Molly was shaking as she sat on the cracked concrete step, leaning on the front door. Arthur was upstairs, putting their remaining six sons to bed. She couldn't think, other than of sweet little Ronnie, clinging to his brother Bill's hand and babbling incoherently, of Bill's drained, pale, terrified face as he called out for Ron, of the absolute horror as they searched, of the complete and total despair she felt quaking through her body. She wept into her hands. She knew the police force was looking, but she had already lost hope and it absolutely shattered her. She couldn't feel, other than such an intense, throbbing, something that was so horrific it transcended language. How on earth would she manage to go on? To live? To breathe, without her son? She had six more to take care of- six! And a husband, a wonderful man who was feeling every ounce of pain she was.
She couldn't process what could be happening to Ron. Her brain was simply incapable of understanding anything but him being gone, and with all of the horrible things that could and did happen to little three year olds, lost, she almost hoped he was dead, only so he didn't suffer at the hands of evil people. She cried out in anguish. She couldn't't think about that. It wouldn't help.
Arthur opened the door and helped her to her feet. Neither of them spoke as they walked to their bedroom and lie down in their clothes, and neither of them slept, just wept into one another.
Sister Stella Marie looked at the little girl sitting upright on the chair in the lobby. She had long, frizzy brown hair shaped like a brown trapezoid with too-short, uneven bangs atop a round, beige face with big, dark brown eyes. She wore a blue t-shirt with a white unicorn and multicolored mane on a white long sleeve shirt atop khaki capris, and light blue ballet flats. She was playing thumb war with herself in an attempt to sit still. The five year old didn't look very distressed, which was odd, considering her parents were standing at the front desk, filling out the paperwork to put her up for an adoption. Shooting Mary, who stood before them, a horrified glance, the nun walked over to sit next to her.
"Hi, honey," Stella Marie said. The girl looked up and smiled, turning and folding her legs.
"Hi, miss," she said in a northern accent. "I'm Huminey, nice to meet you."
"Hermione," The mother snapped.
The nun smiled at the girl. "Hello, Hermione. I am Stella Marie," She ran a hand over her hair. "Nice to meet you."
"Mummy and Daddy say I'm going to stay here now," The girl said, a bit of sadness coming into her voice.
Stella Marie smiled tensely and looking up at the parents, lips pursed. The mother had one hand gripping her crucifix necklace. Stella Marie ruffled her hair before standing and walking behind the desk.
"She's a bit old to give up," Stella Marie said tentatively in a low voice. "Aren't you a bit attached to her?"
"She's a witch," The father said. "I'll not have a dirty sinner in my home. It's not christian." His voice was shaking. The mother looked sad, scared. The father looked… Angry. Hurt. Stella Marie looked at Sister Mary, who was frowning at the parents.
"And what makes you think she's a witch?" Mary asked.
"She- weird things happen around that girl." He shook his head. "She's evil."
"God is punishing us," The small woman said, a tear falling. "For breeding between races,"
Stella Marie breathed in, glancing between the little white woman and tall black man. She was speechless. These people actually thought-
"Go take her to meet the other girls," Sister Mary said, tense. "She can meet the boys after supper."
Stella Marie nodded, taking Hermione's hand and walking her towards the office. The girl swayed their clasped hands as they walked, looking back at her parents. "How often will they come see me, ma'am? Like, at least a couple times a day, right?"
Stella Marie's eyes stung. She only smiled in return, taking her in and speaking into the p.a. system for the girls to all go to the courtyard to meet a new friend, then walking the little girl towards it. It was inconceivable to her that parents would give up a baby, but a little girl? Absolutely horrific.
Harry lay on the cold, thin cot the orphanage passed off as a bed, staring at the dusty coils of the bunk above him. He felt… Numb. He knew the Dursleys had hated him, but… Really? Dropping him off at an orphanage?
He'd be relieved if he wasn't so certain this place would be even worse… But at least he wasn't stuffed into a cupboard. Still, a bunk bed, surrounded by a sea of other bunk beds… He rolled onto his side, only to snap his eyes shut when another boy was facing him. It was so weird, and unnerving. He pulled the scratchy wool blanket over this head, wrapping it around his face so everything was covered but his nose, so he could breathe.
He felt like he should miss them, but he didn't. He felt betrayed, and offended, but… He wasn't upset that he'd never see them again. It was a weird thought, of course, but he certainly wasn't going to cry over it. They weren't exactly lovey dovey with him.
He rolled onto his other side and made eye contact with a ginger boy who was looking at him. He had short orange hair, a long face and a long nose, light blue eyes, and pale skin covered in freckles.
"Hey," the ginger said in a hushed voice.
"Hi," Harry replied.
"I'm Ron."
"Harry."