❝ Just because things hadn't gone the way I had planned didn't necessarily mean they had gone wrong. ❞

Up. I needed to get up. I couldn't lie there a minute longer after what I just heard. I had to think. Clear my head.

Ignoring the pain that shot through my back when I swung my legs over the side of the couch, I stood up. I picked up some clothes and a towel from my suitcase, which Michael had placed somewhere in a cupboard the previous night, and then headed to the bathroom.

Michael's house was small and apart from his and his father's room that both were located upstairs, there was one other room I hadn't been in, so I assumed it had to be the bathroom. I pushed the rusty doorknob and came face to face with a dingy restroom. There was barely any space to move about and the mirror above the sink was cracked and slanted to one side, but none of it mattered. All I needed at that moment was to freshen up.

I stripped off my clothes, swept my hair into a shower cap and stepped into the shower. Bitterly cold water made contact with my skin and I retreated, shivering. I let the current run, tentatively testing it with my fingers every couple of seconds in hopes it would warm up eventually, but it didn't. Letting out a sigh, I decided to suck it up and shower anyway. Judging by the Junes' living situation, the lack of warm running water didn't surprise me, after all.

I wondered how he and his dad had gotten used to it over time. There were many questions I wanted to ask him and Sibi, but first I had to make sense of the chaos that had formed in my head from their conversation I'd eavesdropped on.

Their words started replaying in my mind as if I'd just heard them a few seconds ago.

What are we going to do, Mike? Do you think it's safe to keep someone like her at home? Sibi's anxious voice echoed in my head.

She probably doesn't even know the basic spells, Sibi. What can she do to us?

Michael was right. What could I do to them? What could a girl like me-who didn't even have a wand to start with-possibly do to two wizards who knew way more complicated spells than the few ones I'd read about in the Harry Potter books, two wizards who were about to start their fifth year of schooling? Why would I do anything to them anyway?

If anything, I had more reason to freak out about what they could do to me. They could kill me whenever they wanted to, if they thought I was that big of a threat. But why would they think that?

You never know it with these sorts of people. With all the havoc they've caused in the past, where's the guarantee there may be decent fellows out there? You know what they're capable of. That's why the government treats them that way. Because it's better to be safe than sorry.

What did Sibi mean by "these sorts of people"? What sorts? I had never harmed anyone in my life-

Okay, maybe that wasn't entirely true. I used to cause many incidents in my muggle school when my powers got out of control. That's why everyone feared me, students and administration included, and even my neighbors.

But why would the magical government do something to me? Because of the accidents I caused when I had no awareness of my witch identity? No, there was no way. So then, what was Sibi implying? Did I really look that dangerous? There had to be more to the story.

What if she's bloodthirsty?

I couldn't help but scoff at that. Me, bloodthirsty?! Did she honestly believe that? I wasn't some cold-hearted monster.

Okay, I had to admit, smiling wasn't really my thing. My mom would often remark how she barely ever saw me smile. Or laugh. When I watched people in the street, at school, or in cafes and restaurants, who'd burst out laughing with their friends and loved ones until they got teary-eyed, I always envied them. Because I didn't know how it felt to laugh so hard your lungs hurt, to be so full of joy even your own body couldn't contain it. I longed to experience that emotion once, to know what it felt like to be that happy.

But that didn't mean anything. It couldn't.

I didn't know Robert Kin had a daughter. How is this even possible?

Was my father that well known in the wizarding world that even a bunch of fifteen-year-old wizards knew his name? Who was he, really? The man I had never been told anything about my whole life, whose name I was now coming to find was infamous among wizards . . . Who actually had he been?

I mean, the guy was supposed to be dead a long time ago. Something about this entire situation is certainly fishy.

Well, I hope he's dead now.

What did they mean that my dad was supposed to be dead? And what made Sibi speak of him so resentfully to the point of wishing his death? From the way they talked about my father, it sounded like they were talking about a mass murderer or something.

My heart leapt to my throat and my eyes goggled as realization hit me like a truck. Maybe . . . maybe my father really had been a bloodthirsty person. What if he was a mass murderer? Perhaps that was the reason my mom always refused to talk about him, as if he'd never existed . . .

I bit my lower lip and swallowed to fight back the tears that formed as if by command. No, it couldn't be true. My father, my own flesh and blood, the person I'd desperately wanted to learn more about for so long . . . He couldn't possibly be-

The only difference is their Patronus animal.

I tried to focus on Michael's words to distract myself from thinking about my father and his real identity. How could he possibly know what my Patronus took form of, when I wasn't aware of that myself? I didn't even know how to cast a Patronus charm yet.

There were so many questions I needed an answer to, things I had to clarify. But I couldn't do so by myself, here in this small restroom, with the icy cold water running down my back that had made goosebumps form along my skin by this point.

I thriftily stepped out of the shower and wrapped a towel around my body. I looked at my reflection on the rectangular mirror that hung above the sink. A tumble of frizzy blonde curls fell to my shoulders as I removed the shower cap, shorter locks poking haphazardly from my scalp.

I hated my hair. It was always so untamed and never stood in place, no matter how desperately I tried to smooth it down. The one thing I was glad about were the shorter stray curls that hung above my brows-not exactly bangs, although that was what I had attempted when I'd let the scissors slip through my locks, which had resulted into this epic failure. I was glad about them, though, because if I got the stray locks to stay in place, they fully covered my bushy eyebrows.

Another feature of my face I hated: my eyebrows. They were dark, thick and very hairy, which was surprising, considering that I was a blonde. But then again, the only thing I actually liked about my appearance were my green eyes, which apparently everybody thought belonged in a museum due to their rareness.

My mother was a beautiful woman, with chocolate brown eyes, soft auburn hair and caramel freckles scattered all over her small nose and rosy cheeks. Why couldn't I have looked at least a teeny bit like her? The more I thought about the differences in our appearances, the more it occurred to me that I could have taken after my father in looks. The very idea was enough to make me step away from the mirror instantly.

After I got dressed and smoothed down my frizzy hair (or tried to), I was relieved to finally leave the restroom. I headed to the kitchen, where I noticed Sibi and Michael sitting at the table, engaged in a conversation.

Their discussion was loud and lively until they saw me-that's when they fell silent in an instant and turned to me with apprehensive eyes. I pretended not to notice the change in their demeanor.

"Morning," I said, taking a seat across from them at the table.

"Good morning," Sibi responded with a saccharine smile.

My eyes narrowed. It took me all I had not to snap at her to stop being such a fake bitch, as if she hadn't just been talking smack about me an hour ago.

"Did you sleep well?" asked Michael simply, without bothering to sound amiable at all.

Since I appreciated the straightforwardness in his tone, I just gave a polite nod, although my backache was killing me.

"Where did your dad go?" I asked him, trying not to glance at Sibi.

He took a moment to reply. "Somewhere."

Somewhere. Smart answer. Rather than lying, he went with a cryptic response.

"I'll make you something to eat," Sibi offered.

For a moment, I almost told her no. But then their conversation popped into my head again. Sibi was already suspicious of my intentions; I didn't need her to be more suspicious if I refused her offer out of the blue.

"Okay," I said.

Maybe that came across as rude, but a 'thanks' would sound so unlike me. I couldn't fake my likeness towards a certain person; not showing my dislike was the best I could manage.

"So," Michael started when Sibi left. "I offered you to stay the night, but I know nothing about you."

"Nor do I about you."

"Right, er . . ." The nervous side of him from one night ago resurfaced. "W-Well, you said you wanted to go to Diagon Alley. So since we'll go there next week, I guess we could use this time to, um . . . get to know each other a bit?"

"What do you want to know about me?"

He cleared his threat. I could tell he was trying his best not to look intimidated. "Well, seeing that you ran away from home, I'm assuming that you-you don't have good relationships with your family."

Although it was a statement, it came out more like a question. He looked at me as though I'd jump on his throat any minute. I eyed him for a minute, pondering whether or not to respond.

"I used to be closer to my mom," I finally said. "But then I found out she had lied to me my whole life. It was my birthday yesterday and I felt lonely. I needed to get away as soon as possible or else I'd explode."

Michael flinched at my last sentence and I mentally slapped myself for wording it that way. Thinking that I was dangerous, he had probably misunderstood me. He probably thought I'd harm somebody if I got furious.

"I-I understand," he said timidly. But he didn't. He didn't understand at all. "Well, not the best birthday ever, I guess."

"Yeah," I admitted. "But at least it was different. At least I'll remember this one."

Just at that moment, Sibi walked in with a plate of food in her hands. She placed it on the table in front of me, gave me a spurious grin and returned to her seat. I looked at the food: one boiled egg, a square of white cheese and a slice of corn bread. Better than I'd thought. I almost thanked her, but then thought better of it.

"So, Polly," Sibi spoke, clearing her throat. "I happened to overhear your conversation with Mike . . . by accident, of course."

Of course.

"It's all right," I said after swallowing down a bite of bread. "We weren't talking about anything too personal."

"I'm sorry that your birthday sucked," she said, her tone syrupy. "Would you like me to prepare you a cake? I love baking. Besides, you're our new friend now, you know."

"Oh, I know, I know." Could she detect the caustic irony in my voice? "But you don't have to, really. I'm not that much of a cake person, anyway."

For a moment, an awkward silence descended over the table. It was almost like none of us knew what to say, but I knew there was a lot going on in their heads and plenty they wanted to ask me. They were just trying to find a way to make me spill my guts to them. Which I wouldn't, unless they told me more about themselves first.

"So," Sibi started after a while of playing with her food. "Are your parents muggles?"

Thought you'd know by now, I mentally replied.

"Yeah, my mom is."

Silence again.

"And your father?"

I dropped my fork. "He died when I was young."

My tone was neither angry nor cold, but it was firm enough to indicate I didn't want to discuss it any further.

"Oh," was all Sibi said.

I stood up, my plate of food almost untouched.

"Now if you'll excuse me," I said. "I'm not hungry anymore."

Trying to ignore my grumbling stomach, I turned my back to them and left the kitchen.