11 February 1983
Potter Manor, John O'Groats
Dressed in a crisp blue pleated skirt, a pastel blue blouse of the Girl Guide's uniform she'd bought after joining the local group at Lily's behest, and Harry's invisibility cloak, Jean snuck into the living room of the Dower estate with the intention to use the fireplace hidden there. The very same one that was connected to the Floo Network. Although she was getting better at apparating again, she particularly feel like getting splinched—or hiding it from her caregivers—nor did she trust herself not to accidentally overshoot her landing. Once she was in the city, it would be fine, but going from one end of the isle to the other? Best to use the Floo.
Which was why she was currently trying to sneak into the quiet estate to use their ever-active fireplace. Of course, there were numerous other fireplaces in the manor, proper, but only a select few were connected to the network and Jean didn't particularly want to rase a fuss by trying to find the right one. Why bother when the estate had a perfectly placed one that was so often in use? Besides, with how early she'd risen, there wasn't likely to be anybody about and even if Remus suspected something, he'd just assume it was Sirius coming through the Floo as he was wont to do. At least, that was the hope.
Hair pulled back in a ponytail thanks to a rather poofy scrunchie in a style that was reminiscent of the era, and with a pair of glasses that she'd "borrowed" from one of the Potter men perched upon her nose, Jean spared one final glance over her shoulder. She strained her ears to see if she could hear any signs of movement upstairs, but all that echoed back was the low snores of the big bad wolf. Upon deeming it clear, Jean grabbed a fistful of floo powder from the bucket—sparing a quick moment to doublecheck that her bag was still in her pocket—before she stepped fully into the soot-covered hearth. Standing admist the ash, she quietly despaired over the state of her oxfords as she threw the greenish powder to the ground, and quietly pronounced, "The White Wyvern"
11 February 1983
The White Wyvern, Knockturn Alley
After invisibly stumbling out of the fireplace in The White Wyvern, to the notice of a few curious drunken eyes, Jean coughed up a lungful of smoke as she made her way outside. Flooing was never a clean ordeal; particularly if you took a wrong turn (Harry could attest to that). Slipping through the muggle-side door, she stepped out onto the street without much hassle; most of the patrons too drunk or hungover to take note or particularly care about why the door opened & shut by itself. Much like The Leaky Cauldron, The White Wyvern pub was a divide between the magical and the muggle world; the only real difference being that this one was at the end of Knockturn Alley instead of Diagon Alley, and catered to less than savoury patrons.
Which meant that whomever came looking for her (if they ever did), would likely go to The Leaky Cauldron first, as it was the more popular of the two and because people at The White Wyvern were a little more discreet in their going-ons. This was the place for the backdoor deals and hidden rendezvouses that was safe from wandering eyes of the public. Coming here meant that she wouldn't be bothered by (too many) well-meaning bartenders or curious patrons taking note of such oddities as the door opening & closing by itself, or the floo igniting, but only ashen footsteps marking the floor.
Her hand dove into the depths of her beaded bag as she rooted around for one of the many wands that she'd "collected" over the years. They were, by no means, her wand as they had never really felt right or just downright refused to yield to her ministrations, but she was out of options at this point and Sirius had declared the other day, that he was taking her to get her own wand, in the near future. So she couldn't very well go off and get another one, not when her own had so blatantly broken upon the Potter's floor all those months ago. Soon enough, her fingers clenched around the hilt of a twisted wand that had once belonged to some miscellaneous snatcher, and she quickly exchanged the cloak for a handful of coins, the aforementioned wand and a little rusted wagon full of Girl Guide cookies (if her ruse was to work, then she had to at least look like she was playing the part).
Straightening herself out as she moved over to the edge of the curb, Jean thrust the rowan stick out into the air as she quietly summoned the Knight Bus to her side. It was only a short stint from London to Surrey and though she had a half-baked fuzzy memory of landing on the Dursley's doorstep only a few months prior, it was just that: fuzzy. She wanted to keep all of her limbs in tact, thank you very much. Plus, she didn't particularly feel like landing in the middle of the living room, or worse, right on top of them, in a shower of broken cookie crumbs. And then there was that little niggling idea that Dumbledore likely had the property under his surveillance (when did Mrs Figg move in, again?). So, much like the Floo Network, the Knight Bus would have to do for now.
BANG!
In a flash and a whir, the Knight Bus arrived with a deafening honk! Skittering back from the edge of the curb with wagon handle in hand, Jean threw up one hand to block the beam that shone from the headlamps as a collection of giant wheels screeched to a halt exactly where she had been standing only a few moments ago. Those wheels, she found, belonged to the obnoxiously purple triple-decker which had seemingly appeared out of thin air, with gold lettering splattered over the windshield and up the side of the bus. Across the windshield were the letters naming the bus, whilst up the side it advertised the new Twisted Sisters album release. Quietly, Jean was pleased to note that the Knight Bus had changed little in the time between her time and this one.
Then a conductor—some stout woman garbed in an equally plum uniform—leapt from the bus and began to loudly proclaim unto the night. "Velcome to ze Knight Bus; emergency transport for ze stranded vitch or vizard. Just stick out your vand hand, step aboard and ve can take you anyvere you vanna go" She recited, boredly in an accent that was both thick and indistinguishable. "My name is Vanda Paul and I vill be your conductor for zis evening"
It was strange seeing anyone other than Stanley Shunpike on the doorstep of the Knight Bus and Jean found herself blinking dumbly at the impatient woman for a few moments. "…Hullo" She waved shyly.
"Vell? Are you coming?" She huffed, dropping her professional manner as she eyed the literal child stood on the curb before her with a suspicious eye.
"Ah, yep" Jean nodded as she shuffled closer, wagon tripping over the gravel. One of the towering boxes of cookies were jostled a little at the movement, and nearly tumbled off of the wagon altogether. "I'm coming"
"Name?" The blonde persisted as Jean shuffled closer. This close, the muggleborn took note of the shiny gold name tag on her breast which read: Wanda P.
"Er, Jane Doe" Jean lied, spouting the first thing that came to mind. Internally, she winced and prayed that this witch had no clue as to what a "Jane Doe" actually was. "So, uh" She rushed out, eager to distract the witch with something else. "How much is it to get to Surrey?"
"Eleven sickles for ze standard fare" Wanda promptly replied. "Fourteen for 'ot chocolate and fifteen gets you an 'ot water bottle an' a toothbrush in the colour of your choosing"
"Uh, I'll just take the standard, thanks" Digging out a couple of silver coins from her pocket (the same ones she'd fished out earlier), Jean handed them over to the proffered hand. She received a thin parchment ticket in response.
Then, with a flick of her wand, Jean's wagon floated up the stairs and into the bus with the muggleborn trotting up after. "Zis is our driver, Ernie Prang" Wanda nodded to the elderly man behind the driver's wheel. In all honesty, he looked like Doc Brown's twin brother with untameable white hair and coke bottle glasses perched upon his nose. "Ernie, zis is Jane Doe"
"Hn" Ernie grunted as he nodded a greeting before turning back to the road ahead, leaving Jean & Wanda to make their way further inside. The first floor was occupied by a series of plump armchairs and ottomans, whilst the other two floors were occupied by half a dozen brass bedsteads each. Each of those four-poster bedsteads slid back & forth along the floor and stood bordered by crisp curtained windows. Candles burnt in their brackets intermittently along the wood-panelled walls and illuminated the furniture below. As she passed under the mezzanine for the second floor, Jean could hear the phlegmy snort of an elderly wizard as he coughed heartily and rolled over in his sleep.
"You're in this one" Wanda murmured as she all but shoved the muggleborn down into an armchair towards the back of the bus, right beside the second door.
"Er, thanks" Jean murmured as she tumbled over her own feet before collapsing into the chair.
"You need anyzing, you just ring ze bell" Wanda pointed to the line of shrunken heads that ran along the length of the windows, "And Morty up ze front will let us know" She nodded to the shrunken head at the front of the bus; the one that sat at Ernie's elbow with a tiny conductor's hat on his head.
"Yes ma'am"
"Take 'er away, Ernie" Wanda's voice carried across the bus, easily drowning out the chorus of shrunken heads who still passed the message on anyhow.
"Yeah, take 'er away, Ernie!" Morty sang from the front of the bus. "Better 'old on! She's gonna be a bumpy ride!"
There was another tremendous bang as the engine revved and between this blink & the next, Jean found both herself & her wagon of cookies violently sliding backwards across the floor as the Knight Bus kicked itself into gear. Before she knew it, the vehicle had thrown itself down the road at alarming speeds and it was only thanks to a harried Sticking Charm that she even remained in her assigned seat.
11 February 1983
Queen's Park Playground, Caterham
The Knight Bus trolled through the pastel morning, scattering bushes and wastebaskets, telephone booths and trees aside as it zipped around the other vehicles that occupied the road; uncaring for the direction of the traffic or even if the gap between two double deckers was barely more than an arm's width apart. Street by street, witches and wizards embarked and disembarked from the bus as the morning wore on; those that left looked a little green around the gills and very pleased to go, whilst those who boarded appeared apprehensive and a little resigned. As if they would've of much rather preferred any other form of travel than this particularly violent one. Finally, it was time for Jean's stop.
"Right, zen, Jane" Wanda clapped her hands, "Vereabouts in Surrey?"
"Er, Caterham" Jean replied. The idea was that arriving in the neighbouring town would make sure that she had alibi; she might even actually sell a couple of boxes whilst she was there, who knows? Anything to make sure that her story was airtight, (and it had nothing to do with wanting to wipe that smug smirk off of Tabitha McLaggen's face).
"Oui" Wanda nodded, " 'old tight, zen"
BANG!
And with that the vehicle was, once more, roaring down the A22 motorway like a bat out of hell. Jean sat and watched as the landscape outside the window did their best to squeeze themselves out of the path of the Knight Bus; anything else was either brushed aside or devoured by the monster wheels on which it laid. As the scene outside blurred, so too, did her focus; instead turning inwards to more pressing matters.
Jean still thought that the Dursleys were undeserving of her kindness, but she would be damned if Harry had to end up that godforsaken household should anything happen to James and Lily. But she couldn't face her parents, not right now; not without getting her facts straight. At least this way, she could act as coldly and factually as she wanted to; with zero emotions (other than rage and vindictiveness) to cloud her judgement. It was much easier to detach herself from the Dursleys, afterall, than her own parents. Even if she had only met the Dursleys in this lifetime.
Hopefully, by the time Jean returned to her childhood home, she would have enough of her facilities in working order that she wouldn't immediately start bawling at the sight of them. Also, for this ruse to work, she needed to arrive at a respectable time in the little muggle town instead too-bloody-early in the morning. She held no such qualms for the Dursleys, whose home she planned to break into, and whose family she planned to split apart. So, Surrey first. Then Hampstead.
SCREECH!
Ernie suddenly slammed on the brakes as the Knight Bus abruptly skidded to a halt in front of the heaven-reaching playground set that was Caterham's Queen's Park Playground. "Thanks!" Jean spared a wave as she jumped back down the steps and Wanda helped to haul her little red wagon of cookies after her, taking care not to drop any boxes as she went. "Well, bye then" But the second she stepped off of the bus, she was no longer of any interest to the witch who ignored her as the door slammed shut between them. The last she heard of the Knight Bus was Morty's call to depart, warning the passengers of their bumpy ride and then both the vehicle & the mages inside, were gone as if they had never been there.
11 February 1983
Magnolia Park's Playground, Little Whinging
She had arrived in Caterham—Little Whinging's neighbouring town—without much fanfare. A few moments later she arrived on the outskirts of Little Whinging with even less, though perhaps a few cookie boxes short. Darting over to the tall metallic slide which stood side-by-side with two others of varying sizes in Magnolia Park's playground, she slipped through the fence-lined square and ducked beneath its structure to quickly exchange the invisibility cloak for the wagon.
For this bit, Jean didn't need the cookies, per se, (besides, the cloak wouldn't cover both her and them, anyway) and really the only reason she'd brought them out earlier was so that, if asked, those who saw her would assume that she was doing just as she'd advertised: selling Girl Guide cookies. But for this bit—for what she was about to do—there was no need for such a ruse. With the wagon-load of cookies safely secured back inside her beaded bag, Jean donned the invisibility cloak once more and stepped out from under the safety of the slides. Then, she began to make the hike up to number four, Privet Drive.
Time to kick things into gear.