Though Remus had been guaranteed the day off, he had opted to Apparate to Diagon Alley. He had decided that drinking himself into a stupor was the order of the day, a pleasure that grew harder and harder to achieve as the days wore on, as his body developed a tolerance for alcohol that many bar flies would have admired. Neville was visiting his mother and father at St. Mungo's, but Remus had opted not to go. Marcus and Jolene Longbottom were another incident Remus wanted to drink away. He was on his twelfth glass when Josephine rounded the corner, her face set. She was running as fast as she could in the crowded street, blocked as it was with Friday afternoon traffic.
Remus' inhibitions were loose, though not gone entirely, and he checked his wits at the door. There must be a reason for this, he thought carefully. Unfortunately his train of thought de-railed at that point, and he slumped again the doorway, wonder why he had even gotten up. Josephine was fast disappearing when Voldemort appeared at the end of the street, at the top of the square from which Knockturn and Diagon sprouted, like two different flowers from the same plant. He raised his wand in a grand gesture and whispered something.
Though he was drunk, Remus was not stupid. He ducked and managed to avoid the glass as half the windows in the pub blew into smithereens. Something in his brain clicked. Josephine, that funny girl, he thought, she's got something that Voldemort wants. He grabbed the nearest glass and drained it, pulled himself upright, and walked down the street.
If Voldemort had meant to make finding Josephine easier, his plan backfired in a huge way. The street became a stampede of insane, pushing, shoving bodies that hid the urchin better than anything else could have. Remus, a tall man, had trouble getting through the crowd. His gaze, though blurred with the fading anesthetic of alcohol, was fixed upon the head of tangled black curls that darted through the milling masses.
I should catch her, came slowly to Remus. Dumbledore thinks she's important. Without any further thought he lunged forward and caught her arm. With a slight feeling of shock he felt her bones twist underneath the flesh as she wheeled on him.
"Let me go!" she cried. "Let go of me!"
"No," he replied. "Can't let Voldemort get you." Remus shook his head to clear it, pressed his wand to her chest, and mumbled "Stupefy."
~
"Hello, Josephine Riddle."
Josephine came back to awareness as quickly as she'd fallen from it, her eyes snapping open and pulling herself to a sitting position in a single breath. She looked around, seeing none of the familiar dirty buildings, nor Charcoal Sarah or Emily or Toad—Toad! She blinked back sudden tears. The room she was in was white and sterile, the bed she was on like a bar of soap. She smelled soap in the air and knew by the stripped feeling of her skin that some of this soap had been used on her.
The man that sat next to her was no Voldemort, but he wasn't a Toad either. He was a very old man with long white hair, his face more wrinkled than Sarah's and kinder than Emily's. "That is your name, is it not?"
It took an effort to speak. "Just Josephine," she replied. "I have no other name." Josephine watched the man suspiciously, drawing her knees up to her chest. With a twang of irritation she realized she wore white robes as stark as the room. "What have you done with my clothes?"
"Burnt them," said a woman who stood on the other side of the bed. She wore the familiar symbol of the Red Cross on her white hat. "What was left of them, anyway. They couldn't really be called clothes."
Josephine flushed, stung at this insult. "Forgive me, good Nurse. Maybe I could have used some of my family fortunes and bought new ones!" She clenched her fist in the embarrassment that these people had probably seen her in full nudity, taking no respect for her modesty or pride. "In case you weren't informed by your examination, I have not been leading a life of riches and wealth!"
"That's enough, Josephine," said the man with the long beard.
"How dare you address me so familiarly!" she snapped, slipping out of the covers and backing away. "I don't know you, and you have no right to call me by my given name!"
He sighed with a patience that made Josephine want to slap him. "It was only a bath and a quick way to rid you of the fleas you had."
Josephine didn't reply. "I want decent clothing," she demanded. "Immediately."
The old man shrugged. "Who am I to order such things?"
There was a banging on the door before it was throw open by a small man with a big hat and an entourage of big men with smaller hats. Josephine backed further into her corner, recognizing Cornelius Fudge from pictures she had seen in the papers. He was not well liked in either of the Alleys these days, but in Knockturn he had always been hated. Cornelius Fudge was not the sort of man Josephine wanted to be in the same room with.
"That's the girl!" he cried, pointing an imperious, if stubby, finger at Josephine's face. "That the daughter of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named! Arrest her immediately!"
The men began to advance toward the girl, their faces set in grim purpose. Josephine covered her eyes in horror. Her fears were coming true. She was going to die.
"Cornelius," the man said calmly, rising to his feet. Josephine peeked at him. He was taller than she'd first thought, reed-thin. "This is not the way that this should be done."
Fudge stopped and drew himself up indignantly, bringing his head level with the other's chin. "Dumbledore, my good man, this is not your area of jurisdiction."
Dumbledore stared down at Cornelius with severe blue eyes. "But it is, Cornelius. While she is in Hogwarts, you may not touch her without a warrant."
Cornelius smiled triumphantly. "I do have a warrant, Dumbledore!" He reached into his jacket and pulled out a crisply folded paper. Dumbledore took it and scanned it.
"It says here that you are arresting her for resisting arrest and being a general nuisance and a hazard to society," he mused. "Tell me, Minister, is there proof of any of this?"
Cornelius's shoulders lost a little of their boldness. "Well, no, but look at her! Just look at her!" Every eye in the room turned her way. "She could be his double!"
Dumbledore looked at Josephine with his chilly blue eyes and Josephine stared back with her own blue eyes. "You have no proof," she blurted. "You need solid proof that I'm related to Voldemort," she added, purposely not calling him by an alias. All the men that followed Cornelius shivered. The nurse crossed herself. Dumbledore remained unmoved. "Until you have that proof, your warrant is as void." "If you are truly my father, I want proof, solid proof." Her own voice echoed from the near past to mock her.
There was a silence, and then Dumbledore spoke. "What do you say to that?" he asked Fudge, who was at a temporary loss for words. Josephine began to back further away, and one of the big men in small hats grabbed Josephine's wrist and she yanked it out of his grasp.
"Don't touch me!" she spat.
"You—you saw that! That was resisting arrest, right there. Resisting arrest." Fudge pointed his stubby, accusing finger at the girl again. "That is definitely a crime."
"To be arrested there must be a crime!" Josephine snapped. Dumbledore raised his eyebrows at her. Be silent, he seemed to say. As much as she hated to do as he asked, she looked down and clamped her mouth shut.
"Cornelius, until you present me with real proof I cannot allow you to take this girl into custody," Dumbledore said softly. "It would go against my principles, and those of the Ministry of Magic." He raised his eyebrows once more.
"Don't be a fool, Dumbledore!" Fudge cried. "Look at her!" All eyes turned to the corner, taking in the black hair, the sharp face, the angular slimness. She stood straighter. Even if my father is a serial killer, he's better than any of these buffoons.
"I rather think she resembles Harry Potter," Dumbledore said amiably, "But so far in this debate my opinions make no difference." A few of Fudge's men looked thoughtful.
There was silence that stretched for millennia, and Josephine leaned against the wall with a heavy sigh. It wasn't much of a choice, she thought privately, to be stuck with one stranger or another. The only thing that really made Dumbledore the better man in her eyes was the fact that he didn't seem intent on killing her. So, she decided, she would go along with whatever he suggested.
"Cornelius, I suggest that I hold on to Josephine for the time being. She's not going anywhere, and should you come up with the proof, she will be right here waiting for your legal jurisdiction." Dumbledore placed his hands in the pockets of his robes and smiled amiably down at the shorter man.
"Josephine? Who in God's name is Josephine?" Fudge sneered. "You mean her? Voldemort's daughter?"
"You have no proof," Josephine began heatedly, then silenced with a glare from Dumbledore.
Fudge shifted on the balls of his feet, and then looked down. "Fine. If you would sign that the girl is under your care?"
"Certainly," Dumbledore said sweetly. "Josephine is a simple orphan needing guidance that Hogwarts will provide."
Josephine glared at him. He smiled at her, and then motioned for Fudge's men to back away. One of them drew up an agreement that Dumbledore signed. Josephine was to stay with him, within the Hogwarts grounds and whenever possible inside the building, and no, she was not allowed to take classes with the other students. She should refrain from public contact until further arrangements were made, and no one was allowed to interview her. Fudge signed it first, Dumbledore second.
The girl was shocked and repulsed by the two simple signatures that signed away her life to someone else that from here on out would control every aspect of her well-being and happiness. When Fudge and his men had filed out, Dumbledore was the only one left.
"You believe him, don't you," Josephine accused. "I'm just the daughter of Voldemort. It doesn't matter that I only learned about it today, and anything before that was done thinking that I was truly my own person and perfectly happy that way! Why couldn't you just leave me alone?" she cried, unsure who the question was directed at.
Dumbledore sighed. "He found you first, didn't he?" When Josephine looked down, he nodded for her. "Voldemort would have killed you once he had gotten what he wanted."
"Oh, it wasn't me that he wanted?" Josephine frowned. "But I'm not—never have—I don't understand."
"Personally, I don't think he does either. It's the one thing that has never happened to him before—he has an heir. You." Dumbledore watched her gravely. "He thinks you will try to usurp his power. He has no trust for women." He patted the bed beside him. "Come and sit."
"I prefer to stand."
He shrugged. "Suit yourself. But you do realize that he will never stop hunting you."
Josephine fidgeted under his solemn blue gaze, wringing her hands anxiously. "I figured as much. But then there's Minister Fudge, and I've got the feeling he just wants me hung and on display."
"That's a good guess, but the Minister no longer has jurisdiction in Hogwarts. That's up to the governors, who I think will take our side after they meet the sweet little girl who lost the genetic lottery." Dumbledore pointed at her. "You just need to prove you don't take after Voldemort's power-hungry and cruel tendencies."
Josephine shrugged. "They'll paint me as whomever they want me to be." She fingered her hair, marveling at how soft and light it felt. "If they want a new villain, that's what they'll say I am." She closed her eyes, for a second seeing crowds of people, silent, watching her in a bloodlust akin to Roman times. In seconds they would choose her death—would she be beheaded? Hung? Drawn and quartered? Or was it to be death by the lions? "They'll kill me," she whispered.
"How old are you?" Dumbledore asked.
Josephine counted mentally. "I turned sixteen a few months ago."
"That's good. You're still a minor, so Hogwarts can hide you from the public eye."
"Why would you do that for me?" she asked bitterly. "You don't even know me."
"Consider it my good deed," Dumbledore said wryly. "I'm going to have to make some arrangements for you, like a room and maybe some private lessons," he said, changing the subject. "A pass to the library, possibly."
"You have a library?" she breathed. "A big one?" Flickering visions of her worn and moth-eaten rentals passed before her eyes. Was it possible she could have real books that hadn't been through six previous owners?
"The biggest in England," Dumbledore said cheerfully.
There was a brisk knock on the door, followed by a man poking his head around the doorframe. Josephine didn't gasp in shock, but privately she wanted to scream. What was this, some kind of conspiracy? It was the dark man from Wyatt's potion shop, his hair hanging over his face and his sparkling dark eyes fixed on her. He looked as startled as she felt.
"Ah, Severus! Impeccable timing, as usual. This is Josephine. Josephine, may I introduce Severus Snape?" Dumbledore's blue eyes twinkled with an unholy amusement. "Or do you already know each other?"
"We've never been introduced," Josephine replied. She tucked her hands into the pockets of her robes so that no one would see them shake.
Snape watched her as he closed the door behind him; handed Dumbledore a stack of thick books he'd been carrying; and kept up his steady gaze as he seated himself on another chair. "You're quite infamous, you know," Snape said. His voice was a light baritone, each word clearly enunciated. "Your potions are some of the most excellent I've seen on sale."
"I work hard on them," she replied. Josephine wondered if her sleeping potion-rose was still in Voldemort's hands. That was truly a work of art—beauty and poison in a single object. "Are you interested in Potions?"
"Yes, as a matter of fact. I'm the Potions Master at Hogwarts." Josephine had a sudden vision of Snape bent over a cauldron, his long hair hanging over his face as he chanted mystically. She bit her lip to stop a giggle.
"Could you tell me something?" she asked, fighting back a smile. "How did your anti-weariness brew work out?"
Snape smiled, a sort of unhealthy grimace. He didn't look like the sort that smiled more than once a day. "Very well, thank you. I take it you've been reading Uncommon Underbrews?"
"I read it once last year."
"You remember it?"
"Very well. It was exceedingly interesting." Josephine gestured. "The way the pot is beneath the fire instead of over it, and how the ashes have to be sucked away so that they don't foul things, and how it can reverse the simplest brews—" she realized she was babbling and stopped. "Of course, I've only been able to practice it in theory. Bad equipment."
Dumbledore and Snape exchanged looks. Josephine groaned inwardly. I can see the headlines already. They accuse me of poisoning everyone who's died in the past four years and I'll be swinging by my neck before I can blink three times. She knew that the Ministry of Magic in England had only recently crossed 'beheading' and 'drawing and quartering' off its list of acceptable criminal punishments. Hanging was still quite legal, should the occasion demand it. Maybe I should move to Canada, she mused.
A letter popped abruptly into existence in front of the Headmaster, its tiny golden wings fluttering hard to keep itself upright. Dumbledore cleared his throat to break the uncomfortable silence as he read the letter. "Well, Josephine, the arrangements have been made. You've got a room in the South wing with a private bathroom. You'll be staying with us for two weeks or so until permanent arrangements are made."
Josephine looked away, biting her lip. Where had her life gone?