Chapter One
"Don't forget to grab your bag, miss," a small voice called from behind her, as she stepped out of the canary yellow taxi cab.
She quickly turned, her tousled black hair spinning about in the wind, and smiled at the man, who held her leather satchel in his hand.
"Thank you," she said, offering a quick wave, then shut the backdoor quickly.
Angry beeps prompted her to scurry away from the curb side, and continue on her way. It was a windy day, unusually windy for the 1st of September, but it was a happy day. Bright sun yielded a pathway for Jane, who was embarking on her seventh year at Hogwarts.
She made her way down a busy side street–it had been a shortcut she learned years ago, though it seemed to have now been discovered by the masses. However, she did not care, nothing seemed penetrable enough to affect her–not now at least.
Glimpses of conversation–sarcastic, eloquent, worried, pensive–flooded her thoughts with each stride she took toward the end of the ally. Each conversation, though evoking different emotion, comprised of a common theme–Sirius Black.
Just the mere thought of the man sent trickling sparks down any man's spine, but for Jane, an embedded fear arose. Sirius Black, by unconventional circumstances, was a relative–not a particularly close relative, but close enough. The Black family, who had the reputation of marrying their own to secure 'pure blood,' only wedded true wizarding families. Amongst the true pure blood families stood the Blacks, the Gaunts, the Blishwicks, the Bulstrodes, the Burkes, the Crabbes, the Crouches, the Flints, the Gamps, the Lestranges, the Malfoys, the Weasleys and the Vogels.
Jane Vogel, by default, was the spawn of Lower Saxony's most austere and feared pure-blood family. Though her family was of German decent, during the last Great Muggle war the Vogels emigrated to the shire of England. There her family joined the ranks of the Dark Lord and served faithful to him, but to date, Jane, abolished any connection to her family's sadistic counterpart. She did not meddle with the dark arts, a choice by which Jane was greatly reprimanded for.
Quick on her heel, Jane turned sharply to the right, as she reached the end of the winding ally. The sun shined brightly on her cheeks along with the caressing wind. Thoughts of Black continued to swindled her mind, but with a quick shake of the head, Jane freed herself from his distant grasp. It was pathetic to let a lunatic, especially one whom she had only met once, consume her thoughts and worry her sick.
Jane continued happily down the bustling street, her mind not penetrated by any thoughts of Black nor the stress of her last year of N.E.W.T.s. Instead she fantasized about reading beneath the Elder tree, who's vast branches provide a refuge of shade beside the black lake; walks to Honeydukes sweet shop; window shopping at Gladrags Wizardwear; and restocking at Scrivenshaft's Quill Shop. The thoughts plastered a smile upon her face, giving her a dazed look, as she quickened her step.
King's Cross station was within sight. The smile on Jane's face widened even more, as she etched her way through the crowded street. A shove here and an elbow there was truly the only way to move through the London traffic–therefore, Jane threw out her elbows and glided straight towards her destination.
"Watch where ya going," an elder man hollered angrily at Jane as she quickly passed him.
But she did not look back. She took only steps forward–regression was not what she aimed for.
"Oy, Jane," another voice called, this one was more familiar, so subconsciously she stopped.
The entrance to the station was merely one hundred yards in front of her, but she figured it would be rude to ignore a friend, especially her best.
"Maxwell?" Jane asked, turning around to look for the boy.
He stood just outside of a small tea shop; his hair fell just above eyes and his dark, square rimmed glasses hung crocked on his nose.
"Maxwell!" She repeated, and sprinted to embrace him.
He eagerly wrapped his arms around his good friend and spun her around, attracting a few stares from pedestrians.
"How have you been?" Jane asked, as she let go and took a step backwards.
"Well, since it has only been about a week since I've seen you, I've been well," he said with an excited grin.
Jane smiled, her happiness increasing.
She looked at Maxwell again and examined his features. He was tall, unlike she was. He had light brown hair, whilst she had almost black. He had light, piercing eyes, while she had dark, cunning ones. He was tan, she pale. Not to mention he was a boy, and she a girl. But they had been best friends, since their second year– both were sadly awkward during their first year, but quite gregarious now.
"So, I notice you haven't fix your glasses yet?" Jane asked, jokingly.
Max rolled his eyes.
"I notice you haven't lost your wits," he countered, sarcasm coating his tone.
She firmly patted his shoulder with her polished hand. "Right. Well, shall we head to the station?" She inquired.
Maxwell eyed the thin, gold watch that wrapped around Jane's wrist. She glanced at the small numerals that read eleven thirty.
"It's merely time to depart," Jane gasped, then grabbed Maxwell by the wrist.
She beckoned him through the thick traffic, her small hand barely capable of grasping his strong wrist.
"Jane," he stated, struggling to drag his large trunk through the people around him.
"Jane. we're not going to be late," he added, not wanting to hurry, for he preferred to take his time–Maxwell was far less strung than Jane.
But she did not listen and continued to push herself through the crowd.
Maxwell looked around him, letting his friend guide his way, then abruptly stopped.
"We're here," Jane panted, then looked at her watch.
Max ran a hand through his rustled hair, the wind was still blowing strongly,"And are we late?"
Jane smirked, "No, it is only eleven thirty-six."
"Good, so let us try to walk calmly toward the platform,"Maxwell suggested, this time taking Jane by the wrist.
She smiled, and complied as Maxwell's large hand grasped her small one and lead her toward platform 9 and 3/4. The crowds within the station were not as large as the crowds on the streets, yet Jane still evoked an enormous amount of anxiety.
"There it is!" Jane shouted, the instant she saw the brick pillar.
Maxwell only shook his head and tightened his grasp on Jane's hand.
"There," he said, as they stood in front of the platform.
"No elbows, nor shoves thrown."
Jane bit her lip.
"Yes, but my blood pressure is way beyond normal," she stated, as she stared nostalgically at the bricks before her.
Maxwell looked from Jane to the pillar, then to Jane again–a bemused expression adorning his face.
"You're not going to cry, are you?" He asked, softly placing his hand on Jane's shoulder.
Jane, who could feel the ducts of her eyes welling, quickly blinked her lids and wiped her nose.
"Of course not," she said breaking her hard stare.
Maxwell looked at her uncertainly.
"You really think I would cry?" She pressed, her tone defensive.
"Not at all,"he said, putting his arm around her shoulder.
"I must have been extremely presumptuous to accuse you of such a strange and rare emotion."
Jane raised her brow.
"Go to hell, Maxwell," she chortled.
"Gladly," he retorted, then grasped his trunk in his hand.
"Shall we proceed?" Jane inquired, as she looked at Max.
He curtly nodded and placed his hand in front of him–prompting Jane to rush through the brick wall for the last time.
"Bye mum."
"Cya dad."
"Don't forget your owl dear."
"Emma, there you are!"
"I love you, dear!"
"You're going to be late!"
"So, this is it." Jane muttered to herself, fondly examining the beloved train before her.
Maxwell lagged behind, watching as Jane came to terms with the experience happening around her. For Jane Hogwarts was home. For Maxwell home was a stable, happy family in the suburbs of Surrey. He was born into a caring and tolerant half-blood family. His father, to his happy surprise, married a beautiful witch, who worked as an auror at the Ministry. Though Maxwell adored Hogwarts, it was a different experience for him–therefore, he had to keep an eye out of Jane, for her actions could be capricious and sometimes irrational.
"Are you ready to board," Maxwell asked, gently nudging Jane's arm.
She looked up at him, her eyes brimming with tears, and nodded.
"Let's go then," he said, pushing the small of her back toward the Hogwarts Express.
The train was packed–frightened first years, careless second years, excited third years, confident fourth years, anxious fifth years, cocky sixth years, and nostalgic seventh years–everyone seemed to evoke the same emotion as Jane, yet Jane repressed her feelings. Underlying all she felt, everything she knew would happen for the last time–she was happy.
"Let's sit here," Maxwell offered, pointing to an empty compartment.
She stopped and peaked into the compartment she stood in front of–three of her fellow Gryffindors sat with an older man. He was cloaked and seemed to be sleeping, the scene seemed quite odd, but Jane shrugged and walked into the compartment adjacent to it.
"What were you looking at?" Maxwell inquired, pulling a leather bound book out of his large, battered trunk.
"Oh," Jane said, staring blanking at Maxwell, "I just, oh nothing, it was nothing," she said blinking her eyes rapidly, and sitting down across from Max.
"What are you reading," she asked, nodding toward the book Max held in his hands.
He looked down at the book and blushed.
"Nothing," he said thumbing the leather spine.
"It's a journal I'm supposed to write in."
Jane smiled fondly at Max.
"Have you always kept a journal?"
He nodded, "Yes, but I have kept it discrete. You see I want to write a novel someday."
"Really?" Jane asked excitedly, or more in surprise–she thought she knew most of Maxwell's aspirations.
"It's true," he said, his cheeks still warm with a rose blush.
"You're superb," Jane stated, and dug her hand into the pocket of her sweater.
"What is that?" Maxwell asked, staring at the small box Jane pulled out of her pocket.
"My trunk," she replied, as if it were obvious.
"Right, of course. I was wondering where your trunk was."
She chortled, "Yes, I learned the charm over vacation– it's extremely useful."
"Hmmm," Max pondered, "It seems practical."
"Yes, well as the Ravenclaw that you are I would think you would have plenty of nifty charms in your catalog."
"No, I usually ask Claire," he confessed.
Jane tensed and her smile fell to a frown.
Maxwell opened his mouth, about to give an apology, but closed it shut.
"You don't mind if I check in on two of my favorite friends, do you?" A female voice called from the compartment door.
Maxwell swallowed hard on a breath of air, while Jane looked out the window–ignoring the female's presence.
"Of course not, Claire," Maxwell said with an awkward shake in his voice.
"Great!" She said, with giddy excitement.
Jane turned to look at Claire, then Max.
"How have you been?" Jane politely asked, though she sounded highly disgruntled.
A wide smile masked her face, "I have been so well," she said, pushing out her robed chest–a sparkling gold pin adorned her left breast.
"That's pleasant," Jane said quietly, then enlarged her trunk–occupying herself with anything, but conversation with Claire.
Claire noticed Jane's cold actions and smirked.
"So, Max. Did you hear who was awarded Head Boy?" She asked, talking loudly, so Jane would hear.
Maxwell looked at Jane, who was seemingly trying not too get too upset with Claire–her old best friend.
"Yes," he answered shortly, and eyed the pin on her robes.
Claire smiled at him.
"Yes, I am Head Girl," she answered as if he had asked a question, while pumping her chest proudly toward him.
"Congratulations," he said with a short, yet obviously annoyed smile.
Claire shrugged her shoulder.
"Thank you Max. My parents are really proud, but you know I was actually kind of surprised," she started and turned to look at Jane.
"I thought surely, Jane, would have received the honor."
Jane, who was rummaging through her trunk, pluck up a pair of robes and rushed out of the compartment.
"What's wrong with her?" Claire asked, Maxwell.
"What do you think?" He asked, glaring at the girl.
Claire rolled her eyes and thumbed the gold pin on her chest, "Well, I have duties to fulfill."
The train abruptly stopped, as Jane walked down the hallway of the train. She wore her new school robes, adorned with her beloved Gryffindor crest, a plain black skirt, white blouse, and a grey house vest with a silk red and gold tie. A wave of murmurs sounded through the hallway–the Hogwarts Express had never stopped. Jane looked around at the compartments around her and noticed the three Gryffindors she had seen earlier.
"Excuse me," Jane asked, opening the door to the compartment.
Three frightened faces looked up at Jane, though the man in the corner still slept peacefully.
"Are you alright?" She asked, stepping through the door, and placing her shrunken street clothes in her pocket.
"Jane, sorry. Yes, we're fine. Ronald is just–just having a bit of a fit," Hermione, the only girl of the three friends said with an uncertain look on her face.
Jane smiled, "Right, well I have no idea why the train has stopped," she said looking out the window–it was raining hard and it looked like it was the middle of the night.
"But I don't think we have anything to worry about," she said reassuringly.
The two boys looked outside of the window, then looked at Jane.
"Are you sure?" the red haired boy named Ronald asked.
"I think I'm sure," she said sitting down on the bench nearest the door.
"Do you mind if I stay here a moment," she asked the three third years, she did not want to go back to Claire and she was peeved at Maxwell.
"Of course not," the black haired boy, Harry Potter, said with a welcoming smile.
"Thank you," she smiled, observing the man sitting just several feet beside her.
Hermione watched, as Jane curiously examined the cloaked man.
"We don't know who he is," she said to Jane, who jumped when Hermione spoke.
"Oh," Jane said quickly looking away, "Do you reckon he is a new professor?"
All three nodded, yes.
"His briefcase is embossed with 'R. J. Lupin,'" Hemione said pointing to a tattered briefcase stored above her bench.
"Hmm," Jane mused, looking up at the box, "Usually teachers do not ride the Hogwarts Express into Hogsmeade."
"I know," Hermione confirmed, "it's quite strange."
Jane nodded and settled into the bench as the compartment light started to flicker, then go black.
"Bloody Hell," Ronald squealed.
Jane heard a thud.
"Ronald, get off of me," Hermione saying warningly.
Harry laughed, but quickly went silent.
"Do you hear that?" He asked, and Jane pressed her ear against the cool glass compartment window.
She did not hear anything, but the door handle clicked open.
"Hermione!" Ronald squealed again, "make it stop."
Jane looked up at the door, as a putrid, shadowy creature floated into the compartment. Thoughts raced through her mind–she knew what it was, Professor Quirrell had mentioned the creature during a fifth year lesson. But it was useless, she had forgotten the name of the dark creature and the charm used to deflect it.
"Jane, do something," Hermione called, as the dark shadow stationed itself in front of Harry.
Jane looked at Hermione with wide eyes, "Um-"
The creature bent it's head and Harry went balmy.
"Expecto-" she thought, "Expecto Patr, hmmm," she could not think of the rest of the charm, nor think of anything happy.
The compartment windows started to freeze–a cracking noise filled their ears and Jane's breathe could be seen before her.
Jane stood on her feet and walked slowly to her right–trying to face the creature, but she shook from the cold and the fear.
"I can't," she said, tears leaking from her eyes.
Different thoughts flashed through her mind now–her mom, her dad, sister and brother, the Dark Lord, everything–everything she loathed, everything she feared.
Then a bright, glowing, silvery light filled the compartment and the shadowy creature, a dementor, was forced out of the compartment. A warmth filled the room and the windows condensed from the melted frost. Jane pressed her back against the large compartment window and slid down to the floor–she was drained of all emotion.
"That was a dementor," the cloaked man stated, as he stowed his wand in his cloak pocket.
Jane pressed her back even harder against the wall and clenched her fists in defeat–she should have remembered that.
"Here," he said taking a golden bar from his pocket, "Eat this."
He handed a piece of chocolate to Harry, who laid lousy on the bench.
"Uh, thank you," he said, in a hushed whisper.
Hermione stared at the man, who had casted the patronus, and watched as Harry ate the candy.
"Who are you?" She asked, her tone frank.
"Oh," he said surprised, "I'm sorry, I did not introduce myself. I am Professor Remus Lupin," he said kindly.
Hermione nodded, "Well, thank you for helping us."
He smiled warmly and broke off a piece of chocolate for both Ron and Hermione.
"What exactly happen to me?" Harry asked, and Professor Lupin explained the art of a dementor attack.
"So, they try to suck out a person's soul?" Ronald asked Remus.
He wavered the question, "I guess so, as horrid as that sounds, it is correct."
"That is treacherous," Hermione added.
"But why me?" Harry asked, still looking dazed from the attack.
"I do not know," Professor Lupin answered, "They were presumably looking for Black."
The three Gryffindors went silent and Remus focused his attention on Jane, who still sat with her back pressed against the wall.
"Are you alright?" He asked Jane, squatting down to look her in the eye.
She blinked a bit, but did not reply.
"Here," he said breaking off a piece of chocolate for her, "Eat this, it will help."
She took the square of chocolate and took a bite. A strange warmth spread throughout her body and her preoccupied mind focused on what was happening around her.
"Thank you," she whispered, as she stood up–careful to pull her skirt to a decent length.
Professor Lupin stood to side, as Jane approached Harry.
"How are you feeling, Potter?" She asked, bending a knee in front of him.
He smiled at her attempt to make him feel better, "I'm fine Jane."
"I'm sorry-" she began, but the compartment door opened.
The same tall, blonde and glib girl from before stuck her head into the compartment.
"How is everyone doing in here? I am Head Girl and if you have any worries just ask me!" She said, in a slightly rehearsed manner.
"Oh, Jane!" She said, looking down at the ground.
"I'm just making my rounds," she added and looked at Professor Lupin.
"Oh, are you Professor Lupin?" She asked, stepping into the compartment to shake his hand.
He smiled, seemingly impressed by her initiative, "Yes, and you are?"
"My name is Claire Vonck, Head Girl and a member of the Ravenclaw house," she said happily, while blatantly brown nosing.
"Well, nice to meet you, Miss Vonck," Professor Lupin said, then shook her hand.
"The pleasure is all mine," she said with a smile, "and I see you've met my best friend Jane! She is a force to be reckoned with when it comes to Defense of the Dark Arts, aren't you sweetie?" Claire said patting Jane's head as she made her way out of the compartment.
Jane hung her head in frustration, not wanting to answer the question she knew would be asked.
"Wait," Hermione said as Claire left.
"Jane, you're not Head Girl?"
Jane sighed.
"No," she said shaking her head slowly, "I am not."
"But Jane-" Hermione began.
"No, it's fine," Jane stated, as she stood up, "I'm sure Professor Dumbledore has his reasons."
Hermione frowned and looked awkwardly at her feet.
" Well," Jane said, pressing the wrinkles out of her skirt with her palms, "I am sorry I blanked Potter–I should have know to use a patronus," she apologized, her voice fading as she spoke.
Harry opened his mouth, about to speak, but shut it abruptly for Jane walked out before he could even start.
Wow. It is has been a long time since I have written anything. Let me know what you think––it's good to be back.