"I know the feeling," I said. "That's how I felt when I first came here."

Fred shook his head. "You were more concerned with fixing your issues, though. I wasn't. Not for a long time. I just didn't care. If I lived or died, I felt like I didn't care. But other people would have. And I never took the time to understand the severity of how my actions affected my family until Mum said she worried about losing another son."

"But that was after the night you gave me back the necklace," I said. "After the night you last got drunk."

"Right," Fred said. "That night-it was Ginny's birthday party, wasn't it? That was the second big breakthrough I had. That's the night I knew that even though I hadn't been drunk for a bit, I just couldn't relapse. I couldn't go backwards. I realized just how many people I was affecting with my actions and also just how severely I was affecting them. It made me want to try even harder to get my shit together. But the night that made me want to even try at all was night you showed up at the flat. Do you remember when I moved to grab you and you completely freaked out?"

"Don't remind me," I groaned.

"After you screamed and backed away from me and told me not to touch you, I suddenly thought...who the hell have I become? I mean, like I said, I always kind of knew I was a wreck, but I was so engrossed in my own tight downward spiral, that I didn't have time to comprehend much else, especially what it might all mean. But that moment when you freaked out and looked at me with genuine fear-" He swallowed. "That's not me. I'm not that person. I've toed the line many times in my life with jokes and pranks but never crossed it. I'd lost myself since the battle, and it took me until that night to even want to find the person I once was. Also, you were already so unsure about me, so for a second I thought all I'd done was prove you right. Prove that I was just like Marcus Flint and his dumb friends. So, in true Fred Weasley fashion, I then decided that I was going to make sure you were proved wrong."

I laughed quietly. "Wonderful. But I've already told you I didn't think you were a bully or a monster and I've already told you why. You've also been incredibly nice to me on many occasions."

Fred sighed and shrugged one shoulder. "Yeah, but that one bad instance was one too many. It shouldn't have happened at all. Like I said, that's not me at all."

I was quiet for a moment. "So..." I finally began, "what you're essentially telling me is that you're getting your life back together mainly because you're stubborn and want to prove a point?"

Fred laughed. "Yeah, I guess you're right." It was quiet for a moment before Fred took in a slow breath through his nose and then let it out just as slowly. "So you really think that someone was pretending to be Noah?" he finally asked, changing the subject. "Between the day he died and the day you last saw him?"

I nodded. "I do. I've been doing a lot of thinking, and it's the only explanation that makes sense. It seems pretty obvious, actually."

"So you think someone used Polyjuice Potion or something?" Fred asked slowly.

I nodded. "Noah died late that Saturday night and he was walking around seemingly alive and well for four days after that. What other explanation could there be?"

"Well, Kingsley had a point," Fred said with a slight frown. "Eric's a Muggle. You said he loathed magic. How would he even know about Polyjuice Potion, much less be able to brew it?"

"Didn't you hear what else I told Kingsley? Eric's getting help. He has to be. It would be too much of a coincidence for Noah to be killed by some random person after I've gotten here and was starting to get close to him. And then Eric showed up in his house, remember? It was after Noah had technically been killed, but it was hours after I'd last seen Noah that night. He could have let any kind of disguise wear off by then..." Suddenly, my mouth dropped open and I felt my face pale. I looked up at Fred with my eyes wide.

"What?" He asked in surprise.

"If the Noah that everyone kept seeing and talking to from Sunday to Tuesday wasn't actually him..." I began. I swallowed and shook my head.

"What?" Fred asked again.

"When I saw Noah on Monday, he was acting more...handsy than usual. Not terribly, but more than usual. And Tuesday when I was at his house, he freaked me out when he pushed me against the wall and kissed me. That's when he got upset that I didn't trust him enough and went up to bed. If it wasn't actually Noah, then someone else was all over me! And it could've been Eric! I never even really considered that until now! I've been trying so hard not to think about it too deeply that I never thought of what happened between me and Noah during that time and what it would mean if it weren't really him. If it were Eric instead." I groaned and closed my eyes for a second before suddenly hurling myself off the bed. "I think I'm going to be sick."

By the time Fred caught up to me in the bathroom, I was embarrassingly and unattractively throwing up my dinner into the toilet. But how beautiful I looked at the moment was the least of my worries.

Once I was done, I immediately turned to the sink, quickly turning on the water full blast. I grabbed the bar of soap from the soap dish and began scrubbing furiously at my hands, wrists, and even my arms. I felt grimy, and not just from the fact that I'd thrown up. I felt like every spot fake Noah had touched was disgusting. Especially if fake Noah had been Eric. Every inch of my skin felt like it was crawling.

"Hey," Fred said quietly, stepping towards me and reaching for the soap in my hand.

I pulled away from him, backing myself into the wall, still frantically scrubbing at my arms. "I want him off of me," I said, tears coming to my eyes again. "I want him gone."

"Soph," Fred whispered, taking another step closer to me. "Stop for a second and just breathe. Please." He waited a moment as I took in one slow breath after another to try and calm myself down.

Once my hand had stilled in trying to clean my arm, Fred slowly reaching out and hovering his hand over mine. "Let me take this from you," he continued, his voice still quiet.

I let him pull the soap from my hand and then crossed my arms over my chest as he placed it back by the sink.

"I just feel...gross," I said.

"I get it," Fred said.

"No, you don't," I said, looking up at him sadly. "How could you?"

Fred sighed and slowly sat down on the edge of the tub. "Okay, you're right. Maybe I don't get it. Not completely. But what I do know is that you're still trying to get over being traumatized by things that happened back in your foster home. I've noticed you've gotten a lot better. You stiffen or pull away only sometimes instead of every time. You eventually let Noah kiss you, didn't you? You're allowing yourself to trust again, which is something that your foster father tore away from you. And even your mother. They took away your ability to trust. You were just starting to get that back. And now you find out that one of the people you were allowing yourself to trust and even have feelings for was not only murdered, but somebody could have been posing as him and that person could have been your foster father."

"And I let him touch me," I practically wailed, burying my head in my hands. "I let him kiss me."

"I know," Fred whispered. "The whole thing makes even my stomach turn, so I'm not judging your reaction. But you are not the gross one. Eric is. Or whoever else played any kind of part in this."

I shivered and lowered my hands from my face. "I still feel gross. And most of all, violated."

"I don't blame you," Fred whispered, his eyes meeting mine. "I'm sorry that happened to you."

I nodded once and turned my gaze to the ground.

It was quiet between us for a moment and I could feel Fred's eyes on me, studying me. Taking in the way I had my arms tightly crossed to stop my hands from trembling, my tear stained face and puffy eyes. The way I was still leaning against the wall with my head down, feeling the latest wave of exhaustion and frustration as a result of the utter mess my life had become. Finally, Fred let out a sudden scoff and ran his hand over his jaw as he shook his head.

"What?" I asked, looking back up at him questioningly.

Fred shook his head again. "I'm just-I'm disgusted by everything I've heard about Eric so far. Everything he's done to you. And if he did pose as Noah and used that as an excuse to touch you the way he did..." He trailed off and clenched his jaw as he stared absentmindedly at the edge of the sink in front of him. "Merlin, I want to kill him."

I was silent as I continued to stare at him in surprise. I hadn't expected to hear him say that. I'd never had someone be so protective of me before. Eventually, I cleared my throat and shrugged. "I wouldn't protest if you did," I finally whispered.

Fred let out a quiet, sharp breath of bitter laughter, but didn't say anything else. At least not for a moment. "Do you have any theories on who could possibly be helping him?" he finally asked.

"No idea. It could be anyone, if he threatened them enough."

"I think anyone here would've laughed in his face," Fred said, looking over at me. "Threats from some Muggle bloke aren't as terrifying when you're holding one of these." He pulled out his wand and twirled it between his fingers.

"You don't know that for sure. And maybe he didn't threaten them," I said. "Maybe he tricked them."

Fred looked at me. "Maybe," he said. "You know him better than I do. But we have no proof."

"Then we should get some," I said fiercely, meeting his eyes again, determination suddenly etched on all my features.

Fred laughed. "I admire your ambition, I really do. But I think you should relax first." He leaned over and turned on the faucet in the tub. "You probably should take a proper bath. You kind of smell like vomit."

"Really? I wonder why that could be," I commented with a snort as I pulled out my own wand and waved it over the toilet bowl, cleaning the mess instantly.

Fred smiled and stood up before making his way towards the door. "You should know where everything is by now," he said. "Make yourself comfortable. Relax."

I nodded as I watched him step into the hallway and start to shut the door. "Fred?" I said before he could shut it all the way.

"Yeah?" he asked, sticking his head back inside the room.

"If you could maybe...not tell anyone else about what just happened? You know...my little lapse of sanity. It was embarrassing enough as it is..."

Fred looked at me for a moment. "Soph, the last person you have to worry about being embarrassed in front of is me," he said. "I've behaved way worse under stress and grief, remember? And as for my family...they've seen the way I've behaved. Hell, they've seen George and I do crazy things even when we're not upset. They've never judged." He paused for a second as he let me process that. "But in any case, I won't tell them. It's not something for me to tell. But just keep what I said in mind, yeah? Everyone needs someone who they can trust with all the hairy parts of their lives."

I smiled and nodded. "Thanks, Fred," I whispered.

He smiled back and nodded before shutting the door all the way with a click.

July 16th, 1692. Salem, Massachusetts.

Tomorrow, Dorothy will be losing her mother. She has no idea as of yet, but tomorrow morning, Sarah will be dragged from her cell, loaded into a wagon with a group of other convicted townspeople, and taken to a ledge in the woods of Salem. A ledge where, hanging from a strong tree branch, a noose swings back and forth as if it was taunting its victims.

I am trying to be brave, but I am so afraid. I am afraid for what will become of Dorothy. She will remain here, in jail, alone in her cell. She has not been convicted of anything, but her father is too poor to pay for her release. She will probably be moved to one of the smaller cells now that her mother will be gone. I dread the idea of her being moved away from me. Somewhere where I cannot do what I can to help her. I am not sure I help much, but I try. I fear what being here alone will do to her-it will surely damage her more than being here for this long already has damaged her already.

Secondly, I am fearful for myself and my own child. Once I give birth in January, I will face the same fate as Sarah. Unless I can figure out a way to stop it.

Fortunately, I have a lot of free time being locked in my cell, which means I have a lot of free time to plan escape plans.

Unfortunately, nearly every one of them ends badly. I go through plan after plan in my head, all of them involving me grabbing Dorothy and getting out of Salem. Running away. Because if we do escape, we will surely be followed. So for one, I have to be through with an escape plan. I have to be absolutely certain that once we run, we will never be found. I cannot afford to take risks. And the second problem is finding a way to even make it out of this jail.

The non-magical folk of this town, though they have been cruel and very misinformed on many things, they are not entirely dense. They have made sure to keep our wrists bound by iron shackles at all times. Iron has been known to mess with a witch or wizard's magic. We even stick to copper or pewter cauldrons for that reason.

So, essentially, I feel quite useless. Regardless of what the shackles are made of, I don't even have basic use of my hands. Writing is a struggle, but as I've said, I manage. If not, I would surely have gone insane by now.

I have one object with me, hidden away behind the loose stone in the cell wall (where I also store this diary), that could possibly be of some use. But I would just have to figure out how to use it. For one, it would be tricky to operate without full use of my hands and arms. Secondly, it will only aid me in not being seen. I can still be heard-and it is hard to stay quiet when you are clad in loud metal. Additionally, the door to my cell is shut most of the time. And when it opens in those brief moments where food is brought to me, it is only for a second, and a guard takes up the whole doorway.

And then there is the case of how I would get to Dorothy. The object I have would only help one of us-for a few reasons. It is a necklace, first of all, and not big enough to fit around both of our necks. It's a dainty little thing-a delicate silver chain with a small teardrop shaped pearl hanging from it. But even if the chain did fit around us both, I suppose it would restrict our movements too much. And even then, its magic would only work for me, not Dorothy.

The necklace belonged to my grandmother, Ann. She charmed it with quite a few different charms and spells, one of them being a Disillusionment Charm. But the thing is-she charmed it so that the necklace will make the wearer invisible-just as long as they are a blood relative. So it will make me unable to be seen, but will do nothing for anyone else. Not even my husband.

I have never felt more useless and frustrated. I know it is not possible to save everyone, but I am to become a mother this winter and I am already expected to fail at motherhood shortly after giving birth. I am expected to leave my child an orphan. I can hardly bear the thought.

This morning, Sarah and I were whispering through the loose stone between our cells. I asked her if she was afraid. She said very. But she is determined not to show it. For her daughter. And so that she can hold on to whatever little bit of dignity she has left.

She did ask me to promise her something. I said anything. She asked me to take care of her daughter. I asked her how she expected me to do that when I was in the same position that she was. She was quiet for a moment before she said, "Lizzie, if I thought anyone had a chance of getting out of here, it would be you."

"Why do you think that?" I asked her.

"You do not like it when the ones you love are in danger. And you do not take no for an answer," she replied. "You are very strong and tougher than you think. You have to be. Running the tavern the way you do. All kinds of people have passed through that place. You show every single one of them kindness, but if they ever step out of line in any way, you put them right back in their place. I admire you for it."

My eyes were filled with tears at this point. But I managed to tell her that I promised to do everything in my power to make sure Dorothy stayed safe.

I made her a promise and I refuse to break it. It would be an insult to Sarah and our friendship if I did not at least try my hardest.

The sun has almost set. I am losing light fast and soon will not be able to see enough to write. But I know that once I stop, the daunting realization of what the morning brings will set in for good and my heart will become heavier than it already is.

But in about twelve more hours, a piece of it will be missing. A piece will be missing, but it will not feel any less heavy.