The sun blinded my eyes.

  I walked along the path and did not look back.

  The forest ended suddenly.

  At some point I stepped out onto the edge and froze.

  Before me lay a village. The most ordinary English one: neat houses with tiled roofs, a church spire in the distance, fields divided by hedgerows, and people. People who walked along the street, talked, laughed, went about their business.

  This village was called Little Hangleton.

  I looked at those people and felt like an alien.

  My dress was dirty, my hair greasy, my face covered in bruises that had not yet fully faded after Marvolo's last beating. I was a scarecrow, a stuffed dummy, anything but a normal human being.

  But there was no choice.

  I took a step forward.

  The village met me with smells: fresh bread from the bakery, smoke from chimneys, and — very close — horse manure. Somewhere a horse neighed, a dog barked, a woman called her children to dinner.

  Everything was so ordinary. So peaceful.

  I reached the first shop — judging by the sign, a grocery. The door was open, and from inside came the voice of the shopkeeper counting something with a customer.

  I went in.

  Inside it smelled of bread and something sweet. Behind the counter stood a fat man in an apron, with a red face and small, suspicious eyes. The woman he was serving turned at the creak of the door.

  She saw me.

  And the expression on her face changed. First surprise, then disgust, then — fear. She moved away as if I were contagious.

  "What do you want?" the shopkeeper asked roughly.

  I swallowed. It was hard to speak — my throat was dry.

  "I need… to buy food."

  The shopkeeper looked me up and down. His gaze lingered on the bruises, on my dirty hands, on my dress, which had once been gray but now looked brown with dirt.

  "Got money?"

  I nodded and reached inside my bodice. I pulled out the purse Ogden had given me. I untied the strings and poured several gold coins onto the counter.

  Galleons.

  God… And why did I only think of this now?

  Of course. What other money could a wizard have given me?

  The shopkeeper stared at them. Then he looked at me.

  "What kind of tricks are these?"

  "These are… money." I suddenly realized what an idiotic situation this was. Muggle money looked completely different.

  "That's not money," the shopkeeper said harshly. "That's some kind of theatrical trinkets. What are you, escaped from a circus?"

  The woman beside him giggled.

  "No, these are real…" I faltered. "This is old family gold. It should be worth…"

  "Gold?" The shopkeeper picked up one coin, turned it over, even bit it. "Gold indeed. But what fool pays for flour with gold? This needs the police, that's what."

  "The police?" My heart dropped into my stomach. "Why the police?"

  "Because all sorts wander around here," he jabbed a finger at me. "Maybe you escaped from somewhere? Maybe someone's looking for you?"

  I backed toward the door.

  "No, I… I'll just go. Sorry."

  If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  I scooped the coins back into the purse and fled the shop faster than he could say another word.

  Outside I leaned against the wall and tried to catch my breath. My heart was pounding so hard it felt like it might jump out.

  So that was that. I had been free for exactly one hour and had already almost ended up with the police.

  What next?

  I wandered down the street, trying to stay in the shadows. Passersby glanced at me, some turned away, children pointed. I felt like a leper.

  I needed to find a place to sleep. But where? I had no normal money, I looked like a vagrant, and every second person seemed ready to call the police just because I breathed the same air as them.

  By evening I was exhausted.

  My legs ached, my stomach cramped with hunger — I hadn't eaten since yesterday, and yesterday there had only been scraps. I found a shed on the edge of the village, near someone's field. The door wasn't locked, inside it smelled of hay and mice.

  I climbed inside, burrowed into the hay, and closed my eyes.

  Sleeping was cold and frightening. Every rustle sounded like Marvolo's footsteps, every creak like Morfin's voice. I curled into a ball and prayed to every god I knew to live until morning.

  At night the rats came.

  I heard their scurrying, felt something small run across my leg. I screamed and jumped up, waving my arms. The rats scattered, but sleep was gone completely.

  I sat until dawn with my back against the wall, clutching the knife I had taken from the hut.

  In the morning, when the first rays of sunlight broke through the cracks in the shed, I crawled outside.

  Overnight I had frozen, grown even hungrier, and probably looked even worse than yesterday. But I could not give up.

  I went back to the village.

  This time I decided not to go into the shops. I simply sat on a bench by the church and watched people. Maybe someone would take pity? Maybe someone would give bread?

  People passed by. Some threw copper coins. I collected them, because it was at least something.

  By noon the sun was warm, and I began to grow sleepy. I dozed right there on the bench.

  "Hey, what are you doing sitting here?"

  I flinched and opened my eyes.

  An elderly woman stood over me. Plump, with a kind face and gray hair gathered into a bun. She wore an apron, and in her hands was a basket of vegetables.

  "I… am resting," I croaked.

  "I can see you're resting," the woman squinted. "You went into Toby's shop yesterday? He was talking about you. The whole village already knows."

  I shrank inside.

  "I didn't do anything wrong."

  "Oh, don't be afraid," the woman sighed and sat down beside me. "Toby is a fool like no other. Always imagining criminals. And you… you, I can see, came from trouble."

  She nodded at my bruises.

  "Who did that to you?"

  I stayed silent.

  "All right, don't want to say — don't," the woman rummaged in her basket and handed me an apple and a piece of bread. "Here, eat. You've wasted away completely, skin and bones."

  I stared at the food, not believing my eyes.

  "Thank you," I whispered and sank my teeth into the apple. It was the most delicious thing I had ever eaten.

  The woman watched me chew and shook her head.

  "My name is Martha Cole. Mrs. Cole. I'm a widow, live alone. God didn't give me children. And you… do you have somewhere to sleep?"

  I froze with the apple in my hand.

  "No," I admitted honestly.

  "Well then, that's settled," Mrs. Cole stood up and brushed off her apron. "Come with me. You'll wash, eat properly, sleep. Then we'll see."

  I looked at her and felt tears rising in my throat.

  "You… you really want to help me? What if I'm a criminal?"

  Mrs. Cole smirked.

  "Child, I've lived forty years in this world. I've seen criminals. And you're definitely not one of them."

  She held out her hand.

  "Get up. What are you sitting for?"

  I took her hand and stood. My legs trembled.

  "Thank you," I said again. There were no other words.

  "You'll thank me later," Mrs. Cole waved it off. "First I'll shove you into a bath. Forgive me, Lord, but you smell like a goat."

  I walked after her through the village, feeling the looks of passersby on me. But now I didn't care. Beside me was protection.

  Mrs. Cole's house turned out to be small but cozy. Clean curtains on the windows, cross-stitched pictures on the walls, it smelled of pies and dried herbs.

  "Come in," she said. "I'll heat water. I'll give you clothes. Take off this… rag."

  An hour later I sat in a wooden tub of hot water and cried.

  Cried from happiness, from relief, from the fact that for the first time in a long while I wasn't in pain, wasn't afraid, and wasn't cold. The water washed away the dirt, and with it — all the pain and fear I had lived through over the past days.

  Mrs. Cole brought me a clean dress — simple, gray, but clean. And underwear. And wool socks.

  "Get dressed," she said through the door. "Dinner's on the table."

  I climbed out of the tub, dried myself, and pulled on the clothes. Everything was a bit too big, but it was the best clothing of my life.

  For dinner there was soup, bread, butter, and mint tea.

  I ate and could not stop. Mrs. Cole watched me and kept adding more.

  "Haven't eaten in a while?" she asked.

  "A while," I nodded with my mouth full.

  "Where are you from, child?"

  I froze.

  A story. I needed a story. I couldn't tell the truth.

  "I… am from London," I said. "An orphan. I lived with relatives, but they beat me. I ran away."

  Mrs. Cole sighed.

  "A familiar story. My husband, God rest his soul, drank too and raised his hands. Until one day I hit him with a frying pan." She smirked. "Helped."

  I smiled involuntarily.

  "And what's your name?"

  "Merope," I said.

  Mrs. Cole looked at me carefully.

  "What an interesting name you have," she remarked. "What does it mean?"

  I thought.

  "I don't know," I said honestly. "I've never thought about it."

  "Well, never mind," Mrs. Cole stood up and began clearing the dishes. "The main thing is you eat and rest well. Then we'll decide what to do with you. All right?"

  I nodded.

  "All right."

  That night I slept on a real bed for the first time. Clean sheets, a soft pillow, a warm blanket. I lay there and looked at the ceiling, afraid to close my eyes — what if this was a dream?

  But it wasn't a dream.

  I was free.

  And I was finally safe.

  I had food, a roof over my head, and a kind woman who wished me no harm.

  I closed my eyes and smiled.

  For the first time since arriving in this world, I managed to fall asleep peacefully.