Hello! I'm so exited, I didn't plan on uploading a chapter today but well, inspiration hit. I also want to thank
the people who have decided this story was interesting enough to follow and I want to defiantly thank the
people who left comments! I love reading them :) Anywho, on to the story! ~I don't own Harry Potter or any
other book characters I might mention~ ENJOY!
Chapter 2 : The Orphanage
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The drive toward the orphanage was a quiet one, my partner was silent and the kid was sleeping. Looking over I saw Rick holding the little one with a solemn air; he was a jolly man with a round, childish face that held plenty of laugh lines.
At the moment he didn't seem all that jolly, his laugh lines looked more like marks of age and a stern frown graced his lips; it made him look older than he really was.
Rick was the embodiment of disappointment, which is understandable. Being a cop isn't as glamorous as people make it out to be, but getting a call about someone finding a baby in a dumpster is a new low.
Most calls are about robbery and petty theft; maybe a missing person's report every now and then, but never have I been called in about finding a baby in the dumpster outside somebody's apartment complex.
And it is a baby, it can't be older than 6 months old with small wisps of black hair to prove its youth. The poor thing is too thin, showing its lack of care and nourishment since being born. Sharp features jut out on olive skin that has no glow, short little limbs stretched over bones with too little fat.
What was worse was that the little one probably wouldn't get that much better; the orphanages in London are all packed with too many children and not enough staff. Knowing how the poor thing will be treated without love and care was heartbreaking. Thrown away like trash and now being sent to a place with little love, if any. It was a sad sight.
"Shh. Its OK sweetheart, you're OK."
The kid was waking up.
Then its eyes opened, and things just got worse.
The tyke's big doe eyes ate up half its face, resulting in a poster child of what starvation looks like on the innocent. The grey and silver pigments that gazed at you with a knowing look was almost like being judged; an accusation for not taking care of a life so young.
It was a haunting image, beautiful, but horrid; the kid was adorable despite its unhealthy state and it wasn't fair.
It made me want to take it home; give it some food and a good rest, but I can't. I'm a cop. I have to be professional and what would I do with a kid anyway? I'm a single man with no time to take care of any children, but looking over made me wish, just for a second, that I could.
"Shh. You're Ok, everything's going to be fine."
Growing up in Anderson's Orphanage was an eye opener.
When the two cops dropped me off (not without much fussing and watery goodbyes) I expected the mass of children; hell, I even expected the low maintenance and possible neglect.
It was worse, so much worse because I wasn't imagining how it would be, I was living it.
Maggie (a sweet, if misguided and ditsy helper) settled me down in a room filled with other babies. Not all the cribs were filled; there was probably only 2 other children around my age (physically) in the room.
The cribs occupied had sheets and small threadbare blankets. It was itchy, it was annoying, but worst of all it was boring. In my past life (because I'm pretty sure I was reincarnated) I always wished to sleep my days away, now that I have that opportunity it was awful.
I couldn't move, I had no independence, I was stuck in a room with babies that would not. stop. crying.
I was going insane.
The only interaction I had was with Maggie; this consisted of being fed and changed. Sometimes an older woman came and took care of us; she had a pointy face, all sharp edges and lines. She wasn't very nice, always seemed to be muttering under her breath about misbehavior and rotten kids. Suffice to say, I preferred Maggie and her humming.
It took a while (a few weeks maybe, it's hard to keep track of time when you constantly take naps) but eventually I could move my body sufficiently. I wasn't to the point of walking or anything but I could go into a tripod stance; my legs pointed outward and my hands holding up my center of gravity. I could even move my head from side to side which I counted as a huge improvement.
Over time I got used to the nursery; with its peeling floral wall paper and bare appearance. The only issue I continued to have was that it was windowless.
Usually that wouldn't be a problem; I would just go outside for my daily dose of fresh air and avoid the room until I needed to sleep, but I was a baby and Maggie was too busy to take me outside.
I was basically living in a box. It was extremely frustrating.
I woke up in this body in a metal box, now I'm trapped in a room-box with annoying neighbors that don't know the meaning of peace and quiet.
I have a plan though. I know what mentality these people hold; the sooner I can take care of myself the happier my jailers will be and independence will be mine. All I need to do is show them that I'm ready to take that step from confined baby to exploring toddler.
Trying to climb out of my cage (crib) is harder than it looks. I've gotten to the stage of being able to stand up by holding on to the bars but anything beyond that is almost impossible. I don't have the balance yet to try and stand on my own nor do I have the strength to lift myself over the railing.
Maggie had come in once and seen me standing, but all she did was coo and mention how smart I was. No help there. If I want my freedom I need to show that I can escape my cage (crib) without assistance, showing Maggie that I'm too old for a crib and that it does absolutely nothing to keep me here.
Looking up at the railing is discouraging but I'm not giving up, narrowing my eyes I get to work.
After getting used to standing with only one arm supporting my body I reach up to the railing and try to get a grip. The old wood is chipped but smooth due to being weathered down over the years; which makes for a safe and easy grip for my baby hands.
Pulling my body up is the part that's killing me. I can barely support my body weight with only one hand, lifting my body weight over the railing is extremely improbable.
Frustrated and in dire need of a change in scenery I feel on the verge of crying (a first in this new body). It wasn't a simple want any more, a desire to have independence, but a NEED. I needed to get out of this crib, I couldn't take it anymore, I wanted OUT!
*POP*
Disoriented I laid on my back in a daze; the ceiling was the same cracked, off white that I've been looking at for who knows how long.
There was a difference though, it was farther away.
Moving my arms side to side I realized that the substance beneath my body was coarse and itchy but in a different way compared to my blanket.
Blinking and moving slowly I turned my head to the left.
My crib.
I was looking at my crib not from the inside, but from the outside. I looked at the wooden legs and the ratty tan carpet that rubbed up underneath me. I did it!
A sense of victory flooded my mind, wobbling up into a tripod stance I let out a few happy gurgles. I did it! I finally got out!
Wiggling in happiness I looked around my self; same stupid wallpaper, but now I had the option of touching it, of examining it as close or as far away as I pleased. I could move, learn how to stand on my own, and walk. My freedom was so close I could taste it!
Then it hit me, slowly, like molasses dripping; how the hell did I escape?!
Looking up at the raining of my crib (which was different and exiting) I realized I couldn't have fallen over, I couldn't even lift myself high enough to fall over.
So how the hell did I get down here?
It took me a while to figure out; in my old life I wouldn't have even allowed this to be a possible thought but that was my old life. I'm a reincarnated soul (maybe) so anything is possible.
I didn't fall, I know that. I didn't jump because I would have remembered the experience (and impact). I didn't levitate myself down because that would be to slow and again, I would have remembered. What happened was instantaneous; it left me dizzy with vertigo.
If Sherlock Holmes taught me anything it was that, "Once you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth", so after using my deduction skills I came up with this.
I fuckin Teleported.
Think about it, one second I was in the crib, the next on the floor. That has to be the answer; I have superpowers! This opens so many new doors, I could do anything!
In my little revelation I didn't realize that the door was opening until it was too late. It wasn't Maggie.
"What are you doing out of your crib?!"
Snapping my head up (ouch!) I saw Pointy face looking, well, super pointy. She had a look of shock which was slowly morphing into anger; red blotchy spots appeared on her old wrinkly skin. Her mouth opened revealing nasty yellow and brown teeth; then she screeched.
"Maggie, you worthless peace of shit, get your boney ass up here this minute!"
That's when the babies started crying.
It didn't quiet down for hours. Between Pointy face's (apparently her name is Mrs. Donahew) screeching and the babies crying, it was like listening to a chorus of deaf people. After 20 mins of this torcher I wished I was deaf (but not really because my last wish came true and I don't really want to be deaf; that would complicate things more than it already is).
Mrs. Donahew thought Maggie let me out of my cage (crib); which apparently she's not allowed to do (this explained so much). This resulted in Maggie pleading her innocence and Mrs. Donahew trying to make her confess her sins or something; it was hard to pay attention with the migraine building due to the constant crying thanks to my neighbors (I was back in the crib).
Then another woman showed up; she was plump with veiny hands and a raspy voice that belonged to a chain smoker (she was).
This was Mrs. Anderson, she owned the orphanage. I'm guessing it's been passed down in her family considering it's called the Anderson Orphanage.
Mrs. Anderson broke up the one sided yelling match and proceeded to berate both of the women before her. Maggie more so because she left the other children under the watch of someone named McDougal who is incompetent when it comes to keeping a 'firm' handle on the children. Then Mrs. Donahew was hissed at (I don't think Mrs. Anderson could yell even if she wanted to) for causing such a scene and not just taking care of the situation herself.
After that smack down Mrs. Anderson left in a huff, commenting on incompetent staff, Mrs. Donahew also left, presumably to look after the children with McDougal, and then there was Maggie.
I felt somewhat bad for her; left standing at the open door with teary eyes and a handful of crying babies. Not to mention she got in trouble for my escape (but I'm not really sorry, I learned that I could teleport). So with teary eyes and a downcast slump to her shoulders, Maggie set about calming the crying babies down.
She sung her songs in a depressed tone and rocked the babies with little enthusiasm, her head hung low the entire time. Truthfully she looked utterly pathetic; letting the other caretakers' boss her around like that is her own fault, she should stand up for herself.
When she was done calming down the other babies she slumped over to my crib. Looking down, she met my eyes.
She wasn't a horribly ugly woman, not like Mrs. Donahew. Maggie had an oval shaped face with pale, almost unhealthy translucent skin. Her eyes were a light, milk chocolaty brown and her hair matched in a tangle of curls held back in a bun. She couldn't be older than 25.
Then she started to cry. Great big ugly tears, the kind that leaves you feeling horrible with red eyes and a stuffy nose; she leaned against my crib, her hands supported on the railing.
Then I felt bad. I still don't regret what I did, I want to be free, but I didn't mean to make the one person I can tolerate in this hellhole cry.
She still looked pathetic, like a bug attempting to climb up a drain while it was raining. I didn't like her, I didn't owe her anything, but I also didn't dislike her and in this place that's good enough.
Standing with the help of the bars I looked up into her teary face. Then I reached up with one hand until I grabbed hers on the railing and gurgled.
Her eyes snapped open; shock was predominating in her expression and her crying lapsed into a hiccup fit. Throughout the entire thing I continued to hold on to her knuckles and made little noises in the back of my throat.
Slowly she stopped and stared into my eyes; her brown met my grey as she reached down and picked me up. Her hold was soft and secure, our eyes never broke contact.
She still looked upset, eyes a red puffy mess and soft aborted hiccups kept escaping her mouth.
Time to bring out the big guns; so I smiled and made an aborted little giggle, my hands clasped on to her shirt and I made my eyes go as wide as I could make them.
She smiled back.
Mission accomplished.
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Yay! Second chapters done, hopefully the next one wont take too long.
Please leave a comment, a simple "good job" goes a long way :)
Until next time, Bye~