Delays, Disappointment, and Dating - Part 3

"All right," Harry said. "I'll meet you back here in two hours, and you can show me where to go. I want to walk around the building and see if I can recognize anything before I go inside."

Hermione, Ron and Ginny departed, and Harry walked up and down the street in front of the orphanage. He had a strange sense of déjà vu as he passed the stone entrance. This was definitely the same place, and the brick front remained intact. He waited to enter the building until there was some activity on the street.

It had obviously been updated, but Harry found it recognizable. He could see the stone steps that led up to the offices behind a comfortable sitting area decorated in calming blues. A large wooden desk guarded the stairs, and a gray-haired receptionist sat flipping through some papers. She pursed her lips and lifted her reading glasses onto her nose. Something on the paper she held displeased her for she scowled as she pulled the page from the stack and placed it to the side.

Something in the woman's face reminded Harry of his Aunt Petunia. She had the same disapproving look he remembered seeing so many times while growing up on Privet Drive. His aunt always assumed that everyone was out to take advantage of her.

Harry strode confidently up to the desk. Going with his instincts, he approached her as he would his aunt.

"Good morning, Mrs…Hatcher," Harry said, pretending to read from the paper he carried. He'd actually simply glanced at the nametag she wore affixed to her jacket. "I was sent to look at a problem you're having with one of your computers. I understand you've been having a lot of trouble with it lately."

Mrs. Hatcher, who had looked at Harry with extreme suspicion when he first approached her, puffed out her chest. "Why, yes, we have, young man. Those infernal contraptions are always breaking down and making us lose all our data. I don't know how you people get away with selling such inferior equipment."

"I'm sorry, ma'am," Harry said, nodding his head stiffly. "If you'll just direct me to where the malfunctioning equipment is, I'll be on my way without disturbing your work further."

Mrs. Hatcher appeared mollified that he considered her work important. "We have a family coming in for an adoption later today, and Mrs. Thompson will be quite upset if there is a problem getting all the paperwork ready. Now, which machine is it? Who put in the service call?" Mrs. Hatcher asked.

"I believe the name was Mrs. Thompson," Harry lied smoothly.

Mrs. Hatcher picked up one of the papers in front of her, frowning slightly. "You're not on the Visitor List," she said, reading it again.

Harry schooled his features into a look of confusion. "I'm not?" he asked, leaning over the paper. Keeping his wand hidden beneath his hand, he wordlessly cast a spell.

"Oh! Here it is. It is Mrs. Thompson; you'd best hurry then. Her office is right up the stairs and to the right. I believe she's here already," Mrs. Hatcher said, waving him through.

"Thank you," Harry replied, quickly hurrying up the stairs.

As he moved away, he heard Mrs. Hatcher mutter in a very disapproving voice, "They get younger every time."

He quickly walked down the corridor, taking in the sterile walls and worn carpeting. He could see some classrooms down one corridor, and assumed the living quarters were on the other side of the facility. The children inside the classroom again looked well cared for, but Harry thought the sadness and loneliness of the place was palpable.