"Melaina!"

Ugh. It was her.

The she-devil, Hellen Cobbs.

Melaina swore to God, she was sent from Hell itself—the word Hell was in her name, could it be any more obvious?—her only purpose to be the bane of her damned existence in that horrible monstrosity considered a world.

She still couldn't understand how these people were able to function properly, knowing full well the terrors leaking from this darkness, slowly infecting and overpowering them—the helpless, most unfortunate beings to ever live.

"Melaina!" she screeched again, louder and—oh, dear fucking God—even more shrill, though the girl had no shred of an idea how that was physically possible.

"Melaina! Sam! Nyx! How! Fucking! Hard! Is it! For your shitty ears! To hear me! Goddamn screaming! For you! To get! Your fat ass! Down the stupid stairs?" Hellen roared, absolutely furious.

Melaina cringed every time her shriek pierced her ears. She literally thought that she was going to go deaf, and, in that short span of time, secretly envied those who already were.

Of course, she was always the one that had to put up with all of the Goddamned bullshit.

The tween hoped it would get better soon, though she wasn't sure if she even deserved that small mercy.

It was so stupid. He hated his life.

Being a Werewolf was not fun—believe it; he knew from experience.

"Remus!"

"What, Mum?" he called back.

The boy could hear her footsteps on the floor of the first level, heading towards the stairs at an easy pace. Briefly the thought crossed his mind that being affected with lycanthropy had its perks, after all. It was still annoying, though, but at least he had gained enhanced hearing.

That's always a plus . . .

"Remus John Lupin!" his mother, Hope, hollered, breaking him out of his musings as she advanced up to his room.

"Um, yes?"

She soon knocked at the door, and the sandy-blonde waved his hand carelessly. The door swung open, and his mother strode into the room to find her son lying on his bed—a large book opened up with a marker in it in front of him, untouched—peering up at her with a raised eyebrow.

"Honey, you . . ." She trailed off, and the boy had no idea what to say. "The Full Moon's going to be visible in a few days. Three, in fact."

"I know," he told her. It was true; he'd become a Werewolf, and everybody else would get scared. His parents were understanding, though, and he was so thankful for that.

She blushed. "I had suspected you did, sweetie, but I was just checking in on you . . ." she murmured. "Oh, yes, and you've gotten a letter."

He stood up slowly, stretching, and glanced at her curiously. "Really?" he asked, interested. "Where did it come from?"

"I'm not entirely sure, dear," she replied, lips pursed as she thought. "It may have something to do with Hogwarts . . ."

At that, Remus closed his book and swiftly trailed down the stairs. "Hogwarts? This, I'd like to see."

"Melaina! There's a letter for you!"

She silently slunk into the kitchen, not daring to make a sound, and tentatively accepted the proffered envelope with an almost imperceptible nod. Then, she disappeared into the shadows once more.

"Ungrateful little hag," the woman muttered, her eyes flashing.

The girl sat upon her bed, staring at the paper in her hands. What the hell?

HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY

Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore
(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)

Dear Miss Nyx,

We are pleased to inform you that you have a place at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.

Term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July.

Yours sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall
Deputy Headmistress

"They would never let me go, they'd say I couldn't, they'd start to call me a freak!" she panicked. Droplets of water pricked at her eyes. "I can't go, I won't!"

She threw her paper into the metal bin on the other side of the room, near the door, and turned her head away stubbornly. Then, she glanced back over her shoulder, longing in her two eyes.

"But . . . I really want to go . . ."

She headed down once more in silence, though this time having a destination clear in her mind.

After having a heated argument with the grouchy old woman, Ms. Hughes, who ran the orphanage, Melaina had a ghost of a smirk on her face. The girl had quietly threatened to use magic if she was ever banned from attending the school, which made Ms. Hughes shriek in fright and nod her head quickly.

She hated the orphanage. Absolutely loathed it. Nobody had once been kind to her, even going out of their way to hurt her, and she hadn't once done anything to deserve their wrath and cold fury.

They told her she was worthless, that her parents never wanted her to begin with—that they only raised her for the first couple years of her life out of pity, and then sent her to the orphanage when they couldn't take it anymore. They said that she was—somehow—the reason for all of their problems, and that she shouldn't die—no, she shouldn't die, because the fact was that she didn't deserve death; she deserved to rot in the depths of Hell for everything she had ever done, every body she had ever killed because those people had once known her.

So that was what she ended up believing, starting at age three-and-a-quarter. She was worthless, because they said she was; she was horrible, because they told her that she was; she was a murderer, because everything they said was correct and that was what they yelled to her face every day.

Now, along with that, they were going to start referring to her as a freak, or perhaps a monster.

And the most sad thing about it was that she would surely believe them if they said she was.