1989, Springtime

Wool's Orphanage

Late afternoon.

Mrs. Cole was an abnormally perceptive woman. She'd seen countless children pass through the halls of the orphanage, playing the role of caretaker, mother, and eventually grandmother. She was 81 years old now and it was becoming apparent with her deteriorating mobility that the disadvantages of old age made the days feel increasingly longer.

Still, her drive to provide some means of comfort to the unfortunate she looked after was a credit to her spirit. It was for this very reason that Mrs. Cole was troubled. In her many years of experience, she'd only encountered less than a dozen orphans who self-isolated themselves to the extent that Harry Potter did.

She still remembered opening the orphanage front doors, to run an errand when she'd nearly stumbled into the basket. A child left on the doorstep and a simple scribbled note that his name was Harry Potter born July 31st the year before. No one had any clue where the child came from. It was considered old-fashioned to leave a child on the doorstep, but when Mrs. Cole had gazed into the basket seeing the tufts of raven hair and piercing emerald eyes, she'd taken it upon herself to raise him. Over the years she'd observed him and nurtured him to the best of her ability and yet she couldn't help find him peculiar.

He was by no means a disruptive child. By all means he was the opposite. Well-spoken for his age, he did his assigned chores without complaint. Yet she was still at a loss what to do, his avoidance of other children was odd. Usually, when a child within the orphanage started self-isolating, it was due to them not having acceptable social skills, they couldn't seem to grasp how to communicate or interact with the children around them. Harry, however, had no such problems. She'd seen him interact with the other children when the fancy occurred or when it was out of necessity. The way he talked was almost like he was talking down to them. Talking to them like an unimpressed, older brother would rather than a child his age.

Mrs. Cole partly blamed herself. She'd tried to encourage him to socialise with the other children in his early years. Upon pleading with him to attempt to make friends with the other children, he'd simply give her a sweet smile. It was an unnerving smile. She told herself there was nothing wrong with a smile after all. It was more the expression in his eyes that threw her off. An understanding was mirrored in his eyes. As if he was thankful she made the attempt but it wasn't necessary. She'd given up not shortly after, instead of guiding him towards the library and taking time to steadily teach him how to enunciate words and grasp basic grammar conventions. He'd turned into a voracious reader soon after. Sometimes pausing to ask her or her coworkers to help with the material. He seemed to find solace in books and Mrs. Cole didn't have the heart to drag him away either. He was drawn like a moth to the flame when it came to the bookshelves.

Smiling fondly at one of her most difficult occupants she turned to observe the courtyard. Mrs. Cole almost paled immediately, It seemed another conflict was heating up between Mark Ellis and the demon child. Quickly getting up, Mrs. Cole tried getting over before words turned into fists.

It was no use of course. "Ophelia, Mark enough." She called, trying to sound as stern as possible. Never in her many years had Mrs. Cole been so startled to see a girl who took to the same vigour of violence as Ophelia. A scar was a mark of pride for the little nuisance, It was almost like she enjoyed baiting people into fights simply for the thrill of it. Mrs. Cole knew she selected her opponents as well. Targeting them for any perceived slight against her. 'Vicious minx' indeed Mrs. Cole grimly thought.

"Ugh! The voice of Mark Ellis echoed out in the courtyard. "Get off me you little monster." Ophelia true to form was wrestling Mark upon the dusty ground kicking, scratching, and tugging at everything she could lay her hands on.

"What did you call me?" The petulant girl said yanking and kicking even harder than before. "I said." The whining voice of Mark sounding out. "Get off me you little monster."

Thankfully for Mark. Mrs. Cole, Mrs. Wilson, and Mrs. Baker arrived on the scene, the latter two pulling them apart before any further damage could be inflicted.

"Ophelia!" The irate and heavily breathing shrill of Mrs. Cole reverberated throughout the courtyard. Making the two previous brawling figures cringe. "Apologise this instant! Your behaviour is completely unbecoming."

"Not until he does." The little girl practically growled as she was trying to dust off the fine concrete powder from her skirt.

"Fine." came the sigh from Mrs. Cole. It was obvious the girl was furious. Mrs. Cole realised that an apology from both sides wouldn't hurt, it was well reasoned she thought.

"Mark." Came the imploring voice of Mrs. Cole, "apologise" the caretaker stated firmly.

"No," Mark snarled before glaring at Ophelia. The boy spat, "I won't apologise to the weird-eyed freak."

Quicker than anyone could respond. Ophelia lashed out with a vicious kick. Mark's eyes went wide as he was uplifted a good 5 feet into the air before he sailed back landing with a deafening thud.

Silence reigned in the courtyard. The orphans and caretakers not quite believing the power the little girl unleashed in her devastating kick.

"Ophelia!" The ear-piercing scream echoed again across the courtyard. Mrs. Cole quite obviously at her wit's end.

However, before she could respond further. Mark groaned. The caretaker sighed, the poor boy was quite hurt. Turning to Ophelia. Mrs. Cole gave her a pointed look before snapping. "Mrs. Wilson, Mrs. Baker help me assist Mr. Ellis to the infirmary."

"Ophelia." She trailed off taking in the stubborn little devil. "We'll talk about this later."

The courtyard cleared the way as the three caretakers began carrying the battered and ginger form of Mark.

Ophelia took in her fellow orphans, all of them stepping back to allow her a wide berth, as the furious girl rushed past them heading for the sanctuary of her bedroom. Ophelia, however, missed the curious stare of Harry potter. The raven-haired, emerald-eyed boy in the shadows of the courtyard. Looking her over with newfound interest.

The bespectacled boy, seeing the entertainment was over, closed his book and stood up, his wire-frame glasses slipping to the bridge of his nose. As he'd decided at that moment to follow the troublesome girl.

Following the familiar twists and turns, he eventually paused at her door frame. The girl had burrowed her head into a pillow, clearly crying. Not that he blamed her, Harry for one didn't envy the repercussions she'd be receiving. Sighing, He knocked on the open-faced door.

"What." Came the instantaneous growl. Harry smirked, clearly her furious mood hadn't dampened in the slightest.

"I just wanted to check up on you." The bespectacled boy responded innocently.

Ophelia turned, taking a second to recognise the raven-haired boy. "You wanted to check up on me?" came the cautious reply. The emerald-eyed boy was a mystery to her. Even more antisocial than herself.

"Of course." Ophelia narrowed her eyes in suspicion at the boy's calm response. She didn't trust the boy so she hesitantly replied. "Why?" She wanted answers.

"Isn't it obvious?" Harry's wry smile came mockingly

Ophelia just glared at him. She didn't know why he was here.

Harry, seeing he wasn't making any headway, just gave a faux sigh and answered his question. "People like us have to look out for each other."

Ophelia frowned. She didn't like where this was going. "People like us?" the question came out aggressively.

"Yes." The raven-haired boy said before he continued "People like us. We're different, we're not like them."

Ophelia instantly tensed up. She didn't like people insulting her. Rising out of her bed she went to slug the boy, only to stop when he called out.

"Watch," Harry spoke.

Ophelia paused, taking in the polished stone sitting in his hand before he miraculously passed it to her. The stone glided towards her, unseemingly floating. The stone, she thought, was moving too slowly for it to be considered a throw. Ophelia, thinking her mind was playing a trick, quickly snatched the stone into her palm. Her tight fist clutching the smooth surface.

"How did you do that?" the girl asked in shocked amazement, realising the stone was real.

The boy gave a grin taking a moment to think before he spoke. "Intent or will I suppose. I haven't quite worked it out."

His emerald eyes suddenly bore into her own and he spoke softly. "I can show you though. You can do it too."

It was an instantaneous realisation that suddenly dawned upon Ophelia as she reflected on every bizarre scenario happening with no reasonable explanation. The time she'd borrowed a boy's bicycle from school only to crash it. She'd been so scared they'd force her to pay for the ruined front wheel only for it to seemingly fix itself when she opened her eyes. Or the time when she'd hurled a scrubbing brush at the ceiling, frustrated that she'd been blamed for the red and blue paint smears on the corridor walls, only for the paint to again seemingly vanish as well, And just now she'd managed to kick Mark into the air and across the courtyard. Something that shouldn't feasibly be possible.

"You see, you're just like me." The raven-haired boy softly said, "We're different and I can help you."

Ophelia looked curiously at his outstretched hand, letting go of her hesitation, she clasped the hand and gave it a shake.

"Harry Potter." He said curiously.

"Ophelia Black." She returned credulously.

1990, early summer

Wool's Orphanage. Room 27

A book lay open-faced upon a simple plain mattress. Two figures huddled together contemplating the pages.

"It still seems too fanciful," came the blunt voice of Ophelia.

"I'd almost agree," Harry said bemusedly, glancing at Ophelia. She was a realist, able to grasp the context of a sentence at a moment's glance. Always adhering to how things were represented, but she was still speculative of the supernatural in what it could do. He didn't doubt she believed in it, but Ophelia was always straightforward, to the point. She took the world around her for what it was, rather than what it could be. 'Through the Looking-Glass.' Harry thought it was a silly title and he knew the plot was nothing but fiction. However, unlike Ophelia, he thought the comical plot had a deeper meaning.

"The idea of talking rabbits and Cheshire cats is ridiculous," Harry stated. He paused briefly. Contemplating. "The author knows that we know that." "But that's not the purpose or intent." He continued and smiled. 'Intent' was perhaps his favourite word he thought, the word that started his quest into the supernatural. The word that allowed him to discover all the little mysteries around him. He'd finally realised he had to want it to happen, want it to occur. He had to subjugate his very emotions and will them into being.

Turning to Ophelia, Harry murmured the title. "Through the looking glass," Ophelia's eyes locked onto his, hearing the mumble escape from his lips. Seeing he'd caught her attention, Harry cautioned her. "It's only illogical because we deem it so."

"I think Carroll is right," Harry commented, further acknowledging Ophelia's curious stare. "To truly know, we must see beyond it. Otherwise, the possibility simply wouldn't exist."

Demonstrating further Harry closed his eyes.

'Imagination' he thought, the image of a Blue Wren forming slowly within his mind. 'Will' the next thought flashing determinedly as he drew upon his internal want for this bird to be. 'Creation' the last thought echoing, building his want and need up to its apex before finally releasing his desire outwards.

With that Harry opened his eyes and gave a soft blow, expelling a stream of air. The image of the Blue Wren within his mind was melding into shallow streams of air. The air beginning to concentrate, thickening with an onslaught of frigid cold as he pushed his need to will the Wren into shape. The Wren, becoming more and more transparent as the air began to solidify into an icy representation.

Releasing his will outwards, the now fragile Wren was glowing soft blue wisps of colour as the exterior started to become more lifelike. The icy Wren finally breathed into creation as its form became an animated fuselage of feathers, beak, and claws.

Ophelia just stared in wonder as the beautiful Blue Wren as the tiny bird outstretched its wings and gave a chirp, testing its keratin beak. Soon after the little bird flapped its wings before sailing into the corridor.

"I still don't know how you do it." The brunette girl said in fond exasperation. "It's the one thing I can't do." Ophelia trailed off, before saying wistfully. "I can't create a sentient lifeform."

"It'll come," Harry promised.

Ophelia however just shook her head and continued angrily at Harry's dismissal. "I can levitate."

He watched as she raised an arm gesturing towards the lamp as it gradually rose before he watched Ophelia gesture again this time gently letting it rest.

Harry watched curiously as she expressed her annoyance further as it became even more prominent. "I can control and quell fire."

Her palms opened as fire swelled up before she snapped her fists, the flames extinguishing.

Ophelia then whispered. "I can even see into the minds of others, all their thoughts and intentions, they're mine to see." she said, looking dangerously at Harry and sniffed "They're mine to do what I please with."

"But I can't." The low rumble echoing out, "create" the girl spat out distastefully.

Harry winced. It was a sore subject for her.

It had been almost a year since his fateful knock on the door. Their starting partnership eventually built into a fruitful friendship as they gradually explored the supernatural together trying to discover its intricacies. Harry had only really started consciously using the supernatural eighteen months before their initial meeting, but Ophelia's hunger to learn had been obvious from the start. She'd disliked the fact he had a head start. Whilst Harry thought and contemplated trying to work through another mystery he'd discovered. Ophelia constantly practiced what he taught her, always coming back with an incessant need for more. As the months passed, the pair had gotten closer and closer. He'd honestly thought once he'd run dry of material that she'd go her separate way to experiment on her own. Instead, the opposite had happened much to Mrs. Cole's dismay.

Ophelia was constantly barging into his room at the most inappropriate times of the night to show him her most recent discovery, not being able to contain herself to wait till the next morning.

Harry grimaced. He and the other poor orphans were constantly getting an ear-splitting headache as Ophelia's incessant barging into his room had left Mrs. Cole to silently prowl the corridor, waiting to catch Ophelia in the act.

Harry sighed, he still hadn't the heart to tell Ophelia to stop. Her discoveries were useful as well. He still remembered his shock upon finding out Ophelia had discovered how to read minds. A mind lance she called it. It seemed this was the method Ophelia had discovered to penetrate someone's thoughts.

He'd found her explanation of direct eye and concentration when pushing yourself into someone's mind interesting. A mind lance was a fitting description Harry thought and yet he still couldn't match Ophelia's instinctive grasp. Her natural inclination meant she could gleam whole trains of thoughts and memories, whilst Harry himself could only attain snippets and pictures.

Ophelia though, Harry thought with distaste had taken it upon herself to review his memories. It was soon after her discovery that he'd been beginning to recognise the tell-tale signs of Ophelia's mind lance as he desperately tried to block her out.

Instinctively He'd clamped down mental walls, Ophelia had been shocked at first buy after that particular incident. All it took was her curiosity for the little girl to demand he taught her what he had done. After he'd taught her the method for what exactly he'd just used to reflect her attack. The brunette had suggested assaulting each other's minds.

Harry gave a silent groan. It had been a painful experience, he didn't see the benefit either as the only two mind readers he knew were Ophelia and himself. But she had insisted and through many brutal hours and numerous headaches the two of them had strengthened their mental barriers considerably. Ophelia more so than himself. As her mind lance had become so strong that he'd begun using tricks to lead her into false memories hoping to trap her, It was a better technique he thought than taking a constant barrage.

Harry smirked. The brunette had been most put out, spending the next week trying to replicate the feat.

Looking over to the sullen girl Harry knew she was still annoyed at his ability to shape and change. Ophelia had only really been able to grasp how to manipulate fire and less complex structures to her will.

Trying to reassure her, he calmly said, "you'll get the concept eventually." Remember Harry said, directing his stare towards the malcontent gaze of Ophelia, "practice."

The irate girl annoyed at her faults simply stormed out.

Harry sighed, he knew she'd listen. Ophelia just had a habit of dealing with things her way.

Turning back to the open-faced book. Harry continued to ponder the pages.

1990, Yule

The British Museum, London.

Harry and Ophelia had been trailing at the back of the group as they toured the British Museum. Gazing around Harry took in the various sculptures, mosaics, and ceramics as they walked through the Roman gallery.

Ophelia had been rather disinterested when she heard the announcement by Mrs. Cole that the British Museum was offering free passes to the local orphanages around London. Harry on the other hand was remaining optimistic, he was excited at the chance to see the wider world. It was for this very reason that he was disappointed. He knew they were on a strict time frame. Mrs. Wilson and Mrs. Baker were marching them through the exhibits. Pointing out any objects of interest but, Harry couldn't help stopping and looking at an epitaph of Alexander the Great.

It was badly damaged but Harry tried making sense of the ineligible writing, it was no use though of course. If only his brain was hard-wired for Ancient Greek…

Giving a shake of his head Harry turned nearly headbutting Ophelia's nose.

Harry knew he was tall for his age but he was still surprised how tall Ophelia was, taller than most of the boys their age at the orphanage. He supposed they'd been lucky. The food at the orphanage wasn't the best quality, average and plain on the best of days but there was enough food that they never went hungry. Actively using the supernatural had seen a massive increase in his appetite. Ophelia was the same, the more they'd actively used their supernatural powers the more tired and hungry they'd grown. He also suspected it was the reason for their height; the amount of food on offer as it was bulk ordered weekly had allowed them enough to grow and fill out to the maximum their bodies were capable of.

Ophelia was looking at him curiously, her mismatched eyes tracing his features. Heterochromia he remembered. His gaze travelled up her high cheekbones, taking in her eyes. A single grey eye and one almost black stared back. The eye was odd, he admitted. He'd never voiced it to Ophelia as he knew the consequences. Still, the black iris was slit-like a reptilian, she'd been teased constantly as a consequence. Harry knew it was an eye of the supernatural though. It could see things her other eye couldn't. She often said she could see his aura with it. That it was bright, she mentioned offhandedly that he was the only one she'd ever seen with an aura.

Returning her stare he spoke, "Something the matter?"

"Yes," She said in exasperation before continuing "we've lost the group. I decided to stop and wait for you." she didn't sound happy.

"Better catch up then," Harry muttered. Mrs. Cole wasn't here on the trip, preferring to conserve her energy and focus on running the orphanage in her old age, but Mrs. Wilson and Mrs. Baker were here with them and they'd report back to Mrs. Cole if they were found missing, he grimaced he didn't need an earful.

Ophelia just gave him a look that said 'duh' and the two desperately started racing across the hallway trying to search for the group.

Harry sighed. They weren't having much success, they'd been through four room's in their search and had passed through the Roman exhibition into the Egyptian exhibition, hoping to catch a glimpse of the group, Harry was hurrying on ahead before he realised Ophelia had drifted behind. Looking back towards the end of the room, Harry saw Ophelia looking intently at a museum access door.

Giving another sigh Harry dashed back towards her, she could be unpredictably difficult at times.

"There's something in there" came Ophelia's voice before she turned to him, "it's bright, I can't tell exactly what it is but we should look."

Harry gave a grumble noting the 'we' in the sentence. She was expecting his help. Even if he left her, Ophelia wouldn't give up her insistence on looking either.

He chuckled, the girl who didn't want to come was taking an interest in history. Perhaps selectively but it still counted. Grinning, 'Decisions, Decisions' Harry thought.

Taking a cautious look around as he scanned the area, it seemed no one apart from Ophelia was in sight. Harry was thankful no one was around, it would spell trouble otherwise."Are you sure about this?" he whispered. Harry decided it was worth the risk if Ophelia of all people thought it was.

Ophelia gave him a stubborn look. "It's the first aura I've seen apart from yours, my eye hasn't seen anything else similar."

"Very well." Harry decided it was best to go along with it. Ophelia would go in either way.

"Guard the coast he commanded." Before turning and directing his will inwards, envisioning the door opening. Click! Harry heard the satisfying sound.

"Come on" he gestured as the door swung slightly open.

Ophelia beamed, "there's your sense of adventure, I was afraid it went missing."

Harry just scowled as the girl nudged past him. Patience wasn't one of her strong points.

Harry was becoming disgruntled as the two tiptoed through the backchannels of the museum, it was plain to see that he was becoming increasingly annoyed with Ophelia's lack of tact. Her qualification of 'tiptoe' being the make way for me, seemingly uncaring as she strolled towards her destination.

Harry, irritated as his crouched walk was several metres away from the nonchalant girl finally became fed up.

"Ophelia, try to be more subtle" Harry growled, he was annoyed at her lack of worry.

The brunette girl just turned to him and sighed. "Honestly Harry, for all your intelligence you're not cut out for our escapade."

Escapade? Harry frowned, clearly Ophelia read more than she led on. Seeing her pointed stare she wasn't done speaking either. The brunette continued. "The idea is to act like we're lost if we're caught. Anything else will draw suspicions."

Harry nodded, realising that as much as he detested it, Ophelia was right. His crouched walk would send off alarm bells.

He still glowered at her but straightened up as the two carefully kept the noise of their footfalls to a minimum as they searched for whatever piqued Ophelia's interest.

Finally, the two stopped at the cross-section of the T-shaped corridor. "It's in there" Ophelia whispered with a pointed finger. Her hand trailing to the entryway of a research area.

Harry returned the whisper, "We'll have to take the risk of someone being inside." He didn't like the idea but it seemed it was their only option.

Ophelia thought for a second before sighing "we've come this far" and with that the two walked in.

Harry took in the clutter of stray paper, books, and various miscellaneous items lying around the room but it seemed Ophelia was interested in the auspicious box on a neighbouring desk. Its arch was weathered with a multitude of acrylic images faded to time, pausing Harry took in the adjacent pages. 'The Golden Tablet of Akhmim' Harry murmured. He didn't bother reading the summary, only registering its purpose was to ward off Apophis.

'Are you sure it's supernatural?' Harry asked questioningly.

Ophelia replied. "It's the only aura I've seen apart from yours, it's golden though unlike you where yours is silver." The brunette paused before quickly saying. "Except that scar of yours, it's completely black."

Harry swallowed, it was well known between the two that Harry's lightning bolt scar was the darkest shade of black Ophelia had ever seen.

Ignoring Ophelia's last comment, Harry replied. "Shall we get this over with?"

Ophelia gave a nod before turning and carefully shuffling the lid of the box off.

The gleam of Gold was evident as the two were greeted with a tablet engraved with hieroglyphics surrounding the entire surface.

"Fancy," Ophelia muttered.

Harry grimaced, clearly an item such as this would've been showered within the newspapers upon discovery. The fact it was kept under wraps boded ill for the two of them. It seemed the tablet was on a need-to-know basis.

"We can't take it," Harry finally said.

"You're right," Ophelia agreed "it's too large, we'll have to memorise what we can and get out of here."

The brunette was annoyed that they couldn't walk away with an item of such importance. But it was a silent agreement between the two that both didn't want to face the consequences if they were potentially discovered.

Harry nodded before reaching out to trace the mysterious hieroglyphs, unknowingly touching the cartouche. Instantly a searing pain enveloped upon his skin as Harry instinctively screamed out.

Ophelia just opened her mouth in shock as the tablet began to radiant a golden glow, she could see the symbols evanescing as they converged upon Harry's arm. The golden light finally dimmed as the tablet's covered surface lay blank.

Harry stared at his outstretched arm, the pain had dwindled and the strange hieroglyphs were left imprinted upon his arm. This was bad, he'd desecrated an artefact and the evidence was hidden in plain sight.

"Ophelia," Harry whispered in horror. The girl in question still staring numbly before grimacing.

"Harry, we've got to go. Now." Ophelia said in a determined voice, it was apparent she didn't like the change of events and was already turning towards the door. Abruptly the brunette paled considerably as echoing footsteps were heard coming closer and closer. The outcry had drawn attention.

"We're screwed." The shaken girl whispered.

Harry finally out of his rumination snatched Ophelia's hand instinctively. His only thoughts now completely focused on getting himself and Ophelia out of the museum. Nothing else mattered.

Panic settled in as Harry desperately concentrated on getting himself and Ophelia outside the museum. Crack! The next thing Harry knew was his vision going black as his whole body felt like it was being compressed within. He could feel Ophelia's iron grip tighten on his forearm as she latched on for dear life, the two aimlessly twisting as their eyes and ears were straining from the pressure. Abruptly as soon as it began they arrived, light blaring into their eyes.

"Harry, how?" came the confused voice of Ophelia. The two had arrived outside the museum as they took in the tall pillars of the entryway. Thankfully no one had noticed their appearance.

Harry shrugged. "I'm not sure Ophelia, I think I must have accidentally used the supernatural to get us out of there in my desperation." Harry then gave Ophelia a smirk "I won't be trying that anytime soon though." Harry internally shuddered; it really was an awful experience.

Ophelia seemed to be having the same thoughts as the now malcontent girl's face was still whitened devoid of colour, Ophelia being Ophelia simply punched him, obviously displeased with the new events.

"Oow" came Harry's upset voice as he gave a mock rub on his previously unwounded arm. He wisely let the matter slide though, knowing at the very least Ophelia would be satisfied. Her vindictive streak never really subsided.

The brunette in question just rolled her eyes before stating the question on both their minds. "What do we do now? Mrs. Baker and Wilson will be searching the whole museum for us by now."

Harry just sighed. "Isn't it obvious? We wait, the bus should pull up anyways. All we can do is sit and wait to face the consequences."

Ophelia gave an acknowledging nod. Not bothering to reply as she went and rested on a neighbouring bench. Her legs dangling inches from the ground.

Harry followed sitting next to her as the two waited in silence. Harry himself subconsciously tracing the newly formed hieroglyphs upon his arm.

Ophelia gave a grimace. "Here she said," shuffling off her jumper and passing it along to Harry. The boy hadn't bothered to bring a jumper instead opting for a simple, standard-issue grey t-shirt from the orphanage.

Harry gave her a quizzical look but took the jumper nonetheless. Realising it was best to mask his newly patterned arm. Mrs. Cole's fury would be legendary if she ever discovered he'd tattooed his arm at the tender age of 10.

It only took most of the hour before the orphanage group emerged. The panicked looks of Mrs. Baker and Wilson were evident as they hurried the children towards the recently parked bus. The two of them were in a heated conversation with what seemed to be an employee of the museum.

"Best make ourselves present." Came Harry's dry voice, the two would be in for a stern talking.

"Mrs. Baker, Mrs. Wilson" came Ophelia's soft voice as she gave a wave. "We're here and very sorry." The girl trying to make herself as shy as possible continued. "We got separated from the group and thought it was best to wait outside." Ophelia had tried to make her voice sound as innocently as she possibly could.

Whilst Mrs. Cole would see through Ophelia's facade, it seemed Mrs. Baker and Wilson were simply relieved. A couple words were then muttered to the museum employee who swiftly walked off towards the museum, probably to tell the staff the situation had been resolved.

Mrs. Baker coughed and addressed them. "Harry, Ophelia, we'll have to have a discussion with Mrs. Cole when we arrive back. She'll want to hear the day's events and maybe address a punishment even if you two tried to be responsible, you both strayed from the group and caused the two of us no end of worry." It seemed Mrs. Baker wasn't going to let the incident slide.

Both Harry's and Ophelia's faces tightened, ignoring the glare coming from Mrs. Wilson. Mrs. Cole would be anything but subtle as her orders earlier in the day strictly told them to pay attention to Mrs. Baker and Wilson. Without a hint of subtlety, Mrs. Cole had concluded that under no reason whatsoever that anyone was to wander away.

It was apparent upon their return that a vicious tongue lashing and scolding of epic proportions would happen.

Harry thought that it was well deserved though as the two despondently climbed the stairs of the bus before taking their seats. It seemed they would have to wait for the three matrons of the orphanage to unleash their fury and displeasure.

Ignoring the chatter of their fellow orphans, Ophelia simply gripped her hand in his and gave a wistful sigh as the bus pulled away. All they could do was wait.