Summer vacation did not start off well. Jane's body trembled as she sat up in bed, the cold air of the room seeping into her skin. She pulled the thin blanket closer around her, but it offered little warmth against the icy chill of fear that gripped her. The dream, as always, had been a relentless assault on her senses, a cacophony of terror and despair that left her mind reeling.

She tried to focus on her surroundings, to anchor herself in reality. The familiar creak of the old house she grew up in, the distant rumble of city traffic, the soft ticking of the clock on the mantelpiece - these were the constants, the familiar elements that grounded her. But tonight, even those seemed to offer little solace.

Mind racing, she tried to shake off the nightmare. The skeletal figure, its unnatural size and eerie glow, was a constant in her dreams. The screams, too, were a familiar terror, echoing through the desolate spaces of her subconscious. She pulled the covers tighter around her, seeking the comfort from fabric against her skin. But it was no use.

Giving up, Jane moved to the old, porcelain sink and splashed cold water on her face. The shock was a physical jolt that seemed to reverberate through her body, a desperate attempt to shake off the remnants of the nightmare. She cupped her hands and splashed again, the icy water stinging her skin and momentarily clearing her mind. As the fog of sleep dissipated, she studied her reflection in the cracked mirror. Her eyes were now thick with exhaustion. The girl staring back at her was a stranger, a pale and fragile version of herself, haunted by shadows that seemed to seep from the depths of her soul.

The nightmare had left her feeling exposed and vulnerable, as though a part of her had been stripped bare. She longed for the comforting illusion of sleep, a temporary escape from the relentless torment of her dreams. But she knew that sleep was a fickle mistress, offering no guarantees of peace.

With a heavy sigh, Jane returned to her room to slip on a jumper before heading downstairs. Out of habit she skipped the fourth step from the top, knowing that one would groan just loud enough to wake her father. As she descended into the kitchen, the dim light cast long shadows on the worn linoleum floor, creating an eerie atmosphere.

She moved mechanically, her actions devoid of thought. The kettle filled, the stove ignited – routine tasks that offered a brief respite from the turmoil within. As Jane waited for the kettle to boil, she wandered to the small, square window and peered out into the world. The dawn was painted in shades of blues, their beauty lost on Jane.

Just like every morning for the past month, Jane pulled out a chipped mug from the cupboard and filled it with water, pouring it from the kettle. The familiar gurgle and hiss as it heated up brought a small measure of comfort. She reached for a box of cheap tea bags, grabbing one and dropping it into her mug.

The water hissed into being, its steam rising like a mournful sigh. Jane watched as the tea bag surrendered its colour, transforming the clear liquid into a bitter brew. She wrapped her hands around the warm mug, taking a tentative sip. The watered down tea was a far cry from the rich brews she sometimes enjoyed at Hogwarts, but it was better than nothing.

The summer had been a welcome respite from the rigours of school, but it had also given her too much time to think, to dwell on the events that had transpired. Her thoughts often returned to the tension with Snape, the complexities of her friendships, and the weight of expectations that seemed to grow heavier with each passing year.

She wondered what her friends were doing at that moment. Were they sleeping peacefully, or were they also haunted by their own nightmares and worries? The bonds she had formed at Hogwarts were strong, but the distance and silence of the summer break sometimes made them feel fragile.

Being poor and the daughter of a squib meant she didn't have the luxury of an owl. This led to her being unable to write unless written too and the isolation gnawed at her. She desperately hoped her friends would write to her soon.

As the first rays of sunlight began to peek through the window, Jane resolved to find a way to stay connected with her friends despite the lack of an owl. Perhaps she could borrow one or visit a nearby wizarding village where she could send her letters, it was only an hour ride by bike.

For now, though, she simply sat in the growing light of dawn, cradling her mug and finding solace in the stillness of the early morning.

With a sigh, she stood up and rinsed her mug in the musty metal sink. The house was still quiet, a lull before the daily hustle began. The ticking of the old wall clock echoing through the silent kitchen.

She trudged back upstairs, the worn carpet soft under her feet, and slipped into her uniform for the crummy breakfast place in the middle of town. The uniform was a faded reminder of countless hours spent serving eggs and tea to the regulars. Jane ran a hand through her hair, trying to tame the wild strands, and glanced at herself in the mirror.

Just as she was leaving, her father made a weary entrance, the long hours from the night shift etched upon his features. His work clothes bore the unmistakable marks of his labour, and his eyes were clouded with exhaustion.

"Morning, Dad," Jane greeted him.

Her father returned a tired smile. "Morning, love. Another early shift?"

"Yeah. You should get some rest."

Her father nodded, a yawn splitting his face. "Be safe on that bike of yours. It's seen better days."

"I will," she promised, wrapping her arms around him briefly before stepping out into the morning air.

The old bike leaned against the side of the house, more rust than metal at this point. Mounting it, she winced as the seat creaked under her weight. As she pedaled down the street, the rusty chain clinked rhythmically with each turn of the pedals.

The ride to the Crown and Fork by the A660 was familiar, the streets waking up with the first light of dawn. She passed the bakery with its sweet scents wafting through the air, the grocer opening up shop, and the post office just beginning to see its first visitors. The cobblestone streets glistened with morning dew, and the distant chirping of birds added a serene backdrop to her ride.

When she arrived at work, she chained her bike to the rack out front and stepped inside. The bell above the back door jingled, announcing her arrival. The place was already bustling with the early morning crowd, regulars sipping their English Breakfast and reading the newspaper.

Adjusting the worn apron straps, Jane took a deep breath and punched in on the rickety time clock, its worn dial clicking into place with a familiar, reassuring sound. With a pen and order pad snatched from the cluttered back office, she navigated the small, cramped kitchen, sidestepping the harried cook to approach the newly seated couple at the counter. The aroma of sizzling bacon and brewing tea filled the air, a heady mix of breakfast staples that signalled the start of another busy day and caused her stomach to grumble..

The morning dragged on, an endless cycle of orders and refills. The repetitive tasks created a monotonous rhythm in the Crown and Fork. Her feet throbbed with a persistent ache that intensified with each step. Pain gnawed at her, but she pushed through, maintaining focus amidst the chaos. With practised efficiency, she navigated the bustling environment, her mind a determined shield against the growing discomfort.

Then came the onslaught. The factory night shift, a horde of grease-stained, sweat-soaked figures, stumbled into the Greasy Spoon, their eyes glazed with exhaustion. They staggered into their seats as if they were a horde of zombies, moaning and groaning with each step. To them, she was often little more than an automaton, a functionary whose sole purpose was to replenish their tea cups and deliver their food.

To her, they were a faceless horde whose sole purpose seemed to be the consumption of food and the degradation of women. Their gaze, heavy and possessive, stripped her of her dignity, reducing her to nothing more than a fleeting desire. The behaviour was a constant, unwelcome backdrop to her workday.

Jane refilled the tea for another round of clamouring men. One, louder than the rest, snatched her hand, pulling her impossibly close. His face, inches from hers, reeked of motor oil. "Hey, Bunny. Fancy dancing with me and the boys this weekend? Maybe a night on the town?"

She felt a surge of annoyance, the familiar heat creeping up her neck. She forced a smile, plastering it onto her face like a mask. "Sorry, but I don't date factory boys," she said firmly but with a hint of forced cheerfulness.

A thought crept from the back of her mind, a whisper of amusement. You wouldn't mind going dancing if they danced like Snape had. A flutter of butterflies began to erupt in her stomach. But she quickly suppressed it, shaking her head to banish the absurd image.

Without looking back, Jane wiped down the table with practised efficiency and moved on to the next customer. The morning had been a relentless blur of activity, a chaotic symphony of clinking dishes, the rhythmic slap of eggs hitting the griddle, and the constant chatter of patrons. The regulars, with their familiar orders and easy smiles, were a comforting presence, while the influx of new faces injected a spark of unpredictability into the routine. She'd navigated the rush with a mix of ease and adrenaline-fueled focus, her mind already anticipating the quieter lull that typically followed the breakfast peak.

Finally, the morning rush began to ebb. Jane took advantage of the respite to refill the sugar dispensers, engaging in a casual conversation with Mary, a seasoned veteran of the Crown and Fork.

"Any plans for the rest of the day?" Mary asked. She'd been a fixture at the Crown and Fork for as long as Jane could remember, her knowledge of the restaurant's history as deep as its tea was strong.

"Just hoping for a letter from my friends," Jane replied, her gaze drifting out the window. "It's been a quiet summer."

Mary nodded understandingly, her weathered face creased into a sympathetic smile. "It can be tough, being away from school and friends. But it's almost time to head back, isn't it?"

"Yeah, just a few more weeks," Jane replied, anticipation colouring her voice.

Before she knew it, Jane was clocking out, exchanging tired smiles with her coworkers. As she wheeled her trusty, rust-coloured bicycle out into the fading daylight, she imagined how nice one night of uninterrupted sleep would be. The day's events, including the unsettling encounter that had cast a shadow over her morning, began to recede into the background.

As she stepped inside her quiet home,the familiar scent of her father's work boots and faint cigarette smoke seeped into Jane. Her father was likely still asleep, the house hushed in the midday quiet. A longing for the familiar handwriting of her friends' lives tugged at her heart, and as she settled into her room, she hoped that tomorrow would bring the awaited letter, a lifeline to a world beyond the quiet confines of her home.

The rest of the summer unfolded in a predictable pattern. Mornings at the Crown and Fork were punctuated by the clinking of silverware, the hiss of the grill, and the familiar chatter of regulars. Conversations with Mary and the other waitstaff offered fleeting moments of connection, while interactions with her father remained brief and often strained. As the days slipped by, Jane found a strange solace in the routine, a comforting structure that helped to keep the unsettling shadows at bay. Yet, beneath the surface of her calm exterior, a growing restlessness stirred, a longing for something more than the quiet life she had settled into.

The long summer days finally began to yield to the crisp mornings of autumn. With careful budgeting, Jane had managed to save enough from her meagre wages to cover the cost of her school supplies. Her father, ever the silent guardian, had quietly pulled some strings within his limited sphere of influence at the Ministry, securing a portkey to Diagon Alley.

On a brisk August morning, Jane stood on the doorstep, clutching her mothers beaded bag and a pot lid. A moment later, the familiar sensation of disorientation washed over her as the portkey whisked her away. Diagon Alley was a sensory overload. The vibrant colours of shop signs, the tantalising smells wafting from the food stalls, and the constant murmur of voices created a whirlwind of excitement. Jane clutched her small pouch of Galleons, Sickles, and Knuts, a reminder of the limited funds at her disposal. She took a deep breath, steeling herself for the inevitable haggling and careful spending that lay ahead.

Flourish and Blotts was a haven of knowledge and history, its shelves groaning under the weight of centuries of accumulated wisdom. Jane navigated the bustling shop with a determined focus, her eyes scanning the titles for the required textbooks. The musty scent of old paper and ink filled the air. With a careful eye on her budget, she opted for the most affordable copies, their worn covers and yellowed pages a testament to their previous owners' schooling.

With her bag full of books, Jane made her way to Madam Malkin's for the next stop on her list. The shop was filled with the soft rustling of fabric and the gentle hum of conversation. As she stepped inside, she was greeted by a smiling witch who ushered her into a small, dimly lit fitting room. The mirror on the wall was larger than life, and Jane couldn't help but stare at her reflection as she tried on the required black robes.

She asked for the cheapest option available, ignoring the disapproving looks of the other customers. The robes were slightly too large, the fabric thin and somewhat scratchy, but they would have to do. After a quick alteration, she paid and hurried out, eager to get to her next stop.

The final stop on Jane's whirlwind shopping expedition was the apothecary. The shop was an overwhelming experience. Filled with the heady aroma of herbs, the gleam of exotic potions, and the hushed whispers of customers. Jane moved through the crowded aisles with purpose, her eyes scanning the shelves for the required ingredients. She carefully selected the most affordable options. While she couldn't afford the highest quality, she knew that a few well-chosen ingredients could save her Galleons without compromising the effectiveness of her potions. As she left the apothecary, her beaded bag still having plenty of room, Jane felt a sense of accomplishment. She had two whole Gallons left, enough for Christmas.

On her way to the Leaky Caldron, Jane paused outside the Magical Menagerie, her heart skipping a beat. Something about the small Kneazle in the window captivated her attention. The creature, with its intelligent, curious eyes and a playful glint in its gaze, seemed to beckon her. Its fur was a mesmerising blend of tawny and cream, and there was an undeniable aura of mischief about it. Jane found herself drawn to the creature, a strange connection forming between them. She hesitated, torn between the practicalities of her limited budget and the irresistible charm of the Kneazle.

Without thinking, she murmured softly, "You remind me of one I had once," as if speaking to the creature itself. The Kneazle tilted its head, its expression curiously inquisitive.

A wave of nostalgia washed over Jane as she observed the creature. She was lost in a fleeting moment of longing, a yearning for a connection she couldn't quite place. The streets were a chorus of sounds, but her focus remained solely on the Kneazle. Yet, the harsh reality of her limited funds quickly brought her back to the present. A pet was a luxury she couldn't afford, not with the challenges of her upcoming year at Hogwarts.

With a heavy heart, Jane tore her gaze away from the captivating Kneazle and turned to leave the pet shop. She had a clear purpose for being in Diagon Alley, and indulging in such a luxury was simply out of the question. As she stepped out into the bustling street, a sense of determination filled her. She had everything she needed for Hogwarts, and that was all that mattered. Unknowingly, she walked past a pair of dark eyes that had been watching her from the shadows, their gaze following her as she disappeared into the crowd.

A/N: Happy Thanksgiving! I wrote another two chapters last night so I figured I could share this next one really early. Thought you might want to know my Beta (not a Snape fan) raged when y'all took Snape's side in the last chapter. Had me in stitches. Welp, have fun, read some fanfic and eat some pie for me :)