The sense of impending dread intensified the closer the Express got to the station. The weather accurately reflected my mood. The sky darkened and distant thunder ominously promised a long and painful journey home, just to spice up the plot.

You know what happens next, right? Things take a turn for the worst. I mean, of course they do; my higher than usual level of optimism and noble intentions alone guaranteed that. Anyone able to string together more than ten brain cells could have worked that out. Alas, a significant proportion of the people I know would be hard pressed to reach those demands, but no matter.

I savoured the last moments of relative bliss over a game of exploding snap in the compartment Reece and I shared with a pair of second year Ravenclaw boys. I smiled at the appropriate places, put in my two words when the conversation demanded it, but my head was elsewhere.

Listening with half an ear, I vaguely remember Reece threatening me with the wrath of his family owl, Barnacle, if I didn't reply to his letters, while I piled water repelling charms on my trunk and cloths. Then I regretfully stowed my wand where it would stay until I was back in the society where I belonged.

The afternoon began well.

Deceptively well.

I even had enough change left over after the bus fare to grab myself a cheap chocolate bar which I ate slowly, savouring the taste, while lounging under cover waiting for the predictably foul weather to pass. Subsequent hours later, and it still had not. That may be interpreted as the first sign. It was bucketing down a horribly sleety concoction; heavier and colder than water, but not quite snow. My favourite.

The snow/rain wasn't so bad, I figured; better than remaining on the storefront of the sleazy shop owner, anyway. It was freezing. More ice than snow, for sure, but my remarkably water resistant cloths kept the ice from melting and trickling inside.

Scrap disagreed. Incidentally, I had managed to convince the anal feline to put up with my company over the break. I was basking in the outcome of my triumph; claws and teeth marks everywhere. I should've left him at Hogwarts instead of forcing him to shelter in my trunk. Really, who knew what he was eating in there; bat spleen… essence of mutant feline. But I didn't haggle with my karma, aloud at least, that would've put further question on my metal stability.

The background noise the storm presented was constant and, thankfully, distracting. It dampened the sound, but the peace-shattering squeal of car tires was still a rather unwelcome intrusion. I moved closer to the gutter, hoping that the driver wouldn't be as inconsiderate as the last clout that hooned past with a wave of gritty puddle slosh.

Red break lights flared in my line of sight. I slowed and apprehension began to curl uncomfortably in my gut. A door slammed – another loud, alien noise. Not good.

The approaching figure was indistinguishable in the dark, blanketing sleet. I guessed it was a man, though a comparatively short and rather round one. I considered bolting as he fumbled with the umbrella he'd produced from who-cares-where, but the miniature Gryffindor in me held my ground. Funny how often inner stupidity reigns supreme, isn't it?

"Hello there, what are you doing out in this weather? Where are your parents?" The man – policeman, I mentally corrected with a grumble when he entered the range proper sight – stopped within shouting distance (a couple of feet or so) and fruitlessly tried to shield us both with the one small umbrella.

I shuffled uneasily. Authority figures had never really played a positive part in my upbringing. Logically, I knew police were supposed to help people, but in my neighbourhood one heard far more criticism than praise. In the end, I decided against following the advice of the man from number 12 and boxing swiftly for his ears. I was too small to pull that off.

"Hello," I replied slowly but politely, "I'm just walking home. My mother couldn't pick me up."

"Do you mind telling me what's in the trunk?"

'Oh great, they probably think I robbed someone.' I was mildly insulted. If I was going to steal, I wouldn't be so pathetically obvious about it. I settled for the honest, provable approach and widened by eyes to play up my apparent innocence.

"My school supplies." He didn't look very willing to believe me. Damn acting skills needed work. "I go to a boarding school in Scotland, I'm going home for the holidays."

Most of the suspicion on his face vanished, replaced instead by the more infuriating emotion of concern.

"Is your home far? I couldn't possible condemn a child to this ghastly weather, come along, we'll give you a lift."

I hate good Samaritans. I could go with them and endure immense discomfort, or I not and look mighty suspicious. The police could even think to check my trunk for stolen goodies after all, and wouldn't that just be fun to explain. The parchment, while a little weird to muggles, would at least sit within my story, but the spell books? Potions ingredients? Wand?

Rock, meet Hard Place.

I began compiling excuses while trying to outwardly convey a whole lot of gratitude I didn't feel. Well, at least I did get out of the storm.

The second policeman and designated driver helped me get my trunk into the back, remarking on how remarkably light it was, ("Cheep leather." Mhmm, not a slight lightening charm, nope, not at all.) and introduced himself as Officer Brown. As if I cared. Honestly, the audacity of some people.

Pointless exchange of pleasantries later, then came the question I was actually looking forward to. "So, where are headed?"

"Cheshires End." The cops exchanged a Look. "You're familiar with it?" I queried, for all they knew, innocently.

"Oh, just the usual." Cop 1 evaded casually. I disguised my snort as a cough.

It wasn't a long drive, but the following ten minutes was filled with one of the heaviest uncomfortable silences I'd ever brought crashing down on other people. I was almost proud.

I had to suppress my snigger as the rozzers became more alert the moment we entered my neighbourhood, but I managed to maintain my childish façade and direct them to my driveway.

"Well, thanks for the lift, have a good afternoon." I was eager to see the last of them, but they didn't seem to share my enthusiasm.

"Are you sure you are going to be all right? The house looks deserted."

Sparing a glance, I realised he was right. Sort of. It'd always been a rundown dump, but I admit it was a little more… decayed than usual. And was that a broken window? Interestingly, not even the one I accidently put my fist through last summer.

"Mum's a messy person, it'll be fine." I idly reassure them. The slam of doors diverted the rest of my attention from the perusal of my home. "Hey, what're you doing?"

"We'd feel better if we were sure there is someone there to take care of you." Cop One smiled encouragingly. I bet they just didn't believe I was actually coming home from boarding school.

I shrugged, mostly ignoring them. It wasn't as if I was in any position to stop them.

The front door was, once again, jammed, but the back was unlocked. That was brave of her.

"Have you heard from you mother recently?" Cop de la Marrón questioned in concern from over my shoulder. Honestly, the inside wasn't that bad. I'd expected worse. Maybe wall paint of the mouldy variety to brighten up the inner decor.

"I sent her a letter last week."

"Did she write back?"

Damn police. "Would you be able to find writing paper in this house?" Oops, that was a little snide of me.

"Hello?" Brown's voice bellow shattered the relative silence, making me wince. No answer. Cold dread settled solidly in the pit of my stomach, and it was there to stay. I said goodbye to any chance of the police leaving me in peace.

"You don't mind if we wait for you mum to turn up, do you?" The police exchanged significant glances over my head. I gave a resigned sigh and another shrug.

"Suit yourselves."

They hung around for several more hours, waiting for someone who never arrived.

I worked around them; honing in on and eventually gathering together all of my drawings, pencils and I even sourced an eraser. Will miracles never cease? I could barely get my trunk closed again, but that was more because a psychotic cat was making himself comfortable amongst my underwear, so they joy was of the short-lived variety.

The clock ticked over to the early hours of the morning. Whether or not that was even a remotely accurate representation of time remained another matter entirely. After clearing off a pile of odd socks, I lounged across the couch (that wasn't there three months ago. Wonder if she pinched it from a neighbour?). I eyed the two men, heads bowed together in terse discussion. I was slightly curious as to what they made of the whole situation, but more fervently, I wished they'd just leave.

I didn't know where Night Sr. was. Like I'd informed the police, I had warned her I'd be dropping in briefly. Maybe that warning was a mistake. The whole 'pleasant surprise and duck the shoe' approach may have been better at convincing the police I wasn't an abandoned minor, in retrospect. Of all the impeccable bloody timing…

Or maybe she was just 'out'. She'd been leaving more often in recent years, after all. Complete coincidence. Yeah. Right. Oh, who am I kidding, I'd totally been abandoned. And I loved it. It'd be mighty convenient, actually, if not for the pair of sympathetic inconveniences imposing on my glorious solitude.

Cops One and Two chose then to interrupt. "Do you have any idea where your mum is?"

The gutter? I shook my head.

"Any other relations?"

I almost rolled my eyes. "Not that I've met."

Cop Two frowned in, I think it was pity? Nasty emotion, that.

"You understand we can't leave you alone in good conscience." I'd feared as much. It was probably against some law somewhere. Reluctant nod. I got the feeling I'd just sealed my doom.

"And we'll have to take you back to the station now until we can find somewhere for you to stay until we can locate your mother?" In response to that, I really did groan. 'How unseemly, Reece would be scandalised.' I grinned fondly at that thought, earning a weird look from Officer Brown.

The local station was old and a little grungy. Too tired to acknowledge my dignity, I found a corner, curled up behind my trunk and fell asleep.

The next moment (in reality, a few hours later) I was prodded awake by a too friendly lady. After grudgingly thanking her, more for social necessity than any semblance of gratitude, I was forced to endure her painful company through a looong breakfast in the station tea room. She seemed convinced that every spare moment had to be filled with words. I ground my teeth and practiced nodding at the right moments, practically exuding patience.

I gave up before ten minutes had passed. Yes, I was counting.

After that, I just stared at the brown watery tea in my cup and wondered if there was any way I could use it to get commit untraceable murder. No such luck. I was forced to accept that only idiots of the Marauder calibre would be able to attempt such a thing.

My stubborn silence didn't translate overly well to my company. She seemed to believe I was the picture of terribly depressed youth, rather than a future serial killer. It was painful, I tell you.

A whole eternal, eighteen minutes later, Officer Brown made a reappearance and waved me over. I launched myself from my seat, pausing only to send a smile at Ms Whatever. She looked mildly frightened, but, after all, I was picturing her head on a pike, so I can imagine my grin turned out slightly sinister.

They hadn't found her yet. Apparently a team had gone through the house but were unable to find any hint as to her whereabouts. Brown explained slowly and soothingly, to the point of extreme irritation, that they had arranged for me to stay in the nearby 'St Catherine's Children's Home for the Orphaned' until more suitable accommodation presented itself. It sounded ominous.

I had to answer question upon question about my family to assist them with finding somewhere to dump me. I was quite willing – the faster they found me some quiet place to stay, the faster I could slip away. The information confused them for a while. They had to ask me five times whether I'd spelled my mum's name properly when they could find no record of her in their big bulky computer thing. They finally had to concede that their records may not be complete. It all amounted to pretty much nothing. I knew very little about what relations I may have on my mother's side, and even less about my father's. Hell, I was partially convinced he was a wizard, in which case the muggle police had no chance of finding him. I'd resigned myself to the fact that I'd be assigned to an orphanage after I was only able to stare blankly in response to questions such as 'what were your parents' maiden names?'

They expected me to act like an actual thirteen year old, hurriedly dragging me around to even the smallest machine and explaining in low, secretive voices about its modern features, mistaking me vague amusement as interest.

I was almost relieved when the car pulled up on the curb in front of a blindingly sterile white building. The police made the situation worse by explaining my situation to an aging lady in a flowery frock as if she hadn't already been informed. I bet they did it just so they could punctuate the conversation with pathetic simpering looks in my direction. Surely they couldn't have been blind to my frustration; I was scowling very openly, having given up hiding my displeasure hours ago.

They didn't appear willing to stop anytime soon, so I decided not to grace them with my attention. The apparent obsessive cleanliness extended to the interior of the building. The halls were bare and clear, no sign or sound of children anywhere. It was lunch time, so they were probably amazing in a cafeteria or something. I found myself thoroughly disinterested and displeased with everything; from the state of spotlessness to the fact that I was forced into an orphanage when there was a perfectly good empty house calling my name.

It didn't get better. Brown, and the last chance of him changing his mind, walked out the door. The orphanage matron (I believe I may have been introduced to her at some point, Mrs W-something) immediately dropped her motherly image and a stern drill-Sargent replaced her. Thank freaking Merlin.

"The others are in the refectory. Come, quickly now."

I dragged my feet as slowly as I dared, feigning difficulty lugging my trunk, which hissed loudly when jostled. Mrs W was not impressed with the time it took to coax my reluctant form into the next room. It was filled with children from toddlers to elder teenagers.

"You will eat here three times a day; 7:30, 11:00 and dinner is at 6:00. Do not be late." The matron's tone welcomed no argument. "Lights out is at 8:30, I'll have someone show you around. Anklemire!"

A blond of more or less fifteen years shot to her feet immediately, a look of reverence on her face. "Yes, ma'am Winsidor?" Ugh, I could practically feel the suck up radiating off her.

I sped out of that room as soon and quickly as I could, and probably before common courtesy permitted. Ah well. Blondie had to run to catch up, and almost assuredly broke a hundred of her personal virtues in the process. That knowledge kept me content through five minutes of the constant commentary I'd deemed inessential and subsequently not worth my time or my eardrums.

"Look," I interrupted. Since when did she start reciting the breakfast menu for every second Tuesday? Whatever, I stopped in front of her, halting our slow progress. "I just need to know where I can sleep, the route to the toilets and outside. I'm only staying here for a couple days." If I have anything to say about it.

Anklemire looked own her upturned nose at me. "Fine." She sniffed imperiously. Huh, I must have insulted her sensibilities again. But no matter, I got things my way.

The building wasn't all that large, but the girls' wing was on the far side, the furthest possible point from the boys'. Honestly, it's like they didn't trust us!

The beds were small and there were two per room, which was sparsely furnished, with only a dresser between the beds, topped with a lamp and opposing a bookshelf supporting more fiddly toys than books. At least it had a conveniently large window.

More pressingly, I'd memorised the way out. I released the yowling beast and stored my trunk as far out of sight under the unclaimed bed as I could, before making my way to the backyard. It was pretty bland. Cement lined a small section of oval, while pockets of dead brown grass poked through the icy grey sludge that had fallen the previous afternoon and destroyed the former picturesque fluffy snow that usually took up residence in winter.

A skeletal, equally bland tree stood in a corner against a high fence. Too high for a scrawny kid to toss a relatively heavy, even when lightened, trunk over. And there was no gate, either. Hmm, looked like I'd be going through the window after all. Evaluation complete, the chilly 3⁰C put me off an extended exploration and exposure to the elements.

Taking off so soon could be problematic. The police would be informed and actively searching for me and dodging them would only be possible for so long. I was fairly confident I could manage for a day or maybe two, but when they caught up with me they'd be sure to put me in someplace far harder to get out of. I decided to bide my time. Maybe my mother would show up and I would get out early. If not, I'd wait until the eve of my return to Hogwarts and then camp out on 9¾ until the train arrived. Easy. Satisfied that I had confirmed my game plan, I returned indoors. I knew I would loathe the other kids, but it would be bearable for a few days. Taking off immediately would be more trouble than it was worth. Well, that was the theory, anyway.