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Confunded


The first thing Ermalene noticed upon walking into the door was that the little orphanage was certainly no better maintained within than it had been without. The wood floors beneath their feet were pockmarked with scuffs and divots that came from decades of wear and tear. The stairs wound up into the next floor, and the sounds of unruly children echoed throughout the halls, yelling and fighting and running through the indoors. Andy pulled Ermalene back, in fact, only just in time, as two messy-haired boys rushed by, kicking a soccer ball back and forth between them as they passed. “Almost got run over,” he commented, staring after them as they rounded the corner into a small living room, where the telly was on, volume louder than his mum ever would’ve allowed.

Ermalene’s eyes were frightful. “Hello?” she called, “Any - um - adults in here?”

“Zoo keepers, more like,” Andy commented as the soccer boys ran by again and he again pulled Ermalene back only just in time.

“Hello?” Ermalene called louder.

Suddenly a woman, laden with two kids, one on each hip, plus one hanging off her leg, came ‘round the corner looking very bothered. “‘OW MANY TIMES DO I ‘AVE TO SAY NO RUNNING IN THE BLOODY HOUSE? TAKE THE FUTBOL OUT BACK, THE LOT OF YOU!” she hollered, nearly being run down by the soccer boys, too. They scrambled through the hallway and a moment later a door slammed and the volume level was considerably lower. “Bloody Mary,” she muttered, putting down one of the two year olds, who instantly clamped to her other leg. She looked at Ermalene and Andy as though she’d only just noticed them. “‘Ello, loves,” she said, using her newly freed hand to brush the fringe from her forehead, “Sorry about that, the lads need a wee more space to get out the energy and I’ve been left on me own today for caretaking ‘til six. If the racket ‘asn’t scared you off from adoptin’ them, I’m mor’n happy to give you literature on the process.”

Andy shook his head, “We’re not -- we’re just -- we’re only seventeen.” He waved his hand at Ermalene.

“Starting younger’n younger with the families these days,” the woman sighed, “Gotta be older to adopt though, loves. I reckon you’d do better’n wait awhile, do some growing up of your own.”

“It’s not like that at all,” Ermalene said. “I used to live here, when I was a kid, and I was curious if you retain records of prior… um… I guess you’d call them tenants?”

“Oh it’s records you want ‘aye? We keep those in the database,” she said, “I’ll need a photo ID and then I can print’m right out for you.” The woman shuffled, nodding for Andy and Erma to follow along, and led the way back the way she’d come, through a dining room and past a yellow accented kitchen into a small back office room with thick carpet on the floor and a desk piled high with about a million papers. The two children on her legs continued to cling on, their bums sliding across the floor with each step that the woman took. As she settled herself behind the desk, which was affixed with a plaque that announced her name was Marjorie Flynn, she settled the child she’d still been holding onto the carpet and opened the lid on a laptop computer, her fingers loudly striking keys.

The little girl she’d been holding rounded the desk and looked up at Andy as he sat down in one of two chairs that faced the desk. The little girl rested her chin on his knee, “You have fire hair,” she pointed.

“Yes,” Andy agreed, “Yes, I do.”

“It looks like a fox,” she announced.

Andy nodded. “Right you are.”

“Are you part fox?” the little girl asked.

Ermalene giggled under her hand, which she covered her mouth with, watching as Andy engaged in silly conversation with the little girl. “Not at all,” Andy replied, “Are you?”

“No,” the little girl answered.

“Just about into the database,” the woman said, her fingers flying over the keys still. “Barb, don’t ye be botherin’ the nice lad.”

“She’s not bothering me,” Andy said, “I have a younger sister. It’s okay.”

“Come see the telly with me,” Barb requested, grabbing hold of Andy’s hand. “Please.”

Andy looked at Ermalene, who nodded, and Andy got up and Barb pulled him by the hand out of the office and back toward the sitting room they’d seen before, rambling on about the programs she liked to watch on the telly.

“Okay,” Marjorie Flynn looked up over the screen of the computer, “Now… if you have an ID on you, we can pop in and review your records.”

Ermalene opened the little pouch at her hip, upon which she’d cast the undetectable extension charm, and dug ‘round for a moment ‘til she’d found her little wallet. Mrs. Flynn raised an eyebrow and craned her neck to see how big the tiny bag was, but Ermalene pulled her arm out before the orphanage director could get a good look at how deep she had reached. She unclipped the wallet and withdrew her American passport. “Here it is,” she said, handing the little blue book over to Mrs. Flynn, who opened it, keeping her eye on Ermalene’s little bag for a moment before finally turning back to the computer screen.

“Ermalene,” she mumbled, “What a unique name.”

“Um… thank you.”

Mrs. Flynn typed furiously for a few moments and swept her fingers over the little touch pad. After a few moments, she opened a desk drawer and withdrew a pair of reading glasses, which she unfolded and slipped onto her face. “Alright, yes, here we are…” She clicked twice and Ermalene held her breath.

She was about to know who her parents were. The thought sent goosebumps up her arms and she clutched the little bag, leaning forward in anticipation.

Mrs. Flynn’s eyes moved over the screen and she opened her mouth to speak and suddenly, before a word could escape her mouth, the light in her eyes dulled and she closed her mouth and sat back, staring at the screen as though she could not see it at all, but was actually focused on something quite far away.

“I am sorry, miss,” she said, “But there is no record.”

“What?” Ermalene asked, her voice peaking in surprise, “What do you mean there’s no record?”

“I am sorry, miss,” repeated Mrs. Flynn, her voice unnaturally smooth and unafflicted by her accent, “But there is no record.”

Ermalene stood up and quickly came around the desk, looking over Mrs. Flynn’s shoulders at the computer. The program window showed that the record had just finished deleting. “But… but you’ve just deleted it,” Ermalene said, her voice pitching, “What in the heavens did you do that for?”

Mrs. Flynn repeated, “I am sorry, miss, but --”

“Yeah, yeah, there’s no record, but only because you’ve just deleted it!” she shouted.

“I am sorry --”

“There’s got to be some way to undo --” Ermalene reached around the older woman, but the motion seemed to have snapped her out of whatever strangeness had overcome her, and she quickly started beating Ermalene off of her. “What in the bloody hell do you think you are doing?!” she shouted, “You haven’t got access! Private records!” she grabbed hold of the laptop and yanked it away, spinning the office chair away from Ermalene.

Suddenly Andy was in the door. “What’s going on?” He looked at the defensive position of the orphanage director, Ermalene’s crumpled-with-anger face and the frightened two kids on the floor, who’d scampered out from under the desk when Ermalene had come around. “...Erma? What the bloody hell are you doing?” he asked, echoing Mrs. Flynn’s question.

“She deleted it,” she said, “Just now -- deleted my record.”

Andy looked at the woman, and he could see it in her eyes. "Erma, she's been confunded."

“I did no such thing, the program clearly says that there is no records available!” Mrs. Flynn said angrily, “And I would very much appreciate if the both of you would skive off before I have to call the proper authorities!” She shoved Ermalene’s passport back into her hands.

Andy waved his hand, “C’mon Erma, let’s go."

“She deleted it, Andy!” she cried.

“C’mon.” He motioned for her to come and she reluctantly followed, glaring back at Mrs. Flynn as the two children rushed after her. “Thanks for your time, ma’m,” he said, nodding to her, and he pushed Ermalene along through the house, back to the front door.

"Don't be nice to her!" Ermalene shouted at Andy, "She's an old hag!"

"She's confunded, Erm," he replied, "She doesn't know what she's done."

Just before they went out, Barb grabbed hold of Andy’s pant leg. “Wait,” she begged, “Make the stoat again,” she pleaded.

Andy glanced back to make sure Mrs. Flynn hadn’t followed and slipped his wand back out of his belt loop. “Expecto patronum,” he whispered, and his wand burst forth a beautiful, shimmering ermine that pranced around the room, tail swishing as it swooped around Barb, who giggled hysterically.

“Again!”

“Sorry, kiddo,” Andy said as the stoat popped and disappeared. Ermalene was halfway down the steps already, hopping mad and making little squeals of anger as she trotted away, “But I gotta go.” He quickly rushed after Ermalene, pulling the door closed behind him as he ran down the steps behind her to the sidewalk.

Barb rushed to the window and stared out, pressing her fingers to the window and watching as Andy and Ermalene walked away. When they’d passed from sight, she climbed down from the chair she’d knelt on and rushed to the sitting room, where she found one of Mrs. Flynn’s knitting needles and waved it about, “Expecto patronum,” she whispered, but no silver stoat shone from the needle.