Alone. So alone. For many years have I walked these dusty passages like a lonely ghost. I know the feeling well; it has been my constant companion for the past 11 years. I was 15 but I wasn't a normal teenager. Some teenagers refuse to talk to their parents for a day, maybe even a week. I haven't talked to a living soul since I was four.

I was stuck in this big, dusty empty house. It was full of dark foreboding family heirlooms that looked like they were from a muggle horror movie. The collection of House Elf heads along the stairwell was a clear giveaway. Many years of dust and grime had moved in and inhabited the house. With them they brought their close friends, vermin and foul bugs. I called it the House of Death but it certainly smelt like it. I couldn't escape it though, there was nowhere for me to go. I couldn't fit in with the muggles, they wouldn't understand my magical ways. I knew there were others out there, somewhere. The books in the vast dusty library, and the small stack of ancient, fragile Daily Prophets were clear indicators of a magical world. I was too scared to find them though; no doubt they would look down on me. A curiosity, a freak.

My life hadn't always resembled a horror story once it was a fairytale. When my mother was alive there had been so much joy and happiness in my life. She sang and danced through her days with her happy, joyful aura. She was beautiful, a fairy queen and I was the princess.

In my fairy tale, my father was the hero. Handsome and mysterious, he'd bring back amazing stories of his adventures. He was often away on his adventures, spending more time away then at home. But when he was home, life was one big game full of mischief and fun.

Then the fairy tale turned to a tragedy on its quick path to horror. My father didn't return from his latest adventure. My mother's heart was broken beyond prepare but unlike fairy tales, she didn't recover and her hero didn't return. Then she too disappeared. Leaving me alone in this big, empty house of horrors.

I had been quick to learn about the metal boxes that spit out money to muggles. It was only to easy for an already magically gifted toddler twisting the machines to give her money for free had been a piece of cake. I had all the clothes and food I needed from those amazing boxes but they didn't buy me a friend.

I heard a crash from downstairs and flinched. My grandmother had begun to scream her fury. It echoed through the house. I shrugged, it was probably one of the rats that haunted the passages. I'd thought they'd have learnt by now. I sighed resignedly and prepared to bellow from my room down into the hallway below. I was beaten to it.

"Shut up you stupid old cow!" A man's voice bellowed angrily. I jumped, landing on the old bed awkwardly. I cautiously tiptoed across the room. My mind was racing and my heart thumping with every creak the floor boards made. They must be magical if they found the place, muggles couldn't find it. Were they good or bad? Had they finally found out about me? Would they attack me? I was quivering with anxiety as I peered around the door frame. My grandmother was still screaming and two large men were fighting to pull the curtains over her. I shrank back, they were big and looked capable of overpowering a teenage girl. Behind them, stood a group of people peering around the hall in fascination and somewhat disgust. Luckily they couldn't see me in the shadows of the first landing.

When they had finally quietened my fierce grandmother, a dark hair man turned to a woman with hot pink hair.

"Tonks, try not to knock over anything else," he said. He must've been the man who had bellowed. The woman called Tonks ducked her head in embarrassment. They seemed nice but why were they hear. My question was answered with the next sentence. "So what do you think, will this suffice for Headquarters," the man said again. I moved quietly from the door of my room and onto the top stair. I sat down and put my chin on my hand, intrigued. Were they smugglers or villains finding their secret headquarters. Too much reading and time spent day dreaming had caused my imagination to be wild. There was precious else to keep me occupied.

"Are you sure it's empty?" Another man asked peering into the shadowy corners. I shrank back a little. I had moved halfway down the stairs but was still protected by the shadows and uncertain light.

"Why on earth would anyone live here?" The apparent leader of the group asked incredulously.

"Because they were left alone," I said before I could stop myself. Heads swung around, finally seeing the smallish figure on the stairs. Sticks were drawn from pockets and pointed at me. I realised they must be wands.

"Who are you? Show yourself," a man said. I hesitated for a moment. Then stepped into the dim light. People gasped, they hadn't expected to see a teenage girl that was for sure. I didn't meet their curious gazes. I subconsciously pulled my black hoodie further over my skinny leg jeans.

"Who are you? Why are you here?" Someone repeated. I hesitated again, unsure of what to do. This would be the first time I'd spoken to someone (other than myself) for 11 years. I gulped and came to a decision.

"I'm Emily and I live here," I said, hoping my voice sounded defiant like the heroines in my books would. "The real question is what are you doing here?" I demanded fiercely this time with more confidence.

"Emily?" A man said his voice sounding broken. I turned to him angrily. It was the dark haired leader. He looked like he was going to cry. I stared at him oddly.

"Sirius? Are you okay," Tonks asked. It was then I understood. I had thought he'd looked familiar. All I could do was stand there, numb with shock. His next words confirmed it.

"It's Emily, it's my daughter," He said. Sirius Black had come home. The hero had returned and somehow my horror story was beginning to unravel.