Foster Parents
The summer days at 137 Derkhall Lane all passed pretty much the same. Grace would get in and out of trouble like a slippery serpent, and otherwise die of boredom. Or she would have if it hadn't been for Sarah.
Sarah was the youngest child at the orphanage, only a year old. She was an adorable little baby, but she loved Grace most of all for some reason. So Grace divided her summer days between taking care of Sarah and pulling pranks on everyone.
She was lying on her cot in the dorm, dying of boredom, when the director, a woman with eyes that bugged out of her head, came in.
"Grace?"
She sat up. "I haven't done anything," she said dully. "I've been here all afternoon, Mrs. Starling."
"I know that," Mrs. Starling said. "I've had a call this morning. Seems a family has just cleared with the Foster Agency and it sounds like they'd be perfect for you."
"For me?" Grace looked at her skeptically, her expression clearly pronounced. They had looked at many families together, but none had ever seemed "perfect" for her.
"Well, you and Sarah," said Mrs. Starling.
"Sarah." Of course. They always go for the baby, she thought. Always.
"And they'll be here in a half hour, so freshen up and be down in my office at that time and please don't be late," Mrs. Starling said, and rushed out.
Grace sighed and collapsed on the cot again. She was almost eleven, and knew how these things worked. They'd end up taking Sarah home and she'd never see that cute, dimpled baby again. She rolled over onto her side and promptly fell asleep.
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Grace woke abruptly and rolled over to check the time. With a jolt she realized it was almost fifteen minutes after the time she was supposed to meet Mrs. Starling in the office. She jumped up and started running through the halls, trying to ignore her rumpled clothes, messy hair, and smelly breath. She arrived, panting, at the office door, knocked briefly, and let herself in.
There were six people waiting in the office, Mrs. Starling, Sarah, and four people who were supposed to be her foster family. Grace's hazel eyes took in all four of them, the round, heavy man, the round, heavy boy, the short, skinny woman, and the short, skinny boy. Nothing particularly interesting about any of them. She directed her attention to Mrs. Starling instead.
"Grace, now that you are finally here we can begin."
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They all emerged from her office an hour later. Sarah was asleep on Grace's shoulder, and all the rest of the adults looked a bit dazed. Grace had a scowl on her face, but no one except the short, skinny boy noticed. Harry, she corrected herself. Harry Dursley.
He and the rest of the family could go rot in the Albanian forest for all she cared.
Mrs. Starling had been the only one impressed by the interrogation. Later that night she had called Grace back into her office.
"Well, what did you think of the Dursleys?" she asked impatiently.
Grace twirled a short red tangle of hair around her finger, stalling for time. "They seemed ... nice ... I suppose ..."
"Come on with it, girl, would you like to live with them or not?" Grace stared down at her lap.
"I don't know."
"Of course you do."
She glared up at Mrs. Starling. "I thought they were sort of ... weird ..."
Mrs. Starling sniffed. "Oh. Well, you might as well give them a try, right? Don't want to live here forever, do you?"
Grace sighed. "No."
Mrs. Starling's buggy eyes widened. She knew she had won. "All right then. I'll call them back here tomorrow and they can sign the papers. Why don't you run along to bed now?"
Grace nodded, leapt from her seat, and ran down the deserted halls to her dorm. She slammed the door behind her, shaking. Just like that, she was going to get shipped off someplace, to live with those weird strangers she'd just met.
Grace collapsed onto her bed, dreading tomorrow and all it would bring.
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By two o'clock the next day, both Grace and Sarah were waiting outside Mrs. Starling's office with the Dursley boys. Their parents were inside signing various papers and doing other "grown-up" stuff.
Grace examined the boys. One of them – Dudley – had blond hair, was very large, very ugly, and looked very stupid. The other – Harry – had dark hair, a strange scar on his forehead, looked much brighter than the other one, but he also looked very sad. Grace bounced Sarah on her knee and wondered what could have made him so upset.
"So ... how old are you?" she asked shyly.
"Sixteen," Dudley answered after a pause. She looked expectantly at Harry.
"Fifteen," he sighed.
"I'm ten," she said uncomfortably. "Almost eleven. And Sarah here is a year old."
"That's nice."
They continued in awkward silence like this for a while, with Grace asking an occasional question and the boys answering it hesitantly. Finally, the grown-ups emerged from the office and all four of them stood up. Grace clung to Sarah's hand.
Mrs. Starling bent awkwardly and gave both Grace and Sarah a stiff hug. She straightened up quickly. "Good-bye, girls, it's been wonderful getting to know you. Your things are in the front hall." She turned to Mr. and Mrs. Dursley. "I'll walk you to the door."
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They left quietly, without the big fanfare most of the kids usually got when they were taken away. Neither Grace nor Sarah had been very popular.
They had just reached the highway when Mrs. Dursley announced that she wanted to stop off at that "cute little shop we saw" and buy new outfits for the two of them. Embarrassed, Grace fingered her threadbare sweater and hand-me-down dress.
"That's okay," she tried to tell them. "We don't need-"
"Of course you do," said Mrs. Dursley. "It'll be fun getting new clothes, won't it? Turn right over here, Vernon."
Grumbling, Mr. Dursley turned right. Harry heaved a great sigh. Grace knew what he meant. Shopping for clothes was not her idea of fun.
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Three hours later, and with six new outfits between the two girls, Mrs. Dursley finally decided to leave the shop and go home. While they were driving, Grace fingered the new outfits gingerly. They were in bright, bold colors, and smelled like department stores.
Then she looked down at her sweater. Grammy had knit it for her.
Grace preferred it.
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Several hours later, the girls were lying in bed. They slept in what used to be the guest room.
Grace pictured their suburban neighborhood in her mind. Little Whinging was a quiet town, very peaceful, very boring. She didn't like the rest of the family either. Dudley was too mean, Harry was too quiet, Mr. Dursley was obnoxious, and Mrs. Dursley was too overbearing. She would rather have been back at 137 Derkhall Lane.
Grace pulled her sweater up from the floor and held it close. If she tried hard enough she could still smell Grammy's scent ...
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AN: That wasn't too bad, was it? In the next chapter, Grace discovers a familiar name while snooping. Please review! I'm new at this and really appreciate the feedback.
Another AN: Just for your reference, I've been writing this story since fifth grade and am now in high school. I guess it's time to show it to someone, huh?
Disclaimer: Everything belongs to JK Rowling except Grace, Sarah, Mrs. Starling, and 137 Derkhall Lane. They're mine!
