Untitled as of yet
Sarah dreamily turned the page of her book. It was one she had got out of the local library: a fantasy story by Patricia C Wrede, called Dragonsbane. She was more than two-thirds of the way through: she had found herself a comfortable, well-hidden spot in the orphanage grounds to read. Had she not, someone would have found her and reported her by now. You weren't supposed to read fiction in Mrs. Winslock's Happy Home for Orphaned Children.
Sarah was nothing much to look at. She was very tall for her ten years, and, having lived on an orphanage diet since the age of four, she was so skinny you could see her ribs. If a telephone pole had a mop of lanky, mouse-brown hair worn in two straggly plaits, she would have looked just like one.
In fact, in spite of her height, the general impression you got when you met Sarah was mouse. Mousy hair. Mousy eyes. Even the way she moved was mousy, scurrying from place to place. She seemed to try and make herself smaller, and if you talked to her for too long you got an irresistible urge to throw her a crumb of cheese. The patched, too-small orphanage uniform she wore was no help at all.
She turned another page, lost in the world of magic.
"Hey, beanpole."
She looked up. A scrawny ten-year-old boy was staring down at her, sneering. Quickly she shut the book, but he had seen.
"You aren't supposed to have those, you know," he said. "You'll get in trouble." His face curled in a malicious grin. "You already are, though. Lots of trouble. A couple are here to adopt!"
"So?" she said. "What's that got to do with me?"
No one ever wanted to adopt Sarah. She wasn't pretty, or clever: her main talent was knocking things over by accident. She'd been in trouble for that, too, lots of times.
"So, they want to see you!" he said. "Beats me why. And the old woman's been looking for you for the past half-hour. I wonder what she'll do to you when she finds you?"
She winced: the insult had hit home. Getting up slowly – she was already late, it wouldn't matter if she was later – she started to follow the boy back to the main building. Half-way along, though, in the twisty, overgrown and supposedly picturesque garden, she gave him the slip and dodged away. She had to hide her book!
Running, she headed for the back of the garden, where there was an old, disused outdoor privy – a remnant of the orphanage's Victorian history. She slammed the book down on the windowsill, breathing a silent apology – normally she treated her fantasy stories with utmost respect.
She ran out of the building again and jumped over a wall into the shrubbery. Speeding along the private paths between the bushes, she raced towards the main building. She doubted anyone else knew about this place; although many of the orphanage children had at some point climbed over the crumbling stone wall, she alone had ventured into the heart of the overgrown cluster of bushes, and she knew every inch of it.
That was the only other thing Sarah was good at: hiding, getting away. She had to be: Mrs. Winslock, the 'old woman', beat all the children on a regular basis, and Sarah on a daily one. Sarah knew every trick in the book when it came to escapology: crossing rivers, doubling back, covering tracks, the places where no one will look, and the number of things that can be done with a hairpin – these included lock-picks, untying knots, and 'false trails' – she was surprised the staff ever actually fell for that last one, but fall they did. Every time a new helper came to the orphanage – teachers, cooks, maids – Sarah would check to see how sympathetic they were. The best so far had undoubtedly been Maria, a German maid and an orphan herself, who had been sacked after she was found giving chocolate to a child who had fallen over and hurt his knee. Maria had taught Sarah one or two things, including the location of the old privy and a way to get into the chimneys. You could spend a whole afternoon in the complicated Victorian chimney network and not be found – electric fires were used instead of coal ones, so there was no danger of being burned.
Sarah tripped over a protruding root, swore, picked herself up, dusted off her uniform and raced off again. She knew that Mrs Winslock would not hurt her in the presence of potential foster parents, but she hated to think about afterwards, and entering the office panting with a dirty uniform and unkempt hair would make it worse. If that was possible.
She entered the main building at top speed, hurtled round a corner and slowed to a sedate walk as she entered the teacher's corridor. This was where all the offices were, and at the top of the corridor was the room with the sign 'Mrs. F. Winslock – Head'. This was the room where the old woman met the would-be foster-parents, and the only half-way comfortable one in the entire complex.
Sarah pulled at her skirt and tugged her hair into a vaguely recognisable plait, and then lifted her hand and knocked on the door.
* * * * *
Eleven-year-old Lee Jordan scowled at the fat muggle woman in the gauzy, flowery dress. It was designed for someone her age without a doubt, but also for someone with a much smaller waist, and it didn't suit her. In bored vacancy, he listened to her monotone drone.
He didn't mind that Mum wanted to adopt a girl – he knew that she couldn't have any more children, and he wouldn't mind a sister. And he didn't mind that she wanted to adopt a muggle, either – after all, she was a muggle, and the wizards in the house outnumbered her two to one.
But she could at least have warned him first!
He had come home after the spring term at Hogwarts (with a warning slip asking that he not sneak around school in the middle of the night any more) and she had told him that she was going to adopt a muggle girl. Just like that. Dad had said that they had been considering the idea, and it wasn't definite yet, but Mum had completely disagreed. They were going to adopt a muggle, and they were going to do it that holiday. And since then, she had dragged the two of them up and down the country and through the orphanages, looking for a kid she liked.
Dad had got out of this one. It was the worst so far, decorated in various shades of dull pink and vomit-green. The few children he had seen had been wearing muddy-brown uniforms, and were led in and out of the room, almost like an auction, whilst the head recited their grades, skills and personality traits.
Lee fervently wished he had chosen to stay at Hogwarts for the holiday with the twins.
He could tell that Mum hadn't liked any of the kids that she'd seen. Finally, the head had called for the last one – and she hadn't been there. A scruffy boy had been sent to look for her whilst the Mrs Winslock recited a speech about the orphanage's running in a dreary, sing-song tone designed to send anyone to sleep.
Finally, a knock came on the door.
"Come in," called Mrs. Winslock, in a tone of voice that promised problems for the girl for being late in the near future.
A girl entered. At first, Lee thought that she had to be at least fourteen: she was very tall. A quick glance at her face replaced her age as nearer his own, perhaps younger. She was so thin that the orphanage uniform hung off her body, and her shoulder-length, plaited hair was in a tangled mess. She was red in the face and breathing heavily, as though she had been running.
"Sarah, this is Mrs. Jordan and her son Lee. Mrs. Jordan, Lee, this is Sarah Brighton."
Lee immediately decided that he did not like Sarah. She acted like she was scared. When Mrs. Winslock spoke to her, she barely responded at all. She seemed no fun at all.
"Sarah has reasonable grades, mostly Bs and B+s," said Mrs. Winslock. "She does tend to be a bit clumsy, don't you, Sarah?"
The girl muttered something along the lines of "Yes, Mrs. Winslock." Lee kept his eyes on her as the head turned back to his mother and continued to discuss Sarah's abilities, and he saw her mouth some words towards the muggle's back. He chuckled quietly in spite of himself – the words seemed a pretty accurate description, if somewhat unlikely from the mouth of a ten-year-old. She heard him and turned to face him, hands over her mouth. He grinned broadly at her. Slowly, she uncovered her mouth and smiled back, eyes dancing.
Lee decided he liked her after all.
* * * * *
As soon as the interview was over, Sarah went to the privy and rescued her book, then back into the shrubbery to read. She couldn't concentrate, though. Her mind kept slipping back to the mouthful of silent abuse she had sent at Mrs. Winslock's back. She was sure the strange boy had seen her. He had seemed to think it funny. Would he tell?
Finally, she gave up trying to read. Carefully she hid her book in another secret place – a hollow in a tree trunk – and went to her dormitory to think.
Mrs. Winslock was waiting for her there.
"How dare you be late? You made me look a fool!"
Mrs. Winslock had heard of the ban on corporal punishment. She wanted no part of it. "Out," she told the other girls in the dormitory. They left. One or two of them cast sympathetic glances in Sarah's way.
"Hold out your hand."
Silently, she did as she was told. I will not
scream, she told herself. Whatever she does, I will not scream!
The cane swished through the air and landed across her knuckles. She winced, but stayed silent.
Swish.
Swish.
Swish.
Thirty times. Each time, it seemed to land in the same place. By the time the head had finished, there were tears running down Sarah's cheeks, but she had not cried out.
It appeared that the old woman was satisfied. She left, leaving Sarah to nurse her stinging hand. Slowly, the other girls came back in, talking in subdued voices.
* * * * *
"So," said Mrs. Jordan, leaning back in her seat. "Another unfruitful journey, and our search continues."
They were sitting on the Knight Bus, the scenery flashing by outside.
"I dunno, Mum," said Lee. "I quite liked that last one."
"What, the ten-year-old? Sarah Brighton? I'd say she was the worst! She acted like a mouse."
Lee grinned. "I wouldn't say that." He told her what he had seen. Mrs. Jordan shared her son's sense of humour, and she was chuckling too by the time he had finished.
"All right, so she's not a mouse," she said. "But would you want her as a sister? It's an important decision, you know…"
"Isn't there a sort of trial period when you adopt from a muggle orphanage anyway?" asked Lee.
"Yee-es, I suppose so," replied his mother. "Adopt her on trial, you mean?"
"Why not?"
"We'll have to ask your dad…"
Lee grinned. He knew his mother. Maybe Dad was the wizard, but Mum was in charge and she let everyone know it. If he'd convinced her, it was as good as done.