"I'm putting the Elder Wand," Harry told Dumbledore, "back where it came from. It can stay there. That'll be the end of it, and quite honestly, I've had enough trouble for a lifetime." – JK Rowling, Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows.

5 YEARS LATER

I'd always wished my life was different and fantasised about leaving my pathetic little apartment, in my pathetic little town and escaping my pathetic little life to somewhere I am free, somewhere I can start a new life instead of being Ellie Paige, a poor loser that can't even afford new shoes. So when I caught a glimpse of blue sparks from my perch on a flat branch, high in an old oak tree, I felt drawn to that figure in jeans and a grey hoodie—that created the sparks— like a moth to a flame.

This tall, mysterious person was holding a smooth, polished stick of wood in one hand and a mud-stained photo in the other. Only when the person turned to look around, did I catch a glimpse of his face. I tried to muffle a gasp. He had a long nose, freckles and messy straight hair—as orange as the sun setting behind him— peeking out from beneath his hood. His most shocking feature though, was a long scar—white as bone— running from his temple, past his eye, and down his left cheek.

He quickly scanned the area as if looking for something, or someone, then span on his heel and strode away. I felt compelled to follow him, and before I realised what I was doing, I had climbed down from my perch in the tree and was following the orange-haired man through the woods, ducking behind a tree or shrub every few minutes to keep from being seen.

I could have sworn that he spotted me a few times before I managed to leap into a hiding spot. It seemed as though he knew I was following and was encouraging me to.

After a few minutes of stalking this strange guy, I couldn't help but think about whether Mum was missing me, I had left our run-down apartment for the woods in the early hours of the morning and the sky was slowly turning from the colours pink, purple and orange of the setting sun, to a dark shade of grey.

I hoped she was missing me, but that hope was crushed by the heavy burden of reality. After Dad left, Mum had turned away, and left me to fend for myself. She rarely left her bed, and if she did, it was just to migrate to the couch to watch home shopping on the flat screen TV that we couldn't afford, but she bought anyway. I had tried to make her feel better and cared for her the best I could, but some things just can't be saved.

The stranger stopped suddenly and I was jerked back to the present. I jumped into a bunch of ferns, scraping my knee on the way down, and took in my surroundings. I was lost. I had never been this far into the woods before. I certainly thought about it. A few times I even started walking further into the woods, but every time it was like an invisible force pushed me back, and changed my mind.

I peeked through the ferns and looked past the man to see an old crumbling house that was in worse shape than my apartment. The stranger turned around and looked straight toward the bunch of ferns in which I was hiding. He stared straight at me and nodded his head toward the building as if gesturing for me to follow.

I hesitantly crept out from the bunch of ferns. I didn't even think to check behind me before it was too late. Something smacked into the back if my head and I crumpled to the ground.

When I awoke, my head was throbbing like someone was bashing my brains in with a rock, and sunlight was streaming in through the windows of the apartment—WAIT! This isn't my apartment. I was lying on my back on a cold, probably termite-ridden, wooden floor.

I struggled against the forces of gravity to sit up, even though my throbbing head insisted I lie down. I was in a dusty, empty room with 2 large windows. I quickly assessed my escape routes. I walked—more like staggered like a drunk— to the windows.

They were both locked and the latches were rusted over. There was nothing in the room that I could use to smash them, apart from a small coffee table that was attached to the floor by who knows what. It wouldn't budge.

The door was made of flimsy looking wood, but for some reason would not break as I threw myself repeatedly against it. My shoulder ached and I was exhausted. I slid to the floor with a groan, but jumped straight back up again. I was not about to be caught off guard, not this time. I was adrenaline jacked and ready to act, but it was another ten minutes at least until someone—a woman this time— opened the door and stepped into my cell-like room, closing the door behind her. I threw myself at her but I hit some sort if invisible wall, and fell on my butt. This time I stayed there. She was holding another polished wooden stick, similar to the other man's loosely at her side. Her hair was mousy brown and as bushy as the fur on the orange cat that sat at her feet. She couldn't have been older than 25.

'Hello, Ellie.' She spoke with little emotion.

'Who the hell are you and why did you bring me here?!' I was starting to panic.

'You must have many questions and you will get answers. All in due time. My name is Hermione.'

'Just tell me one thing,' I said as calmly as I could,'What are you going to make me do? You haven't killed me, which means you need me for something... Or you are holding me hostage... I can tell you now, nobody's going to come looking.'

'You are a smart girl, Ellie Paige, and I think we made the right choice in selecting you for this mission.' she was smiling now, 'Yes, we do need you to do something for us. We need you to kill a man, a man named Harry Potter.