Danielle Greene placed her coffee mug on the table and held her tired face in her hands.
"I can't believe I didn't see it before," she whispered to herself, rubbing her dry eyes. "I'm an absolute twat!"
Three dirty, damaged photographs stared back at her from the scratched kitchen table, the evidence of the catalyst that had started Danielle's stressful twenty-four hour shift. She wasn't supposed to be at Coles for a couple of days but a frantic phone call from her boss Sandra had ended all prospects of a relaxing day-off full of cheesy rom-coms, red wine, and an Indian takeaway. The moment she heard Sandra's wails through her phone's speaker she knew something bad had happened and that Jane was involved.
Jane.
Danielle could not stop thinking about poor Jane. Her attachment to the girl started on her very first day at the orphanage and it never went away. Danielle had been so optimistic about working with the children at the home, so enthusiastic about making a difference in their lives and to aid in reforms within the social care system — she didn't even think for a second to question whether her, no, her parent's world would make an appearance. Maybe that was why she was so taken to the small girl in the back, the one who spoke to no one and kept to herself.
Has it been magic all along? She wasn't oblivious to the rumours that spread among the kids whenever Jane walked in the room, she had seen the school detention reports that had been sent to Coles. Jane wasn't like the other children and it seemed as though she couldn't hide it anymore.
"I'm so dumb," Danielle insulted herself and gradually braved a peek through her fingers to analyse the now obvious facts.
The first photo was hard to decipher at first because its shiny film had grown grainy and cratered, as though someone had lit a match underneath it. The image was very blurry but she could just about make out a bird's eye perspective of Poor Man's Point, a feat that no Muggle could achieve with a cheap camera. Danielle found this photo washing against the shore near the cliff's coves.
The second photo was what gave her the initial thought of magical intervention. The salt from the sea had dried the film out and wrinkled the picture but it was still pretty obvious what she was looking at. Two hands the size of giants made from black water had four teenage girls clenched in its fists, each girl shrieking soundlessly up at her in horror. She thought she had hallucinated the polaroid at first when she found it at the cliff's grassy peak; she had only ever seen photographs like these in her mum's old school textbooks.
But the third picture, to Danielle's dismay, was too difficult to make out. The whole photo was black, as though someone had turned the brightness all the way down to hide something. She picked it up, holding it in between two manicured black nails, and studied it closer. Still nothing, not even a speck of dust. This one mystified her the most as she had found it an hour ago in Jane's coat pocket.
Jane.
Danielle's cheeks cramped as she frowned at the thought of the girl sleeping alone in that dreadful hospital bed, miles away from her bed in the smallest room at the back of the home. It was almost comical how apparent it was that the others didn't care for the girl, they shoved her out of the way and into the shadows where no one would take any notice of her. "At least you get a great view of the moon in here," she once told Jane in an attempt to make light of her dingy room when she first met her, "and I think I could convince Sandra to let you paint the walls."
She found it hard not to favour the girl.
Thinking of what baked goods she would get Jane in the morning, Danielle screwed her face up as the cold coffee touched her lips and she got up to refill the kettle. She glanced out of the kitchen window into the bleak darkness and saw her reflection glare back. She looked exhausted with her dark natural hair carelessly shoved into a knot on her head and her vivid purple cardigan sagging off her shoulders. She still had on her pyjamas from the night before, a crumpled black and white polka dot set. Sand and mud was smeared all over her trousers from her nightmare of an adventure and she made a mental note to have a shower before bed.
As the kettle's steam began pouring out the spout, a single chiming bell echoed through the long crooked hallway beyond the kitchen's double arch, scaring Danielle half to death and she swore as she sloshed hot water onto her slippers. Her heart began to race as she wondered whether she really had heard the doorbell chime or she was just sleep-deprived. Deciding it was best she checked regardless, she headed to the front door, fresh coffee in her hands.
The lack of light beyond the small foyer caught Danielle's attention first and she slowed her soft steps. The street light past their porch wasn't due to turn off until one o'clock… but her mind ran wild with crazy theories, each one more exciting than the next. She knew her visitor was out of the ordinary, she could feel it in her bones.
The front door clicked as she swung it open to reveal her guest, and Danielle instantly recognised the man that stood before her. Her parents had described him perfectly, from his shining silvery hair to the brightness of his eyes, and even noting the small dangling tassels that hung from his sleeves. It was as though a character from a childhood fairytale had come to life, she begged her dad to retell the famous wizard's stories before bed when she was a child and the mild embarrassment heated her cheeks. Graciously, the visitor bowed his head and offered her a warm, welcoming smile.
"I'm terribly sorry for visiting so late but it appears that something rather peculiar has happened, Miss Greene," he proclaimed and Danielle simply stared at him.
"Are you Professor Dumbledore?" She spluttered, unable to contain herself, and the old man smiled wider.
"It appears my reputation precedes me. Apologies Danielle, I really should have sent a message ahead as it is rude to visit at such a late hour unannounced, you must be exhausted," Albus Dumbledore confessed, and Danielle invited him into the home without a second thought. He looked so out of place in the foyer but she didn't have time to ponder about aesthetics. A world-renowned wizard had just turned up out of the blue! How on earth did he know who she was? What was going on?
She thought of the pictures lying on the kitchen table and a slow flickering bulb switched on in her head.
"No worries Professor," Danielle assured him and she gestured to her coffee cup, "I've still got another hour or so in me yet. What can I do for you?"
This seemed to satisfy Dumbledore and he gestured for her to lead the way. "If I may be so rude as to join you for some coffee, we need to sit down for what we're about to discuss."
Danielle's stomach fluttered excitedly. She was right! "Not at all! Follow me."
It was truly bizarre for Danielle to see Professor Dumbledore in the crammed, mismatched kitchen of Coles, and she noticed how low he had to bend to accommodate his satin cap. She never thought she would see her heritage and her job mix together. She was terrified by the thought of her Muggle co-workers finding out she had a witch and a wizard for parents, but she found Dumbledore's presence rather fitting after the day she had.
She had so many questions form in the back of her mind, she knew of his accomplishments and wanted to pick his brain with ideas ranging from absent social care legislations to the reasons why wizards refuse to use pencils and pens. The polite professor busied himself with the messy children's drawings on the walls whilst Danielle prepared him a hot mug of coffee and urged the starstruck little girl inside of her not to freak out.
"It's been a few years since my last visit to Dorset," began Dumbledore as he thanked her for the beverage. "The coast always has such an appealing smell, I've found that sea salt is rather refreshing for the soul."
Danielle smirked into her drink. "Not very refreshing when it gets in your hair," she countered playfully, running a hand through her frizzy locks. "But nothing beats waking up every day to the sound of the sea, I'll give you that."
"Very delightful," he agreed, and gestured to the table between them, "if I may, I want to get right to the reason I've dropped by so late." The pair took a seat and Danielle watched, amazed, as the professor reached into his silk robes and pulled out a pair of scaly black gloves. Danielle gasped and leant closer.
"That's dragonhide," she blurted out, and Dumbledore's wispy eyebrows rose, impressed.
"Indeed. These gloves haven't been worn in centuries but I have been granted special permission by Hogwarts to use them from midnight until dawn — an exclusive honour that we will not abuse hence my hurry."
Dumbledore's now gloved hand dove back into his pockets and he produced a thick, dusty leather tome and gently placed it in between their mugs. Particles jumped into the air and danced before Danielle, but she stayed silent and watched Dumbledore find a particularly embellished parchment page.
"Do you know what this book is?" wondered Dumbledore, glancing over his glasses to meet her gaze. Danielle almost got lost in his shining eyes and wondered how many others fell prey to his powerful gaze.
"Sorry, not a clue," she answered honestly, feeling very much like a Squib. Her cheeks flushed but she tried not to betray her shame. Dumbledore offered her a kind smile as he found his page. The black dragonhide book thumped once more against the table as he spun it around for Danielle to read.
"This is the Book of Admittance, a book created by the founders of Hogwarts School where, as you know, I am headmaster. Every year the quill that guards it will write down the names of the children of Great Britain who have been born into magic," he explained as Danielle gazed into its pages, admiring the beautifully scarring ink curling across the aged parchment. She noticed the years written at the top.
"This is a sacred artefact, it is indescribably essential to our world as it allows us to find and train every generation of wizards in order to continue our way of life. Your family's names are written on these pages. The book and the quill are never wrong," he reiterated, seriousness dripping from every word. Danielle took in his words and scanned the page when she noticed something that didn't quite fit in.
At the top in cursive black scribbles read 1979-1980 with a neat list of names set out below. She began to scan the list when she noticed only one of the names had an extra tag - 'deceased'. Danielle rubbed her chin and frowned.
"Do the names stay in the book if a student passes away before reaching Hogwarts?" she asked quietly and Dumbledore shook his head.
"The names of the children that don't make it to eleven are removed by the book," he said matter-of-factly. "This is my predicament."
He looked on the edge of mourning and befuddlement, an expression Danielle would never associate with the grand headmaster. She let out a deep breath and glanced down at the name of the student who seemed to be both dead and alive.
Lyra Adelaide Black.
Danielle's jaw dropped. She remembered her parents talking about the Black murders on that historic Halloween night.
She had grown up hearing whispers about the torment her family had experienced within the magical community, the Wizarding War that tore the world apart, but it was something she had distanced herself from since she started secondary school. Being the Squib of the family was more difficult than Danielle would admit, and she tried to block all of the culture and news out once puberty hit — but this broke through. The wizarding paper her father worked for had a week straight of unbelievable new stories that turned her family's world upside down and she remembered the scandalous headlines that followed the fall of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.
Dumbledore detected her familiarity and sat up in his chair, his elbows leant on the table. "So you understand my confusion."
Danielle bent closer to the book and the name 'Harry James Potter' stared back at her, a heavier shot of nerves shivering through her body. She felt as though she was staring at a piece of history, something way beyond her quiet, little life in Weymouth and she tried to process it before the headmaster spoke again.
"Incidents like these are reported to the Ministry of Magic, so rare and complicated as they are, but to my surprise when I arrived at the Magical Law Enforcement Department to meet the lovely Amelia Bones I was made aware of a situation that occurred here yesterday evening — eight o'clock to be precise. I heard of four teenage girls and a younger girl being involved in some very strong, very serious magic."
Danielle's stomach dropped and her knees knocked beneath the table. She looked over at the three polaroids shoved away to the side, and she nodded towards them. Dumbledore's azure stare flicked to them, silently asking to see them, and Danielle delicately laid them out beside the historical artefact.
"I found two of these at the beach and on the cliff this morning," she told him, eyes glued to the three small photographs. "I don't think the police or passerbys noticed them, but I don't think they would have shown themselves to Muggles."
She pointed a glossy nail at the blank one and let out a soft sigh.
"This one was on the victim," she muttered, and Dumbledore's expression fell, coming to his own conclusions.
"The girls," he continued to prod for information softly, "where were they found?"
Danielle took a long sip of coffee and began to recount the harsh reality that had been her day.
Once Sandra called her in hysterics, Danielle found herself jumping into her rusty Ford Fiesta and racing down to the Weymouth South Coastguard Centre at the town's beachfront where police cars and ambulances flashed wildly into the night sky and out to sea. Apparently two dog walkers heard a group of girls screaming at the feet of Poor Man's Point and they rushed to call the police, fearing the worst. After a few hours of searching men and women dressed for the cold waters found four teenage girls hollering and screeching stranded in a small cove a mile down. They were in fits of paranoia, hallucinating giants made from water and hooded figures in the sea trying to drag them under with their bony hands but the girls were escorted to the nearest hospital by officers and Sandra had Rachel safely back under her wing. Danielle was told that the girls never mentioned a fifth person but something didn't sit right within her. She just knew Jane had been at Poor Man's Point this evening and how terrified the poor girl was of the sea, she knew Rachel despised Jane and she would never give up the chance to terrorise her.
Dumbledore's face twisted in reaction while she retold her tale, completely enthralled, and Danielle felt proud to hold his attention.
She continued to explain that she started her independent search for Jane and she found her shattered skateboard scattered around the rock beds. Her backpack full of her ruined possessions was found in one of the cave's mouths, the polaroids, and Jane's instant camera laid broken atop the cliff. She spent a few more hours trekking through dunes and driving along the coast alone in her car, terrified for Jane's life, but she never gave up her search. She just knew Jane was still alive.
It was exhausting and temperatures plummeted when morning tried to break through the perpetual storm. She ached all over and her wellies were ruined but she finally found Jane washed up almost five miles from the Point. She looked so small and unimportant curled up against the foaming sea shore, sand and mud staining her sodden coat. Thick, black hair smothered her bloodied freckled face, like slimy seaweed choking her fair face of air. Her skin was bruising and turning a vague blue, her nose was broken, but Danielle yelped when she noticed her shivering — she was still alive.
Without a second thought, she scooped up the girl and hugged her tightly, picking her up with extreme care in case anything was broken, and rushed to lay her on the untidy backseat of her car. Fast forward a few hours later and Danielle was in an empty hospital waiting room dying to hear of Jane's condition, the idea of sleep far from her mind. She had let the home know what had happened but no one else came to check on the injured girl, no one else cared.
"Eventually one of the nurses told me to go home and rest, and now here we are. It's been an almighty stressful day Professor, I won't lie to you…" she finished, tracing her mug's swirling patterns instead of glancing up at the man before her. Tears welled in her eyes as she thought of Jane lying in the hospital bed, fighting for her life.
"Please, call me Albus," he told her, continuing to inspect the evidence before him. He was speechless, stunned into silence as his mind ran with the whole story, it was going so fast he almost couldn't keep up. "Danielle, you've handled all of this remarkably professionally, not many people would have done that and you should be very proud of yourself. Thanks to you, that young girl is alive and well."
The warmth of honour ignited her smile and she soaked in his praise. She never received any recognition from her colleagues when she sorted out a deeply sensitive matter before so this felt more than satisfying. Danielle pressed on, she wasn't done yet.
"What makes you think that Jane is the girl you're looking for?" she asked, and Dumbledore took his own dramatically long sip of coffee.
"You see, I'm not one hundred percent sure myself. When I turned up to Amelia Bone's office I had hoped to ask her whether she had any records of misuse of underage magic or anything that stood out as unusual in recent years, but that was when she revealed to me her needing an emergency squad of Obliviators to attend a matter here in Weymouth. An incident involving a young girl called Jane Cole. If anything it was a mere coincidence… but, like you, I had a feeling," he explained and he pulled out a long, emblazoned wand from his sleeve, lightly tapped it on the blank picture. It wiggled and light spread like watercolour paints through the blackness.
They both peered down at the photograph and saw what looked like two shadowy figures dancing beneath the ocean's surface. As the picture adjusted only one of the bodies became clearer — Danielle could have sworn it looked as though a dark, wispy shadow was holding Jane in its arms (were they arms? Some sort of limbs?). She let out a low whistle.
"Does that mean anything to you? That's got to be magic," her dulcet Welsh accent got stronger the more exhausted she was but she pushed through to make herself coherent, "there are rumours from the other kids that she can do very strange things."
Dumbledore pressed the tips of his fingers together and lingered on her words. In theory it all added up, but it was an intricate riddle, growing more complicated the longer he thought about it.
"Danielle, I want to be perfectly honest with you as you have been with me. I am known for my mind and all the wonder it has given me but I am clueless on this particular tale. What you've told and shown me here tonight is very powerful magic, something that I have yet to uncover for myself no matter how hard I've tried in the past. It is extraordinary that Jane managed to survive. I don't know whether the girl did this herself or if something dark intervened, but what disturbs me most is that before tonight both myself, on Hogwarts' behalf, and the British Ministry had no idea of Jane's existence. Her name is not in that book and there are no records anywhere of her birth nor any family relation. However, I do know that Muggles have a set of names they traditionally give persons found with no identity. I assume Jane isn't her birth name. Am I correct?"
Danielle nodded, eager to help.
"Spot on. Jane Doe is the common term and they stuck Cole on the end instead, adding in their own tradition. Ironic really, she is the most creative child," she sighed, instinctively looking around the room for any of her paintings. Her heart panged when she realised there weren't any.
Albus nodded and seemed to physically relax, his posture moulding into the chair.
"This certainly is a start into unravelling this mystery. The Ministry were keen to pay you a visit themselves but I thought it best that I offer my services as the headmaster of the school. The Magical Law Enforcement department can be rather abrupt with serious situations, you wouldn't have appreciated it after the day you've had," he explained with a smile, and Danielle thanked him with a laugh.
"No black woman wants to see police turning up at their door in the middle of the night, magical or Muggle," she remarked, "it's appreciated. So, there's a chance that Jane might be this Lyra Black? I thought she was killed?"
"Apparently not," he countered, his eyes dimmer than before. "Lyra Black's body was never recovered, she was assumed dead after twenty-four hours of being reported missing and her father was convicted regardless. Her grandfather was the one who dealt with the sentences and was quick to pronounce her dead. By coincidence, that was the last time I visited these parts."
Danielle blinked hard. "They lived nearby?"
"No, quite a few miles west of this port," he corrected, but his white eyebrows rose at her exclaim. "It is possible but I cannot imagine a two-year-old could travel that far on their own. How old was she when she came here?"
Danielle felt as though Christmas had come early. "The hospital confirmed she was two years old."
"And where was she found?"
"A farmer found her in a ditch over the hill at the crack of dawn, heard her cries a mile away — and it was early November, I've forgotten the exact date," she added before Albus could ask.
Albus Dumbledore let out a peaceful sigh and rubbed his hands together in joy, puzzle pieces sliding with satisfaction into place.
"Wonderful. Most wonderful. We mustn't get our hopes up, of course, but it does explain the book's mistake. I believe if we truly have found Lyra and her death is officially denounced then the book will be right once more. There are multiple ways to confirm her birthright but we will still need to gather as much evidence as we can to get this sorted before the start of term. Denouncing deaths comes with a lot of paperwork and I can only disturb Madam Bones so much before she tells me off."
"Can't we just take Jane to the Ministry and get her tested?" wondered Danielle, not wanting to overcomplicate anything. Surely wizards had some sort of DNA testing?
Albus smoothed his beard and gently took her suggestion, hoping not to offend.
"The process is difficult and it could be traumatising for her, not to mention our new Minister's current obsession with the press — it would be rather nasty for a girl so young." He wanted to protect her as much as possible. "Word will leak and spread fast but she should be told before attending school. Adults can be terrible, but children can be worse."
Danielle snorted in agreement, fully convinced.
"Ok then, what do we need to do first? What evidence do you need? I can get it for you now." She climbed out of her seat, excitement rushing all the way to her toes. The professor began to list off possible items that would contain pieces of the girl's DNA, some strands of hair or a toothbrush, and Danielle crept towards her room at the back of the house.
It was dark and cold inside, moonlight crept through the open window and the ratty curtains swayed. It was an utter mess, clothes were strewn across the floor, scruffy paint brushes shoved into anything that fit, sketches and polaroids pinned to the grey brick walls. It was the epitome of Jane, almost a personification of her soul. Danielle pinched her hairbrush and toothbrush from her desk, and when she turned to go she spotted a used plaster covered in dried blood laying on her chipped dresser. It was disgusting, Daneille knew, but a drop of blood would be perfect.
Returning to the kitchen with her findings, Danielle scavenged through the cabinets and found Albus a clear plastic bag. She knew he wouldn't appreciate having Jane's unhygienic scraps rolling around loose in his pockets, especially next to the Book of Admittance. He seemed rather impressed with her findings and he promised that Jane would receive replacements by the morning.
"If everything comes back and it turns out she is Lyra…" Danielle trailed off, unsure of what to do once he was gone. The familiar sense of anxiety was beginning to return. Albus nodded and gave her his kindest smile yet.
"Then I will certainly write you a letter ahead of my visit, I wouldn't arrive unannounced in the middle of the night again," he promised her with a quick wink, blue eyes sparkling with charm. "It would be best not to mention anything to Jane yet. If, by some divine intervention, we are wrong then I will return and we shall figure out a plan to give Jane some sort of training regardless. I would like to meet her myself, she sounds fascinating." He sounded overly sincere and Danielle couldn't help but trust his word.
After a swift farewell, Danielle watched Albus Dumbledore stroll into the twinkling night, disappearing as suddenly as he appeared. She jolted when she heard the crack of Apparition, enjoying the lingering note in the night air that reminded her of her childhood. Once the locks were triple-checked, Danielle headed up the only set of stairs, creaking as she climbed, and finally retired to the staff quarters to shower off her extraordinary day.
Finally, someone else cared.