Disclaimer: Voldemort, Bertha Jorkins, the Malfoys, and Wormtail belong to JK Rowling, as does the situation in the Albanian forest. Grace, on the other hand, is mine.

The Dark Forest

If you walked by number 137 Derkhall Lane at one thirty every afternoon, you would see a pale face in the orphanage's attic window. The girl's slim face would be looking sorrowfully down at the twenty or so children playing in the dirt lot that served as their playground.

Her face was framed by a wild tangle of short red hair. Her hazel eyes seemed to look right through you, with a wisdom far beyond her ten years. She would stare down at the children playing below her for as long as they played, but as soon as they went inside she pulled away from the window.

Her name was Grace.

Grace was always getting into trouble for one reason or another, whether it was her pranks or just her natural clumsiness. In the two years she had lived at 137 Derkhall Lane, she couldn't remember ever going outside for recess. She was always sent up to the attic for punishment.

She didn't mind of course. Nothing mattered anymore, not since Grammy had died ...

Grace would lie in her cot at night, thinking of Grammy while she listened to the heavy breathing of the three other girls ...

Grace remembered Grammy well. She had lived with Grammy ever since she was a baby and her parents had died. Grammy was the sweetest, kindest woman imaginable, even if she was a little absent minded.

Grammy Bertha had worked in the Ministry. She had always had important guests over for dinner, and Grace was almost always a welcome guest.

And then they had gone on that trip.

Grace remembered when the trouble had started. She had been only eight at the time, but still remembered their dinner guests. They were all blonds, the father, the mother, and their son. He was fourteen, six years older than her. Grammy and the blond couple had told her and the boy to play upstairs while they talked.

"What's your name?" she had asked the boy politely, trying to make conversation.

"Draco," he had snapped. "Draco Malfoy. Why, going to laugh at me?"

"No. I'm Grace."

"Just Grace?" he had sneered.

"I don't know my last name."

"I do," he had said. "It's Jorkins."

"No it isn't," she had protested. "That's Grammy's name. Not mine. She never told me what my last name is."

"Right. Sure," he said, and then he had picked up one of her books and sat in the corner and read for the rest of the evening.

That night, Grammy had told her that Draco Malfoy's parents thought it would be a lovely idea if we went on a trip.

"To Albania," she said. "It's lovely there. I've got some cousins you should meet. We'll be leaving sometime this week, and we might not be back for a while."

And so had begun a week of endless packing.

"Grammy," Grace had asked once that week, "what's my last name?"

"I'm not sure," Grammy had replied, just as Grace had supposed she might. Grammy kept her face hidden in a suitcase. "I got you from a mutual friend between your parents and me a few months before they died. I'm not even really your grandmother, you know that, right?"

"I know."

And so they had been off to Albania to visit relatives. Grammy seemed distracted on the plane ride, but Grace wasn't worried. She often acted this way. Grammy was a writer.

Albania was very scary from Grace's ten-year-old view. Huge, dark forests all over the place. And Grammy's relatives weren't very friendly. All in all, she had had a hard week, and was glad when Grammy said they would stop at an inn for the night, instead of spending another day with her cousin.

Grammy seemed even more distracted than usual. As the clock in the hall chimed ten, she announced that she'd be going for a walk.

Then, even more suddenly, she changed her mind.

And then she changed it back.

And then finally, she had made her most amazing statement yet. "Gracie, I love you, you know that, right?" Grace had nodded, caught completely off guard at this question. "All right then, love, hop into the suitcase."

"What! Grammy ..."

"It's all right, it's big enough. You'll be fine. We'll leave all the clothes and things here then, right? We'll pretend to be checking out." Then, more to herself than to Grace, "Yes, that's what we'll do."

"Grammy – you're scaring me."

"Am I?" she had said vaguely. "Come on, then, into the suitcase." Grace, trembling from head to foot, agreed.

They had barely gotten outside when they were overtaken by a man. Grace was able to hear fragments of the conversation from inside the suitcase.

"Oh – I – Ms. Jorkins. How nice to meet you ... again."

"How nice to see you ... alive ..." Then something she couldn't hear. And then the man saying, "Would you like to come on a little walk with me?"

"Yes, why not?"

And then she changed her mind. "No, I will not, and I place you under arrest."

And then, "Yes, of course I will join you."

And then Grammy and Grace inside the trunk followed the man into the forest. They had been walking for awhile when the man stopped.

"My Lord," he had said. "I can sense you. You are here, I know you are. I have brought you a witch, My Lord."

Grace caught her breath. Witches weren't real!

"Who is it? Dare I dream? At long last, one of my Death Eaters has returned!"

"It is I, Wormtail. I bring you Bertha Jorkins, Ministry witch."

Even now, almost two years later, Grace could barely bring herself to remember the conversation that had followed. She could only remember her Grammy, her own sweet Grammy, shrieking and screaming in pain, answering questions, and then finally ... being killed.

The men's attention had soon turned to the trunk. "Why would she bring her luggage on a walk with her, Wormtail?" the high, cruel voice asked.

"Perhaps she was ... checking out?"

"Open it up, you fool, see what's inside it!" Grace began trembling with more force than before, as she heard the man's footsteps coming closer and closer. She couldn't move. The man called Wormtail had opened the trunk and pulled her out.

"It is a girl, My Lord," he had said. "A child."

"Aaaah, a witness ..." the high voice had said. With that, Grace had felt the feeling come back into her legs. She had bolted ... had run as fast as she could through the forest, dodging around trees as she heard loud crashes behind her.

Even now, she had nightmares that somehow always ended up with her lying in that Albanian forest, dead.

Grace had made her way back to the inn and had explained tearfully to the innkeeper what had happened. The innkeeper had taken care of her for a few weeks, then had sent her back to England, to 137 Derkhall Lane, where she had lived ever since. No one from the Ministry had come to look for her Grammy.

And now Grace lived at the orphanage, waiting for ... she wasn't sure exactly. Not a family to come and take her. No, she didn't want any family besides Grammy.

But Grammy really wasn't her family, she kept reminding herself. Maybe you have a real family out there.

If I had, Grammy wouldn't have gotten me when my parents died, the sensible part of her mind always replied, and that put an end to the arguments.

A/N: I finally decided to stop being lazy and am putting some chapters together and things like that. I also did a little light editing, nothing major. Thanks everyone for all the reviews so far. You make me so happy!