The Last Gryffindor (Sirius Black)

Epilogue

• — • — •

"History repeats itself, first as tragedy, second as farce."
—Karl Marx

• — • — •

31 December, 1980

Mrs. Cole awoke, startled, to the sound of thunder that New Years Eve, after having only just put all the children to bed. As the matron of Wool's orphanage, like her mother and grandmother before her, it was her responsibility to look after all the young ones, but she had dearly hoped for some much needed rest that stormy night.

Only when the pounding began again did she realize that it was not, in fact, thunder, but someone trying to beat down the door. Mrs. Cole wrapped her fleece robe tightly about her waste and marched towards the door, ready to give the rude intruder a stern talking to. If they woke up the children, Mrs. Cole was prepared to go medieval on their foolish backsides.

Her musings over what form of ancient torture to inflict were pulled short, however, when she yanked open the door to reveal a girl, blown up like a blimp and sopping wet from the rain, as though she attempted to take a swim across the Channel.

"Please," she gasped, pulling her dripping blonde hair out of her face. "Please, you must help me."

Mrs. Cole caught her just as she wavered and began to fall.

"Easy now, child. I've got you," the matron assured her, pulling her inside to the warmth of the fire. "I would ask what seems to be the problem, but I suppose that's obvious."

Mrs. Cole looked meaningfully at the girl's belly, too round to be anything but with child.

"Please, I-I can't do it by myself," she pleaded, gasping for breath and wincing in pain. "I have nowhere to go."

Mrs. Cole nodded. She'd met many a girl like the one before her, abandoned by their families for being with child before marriage. She had seen it all.

"Of course, dear," Mrs. Cole soothed, her sharp voice taking a softer edge. "What's your name?"

The question, the matron thought, was innocent enough, only meant to distract the poor girl from the pain while she made preparations for the birth, so she was surprised when the child- most everyone was a child compared to her advanced age- refused to answer.

"I can't say," she ground out through clenched teeth.

"Why not?"

"I-" she huffed out a pained laugh, "I can't say that either."

Mrs. Cole's eyebrows furrowed in intrigue. That was certainly a first.

"Well then," Mrs. Cole said, placing towels and a steaming bowl of water down beside the enigmatic girl. "Let's get this baby out of you, shall we?"

• — • — •

The girl laid, unmoving, on the ground beside the small stone fireplace, and for one horrible moment Mrs. Cole thought something had gone terribly long, but, at long last, the she let in a wheezing breath, seemingly choking on the air as it pushed down her throat. Mrs. Cole was certain she'd been mistaken when she thought she saw blood dribble down her lips, for it was gone a second later, seemingly by magic.