Josephine kept her arms tucked tightly in the pockets of her patched dress as she walked back to the room she shared with Emily, her mother. It was really a walk-in-closet in a wealthy Dark Arts master's home. Josephine slept in it at night, and the Emily slept there after her shift at the Hotel. She nodded hello to the housekeeper and made her way to the closet, where she opened the door, climbed onto the bed, and closed the door behind her. Scrambling around until she felt her head hit the pillow, she reached for her wand. It had taken her three years to pinch enough Knuts together to go to Olivander's and buy her wand. Black ash and dragon heartstrings, nine and three-quarter inches.
"Lumos," she whispered, groping for the books she kept on the shoe rack under the cot. "Where is it?"
Reverently she drew out the sad-looking copy of Most Potente Potions and flipped to the third page. "The Potion for Eternal Hunger," she read. With a rapt expression on her face, she committed the page to memory. Gently she turned the page, wincing as a large chunk of the half-rotten vellum fell to the pillow. "The Potion of Eternal Sleep."
That night she memorized most of the 'Eternal's': Sleep, Awareness, Hunger, Thirst, Loneliness, Itchiness and Uncertainty. She fell asleep murmuring 'corn syrup may be used as an acceptable substitute for…' and then her head dropped to the pillow.
It was morning when Emily shook her awake. "Get up," she muttered. "I wanna sleep, so you gotta move." The older woman's eyes were shadowed and her hair was mussed, and Josephine barely got off the bed before she collapsed onto it.
"Sweet dreams," Josephine muttered before gathering up her various books and stuffing them into a canvas bag. She knew what was in Emily's dreams: the first man who had ever raped her, throwing a gold Galleon to the broken body on the bed before stalking out of the room. She often spoke of his eyes: "They were red, like he'd been at the hash or the fairy dust. Cold eyes, and I still thank God I survived that night." That had been almost twenty years earlier but the details never escaped the prostitute's dreams.
Josephine stopped at the rancid fountain at the end of the street to slick back her hair and scrub her face. She washed her hands and did her best to remove the worst of the stains from her dress. Then she picked up her bag and walked down to the end of the road, where the pavement turned white. Diagon Alley.
Her heart quickened. Why do I fear this place? It's only a street, but its very feeling gives me chills. She shivered and darted into the first shop on the right.
"Ah? Oh, hello little girl." The elderly man behind the counter of the book-rental shop blinked at her behind huge glasses. His face was small and shriveled like the rest of his body. "Come to return my books?"
"Yes," she replied. "And to check out new ones, please."
He clucked his tongue and took the worn copies that she laid on the counter. Josephine ignored his blank stare as she disappeared into one of the aisles of musty shelves. Standing on tiptoe, she tipped one of the rotting manuscripts down and deftly caught it before it hit the floor. The cloud of dust that rose as she opened the cover made her cough, and the title page had been torn out. The second page looked at though a large animal had bitten a hole in it, and all the pages after that were spotted with acid holes.
Sighing with regret, she pushed the book back into its spot and reached for its neighbor, ignoring the stream of dust and assorted grit that rained onto her face.
Remus Lupin watched her from a restaurant across the street, pretending to read a newspaper. He had been watching her since the day before. She definitely had the bravery thing down, living in Knockturn Alley, but when she had crossed the border of the two streets he had to wince. The girl's scraggly hair and filthy clothing, camouflage on Knockturn Alley, seemed magnified in the sparkling streets of Diagon. Remus observed the store until the girl left half an hour later, and once her ragged skirt was out of sight he stood and leisurely walked into the book rental shop.
"Hey there."
"Well hi young man, how you doing? I'm fine! My books never have been in better condition or at a lower price! You look like you could use a book on medicine," the man babbled, moving away.
Remus consented to rent a book on medicine, and then asked casually as he paid the four Knuts "Who's that girl who was in here earlier?"
"Oh, that's Josephine. Lives down Knockturn way, don't say much. She likes them old Potion books. I ain't got much in the way of Potion books, but she's dirt poor." The man blinked solemnly. "Don't flash it around, but she don't look much like the other beggars down that street—they all looks most the same—most related!" he cackled to himself.
Remus nodded politely and left, leaving the book on the counter with his money. Four Knuts was a good price for the information just received.
~
"Her name is Josephine. I'd say she's fourteen or so, and she's got black hair." Remus rubbed the stubble on his chin and added, "The man says she rents books on Potions. I checked out what she returned, and everything she had is extraordinarily advanced. Most Potente Potions was one, and there were three or four others, each one on poisons, sleeping drafts, or advanced medicine. I looked through them, but I've never been anything but passable in Potions. You might have Snape look at the books." Remus scowled. "She slippery. I had a hard job keeping her in sight. She's got friends, too—that Toad character is practically guarding her. And that old woman who draws."
Dumbledore nodded. "Good, good. Anything else?"
Remus shrugged. "The old man in the shop muttered something about her 'looking different' than the other homeless on Knockturn. I checked afterwards, and he's right. They're mostly light haired and –eyed. Josephine is much darker. Almost Gypsy-looking." Neville came in with another stack of charcoals.
"Does she have any parents? Put those in the corner with the others, Neville."
"Not that I could find. It's hard to tell. They might be dead, or alive somewhere. Maybe they left her down there when she was small, maybe she was born there and her parents were killed."
"So nothing on her parents. Siblings?"
"The same."
Dumbledore stroked his chin, looking at the portrait of Josephine, her light eyes angry in her narrow face, the black hair that mystified Remus curling around her sharp chin and protruding cheekbones. She was beautiful, and yet haunted. "She definitely has a look to her—I know that face."
Remus turned the picture to face him. "I don't see any resemblances," he admitted after a lengthy pause. "The dark hair makes me think of James—but she's far too young for it to even be a possibility." He looked down. "I don't see anything. Neville?"
Neville walked over and scrutinized the drawing. He blinked once with his round blue eyes and shrugged. "Nothing."
"Nothing?" Dumbledore asked, and Neville nodded.
The werewolf nodded in agreement, and then flipped a page in his notebook. "Oh, and I found out more about the Spies spies—the ones that watch for Ministry spies. They've been watching Josephine too."
Dumbledore's blue eyes creased as he frowned. "Why?" The SS was an organization that the Ministry had been trying to stamp out for decades—since the Second World War—who had organized a resistance to the harsh new laws that affected the urchins of Knockturn Alley more than anyone else.
"They won't say, but I think that they've noticed that she's different too. Under the dirt all the other beggars look nearly identical—blonde or brown hair, fair skin, and blue or gray eyes." Neville interjected. "The only other one that come close to being different is Toad, and that's because his eyes are green." Realizing he had just blurted into a conversation, he grew quiet once more.
The Headmaster nodded. "Excellent work, both of you. You can take the day off tomorrow—I'll have someone else watch Josephine."
"Thank you," Remus acknowledged, standing up as though his bones hurt. "Ask a woman to do it, if possible. I think our child is starting to catch on to the strange men following her." They exchanged good-byes, and Remus left to empty a strong sleeping draft and sleep away his illness. Neville followed with a soft offer to prepare the potion his friend needed.
Dumbledore sat in his office for many hours after Remus' departure, signing papers and answering several letters. Every so often he would look up and stare at the image of Josephine that Remus had bought that day: she leaned against a table, her cheek against the back of her hand. One lazy curl of black hair flipped over her forehead, and her eyes were half-closed. She radiated an aura of innocent sensuality; an instant charisma.
The Headmaster closed his own eyes and rubbed the lids. "Innocent sensuality," he muttered. "Who else?" For he was sure beyond doubt that he had seen another with that same face, that same honest allure. The question was, who? He opened his eyes and cast another glance on Josephine's Mona Lisa smile.
"I know something you don't know," the picture whispered.
Time for bed, Dumbledore thought. He pushed back his chair.As if hearing a cue, Snape entered the room. "Medicine, Headmaster?" he asked, pointing to the beaker of steaming clear fluid he held.
"Of course, Severus," Dumbledore sighed, accepting the foul-smelling concoction. "How did it turn out this time?" he asked curiously after downing the glass.
"Excellently," the Potions master replied. "My ingredients were much better this time."
"Oh?" Dumbledore examined the beaker. "How so?"
Snape shook his head. "I got them from a strange old man on Knockturn Alley. The potions he sells are perfect."
"Perfect?"
"No errors. Everything is in perfect proportions, down to the last milligram. And all the potions that need aging to be prime have been aged—but the shop is barely five years old." Snape smirked. "Whoever made the concoctions I saw could give me a few lessons."
His silver eyebrows raised in silent appreciation of the skill of this unknown brewer. "I see," he commented. "Severus, take a look at these hands and tell me what you see." Dumbledore pushed one of the charcoals at his former student.
Instantly Snape blurted, "These are a potion-brewer's hands!" Blushing a faint crimson, he backtracked. "See, that's acid of some kind, and that's the marks from where a beaker exploded. The nails are bruised, and all over there's discoloration." Snape squinted at the middle set of hands. "These are a woman's hands."
Wordlessly Dumbledore passed him the more recent picture of Josephine, looking away from the Mona Lisa smile.
Snape looked at it for a second, then nearly dropped it as his eyes widened. "She—she looks like him!" he breathed. "Surely not—but how?" He took a firmer grip on the picture, his hands trembling. "How did this happen?"
"I don't know. We can't find her parents, she has no siblings we can find, and if those are her hands she's a very powerful witch. It falls together with an alarming reasonableness."
The potions Master tapped the goblet that had held Dumbledore's potion. "That old man who runs the store where I bought those supplies—she was there!" He pressed a hand to his forehead. "I am so blind."
"Severus, I need you to watch this girl tomorrow. Find her mother at all costs." Dumbledore moved towards his bedroom door. "Don't worry, I'll find someone to teach your class." After the Potions Professor left, he summoned a house elf. "Could you ask Neville Longbottom to come to my office, please?"
~
Josephine wasn't sure what exactly had tipped her off to the strange happenings outside the potions shop where she was working, but it started with the reappearance of the strange man who had come the day before. She had stayed in the back of the shop, but as usual she was forced to retrieve the necessary supplies. This time she didn't stop to bandy words, but left immediately. She told herself it was because the Potion of Eternal Forgetfulness needed to be turned, but she knew that it was because of the man.
He stayed at the counter for a few minutes, long enough for Josephine to watch him through the shelves. He was tall and very thin, his long dark hair pulled back into a sort of bunch at the base of his neck. His hands were pale and scarred, and Josephine spotted what looked like a dragon's blood burn on the back of his hands. Dark eyes examined the goods she had brought him with a skeptical glare.
Their conversation was too muted by the shelves for her to hear, so after he left she went back to her potion.
Josephine reflected on her own face, fingering her dark hair thoughtfully. Father must have been dark, she thought. Leaning over the brew to glimpse her face in the liquid, she noted very little resemblance to Emily. Emily was softness and luxury, a woman born to be a rich man's pampered wife. Her heart-shaped face and generous curves showed up little in Josephine, whose face was narrow and her curves sparing.
She gave the potion another stir. It was a new one to her, the Potion of Eternal Sleep. Closing her eyes so that she could better see the memorized page, she reached for the next ingredient, a small sack of crushed rose petals. Josephine smiled as she added them to the thick pink liquid, careful to stop after six grams. One the petals had been stirred into nothingness, she spat into the pot. It turned clear instantly, looking no more harmless than water.
There is nothing, Josephine breathed, better than the glory of perfection.