BORN TO DIE | R. Arcturus Black

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Chapter Nineteen: Wool's Orphanage

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Janet's chest heaved with a mixture of frustration and regret as she stood in the center of 12 Grimmauld's parlor. The argument had escalated beyond reason, words turning to daggers that seemed to pierce through any bonds of camaraderie they had forged. Sirius's face was flushed with a combination of anger and concern, his eyes pleading for her to reconsider.

"This is madness, Janet! You can't just—"

"I can, and I will!" she snapped back, her voice trembling with a determination that bordered on desperation. "I'm not asking for your permission, Sirius. This is something I have to do."

***

She began to walk, the familiar rhythm of her steps providing a semblance of calm.

How could she have been so stupid! She had been so eager in finding a confidant, an ally, someone who would be better in executing plans in places she couldn't reach to realize her own stupidity. A part of her regretted not telling Dumbledore but if she did, she'd probably be put under a microscope and have every memory ripped out of her and fed to the Order.

And now she couldn't believe the predicament she put herself in. What was to stop Potter from babbling on to the Ministry or Dumbledore. Janet would've liked to believe that even if she and Mr. Potter had fought he would honor their once-found trust and not say anything, however; there was too much at stake: thousands of lives and wars to come. As she stared distantly at a small flower shop, Janet realized she'd only have a day or two to go before Potter would get to her, or worse Dumbledore. But what they both meant is that she had to act quickly. It's been almost three weeks since her arrival and it was about time she got to work.

An exhilarating rush washed over her as she straightened her back, she didn't need anyone, she didn't need Fleamont because she wasn't alone. Harry. Ron. Hermione. They were standing where she was, so close yet so far away. They might not be together in a physical presence but they were there, here, in her. They were all taking the same steps.

Janet stopped and looked around her; she needed to understand Tom Riddle's beginnings to see the boy how he became Voldemort, and in understanding him, she might just find a way to stop him. And just like that, the idea of visiting the orphanage that had been lurking in the back of her mind, had crystallized into a plan.

It hadn't taken her long to find the dingy old thing; a quick visit to the library brought her feet right to it. The orphanage was a relic of a bygone era, its imposing structure a testament to the countless children who had passed through its doors.

It would be risky, she thought, delving into Voldemort's past could be as dangerous as facing him in the present. "But it's a risk I'm willing to take." She assured herself, "Oh God–I'm starting to talk to myself."

She shook her head.

As she thought to step in, she felt a prickle at the back of her neck. The sensation was familiar, a sign that she was being followed. She slowly turned around and diverted away from the orphanage, quickening her pace as she went, weaving through the throngs of people, her senses on high alert. It couldn't be a death-eater, could it? Voldemort was too secretive of his heritage to let anyone suspect anything of it, so who could it be?

It wasn't long before she found a quiet alley and ducked into it, her wand at the ready. "Show yourself," she commanded, her voice steady despite the adrenaline coursing through her veins.

A figure stepped into view, and Janet's shoulders slumped in a mixture of relief and exasperation.

It was Fleamont.