divided.

Prologue.

"Minster of Magic Cornelius Fudge has just finished giving a press conference, in which he announced that the Ministry of Magic will be sending an envoy to Azkaban Prison to open negotiations with the Dementors. Recently, their usually water tight guard of the prison has been failing, which has lead to the escape of many high security prisoners including Antonin Dolohov and Bellatrix LeStrange, both cohorts of the recently returned He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. The Ministry hopes to be able to reach an agreement with the Dementors, which will bring them back into the fold of the Ministry, and allow the Ministry to retain control over the prison," announced the radio in the far corner of the small, crowded shop.

Occasionally, from the checkout counter, Fred would catch a glimpse of a ginger head weaving its way between shelves of his brightly packaged wares. He'd been watching the girl attached to the ginger hair for quite some time as she drifted in and out of his line of vision, hopefully enjoying his products. Secretly, he was hoping she'd approach him with a question about something, just so he'd have an excuse to talk to her. Fred was having a hard time coming up with an appropriate excuse on his own. Especially since George was somewhere in the shop already, making sure all the customers were finding things easily enough.

"Did you see that girl?" George appeared across the counter suddenly, almost as if he'd apparated.

"The ginger haired one?" Fred asked, knowing full well who George was talking about. The only other patrons included a mother and her young son, and a few small groups of teenaged boys.

"No. The middle aged one with the ankle-biter," he deadpanned.

"Shut-up." Fred narrowed his eyes at his twin.

"So you saw her."

"Yeah. I saw her." He tried to play it cool.

"She's brilliant. I'm going to chat her up. Keep an eye out, eh?" Without another word, or a glance back, George headed off in the direction of the ginger haired girl.

Fred mentally cursed himself for not abandoning the counter much earlier to try and talk to the girl. It wasn't as if the shop was hopping anyway. He could've left the checkout alone for a few seconds. It was a Tuesday afternoon, not a peak time for the magical joke shop business and there were only a few stay-at-home mums and some random miscreant teens hanging around. But it was too late for that, George was already off, laying on the charm. Fred had learned years ago, that after one twin attempts to get himself stuck in, well, the other twin should steer clear. It just gets ugly otherwise.

*****

Niamh wandered between rows and rows of tightly packed shelves lined with brightly colored, descriptively named goods, all intended for mischievous purposes. It was perhaps, the most interesting wizard shop she'd ever entered and she was enjoying every moment of her exploration, each item making her laugh a little louder than the next. All she really knew of the shop, besides the fact that it came highly recommended by Mr. Fortescue, was that it was owned by a pair of young brothers named Fred and George Weasley, who developed and produced all the goods on their own. Only ten minutes into her exploration, Niamh had a steadily growing list in her head, entitled "Things To Buy." It was broken down into categories: must haves, stuff for me, stuff for Kian, things to come back for. Needless to say Niamh was quite fond of lists. She was in fact, quite sure her that world would crumble around her if she stopped making them.

Speaking of a crumbling world, she thought, as the radio newscast caught her attention. It had been all over the news, all day long. But then, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named returning from the almost dead, and seeking a return to his former power well...that was certainly a big deal, so she understood why she'd heard and seen nothing else in the news lately. Even as an American witch, Niamh understood the enormous impact of recent events, and felt trepidation at the thought of how much smaller the world had become since his last reign. It would be unlikely for Voldemort to remain on this side of the ocean if he came to power again, the world had constricted considerably, and he'd want as much power and control as he could have. She knew at least that much about him from her lessons as a child back home. And the news here only served to scare her a little more each day.

"Hey there," a voice arose from her left. She squealed and jumped a bit, feeling as though she could have jumped out of her skin. In reality, she only jumped a few inches in the air, up and to the right.

"Oh my god, you scared me!" she exclaimed, her hand over her pounding heart.

"Wow. I'm really sorry." The boy to her right, a redhead, looked frightened himself.

"No. Don't be." She smiled sheepishly. "I'm like, the jumpiest person on the planet."

"And with an accent like that, I'd say you were an American, too."

She resisted the urge to roll her eyes. It was almost certainly the first thing people said to her/asked her about : being an American. She couldn't get used to it, even after 2 months of living and working between London and Dublin, it still bothered her a bit to continuously hear it. She knew she'd have to get used to it though, because like the constant comments about the color of her hair and the mispronunciation of her name ('No, Ma'am, that's Neev, not Ni-am-h. It's Irish.'), being American was both something she couldn't change, and something people would always notice. That was especially true in the wizarding world, in which there hadn't seemed to be much inter-cultural interaction since the times of Lord Voldemort's last reign. Wizards here in London were always shocked to meet an American witch.

"Yes, I am. I grew up in New York."

"Wow. What are you doing all the way over here in London? Vacation?" He was smiling at her strangely, clearly over-interested in conversation.

"I'm working, actually."

"Working? Where?"

"I work for a muggle institution, a bank, JPMorgan Chase. They've transferred me to the Dublin office, but I do a lot of work in the London office as well."

"Never heard of them."

"Not shocking, most wizards haven't."

"So. Are you a witch, or what? I mean, how did you find Diagon Alley?"

Niamh knew she seemed odd to British witches and wizards who encountered her. She lived half her life as a Muggle, and half her life as a witch. Although it was common in America, where the very vast majority witches and wizards were of mixed parentage (not unlike most Americans in general), the British Magical world didn't have a cultural equivalent, and it shocked them to learn how so much of the magical community in America was "part-time." Today Niamh was dressed like a Muggle, wearing a cut off denim skirt, a tank top, and a pair of beat up old Dr. Martens, so from the outset people had a hard time reading her. But there was a wand in her bag, and she knew as much magic as any British witch or wizard did, and perhaps more.

"Oh, I'm definitely a witch. I'm of mixed parentage, Mom's a Muggle, Dad's a Wizard. I was raised like most muggle kids in America, only after regular school every day, I went to Wizarding school for a few hours."

"How does that work?" He looked genuinely interested, and he leaned closer as she began to speak again.

"It's really common in America, and not just in the magical community. Greek kids go to Greek school, Jewish kids go to Hebrew school. It keeps a culture alive, while allowing kids the chance to assimilate into American culture, giving us a shot at the 'American-Dream' if we want to take it."

"That's weird."

"It's not as weird as it sounds, I guarantee it. It's actually kind of nice. I can be as involved in the Magical community as I want, but I don't have to feel isolated from the world my Mother is a part of either." She noticed that the other people in the shop had drifted closer, and they were all listening to her speak. "Sometimes its hard, to choose between the two worlds, but I think it's a good thing, to have that choice. It makes me that much more proud to be a great witch, when I know its something I've chosen to devote my life to, instead of just something that's been dropped into my lap."

"Wow," the mother across the shelf exhaled. When Niamh looked up, she quickly looked away and began to busy herself elsewhere.

"Yeah. Crazy," the redheaded boy added.

"By the way, I'm Niamh." She extended a hand to him.

"George."

"Wow. So you own this place?"

"Yeah, with my brother, Fred." He pointed a thumb over his shoulder to an identical redhead.

"Well, it's great. This has to be the best wizarding joke shop I've ever been to in my life." And she meant what she said. "My little brother would LOVE this place. I have to send stuff back to the States for him!"

"How old is he?"

"He's not that little, actually. He's nineteen; he'll be twenty in a few months. But he'll forever be my little brother."

"And how old are you?" George asked. She smiled at the tone of his voice. He was certainly trying to lead this conversation elsewhere.

"Twenty-two. How old are you?"

"We're eighteen," the twin, Fred, piped up from behind George. The tone in his voice seemed, amusingly enough, quite triumphant. She had to smile.

"Young'uns." Niamh shook her head. She didn't mean to be condescending, and she tried to show that with her intonation, but she couldn't resist saying it. "Although, you're wonderful businessmen, it seems, which is quite impressive for your age." She smiled directly at both brothers. "I talk about you like you're that much younger than I am. I mean, it's only a few years. I still remember 18. It just feels like it was forever ago!"

"Uhm. Yeah." George knew he'd been figuratively smacked down, and that his chances with Niamh were negligible. He also knew Fred was more than thrilled about what had just transpired. He could feel the jealousy, and then, the shit-eating, triumphant grin, radiating from behind him. "Well, uhm, we should get back to work. Just, let us know if you need any help or anything."

Niamh watched as George turned on his heel and headed back toward the register, shoving Fred along in front of him, and she bit back a bit of a chuckle. She hadn't meant to upset or embarrass either of them. But she did feel the need to make it clear that she wasn't interested in or attracted to them either. She could sense their attraction, mostly from the nearness of George, the way his eyes moved around her body, and the tone of his conversation. And she didn't want to lead anyone on. She knew how messy that could turn out, and that kind of mess was the last thing she wanted to have on her hands, barely 2 months after moving away from home, all alone. More than anything, she just needed friends. And so she hoped that she hadn't done any permanent damage just then. Because anyone who owned a shop like this, well they were worth knowing, in her book. Worth having as friends.