Disclaimer: All recognisable character, plases and plot belongs to J.K. Rowling, the rest is mine.

The Orphan

Introduction, the dream of Jean Blank

The orphanage needed to invest in many things, a larger septic tank, more heat, better food, and thicker walls. After a restless night filled with cries from the little ones, even though they sleep at the other side of the building, and then walking over the numbingly cold floor to the bathroom for a nearly ice cold shower before being served watered out porridge is probably not anyone's idea of a good morning, but that was mine. Every day.

It was worse now this close to Christmas, it was getting cold, and rather than actually cheering up the grey walls, I found the moth eaten Christmas decorations to be depressing. They were just as washed out, overused and smelly as everything else that belongs at the insides of this orphanage, and every time they put it out I wanted to chuck all the Christmas shit out the window.

Why pretend like that? I just wanted to ignore Christmas. The only thing nice about it was that they had a Christmas dinner, and it was good to finally have some variation. We also got some new second hand toys for the playroom, but I hadn't even been in there for three years, so I didn't really care about that too much.

It was all just depressing, all the stupid pretending, but then again, if we couldn't pretend what would we have had then?

Nothing.

Only depressing grey walls and nothing.

That does not mean I will pretend with the rest of them.

And what's the point? Like someone would come over to the frizz freak and ask her to join. I wonder if they're scared of me. So what if the light bulbs exploded that one time, or that piece of the ceiling fell down on Grace Waters while we were fighting?

The orphanage was old, it could have been anything, and she didn't die.

Of course, the weird things would always happen when I was up for adoption. The table would collapse, the window would break, or I would simply creep them out.

That's what was good about being fourteen; it had been years since anyone was interested.

I didn't like to admit it, but I wanted out. Not that it's a secret, everyone wanted out of here, even those who worked at the orphanage. But I really wanted out, I'm not even an orphan, that much I knew, or at least I wasn't left there because my parents died, someone brought me here.

I had done a lot of thinking about that, I really had, because whoever left me here did it properly. No card board box on the front steps, they actually signed a name and left me properly, and the paperwork was probably still in the old filing cabinets in the basement. That was why I had told Louisa I could take her washing duty that day, so that I could get down to the basement where the laundry room was.

It was bitingly cold down there, I could actually see the fog in front of my face, but I ignored it whilst putting more sheets into the washer, and then I would just have to wait. I had taken the keys from the nurse, the orphanage was big, and so we had our own.

I actually thought it was funny, even though we live in the 21th century the orphanage reminded me of the fifties, depressing, and another reason as to why I had to get out.

Why the nurse would have the keys to the filing room was beyond me, but it wasn't really that important.

The filing room was down a long, crooked hall from the laundry room, and it was always a sound of something dripping mixing with the sound of the light bussing over my head. Real annoying, and creepy for some, but I did have some guts.

I had to tare and push at the heavy door, and it complained loudly from rust as I finally managed to push it open, stupid door.

There was no light in the filing room, but I brought a flashlight. That still didn't warn me of the tool box placed carelessly on the floor though, and I tore up the palm of my hand when I banged into the concrete floor.

I swore like I had learned from the older boys and stumbled onto my legs, there really was no time being a sissy now, so I started searching.

My name is not really Blank, it's just that whoever put me in the orphanage didn't sign a last name, and so I was just Jean and then Blank, becoming Jean Blank. That's all the identity I had, annoying really.

So logically I didn't search in the B's, but rather in the J's, I found the cabinet along one of the dark aisles, and pulled on it. Locked.

Bugger it all to hell!

That was not going to stop me of course, if so I would have to throw it into the ground until the lock broke, but that might alert someone, so I tried the keys.

They were all door keys, fitting the doors of the building rather than those small scrawny keys that go to cabinets and such, so after trying all of them just for measures I had to think. And then it hit me.

The toolbox!

I went back, nearly tripping over it a second time. I roamed inside and found what I was looking for, a hammer.

With the backside of the hammer securely wedged into the crack of the filing cabinet I began to push, and it didn't take long until the rusty drawer broke and opened.

I pulled out the file named blank, Jean and left the dark room in a hurry.

Back in the laundry room I opened up the file, I couldn't help my racing heart or shallow breaths. This was too exiting.

I opened up the brown cardboard file, and looked at a single paper inside. March 1999, when I was put here, then my name and then it was the last name on the paper, and I read it eagerly.

As usually I felt a familiar pang of jealousy and sadness as I read the name written in the small box at the bottom of the paper, not because I knew the woman but because she had a real surname, a nice given name as well. One with identity, and I felt deathly jealous.

And then I smiled, because that was the moment I realised that this was it, this was the woman that could explain everything, she would give it all a reason. Now only one little detail remained;

How on earth was I going to find Hermione Granger?