15 July 1991
No one talks about the Orphanage.
For one, it's not actually an orphanage. In the deep recesses Knockturn Alley where there are more abandoned buildings than occupied storefronts, where only the most desperate and destitute fail to escape, is a narrow three story building made of old soot-stained brick. The ground floor used to be a shop, although no one currently living knows what might have been sold there once upon a time. The windows are partially boarded over. What glass remains is cracked and opaque with grime. The door is similarly barred, sealed from the outside with permanent sticking charms and an odd collection of rotting boards.
All in all, it look just like every other building in that mostly forgotten corner of the alley with it's sagging roof-line and crumbling walls. And yet, no one talks about the Orphanage.
Denizens of Knockturn Alley all know what the building is and stay well clear of it's shadow. The knowledge of it's existence passes not through word of mouth, but by action. Parents pull children away with tight lips and pinched eyes. Dealers, beggars and prostitutes never linger within sight. The homeless dare not sleep under the shelter of its tilting walls.
For all that no one talks about it and everyone with a modicum of sense or self-preservation avoids even looking at it, everyone knows the Orphanage by name. Everyone. Those new to the alley learn its name within the first couple of nights. Visitors who wander in too far return to Diagon with the lingering sense of the word on the back of their tongues.
Six years ago, it was just another building. That corner of the alley was just as sparsely populated as any other. No one is quite sure when, exactly, the change happened. But sometime in the early winter months of 1985 it became obvious that something was directing people away. In those early months, some brave souls tried to determine the source and narrowed it down to that single building based purely on a growing sense of unease and unwelcome, but nothing magical showed. As far as anyone knows, nothing bad happened to those brave few, but they also never truly returned to the alley and skirted the mouth of Knockturn itself with shifty eyes and and nervous gaits. They never found any wards or runes on the building or in the surrounding area. They found nothing magical at all, other than a weakening preservation charm that is all that holds the bricks together.
It's not a harmful feeling, going too close. It's going to a party and having the only person you know vanish into the crowd. It's looking at a map and realizing you have no idea where you are. It's walking down the stairs and not expecting that last step. It's the emotional version of creeping through the dark and running face first into spider webs.
Therefore, it is a surprise when, with a spattering of cracks, three Hogwarts teachers appear at the safe boundary, startling a flock of pigeons and the lurking residents. Headmaster Albus Dumbledore is the easiest to recognize in baby blue robes with his long beard and half-moon spectacles. In his shadow lurks Severus Snape, black on black and sallow, a common patron of the alley's many potions shops and apothecaries. More imposing than either wizard is Minerva McGonagall, straight backed and unapproachable in dark green robes that likely refuse to wrinkle or attract dust out of fear.
The headmaster pull four envelopes out of his sleeve, frowning benignly at the curling emerald script. "Just a bit further up," he says, blue eyes scanning the cobblestone path. "All four of them - The Bedroom, Third Floor, The Orphanage, Knockturn Alley, London."
There are several harsh inhales from those watching. Some scurry away for safer shadows. Others creep closer ignoring the sudden chill that permeates the air.
Everyone knows of the residents of the Orphanage for all that no one remembers ever meeting them. Six small children appeared, one at a time, twisting in and out of crowds, at about the same time the Orphanage became no man's land. Three boys and three girls, it eventually become known. Two dark skinned and dark haired, the others pale and easily burned if not for the pervasive shadows of the alley; two redheaded siblings and two distinctly unrelated blondes. They were all so small originally, not much older than toddlers, but they dodged the occasional well-meaning hand and, perhaps tellingly, were never bothered by those of more nefarious purposes. Under the hesitant gaze of the alley, they grew as children do: in leaps and spurts of aching bones and stumbling feet. Three grew tall and three stayed small, but no one ever guessed their ages.
Apparently, four of them are eleven.
It seems odd, now, to realize that they are untrained. Wandless. Undefended.
Some of those that stayed to watch wonder who these children are.
—
Severus can feel the eyes on his back and he doesn't know if it's better or worse than the feeling of not-welcome-go-away-stay-back that radiates from the dingy side alley that contains the Orphanage. He knows what it is. He's been in Knockturn often enough for the title to plant itself in his conscious thoughts. He's never bothered to investigate it before, regarding it as one might a snarling beast at the end of its chain. It can't hurt him if he doesn't get too close, and thus there is no fear.
There is no fear now, either, facing down the prospect of voluntarily walking to the building, entering it's condemned rooms.
And yet, he'd really rather not.
Alas, Albus has demanded his presence. There are at least four children in that building. One is a muggleborn, a Miss Hermione Granger. She will be twelve years old this September. Given the identities of her companions, they checked the muggle world for her family and discovered that she, too, has been missing since June 21, 1985. The Summer Solstice. Then, of course, is Ronald Weasley, who turned eleven in May. He and his younger sister Ginevra went missing that same day, noticed by their mother far too late to adequately track a pair of three and five year olds. The delay came from her clock which to this day insists the children are either 'home' or 'traveling'. Albus and Minerva both are hoping that they'll find young Ginevra with her brother today.
Neville Longbottom, the pureblood heir of House Longbottom, was reported missing almost immediately. His great uncle, only now finishing his term in Azkaban for recklessly endangering an underage heir, held him out a tower window in hopes of inducing some accidental magic. And Neville didn't disappoint. When Algeron dropped him, accidentally or not, the four-year-old apparated away before he was even halfway to the ground. Family magics claimed the child still alive, but that is little comfort to the boy's grandmother. Her son and daughter in law are also alive. Technically.
Last, but certainly not least in this little debacle, is Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived.
No one knew he was missing until the quill scrawled the Orphanage as his address a few names after Neville Longbottom. His disappearance was also the only one with obvious signs of outside tampering. The Dursley's - and Severus had a fair few word about that with Albus; loud words with creative swearing and liberal threats - had no knowledge of a boy called Harry, let along that he was their nephew and lived with them for - supposedly - four years. The squib down the street showed signs of an overpowered confundus. Uninterested neighbors had taken little convincing to believe that social services found different relatives to place the boy with.
And now, wading through the emotional equivalence of being packed like sardines on the muggle tube, hands and knees brushing unintentionally close to violation, they have the location of four, possibly five missing children. Each vanished on the same day of the same year. The Summer Solstice, a magically significant date. So, of course, it is neither an adult nor any of the five expected children that opens the door - not nearly as inaccessible as it appears - when Albus raps jauntily on the mouldering wood, ostensibly unaffected by the feeling of ants crawling just under his skin.
Even Minerva Stoic McGonagall is twitching.
Instead, it is a slip of a girl who pulls open the disgusting door just enough to peer at them with large, silver eyes. Luna Lovegood, a sixth missing child. A girl who vanished that same solstice while on a trip out of the country with her parents.
The Orphanage, this place is called. And it's filled with children.
"Good morning, young one," Albus greets cheerily. He offers a smile that twitches at his beard and puts and extra twinkle in his eyes. The girl's gaze slides off him to rest, unblinking, on Minerva before drifting over to Severus. The door closes.
Despite everything - despite the sensation of bugs under his skin and dust on his tongue and an intense desire to leave and never return - Severus wants to laugh. Albus's face couldn't be more dumbstruck if the child actually screamed and slammed the door in his face.
The door opens again, wider this time, and the tiny blonde blinks at them twice, slow and deliberate, before drifting away in a silent invitation to enter. All three adults step cautiously over the threshold as one does when expecting a rotting floor to collapse out from under the weight of them, but nothing of the sort happens. Rather, they step onto worn hardwood - old but in decent repair - flanked by walls scrubbed clean by hand and magic. The shop counters have been repaired. Shelves lean heavily in between obstructed windows, weighed down by books in varying states of disrepair. The inside appears a good forty years newer than the outside - old, but serviceable with obvious signs of inexpert repair.
Distracted by the juxtaposition of livably condemned, Severus doesn't notice that the inhospitable chill has vanished until he sees that the girl never actually touches the floor but instead walks barefoot as anyone else might on thin air a good inch above the hardwood. She's a ghost given substance, so pale against the bright colors of her clothes she might as well be translucent, shadows resting like bruises on her neck and under her unnerving eyes.
"Miss Lovegood, yes? Luna?" Albus asks when the girl hops - and why jump when she's already floating? - up on the counter near the only internal door. She stares at him for an uncomfortably long time. Watches his nose, Severus realizes. Watches his mouth. Watches what body language can be determined from the voluminous drape of weighty blue robes. There are reasons powerful fighters wear yards of fabric when cloth is so easily a hazard in a duel. It's harder to predict the next move if the more minute movements are obstructed. The child is wearing a pale yellow muggle dress that wrinkles around her knees and an open-face robe in bright purple with sleeves that cover her hands by a good several inches.
Something too large that she can grow into, the rational part of his brain insists. But. Neither robe nor dress is long enough to tangle around her legs. Her hair is a mess of knots and braids that, incidentally he's sure, keeps everything out of her face. He can't see her hands and she floats when she moves, silent. He can sense no magic in use either from an artifact or the child herself. Someone has trained this child. Which likely means that someone has trained all of the children here.
Severus has a bad feeling about this.
"Albus Percevial Wulfric Brian Dumbledore. Order of Merlin, First Class. Grand Sorcerer. Chief Warlock. Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards. Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry." The little girl recites this solemnly, silver eyes fixed on the ornate phoenix clasp at Albus's throat. It's common information, sure, found on every Hogwarts letter and repeated in nearly every article written about the man. The quirk of her mouth, the tilt of her head, the slant of her shoulders suggests that she's holding back. Holding back what, though? She shifts her attention to Minerva then to Severus, as if debating which to go after next.
The two professors are saved by the entrance of another small girl, this one with a riot of dark brown curls cut short and messy about her ears. Hermione Granger is not the reticent bookworm of her parents' memories. Rather, she strides to the counter and braces her bared forearms on the glass top, no part of her confidence hindered by her need to stand on a stool. Her skin is no longer the light brown of a suburban introvert, but rich, sun-darkened shade that makes Miss Lovegood look sickly in comparison. She is dressed in a similar set of short, loose robes to her companion only in a muted blue with the sleeves rolled up about her elbows and the front done up, hiding whatever she is wearing underneath. She looks each of them in the eye exactly once, starting with Minerva and ending on Albus - threat assessment, Severus realizes, but not in the way Luna Lovegood keeps watch. No, Miss Lovegood is watching for physical danger. Miss Granger is checking mental. Mind magics.
Severus can see the setup now. First, greet them with the child they didn't expect. Luna Lovegood with her wide, unblinking stare is perfect for wrong-footing them. Then Hermione Granger, a muggleborn of no real significance but obviously trained in the mind arts. If he or Albus dares dip into her mind, it is probable that she and Miss Lovegood will distract them while the other children run. Assuming they keep their minds to themselves like responsible teachers - Severus actively avoids looking into the minds of his students on account of teenagers being a roiling mass of hormones and idiocy, but he knows Albus is fairly liberal when scanning surface thoughts - Ronald and Ginevra Weasley will be the next two to come out of hiding. As the youngest children of a disgraced, Light aligned pureblood family whose father works in an underfunded, unappreciated department of the ministry, they are only a few step above Miss Granger in the eyes of wizarding society.
Neville Longbottom and Harry Potter will be the last to arrive, no doubt, should they pass the tests Ronald and Ginevra will perform. Both boys are the only heirs of their Houses. Rich. Politically influential. Harry Potter, especially, has a great deal of sway over the general public with the ten year anniversary of the Dark Lord's defeat coming up.
Severus sweeps his gaze around the room. There is no sign of an adult on this floor. The walls are hand-cleaned as high as a child standing on a chair might reach. The books are similarly arranged with a tall stool nearby for convenience. All four letters are addressed to 'The Bedroom, Third Floor' rather than 'The Boy's Room' or 'The Girl's Room' or even 'The Kids' Room'. All of the children sleep in one room with no thought towards separation by gender as most adults would do given the amount of space in this building.
Someone trained these children and trained them well, but left them to their own devices. Not recently, either, or enforced rules would still be ingrained.
"Miss Granger," Severus says before Albus can do something stupid and risk their chances of retrieving the other four children today. "We are here to deliver your Hogwarts acceptance letter. We have one for yourself, Mr. Weasley, Mr. Longbottom, and Mr. Potter." He keeps his tone professional as he might when addressing the parent of a muggleborn first year. He is a teacher, but he is also a spy and he had no desire to find out what these two girls were taught. He suspects there is more than childish bravado backing their unspoken claim to be able to protect the others' retreat.
Miss Granger smiles prettily at him, a contrast to the eerie grin spreading across Miss Lovegood's face. "Hogwarts, yes. We were expecting the letters to come by owl. We are all, rather obviously, quite aware of the wizarding world and have no need for escorts around Diagon."
"My dear girl, I'm afraid it's a bit more complicated than that." Albus twinkles genially at the children and Severus wants to beat his head into the nearest flat surface. Albus's head, that is. It's times like these when it becomes all too apparent that Albus was a Gryffindor. For all that he plays the political game, he takes thing at face value far too often to have spent any time in Slytherin. Dismissing these girls - any of these kids - as ordinary children will accomplish nothing. At the very least, they have survived unprotected in the depths of Knockturn Alley for the last however many years. "You see, you and your friends are all far from home and have been missing for quite some time. Your families miss you dearly. We intend to take you all back where you belong after gathering your school supplies."
No. Nope. His boss is an idiot.
The children have been left unattended in Knockturn for an unknown amount of time. Four of them are wizarding raised and know how to use the floo or reach the bank or any number of things that would have gotten them back home in short order. Even in Knockturn, rumors of children trying to escape a dangerous situation would spread quickly. The children are here because they want to be. Separating them will earn Albus no points. Severus refuses to take part.
"More important, however," Severus interrupts before Miss Lovegood's grin can show any more teeth, "is getting all of you to a Healer to ensure that you are up to date on your vaccinations." Two sets of eyes flick to him, judging. He waits to be found wanting - he always is - and is mildly surprised when Miss Lovegood giggles like the small girl she is rather than a Fae-child waiting for an insult so that she can feast on their bones.
He can feel Albus's disapproval like sandpaper on his skin. He wants to shove the old man outside and see how he likes the continued intolerance of the Orphanage bearing down on him.
Miss Granger turns to him, shifting her shoulders and tilting her head to give the impression of facing him head on without actually facing away from the group at all. "That sound reasonable, Professor Snape."