December 1990
After a full two months, I am starting to get used to my new identity. In the mornings, I help with cleaning, and during the day, while the other kids play outside, I take naps, hiding from the cold winter sun. In the evenings, I have dinner with everyone, although the food here isn't particularly nutritious — just enough to survive. Before bed, I read the books I managed to find in the orphanage. Unfortunately, the orphanage cannot afford to send anyone to school, but my knowledge from my past life allows me to read and understand the texts with confidence.
However, everything simple and easy comes to an end. I have finally found myself a job. Yes, don't be surprised: in the late 20th century, even a ten-year-old child could work. Now I sell newspapers six days a week. My workday isn't long — from 9:00 AM to 3:00 PM.
"Miss, buy a newspaper!" — I call out to a young woman who looks just over twenty. Notably, she is dressed in a witch costume. "It's already mid-December, and someone is still managing to wear a Halloween costume." — I chuckle to myself, but I persistently continue to offer her the newspaper.
"What a cute little girl! Alright, I'll take one copy" — her tone is rather condescending. I dislike being mistaken for a girl because of my long black hair, but I try not to show it.
"Here, take the newspaper, big sister, it's only 30 centimes" — I say, smiling sweetly and extending the newspaper with my small hands.
"What a well-mannered child! Here you go, you can keep the change" — she hands me a whole franc, and my heart races with joy. I am getting closer to my goal.
"Thank you very much, have a good day!" — I say, giving a slight bow. My brown eyes shine in the sunlight from uncontainable joy. After selling my last newspaper for the day, I return to the topography to report, and then, in a buoyant mood, I head back to the orphanage.
I skillfully toss a coin into the air and then catch it again. But after a few tosses, I stop and closely examine the coin in my hand. I pick it up with my thumb and index finger and hold it up to the sun.
"Galleon..." — I timidly pronounce the name written on the coin with a dragon on it. My first thought is, "Damn, I've been tricked." The next thought is, "But I haven't seen any books about Harry Potter..."
And then it hits me. Everything falls into place: the woman in the witch costume, her condescending tone, and the coin in my hands. No matter how much I want to deny it, I am in the world of Harry Potter. And considering that there have been no magical incidents with me...
"I'm a Muggle…" — the words escape my lips, filled with hurt and bitterness.