This story is inspired by two songs by Sarah Brightman – Harem and Arabian Nights. Once you get through the second chapter, you'll understand why.
Show Me Your Poker Face
MomoYome
---Prologue
I love my family; I love my mother, my father, my sister. I wouldn't change anything about them. The one thing I do not like though is myself. I don't include myself in the 'family' because I'm somewhat different, but then again, you probably knew that already. There were times, like in any child's life, where you get fed up with your parents and throw tantrums. I was that kind of child, a brat, a downright little monster to them. Not to say I did not have my reasons, I did. They were all pretty good reasons, for a child.
I had lived in and about the British Isles my whole life, minus the first two years of my life where I had been in Bombay. I was born there, but I remember next to nothing of it. But I remember Britain; it was home to me, a comfortable place. Despite how many times my family would move, I had the familiarity of the British landscape to comfort me.
That went up and changed on me when I came home from school and found my mother on the floor packing up the china closet. "Sudan!" She said, raising her arms, trying to appear happy about the move in order to comfort me. "Next week, you'll need to start packing right away," The threat of moving to some awful place had always loomed over my head, but I didn't think that it could actually happen. For six years my father had been transferred locally, Scotland, Ireland, England, never some obscure place that I probably couldn't even locate on a map.
"You hear the news?" Petunia sneered at me as we crossed on the stairs. Like it was my fault. She was like that; the few friends I had growing up had told me she was jealous of me. I looked nothing like the family; it was like the stork had dropped me on my parents' doorstep in India. But there was no possibility of that since I look full-blood white girl. Petunia had the misfortune to gain every bad gene my parents had to offer. She obviously put the blame on me for this, but I am in no way responsible for this considering I wasn't even born yet. Or even an idea.
I was an accident, or at least that's what I've put together in all the years I've eavesdropped on my parents' conversation. I've even read some of the letters my grandparents sent them. My maternal grandmother had sent a letter to my mother while she was pregnant with me asking how it had happened. It being me. Petunia has told me stories of when Mum first learned of me and how she and dad had conversations about grown-up stuff, like condoms and birth control and how both failed them and I turned up because of it.
Nice sister, I know. She reminds me constantly that I was a mistake, they only wanted Petunia. I try not to think about it though because I know that everyone has some sort of purpose in life. There was a reason why my parents had me; I just needed to find that reason. When I got my letter from Hogwarts in my eleventh year, my heart had been lifted out of a slump of misery. Sudan was nothing like England, it was far too hot for me. Hogwarts would allow me to return home to the marshes and patchy skies. I would have to deal with the harsh desert climate for three month.