Hermione stumbles past the corner shop and off the main road. Her cumbersome and bulky school rucksack weighs her down; she lugs her cursed dance kit and carries the plastic bag containing her mum's highly demanded vodka bottle and pack of cigarettes. Every day she wished that she would come home to see her mum, sober and welcoming her back like all the other mums.
The loose soles of her worn out trainers scrape against the gravel. The leaves and branches of the trees rustle softly in the cool September wind.
She glares at the bottle of vodka, resting limply in the corner shop's dull black bag.
It glares right back at her.
Filled with anger she grabs the bottle and hurls it across the street. She screams as it flies – a roar of sadness and frustration. She watches as the object that ruined her childhood soars through the air and sees it smash on the hard, uneven pavement of the road. The glass shatters and the alcohol spills and starts to trickle down the hill. Hermione starts to sob uncontrollably, was this really what her life was going to be like? She takes a seat on a tree root next to the shattered glass. The soon to be eleven year old examines the pieces of glass and a tear rolls down her cheek. Frustrated knowing she has to return home, she observes her surroundings and gives her dance bag a kick. It teeters on the edge of the curb before falling into a puddle.
After a few moments of self-reflection, she stands up and goes to retrieve her torn and now wet dance bag. The alcohol has trickled down the road and the pack of cigarettes is now soaked in the pungent liquor. She shakes the pack vigorously. Hermione drags her bag along the pavement and walks home.