Magic.

"I'm not, but if it was real, you wouldn't mind proving it to me," she said, remembering how similar her conversation was with Padfoot.

It didn't take more than second for the man to reach for something in his cloak and Kirsten had to hold in her laughter.

It was a wand.

The amused look was wiped off her face, however, when he muttered something and waved the stick. In the next instant, a tray full of treats and two steaming mugs of tea appeared, floating in midair. She couldn't help but let her jaw drop at the sight. If she had any doubts about magic, those flew out the window.

"Come with me."

The thirteen year old found herself seated in a comfortable armchair in a small parlor of the pub with a fire burning brightly in a grate, illuminating the handsome pieces of furniture that adorned the room. She found herself observing the portly man, who was taking off his lime green bowler hat and pinstriped cloak, revealing a bottle green suit. He seated himself opposite from Kirsten, in another armchair.

She didn't have any.

"Who are you?" she asked curiously. This day was getting stranger and stranger by the minute. What happened at the orphanage, the man and the dog, the odd bus, Harry, and now a man who just performed magic in front of her eyes.

"Yes, yes, I apologize for not introducing myself," he said quickly. "I am Cornelius Fudge, the Minister of Magic."

Her eyes narrowed in comprehension as she continued to stare at him.

"So, you're like the Prime Minister….But for the magical people?" she asked, and he nodded as a response. "So none of this is a joke."

"Not a joke at all," he said sternly. "I am the Minister of the Ministry of Magic of England. We're somewhat similar to the Muggle governm -"

"What's a Muggle?"

A look of disbelief crossed his face. "A human who isn't a witch or wizard."

"Okay… so witches and wizards it is," the black haired teenager stated aloud, letting the words sink in. Fudge nodded his head in response. This was somewhat making sense of all the strange incidents that occurred around her. It would also explain how she survived the incident on the field trip years ago.

Her mind flashed to what Padfoot said earlier that evening about how it was odd that the Ministry hadn't detected her. So if this Ministry of Magic was supposed to be able to detect her using magic, why hadn't they found her yet.

"So why am I only figuring this out now?" she asked, more to herself than to Fudge. Sure the Ministry never detected her and she had been living in an orphanage for her entire life, but she should have been smart enough to put all these things together.

All those oddly dressed people when she went on field trips with her class or when DuPont would take them to Westminster as a treat. Her memory took her back to when she was around five and she met an elderly woman that she would never forget. Her eyes were the same shade of grey as hers, as was the color of her hair and she asked her the oddest questions… and she remembered seeing her stop by the orphanage the day after, arguing with Madame DuPont –

"I'm curious to know why as well," Fudge said, breaking her away from her thoughts. The man handed her one of the steaming cups of tea that he conjured earlier. It was still hot, surprising her. She locked eyes with the man after taking a sip to find him staring at her in a way that made her feel as if she was the suspect of an interrogation.

It wasn't new to her considering the same look was given to her with DuPont; however, Kirsten caught something in his tone and gaze that DuPont never had. The way he said it, the way he was staring at her. As though he thought, for a second, that Kirsten knew she was a witch. All that seemed to vanish as he continued, "It seems that is going to be the mystery that will need to be solved very soon."

"What do you mean?"

"The Trace, Kirsten," he said. Both of Kirsten's eyebrows shot up in confusion and before she could open up her mouth and ask what the Trace was, he began to explain.

"So…if there's this Trace on all underage wizards and witches, why couldn't you detect me?" she asked, trying to see if she pieced the information together correctly. A sigh escaped the Minister's lips as he looked down at his folded hands and he lifts his eyes to meet Kirsten's once again.

"For some reason, when you went missing—"

"Missing? Now I've been missing? Since when? I've been at a children's home since I was a baby."

"Until now," Fudge said and his eyes narrowed as something registered in his head. "Children's home? Who have you been staying with?"

"I've been at Blake's Home for Children for the past twelve years," Kirsten said, trying to recall the years she had been living there.

"And where is this Blake Home for Children, Kirsten?"

"In Surrey," she said. Fudge's brow furrowed considerably as he stared at her.

"Who was the matron, if I may ask?"

"Madame DuPont," she replied.

"And how exactly did you end up at the orphanage?" he continued his question. Kirsten gave the man a dead look.

"I was two. The only thing I remember was my name. Could you remember anything else when you were two?" she asked sarcastically. Before he could respond, she continued,"Madame said that a woman found me wandering in the neighborhood on Halloween night. I was crying and she heard me."

"So this woman didn't have a name?"

"Not that I can remember," she said dryly. "Remember, I was only two. I couldn't remember a thing."

The man was about to open his mouth to ask another question, but Kirsten was tired of it already. She had a few questions of her own.

"I don't understand this whole missing nonsense," Kirsten said. "Why was I missing? How do you know who I am? What happened to my parents? Are they alive … how do you know that I'm the girl you've been looking for anyway?"

Nothing was making sense to Kirsten at the moment. She understood that she was a witch. That would explain why she was able to do what she couldn't explain. But how did this man take one look at her, and come up with the conclusion that she was the girl who was missing.

"I am certain that you are her, Kirsten," the minister said, his eyes glancing down at the necklace around her neck once again. "I will report to the Ministry as soon as we are done here, see if you still have the Trace, and have a team investigate the home you've been staying at immediately."

He was avoiding her questions.

The thirteen year old frowned at the old man, wondering why he didn't want to answer any of her questions.

He was hiding something from her, that much was obvious.

"Are you not going to answer my other questions?" she asked, eyes narrowing at the man. She could see the difference in his demeanor right away as she caught his eye. She didn't miss the look of unease that was etched across Fudge's face. From the way he shuffled uncomfortably in his seat to the way he was currently looking at her. A glint in his eyes that she knew well from her earlier years in the orphanage.

Fear.

Was he scared of her?

"Well, Kirsten… it's quite complicated and I feel as if it is not the right time to explain, –"

"Complicated? This is all sounding a bit too dodgy for my liking," Kirsten interrupted him. She was getting tired of Fudge's secrecy and it was annoying her. "Forget I asked."

Relief replaced the anxious expression that was on Fudge's face.

She was going to find out sooner or later. Whether the old man told her or not.

"So, when I was missing wouldn't you still have found me because of the Trace?" she asked and the minister sighed at her question.

"Yes, we would have immediately tracked you down if you were to perform any magic which you most likely have at some point," he replied. "I will have to stop by the ministry to go and check on the department first thing tonight."

"But what if I'm not her? I wouldn't be registered then would I? And if I am, how could you have found me either way?"

"No matter where you would be located in Britain, we would be able to detect your magic. It would have been difficult to find you but eventually you would have been found," he said in a matter of fact tone. "And you most likely are the Kirsten that has been missing. I'm certain. We've been trying to look for you for years."

"If you were ever looking," Kirsten muttered.

"As a matter of fact, young lady, we were looking everywhere for you," he said, raising his voice slightly while his face turned a bit pink. "Dumbledore was part of the search himself, but after several years with no results, we assumed you had died."

Kirsten's brow furrowed in confusion at the Minister's words.

"Who's Dumbledore?"

Fudge shot her a look of disbelief her way before he shook his head and a small smile appeared on his face.

"I'm sorry. I forget that you are new to this," he apologized, clearing his throat. "Albus Dumbledore is the Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Speaking of which, I should notify him immediately. Excuse me."

Hogwarts. Padfoot had asked her if she received a letter from Hogwarts... So Hogwarts was a school...

Dammit. She hated the fact that the Knight Bus came at the time it did. The gaunt looking man was actually telling her the truth.

And his reaction to her name.

He knew something about her and he claimed he wasn't going to hurt her...

She watched as Fudge pulled out his wand once again and with a flick, a thick piece of paper, an envelope, a feather, and jar of some black liquid appeared. Kirsten tried to take a closer look at what he was writing but before she could see a thing, he folded it and placed the thick paper into the envelope. The man walked toward the fireplace, and, after grabbing a handful of some sort of powder, he threw it in there.

"Dumbledore's office!" Fudge said. Her eyes widened as the flames became an emerald green color and he threw the piece of paper into the fire.

"Floo powder," he said, catching the look of shock on her face. "Much quicker to send the message along than an owl can for this case."

Owl? Did she hear him right?

"What exactly happened to you?" Fudge asked, gesturing towards her face. With the numerous things running through her head, Kirsten forgot that her eye was possibly black by now, and scabs probably formed over the shallow cuts on her face. She softly prodded at the large cut that was on her cheek and felt it scabbed over.

"Got into a bit of a fight," she said, shrugging her shoulders, "with this girl back at Blake. It's honestly nothing."

The Minister of Magic nodded his head and pulled out his pocket watch, glancing her way before putting it back.

"Well, Kirsten, Tom has prepared a room for you. Any questions that you have, I trust Tom can answer. I'll have him give you ointment for those injuries. I'd rather not take you to the Ministry because that would, well…start an uproar. One thing I must ask of you is to not go out to Muggle London."

Now, he was ordering her to stay put?

"What if I need to buy some clothes and other stuff?"

"Then, a man named Dawlish will come by and escort you to Muggle London if needed," he replied, smiling at the girl as he pulled on his cloak. The smile didn't reach his eyes. "I'm glad that you are alive and we know that you're safe...however, there is a lot of work to be done now that you're found. Good night, Kirsten."

And with that, Fudge disappeared beyond the door where she heard him muttering with whom she assumed was Tom.

Her presence would start an uproar at the Ministry if she were to go there? The man didn't know how teenagers worked obviously. How could she not want to go there now? Maybe she'll have to trick this Dawlish character into taking her there and she'll finally get some answers.

Several seconds passed until the man named Tom entered the room. The balding brown haired man gave her a smile and she returned the kind gesture with a small grin of her own.

"Hello, Mister…" she trailed off, realizing that she didn't know what to call him.

"You can just call me Tom, Miss Carlisle."

"Then you can call me Kirsten."

Nodding his head to the small agreement, he guided Kirsten out of the small private parlor and up a handsome wooden staircase. They both walked down a hallway until Tom stopped in front of a door with a brass number twelve on it which he unlocked and swung the door open for her.

"I suppose you're hungry so I'll bring you some food in a moment and something for your injuries. If you want to clean up, the bathroom is the other door inside," he informed the young witch, heading down the hallway and down the stairs.

At the mention of food, Kirsten's stomach growled but her stomach didn't matter to her at the moment as she walked in the room. Her eyes marveled in fascination at the highly polished oak furniture and the welcoming fire crackling in the fireplace. Grey eyes landed on the large four poster bed and a rush of excitement ran through her mind.

Kirsten walked closer to her bed to get a better look at the inviting sheets, and almost climbed onto the bed until she remembered that she needed to shower. Turning her head around, she spotted another door Tom mentioned that led to the bathroom. Entering the spacious bathroom, she glanced at the mirror to see her reflection stare back.

"Okay," Kirsten said slowly, pulling off the hairband and running a hand through her hair to only have it caught in a knot. "Dirty is an understatement."

Pulling her hand out of her black knotted hair, Kirsten noticed that all the necessities she needed were in the bathroom and dropped her bag on the floor. In around ten minutes, she exited the bathroom dressed in the sweatpants and shirt that she packed in her bag.

The knock on the door startled her a bit and she walked towards the door. Opening the door, she saw a large tray of food and drink floating in mid air in front of Tom. Kirsten's lips turned upwards as the tray floated passed her and settled on top of the bedside table. A prickling sensation on the back of her neck made her aware of a pair of eyes on her. She glanced back to see an amused look on the landlord's face.

"Will I be able to do that?" she asked him.

"Of course," he replied, handing her a small jar. "Just apply this to those injuries and those should clear up in a day or so."

"Thanks, Tom" she said, smiling.

"If there's anything more that you'll need, don't hesitate to come downstairs and ask. You can leave your tray outside of your door when you're finished. Goodnight, Kirsten."

"Night, Tom," she said, closing the door. Kirsten headed towards the nightstand and picked up the jar and a cotton swab. She was about to apply it in front of a mirror settled over a dresser, but went into the bathroom instead. Kirsten looked at herself in the mirror, thankful she was able to take a shower. Pulling her long black curly hair into a ponytail, she was able to apply the ointment to the black eye and the cut on her cheek. She sighed in relief at the cool sensation on her injuries. It was already feeling considerably better. She smiled at her reflection, looking at the way her grey eyes narrowed. Kirsten couldn't wait to see how fast her bruised skin around her eye would turn back to its natural shade of brown with the help of the ointment.

Kirsten had never felt more content.

Exiting the bathroom, Kirsten ran and jumped onto the bed; laughing as she landed on it. She pulled back the covers and grabbed the tray of food and placed it on the bed. Carefully, she got under the covers and brought the tray closer. Taking a sip of the liquid in the cup, the young witch frowned slightly at the strange but tasty flavor.

It wasn't bad…just taste she'd have to get used to.

Thoughts of Kirsten's entire day whirled in around her mind as she ate her meal. From the moment Victoria was magically thrown back to the wall behind her to when the Minister of Magic left her for the evening.

It all seemed so surreal but right. As if things in her life were somewhat falling into place.

Finishing her meal, Kirsten got out of the bed and set the tray on the bedside table before grabbing her bag. She made sure that the switchblade was secured along with the other items but something else caught her eye. Pulling it out, she recognized the folded paper to be the newspaper that she grabbed from Alec on the way out of the pub.

BLACK IS STILL ON THE LOOSE AND DANGEROUS

She curiously read the header over again, remembering what DuPont said last month. Black was the man who escaped from a high security prison up north, as if it wasn't unnerving to know the madman was armed too. Unfolding the paper, Kirsten's eyes narrowed in confusion as she looked at the picture of the man.

Black hair framed a familiar gaunt face, his light colored eyes staring right at her.

"You've got to be shitting me —" she stopped, breathing in deeply.

It was Padfoot.