Jane's bottom lip drooped as she watched the pouring rain through her bedroom window, the pane's cascading waterfalls casting swirling shadow patterns on her speckled face as she dwelled in her boredom. Pain shot through her wrist as she leant on her hand, forgetting about the bandage and the sprain it was protecting and she groaned — she was also bored of being injured.

Summer was coming to an end and Jane had felt as if her last moments of peace before starting secondary school had been snatched from her, as though she hadn't been punished enough. Danielle thought it best she stayed and played indoors while she healed from the incident. Jane protested loudly, pleading to get away from Rachel who would be lurking around, but she couldn't seem to disobey Danielle when she tried her best to entertain her.

"She's out with those girls all the time," Danielle assured Jane one afternoon over a game of chess, "she knows not to come near you, I've added to both of your cases about your relationship so you don't have to worry about her. You're safe as long as you're inside."

Jane let out a huff and took Danielle's last rook with her pawn, adding the chipped piece to the growing pile on the table.

"Well… I don't know whether you've noticed, but I'm sure you have as my eyes have been looking beautiful and not bruised recently, but Rachel hasn't so much as looked in my direction let alone hit me in a couple of weeks," she retorted, gesturing to her bruise-free cheeks. "She's acting like a robot! Maybe she doesn't remember? Has she said anything to you about it? Has she confessed to attempting to murder me yet? Or is she still pretending that she bumped her head and doesn't remember a thing? Come on Danielle, you know I'm desperate here, share the gossip!"

Danielle snorted and observed the girl over the brim of her teacup, admiring her ballsy attitude. Jane tended to keep to herself, she didn't speak to anyone else beside Danielle, meaning that once she started talking it was rather difficult to get her to shut up. The sass, it seemed, came naturally to her and it often got her into serious trouble.

"Funny you should say that actually…" she teased her with a lopsided smile.

Jane blinked, put down her mug of steaming Earl Grey tea, and sat forward expectantly. "I knew it! So?"

"Her story hasn't changed, Jane," she replied with a shrug, "Rachel doesn't remember a thing and neither do her friends. You know with our safe-guarding policy I can't share every detail with you, but if anything I felt you should know about came up then I would have told you. Trust me, there will be consequences to what she's done but these things take time. It's not as straightforward as you think," She felt bad reeling off those keywords, another reminder of her sticky situation, but the ghost of Dumbledore's words gave her the comfort she needed.

She was helping her. The intervention of the Obliviators impairing Rachel's account of the incident didn't help Jane's case whatsoever — and she was the victim. None of the other carers gave a fuck that Jane was telling the truth when she expressed concerns about Rachel trying to kill her, her recounts of her time at Poor Man's Point was met with dismissal that she was telling fibs and a turned up nose.

Jane slumped back in the armchair and groaned, staring out of the misted conservatory windows and out towards next doors overgrown hedges, dark brows furrowed in annoyance.

No police officer visited her in hospital to take a statement as she hadn't been classed as part of the incident. Rachel acted as though Jane were a part of the furniture and her posse denied ever seeing her that day — like it didn't happen. Her frown deepened, concentrating on her recollection, the real story. She couldn't remember all the details but she remembered being thrown off a cliff, she remembered the watery death and the feeling of her lungs collapsing on themselves... Three times now! We live next to the sea and I still can't swim, this is so embarrassing!

She felt as though she was slowly going insane, bit by bit losing her sense of reality. She didn't dream it all, there was actual proof that something happened, but it didn't all add up. Jane had the puzzle pieces in front of her but she couldn't move her hands.

"Your turn," prompted Danielle, and Jane snapped back to the game, unusually quiet. They continued their game in silence for a moment, the rain tapping hard on the glass above them like nails on a typewriter. Danielle could almost hear Jane's brain whirring away, buzzing with thoughts and theories on her summer events. Danielle's heart fluttered against her lungs and she took a subtle calming breath.

She hadn't received a letter from Albus Dumbledore yet and summer was almost over. Danielle knew from her father's stories that the students of Hogwarts left on the first of September and they were warned a few weeks in advance. With this case, Danielle assumed this was a unique situation, the acceptance letter would be late but the hopeful gap would close any day now. August was ending and there wasn't a parchment in sight. Danielle felt her cheeks burn and she shuffled uncomfortably in the squashy, musty recliner.

"Jane?"

"Hm?" Jane glanced up from the worn chequered board, and Danielle took in her innocent grey gaze, her heart now racing.

"Out of interest, have you received any post lately?" She asked nonchalantly, smoothing back her thin brown braids out of her face. Jane chewed her bottom lip in thought for a moment and shook her head.

"I never get post... so no. Why? Should I have gotten something? Is it about school?" Here came the questions.

"Uh, no I just thought that you might have gotten your certificates from primary school through before the new year," she lied as she chewed her cheek, hating herself for bringing it up. It made her very uneasy lying to people, especially to children she worked with. The disappointment she saw on these kids' faces when promises fell through was unbearable, she hating breaking their hearts so a little white lie here or there caused no harm. Jane raised an eyebrow and gave her an odd look, not quite believing her, but dropped the subject regardless and knocked over another one of Danielle's pawns.

"Check."

And now here Jane sat, waiting for the fresh paint in her tatty sketchbook to dry, watching the neverending rain flood the fields. Her boredom was endless and she looked around her room for something to distract herself with.

Her new (technically second-hand) school uniform hung on a hanger off the back of her door, a glowing purple jumper and a vomit yellow shirt with a musty pleated grey skirt that Jane knew would look awful over her scabbed bruised legs. Her new school started on the seventh of September, just over a week away, and she was dreading it.

Her body ran cold every time she thought of moving up in her education. A new school equaled a new round of freak rumours that was due to circle throughout the student body. Her stomach churned and she cringed, grabbing the uniform and chucking it on the bed before searching her room for the black thread and needles she stole from the whiny middle-aged blonde carer Sandra. She couldn't just sit there, her brain wasn't wired that way — she needed a distraction.

Her smirk came naturally when she stretched out the sweater, deciding which of her thrifted badges were the most controversial. If she was going to wear this horrible uniform then she might as well make it even more of an eyesore.

"Commitment to the craft. Let's give them something else to talk about," she muttered to herself as if justifying her actions to the empty room.

As Jane bit the thread a great grey owl swooped past her window, casting the room in momentary darkness.

She gasped and dropped the needle, losing all her hard work. She had never seen an owl before, let alone just outside the bedroom window she had gazed out of for most of her life, it felt almost quite magical.

Jane jumped up and threw the window open, thrusting her head out of it in the hopes of catching the magnificent bird. She didn't know owls could grow that large, and its startlingly bright yellow beak was a sight to behold. Rain trickled down her face as she searched around for the owl but she had no luck and she returned to her craft disappointed. She was rather fond of birds, and she couldn't deny that she craved the company.

With one badge securely stitched over the school's emblem, Jane began searching for her pirate's skull patch when she heard a set of hurried footsteps coming down the hall. She paused for a second in wonder and jolted when three loud knocks echoed around the tiny room. Only one person in the home knocked on her door.

"You can come in on one condition," she called out, eyes still on the clothing.

"And what's that?" came the Welsh voice.

"No comment about what I'm doing," she bartered, picking up a rather vivid badge of a middle finger and giggling at it. "You have to trust my vision."

Danielle walked in and immediately started tutting, joining her on the bed with the bizarre collection of accessories between them. "What is your vision with this? Getting detention on your first day?"

Jane shook her head and held the jumper up to the light, commending her own needlework. "It's more of a statement. The vomit shirt is disgusting so I thought I'd make it look even more repulsive. Do you think the clown one would be a bit much?" she asked cheekily, and pointed to the biggest, oldest patch of the pile - a terrifying luminous laughing clown. Danielle's eyes shot open and she couldn't stop her snort.

"I can't trust you with anything… What on earth…?" Danielle was stunned into silence, trying not to break out into laughter in an attempt to not encourage her but it was awfully hard not to with these novelty badges staring her in the face.

"I knew you'd love it," sighed Jane, and she looked up at her patiently. "Besides helping you with style advice, what can I do for you?"

Danielle took a moment to compose herself before looking her in the eye.

Her parents had just sent her an owl for the first time in years. They always used the Muggle postal system to send her letters, they would never risk sending anything their usual way.

She found her brother's grey owl Heledd perched outside on the porch's railing, a sodden newspaper grasped in her sharp talons. She quickly gave her a stroke, buzzing as she thought of her baby brother who rarely wrote, and made sure no one saw her fly off into the rain and out towards the sea. She ran to the kitchen, knowing everyone in the home was occupied with the living room's television for the evening, and unravelled the paper to reveal the damp Daily Prophet front page.

Black from the Dead? Presumed deceased Lyra Black has been found alive and well.

Danielle's knees knocked and she fell into one of the rickety dining chairs, feeling winded and weak. It was true, they found her.

Newspaper rustling from her shaking hands, Danielle rushed to read the article and felt her tongue dry up, the roof of her mouth rougher than sandpaper.

'... It wasn't until the involvement of Squib Danielle Greene, daughter of our beloved writer Eric from the Entertainment section, that the Ministry was able to gain knowledge of Black's whereabouts for the past ten years. Despite her lack of magical potential, Danielle followed her dreams into Muggle social work and has been looking after Black for the past two years. No doubt she has plenty of exciting stories about discovering the young witch in her care…'

Someone had really done their research… but the tone rubbed Danielle the wrong way and she fanned her face, flushed with anger. She found the author of the article and scoffed, recognising the woman's name from the papers before. She knew the Prophet was notorious for using seedy methods of telling the news and she shouldn't have been surprised they were still stooping so low. Her father had mentioned the name Rita Skeeter countless times during his drunken stories. She seemed like the type of woman who wouldn't think twice about exposing the personal life of an eleven year old girl. It was safeguarding 101, she broke every rule.

Dumbledore's letter came much faster than Danielle was expecting. The second owl tapped at the kitchen's back windows, perching on the ledge waiting patiently, and she wasted no time untethering the small scroll from its leg.

Dear Danielle,

Apologies for the rush but developments are happening as I write to you. The Ministry has finally pushed through our case and our presumptions are correct - Miss Black is in your care. Her death has been nulled and no doubt the evening papers are flying all across the country with the breaking news. Unfortunately during the acquisition of the case your name has been slipped to the press and I cannot apologise enough for not preventing any leaks, but I'm sure your father can tell you journalism is a power-hungry game. As Coles is a Muggle establishment Lyra will be safe from any reporters coming to snoop.

Due to both timing issues and the seriousness of this situation I request that you and Lyra stay at the Leaky Cauldron inn in London as my guests until she leaves for school. The arrangements have been made but Lyra must bring everything she will need for the school year. I will be arriving within the hour and shall wait for you at the end of the road, away from the Muggles for all of our peace of mind.

Hoping you are well,

Professor Albus Dumbledore.

Both the letter and the newspaper lay on top of her packed overnight bag outside the door as she sat opposite Jane, thinking of how to phrase it. How was she supposed to start this conversation? We're going to London tonight and by the way you're a witch?! She was screwed.

"Did you just come to sit in silence? I kinda like that," chirped Jane, continuing to sew on the badges, and Danielle drew up the courage she needed.

"This is going to be really hard to explain but instead of joking about it I need you to trust me and listen," she started off, needing to set ground rules. This sparked Jane's interest immediately.

"Go on..?"

"There has been a dramatic change of plan to, well, everything. You don't need to worry about this hideous jumper anymore because you have been accepted to a very special school," explained Danielle, and Jane's face dropped, all humour gone.

"When you say special school you don't mean a school for troubled kids do you? I know everyone hates me and all but do you think that's necessary? You do believe me about Rachel, right?" she spat out, slightly triggered at the thought of being shipped off to a mental asylum and losing her only friend forever, and Danielle gasped, appalled.

"Sweetheart no! It's not that type of school! It's a brilliant school, actually, one of the best in the country. Coincidentally my family went there and I've always wanted to go myself," she hurried to assure her, knowing the connection would calm her down. Jane looked quite impressed.

"How come you didn't go there?" she wondered, and Danielle froze.

"Er… I couldn't," she truthfully told her, feeling a little blue at nostalgic pangs of envy. "The school chooses you, you can't apply."

Jane frowned. "That's horrible, if it's so great then why does it exclude the people who want to go?"

Danielle grinned. "It's complicated. The point is that your letter got lost in the post and we need to prepare you for school in the next day or so. I need you to pack a bag of everything you want to take with you to school and I need you to do it now." It was the best she could come up with on the spot and she thought it might be mysterious enough to keep Jane on her toes. She was right.

Jane couldn't believe her luck. She whirled around the room like a tornado and began chucking her pickings at Danielle to pack. Half the room managed to squeeze into the biggest bag they could find, a tattered blue sports bag covered in all types of paint and chalk. Pointedly ignoring her mess under Danielle's scrutiny, Jane zipped the bag shut and quickly changed into her torn old jeans, a black and green sports sweater, and a grey raincoat.

Without saying goodbye to the other inhabitants of the home, the pair quietly exited the home and battled against the harsh wind and rain as they walked up the road. Jane struggled to match Danielle's pace in the stormy weather but when she caught up she noticed a slender, towering figure waiting at the lamppost that marked the street's end. Jane gawked as they got closer, taking in the appearance of the stranger. His clothes were peculiar but what caught her eye was that he was standing in the rain, as dry as fresh fluffy towels, unbothered by the storm.

"Evening, Albus," puffed Danielle, smiling warmly from beneath her coat hood, "this is her."

Albus took in the sight of the girl and beamed, his smile stretching his beard in joy. She was the spitting image of her parents, truly the daughter of Black and Crouch. "It is an honour, Jane. We have so much to discuss, and I'm sure you will have a multitude of questions so let us begin our journey. If you wouldn't mind standing clear of the road."

The girls watched as Albus outstretched his arm with a thin, intricate stick in his hand but Jane couldn't tear her eyes away from his hand, captivated by the wand's mere presence.

She knew that was no regular stick, it was really special. The world froze around her as she eyed up the stranger's wooden apparatus and her breath caught in her chest. It's beautiful…

Before Jane could ask her first question a booming crack shot through the air and she jumped back in fright as a vintage triple decker bus appeared from nowhere, its paint violent and its headlights beaming through the gloomy rain. It rolled into the road before them and came to a sudden stop before the old man. He turned to them and ushered them towards the back entrance with grandeur where a spritely adolescent conductor waited for them, shock written plainly across his face at the sight of the trio.

"Professor Dumbledore sir! Welcome to the Knight Bus."