DISCLAIMER: All rights go J.K. Rowling, except for some of the characters and the plot. Also, I would like to thank J.K. Rowling for writing the most amazing/awesome story ever.

Chapter One

I was raised by a muggle woman named Vanora Prisset. She was my mother. But I hated her. She was harsh and unfair toward me. It was as if I was a chore to her; something she didn't want, but had to have. I guess that's why as soon as I turned fifteen, I started hanging around town more often than not.

We lived in a small, yellow house on the edge of a cliff, surrounded by overgrown shrubberies and spider webs. I didn't mind the overgrown greenery, but I hated the spider webs. They were sticky and they were infested with different kinds of spiders, the worst being the red-back spider. I'm forever swiping off threads of webs from my clothes.

The rest of the house wasn't much better. The yellow was chipped in places and was always peeling away. Some of the windows at the front and sided were cracked, some even smashed or having no glass in the pane at all. The front door squeaked loudly and the back door couldn't open at all. The worst of it all was that if it was possible to open the back door, you would only end up toppling down the rocky cliff until you hit the forest floor a hundred feet below. The fall would surely kill you and if it didn't, then whatever creepy animal was lurking in the bushes below probably would. I guess that's why my mother barred the back door.

It was only until I turned fifteen that I noticed the differences between me and her. For starters, we looked nothing alike. Her red hair was always cut shoulder length, she had dark blue eyes, her skin was a creamy colour, pink in some parts and she had a long neck. I was the complete opposite. I had long, black hair that fell to just above my waist, my eyes were dark brown with flecks of black in them and my skin was pale. I was also almost a head taller than her.

But it was only when I was searching through the attic, looking for my book that she had thrown up there in her anger, that I discovered who my biological mother was.

The box had my name on it in bold, capitalised letters: ALEXIA DWYER-FLETCHLEY. Naturally I was curious as to why my name was marked on a brown, cardboard box. So I opened it. There wasn't much inside the box, except for a few baby clothes, a porcelain doll looked like a fairy, a green photo album that had butterflies on it and a plain brown, leather-bound book.

The first item I pulled out of the box was the photo album. It held ten photos in total and all of them were moving. The people in the photos were moving, which was just impossible. How could a photo move? Seriously, that's just impossible. But these photos were.

The photos mostly had people I had never even seen in my entire life in them. One was of a couple dancing in front of a fountain; another of a man with shoulder length black hair, quite a few photos of a woman who looked like a model and two of a baby wearing pink.

The next item I pulled out was the leather bound book. The covers felt cold and smooth underneath my fingers as I opened it. About half the book was filled with black, cursive writing, the rest of the pages were blank. On the first page was written in bold letters 'This book is the property of Arya Dwyer-Fletchley'

I was about to sit down and read it when my mother called out to me. I put the book back, closed the lid and pushed it to where it was before and left the attic, planning on returning later on. Turns out my mother just wanted to know where I was.

I went back up to the attic and began to read the book, as well as look for my book that I still hadn't been able to find. I settled into a comfortable position on the floorboards and started to read through the entries.

October 3rd 1979

It's been awhile since I last wrote, I know. I've been very preoccupied recently. He talked to me. He actually talked to me. I remember it as if it was only yesterday, but it was actually a week and a half ago. I was in the library when he came over and said hello to me. I was so shocked that I just sat there and stared at him with my mouth hanging open. I probably looked like a fish!

I had no idea how he had gotten here. After all, he was a deatheater and he was supposed to be at Hogwarts. And it was my parent's house. Well, it was my parent's house. I still haven't fully recovered from their deaths last fall. That stupid, slimy git Tom Riddle – or should I say Voldemort – killed them because they wouldn't join his side. But I'm getting ahead of myself.

Anyway, he was there, in our personal library and he wanted to see me. Not Lily, but me! That was just the start of the happiest times of my life. We talked and hung out everyday, or at least whenever we could. I fell even more in love with him, if that is possible. It was almost painful though as he was still in love with Lily.

I didn't know half of what this person was writing. Most of the things she wrote sounded like stuff from a science fiction novel. For instance, what on earth were Hogwarts and a deatheater? What got me the most was that she called someone 'Voldemort'. Why would anyone call themself that anyway? The journal was making me more confused than I ever had been in my entire life. And I didn't know whether that was a good thing or not.

October 6th 1979

He's gone. He just...left. My heart is breaking. It's the most painful thing I've ever felt. He said he didn't want me when I told him how I felt. I thought it was different now. But it wasn't. He was still in love with Lily. The pain is too much for me to handle. It's unbearable. I just want to leave. I want to go far, far away and never come back. I want to go somewhere far away from the war raging on here and from Severus Snape.

"Alexia!" My mother yelled, jerking me back to reality. I closed the journal quickly, pushed the box back to where I found it and hid the journal in my loose jacket so I could read it later when I was locked in my room again. "Alexia Prisset! Where are you?!"

"I'm coming!" I yelled so as not to give her a reason to come looking for me. Before I made my way to the kitchen, I dumped the journal in my room so she wouldn't find it. When I entered the kitchen, my mother was stirring something on the stove. I sighed, preparing myself for whatever she was going to do now. "Yes, mother? You wanted me for something?"

"I want you to finish cooking. I have to run down to the corner store for something." I nodded, going to the stove. She pointed her abnormally long index finger at me, while narrowing her eyes. "Don't burn it this time! You hear me! Don't burn it. Otherwise you'll get punished worse than what you got the last time you decided to light the kitchen on fire."

I winced at the mention. I have no idea what happened really. One minute I was stirring the strange gloop that was dinner while trying to calm myself down as mother had banned me from going to the movies with my friends and then, all of a sudden, the kitchen was on fire. It wasn't even my fault. Honestly, I had no idea how that fire started. I was just lucky to get out alive. Mother was definitely not happy about that.

As I stirred the meal, trying not to burn it or the kitchen, my thoughts drifted to the journal hidden in my room. Who wrote it and why was it tucked away in a box with my name on it – and in our attic of all places? The journal was causing more confusion than it was giving answers. No, scratch that. It wasn't giving me any answers. It was only making me question it with no hope of getting any answers. I would have to get the answers to my questions myself. Unless, of course, I could find this 'Arya Dwyer-Fletchley', who ever she is. If I can't find her, then I will have to go talk to this 'Hogwarts' or find Severus Snape. Maybe he could give me the answers I'm looking for.

I knew I was in trouble when a burnt toast sort of smell reached my nose a moment later and the stove beginning to light on fire. "Ah crud...not again!"

I ran to the sink, grabbed a random glass that had been placed in it, filled it with tap water and through it over the stove, managing to put out the fire before it began to blaze. I quickly took the food off of the stove and stared down into the now-burnt gloop. Mother should have known better than to leave me to cook dinner. She knew that I couldn't cook for the life of me. It's hopeless.

"You stupid useless excuse for a human! You went and burnt it again, didn't you?! You're lucky you didn't burn the kitchen down again!" I whirled around at the sound of her voice, my eyes as wide as saucers. She came forward and looked into the pot and then back at me, her eyes blazing. She pushed the pot over to me. "Well then, here's your dinner. There is no way I am going to be eating that now! I should have known something like this was going to happen! Well, go on, eat it!"

I shook my head, my appetite lost. "I'm not hungry."

"I don't care if you're not hungry! You will eat this food now!" I backed out of the kitchen, refusing to eat it. Once she saw that I was refusing it, she picked up the pot and threw it in my direction. I ducked out of the way, narrowly missing it by a strand of hair. The pot clattered to the floor, the contents spilling onto the brown carpet. "Fine! You can clean it up then!"

I ran to my bedroom and slammed the door shut, locking it even though I knew it was pointless. Mother always had a way of getting into my room, even when it was locked. I don't know how she did it, seeing as I kept both the keys with me at all times.