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"Rose, where have you been? I've been worried sick!"
I straighten out my white blouse and walk into the kitchen. My poor sweet mother gasps at the sight of me.
She looks down at her hands and speaks very quietly, "You've been out all night again, haven't you?"
Deciding to play coy, I reply with a simple, "What makes you say that?" I raise an eyebrow for effect.
My mother finally looks up again and gestures to my ruffled clothes, "You were wearing that yesterday."
"And so I was," I reply sarcastically, "Well done, mummy!" I begin clapping sarcastically and only stop once my mother has returned to gazing at the table.
She has clearly been up all night worrying about me. Her dark brown hair has partly fallen out of its bun and her grey eyes are surrounded by what would appear to be bruising, but in actual fact are just bags from lack of sleep.
"I wish you wouldn't do that," my mother begins after a few minutes of silence.
"Do what?"
"Stay out at night, sleep with boys," she pauses momentarily, "pretend that I don't love you."
I laugh hollowly and dump my black leather bag on the kitchen counter. "Oh mother, mother. What makes you think I am pretending?"
Tears begin to fall down her face, but I don't care. She needs to know this; she needs to know what she's done.
"Look at me!" I cry when her gaze returns to the table once more, "You did this to me!"
My poor mother's shoulders start to shake and she begins to moan, "No, no, no…"
"YES!" I shout, "This is all you! You lock me away; you tell me no one will understand! Well, guess what?! I. Don't. Give. A. SHIT!"
And with that, I storm up to my cupboard of a room, leaving my mother in pieces downstairs. I can still hear her crying, but I still don't care. I can't care.
I don't emerge from my room until hours later, when I was sure the effects of this morning's alcohol had worn off enough for me to actually think straight.
As I come downstairs, I notice that my mother is in the same position from when I left her, except that now she has something in her hands. I tiptoe into the room and stand where she can see me.
"What's that?" I ask, nodding to the envelope in her hands.
My mother looks up at me and then wipes her eyes nervously. "It came for you this morning," she says, and lifts a shaky arm to give me the envelope.
"What is it?" I ask cautiously; I never get mail, or packages. I'm surprised many people know I exist, actually.
Mother straightens in her chair and clears her throat gently. "It's from Hogwarts," she whispers.
My body immediately tenses and my brain goes into high alert. When I mentioned that I had never gotten mail? Yeah, not even from Hogwarts when I was eleven, even though my magic is a pretty clear indication I am a witch.
I move to sit down on the chair opposite hers and open the letter with a shaky hand.
Dear Miss Lune,
I am writing to inform you that you have been given a place to study at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry this coming fall. A letter specifying what you require has also been enclosed. Also enclosed is a letter from our Headmaster, Professor Albus Dumbledore. Please send an owl confirming your place by August 1st.
Yours Sincerely,
Professor Minerva McGonagall,
Deputy Headmistress
I am literally frozen in shock. Was this some kind of sick joke?
Without even bothering to look up, I hand the letter across the table to my mother. She accidently touches my hand and recoils from the touch. I immediately recover from the shock and feel my face contort into a scowl.
"There's a letter from Professor Dumbledore here for you," she stammers and passes the letters across the table once more, though this time keeping clear of my skin.
"Thanks a bunch," I say sarcastically and mother winces at my tone. Oh grow a spine, I think to myself.
The letter just sits idly in my hands. I have no intention of opening it, not in front of her.
"Aren't you going to open it?" She asks gently, voicing the very question I did not want her to ask.
"Nope," I state matter-of-factly. "Got a problem?"
The middle age witch sitting across from me just shakes her head and retreats into that shell she calls a mind once more.
My mind just laughs at itself, and I begin to wonder what I had done to deserve her. Contrary to what my mother believes, I am not a bad person and I don't spend every night, though I do spend many, drinking and having sex. Yes, I know it's bad because I am only sixteen, but my life is the very definition of shit at the moment, and this is my way of coping.
The truth is, when I was three I was bitten by a werewolf. Want to know what the worst part is? That werewolf was my dad. Now, mummy dearest took it hard; she kicked dad out of the house, placed me under permanent house arrest, and vowed that I would not be leaving this house until I was eighteen.
However, like every other teenager out there, I decided to rebel and do the very things my mother hates most. The result? A sexually active, binge-drinking werewolf who has been accepted to Hogwarts.
Well, this is going to be fun.
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