Summary: When she came to this school, she thought no one would understand.
But on her very first day on the train, a small boy her age knew everything
about her. He was just like her.
Chapter 1:
I sighed. My stupid mother thinks I can fend for my self on my first day. Sure, she explained it to me, but did I listen? No! Stupid, stupid, stupid...
I'm Rain Sanders. This was my very first day at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Excited? No. I've never felt so stupid in my life! Wearing robes? That was what people were wearing in the 17th century! Not in my time. Why can't I wear my clothes? My black, baggy pants and my Nightmare Before Christmas shirt? My black arm warmers? WHY? I asked my mom, and she said, "Why do you wear those clothes?" Ugg... But I didn't expect her to understand. No one understands. My whole life I've been the outcast. The freak. The weirdo with no friends. Yep, that's right. I haven't had a friend my whole life. Its not that I'm not social... I talk. It's just the conversations usually turn to why I where the stuff I do. I just hate that.
I ran through the barrier than my mum told me to and appeared before the Hogwarts Express. I looked around and saw older kids greeting each other. I think that I will never have that. To most kids, that would seem really depressing, but to me- same old, same old.
I pushed the trolley holding my cart onto the train and looked for an empty compartment. At the very end of the train, I found one. I lifted my trunk off of my trolley.
My trunk was interesting. It was covered in stickers, words, and signatures. Like, an Evanescence sticker, Linkin Park's Faint lyrics, Mettalica's signature, Deftones picture, Nervana lyrics, and more rock bands. I stared at it, smiled, then came back to reality.
It fell to the ground with a clunk, I was surprised how heavy it was. I tried to lift it, but it wouldn't budge. With a heave, I lifted it, and put it onto of the seat. I brushed my self off and sat down with a sigh. I leaned against the seat, and closed my eyes.
I heard the door slide open and someone drag their trunk in. I opened my eyes and saw a boy about my age with black hair standing there, trying to lift it. He looked pleadingly at me. "Can you help me?" he asked. I nodded, and got up. Within a few minutes, his trunk was neatly above the seat. "Thanks" he said, before sitting down, "Hope you don't mind. Everywhere else is full. I'm Spencer." He held out his hand, and I shook it. I was about to pull away, but he wouldn't let go. He was staring at my hand. I gasped. My left hand.
I pulled it away quickly and hid it in my pockets. "You do it too?" he asked, looking away. "Do what?" I asked, trying to sound confused.
"You- you know- cut?" he asked. I slowly nodded. "You do it too?" He also nodded.
My breath caught in my throat. This was the first person I'd ever met who also cuts themselves. (A/N This may sound like Struggle, but it's different. I wrote this before I read that story. I wasn't going to publish it, but decided to anyway.) This was the first time I'd ever showed, or told someone. Or talked about it.
I slowly rolled up my sleeves, and took off my arm warmers. My arms- didn't look like arms. It was like a spider web on flesh. Cuts, bruises, scars, burns- you name it, it's there. Spencer rolled up his sleeves and revealed- the exact same thing. I looked at his arms, he looked at mine. "You burn too?" he asked. I nodded.
"When was the last time you cut?" I asked. "Y-Yesterday," he muttered, "What's your name?" I looked away. "Rain. I cut yesterday too. Then, I burned."
"I don't have a knife, but I do have a lighter," I said. He looked out the window also. "I have a knife," he mumbled. I looked at him. "You do?" He nodded.
Then, our compartment door slid open. 3 boys our age walked in. One had uncontrollable black hair, another had brown, flat hair, and the other one had strawberry red hair. "Hey! Who are you?" the lack haired one said, sitting down next to Spencer. The strawberry head sat next to me, and the brown head leaned against the window, arms across his chest.
Spencer opened his mouth, but I said, "Why?" The strange boys looked at each other. The strawberry head said, "Because... we want to. And besides, only weirdo's sit in the back. You've got Snape, Malfoy, Evans..." The black haired boy smacked the strawberry upside the head. "Hey, Lily's pretty hot!" the black-haired boy said. I was about to open my mouth to tell them to sod off, when Spencer said, "I'm Spencer, and this is Rain. Who are you?" I gave him a look that screamed, 'Idiot!' He shrugged. The brown haired boy decided to do something utterly repulsive and disgusting. He squeezed into the almost non-existent space between me and the wall. He sat on my leg for god sake! I jumped up, and he looked at me with pleading eyes.
"WHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING?" I screamed. He got up and got very close to me. I pushed him away. "GET OUT!"
"But no one can resist dear old Sirius!" he said, smiling, and trying to be seductive. "I can!" I said, pushing him into the wall. I was furious! How could someone do that to me? To anyone! I was on the edge of throwing a punch in his face. Who did this-Sirius think he was?! Spencer got up and grabbed Sirius' shirt collar. With a mighty swing, Sirius was out the door and across the hall. "James!" Sirius cried, trying to stand. The black haired boy-I assumed who was James- glared at Spencer. "Come on, Remus!" The strawberry head stood, and followed the others out the door. I slammed the door shut and sat down, my face very red. "AHHH!" I cried, and I sat down, putting my head in my hands. "First day, already hit on," Spencer said, restraining a chuckle.
I looked up at him, then sat up. I closed my eyes. "Can I see your knife?" I asked. "Sure," he said, and I opened my eyes, watching him open a bag at his feet, pulling out of short, sharp knife. He handed me the hilt. "Where do you cut?" I asked. "Wrists. Arms. Shoulders. Ankles. Neck. Chest. Thighs. Anywhere, really," he said. "I cut where most don't look. Like my ankles. Or wrists. Anywhere where there is a lot of veins," I said, and I put the knife to my wrist. I pressed lightly and felt the cool blade against my skin. I pressed harder. I felt the trickle of blood. It wasn't enough. I pressed even harder. I saw the crimson liquid spill out. I smiled and moved the blade. I looked at it, stained with my blood. But not just mine. Someone else's blood. Dried blood. "You don't wash your blood off?" I asked, looking strangely at him. He shook his head. "Nah. What's the point? I get beat up if I hog the sink for more than 5 seconds," he said. "By who?" I asked.
"Mom. Dad. Sister. Brother. Anyone who needs it. Bruises? I didn't make those," he said, looking away. "I'm beaten too," I whispered. He looked at me, and we got eye contact.
"You're the first person I've told," I said. "Same," he said. I smiled slightly, then took a deep breath. "Spencer?" I whispered. He looked at me.
"Yes?" he asked. "Have- have-"I never finished my sentence, when someone called down the train, "GET DRESSED PEOPLE!" "What were you going to say?" he asked. "Never mind," I said, "I'll leave so you can dress." I got up, and let Spencer have the privacy he needed. About 5 minutes later, he came out, dressed in a long black robe. "Your turn," he said, then stepped aside to let me through. I smiled, then walked inside. I opened my trunk.
I groaned. An ugly, long, short, pinstriped skirt, a gray, itchy shirt, and a long black robe that could trail on the floor behind me, it was so big. I picked up the thing that I hated the most. The skirt. I wasn't the kind of girl to where a skirt at all! If I wore one, it came past my knees, and I would be forced by someone who is really, really above me. After about 5 minutes of glaring at my uniform, I heard a pounding at the door. "Hurry up, we're almost there!" Spencer called. "Okay!" I said, I threw on my uniform. I couldn't see what I looked like, because I'm no prissy like the girls that carry pink purses and mirrors. I smirked, remembering a girl boarding the train in a super low shirt and a pink, frilly, barely-there skirt.
I ran my hands through my black, red-tipped hair. I dyed it to be different. Everyone else thinks it was for attention.
I opened the door and Spencer smiled. I smiled back. "He said leave our stuff on the train," he said. "He?" I asked. "The conductor person," he said. "Ah."
Suddenly, the train came to a lurching stop, and we were thrown forward onto the seat. I sat up and looked at Spencer, and burst out laughing. He started laughing too. From that moment on, I knew he would be my best friend.
Chapter 1:
I sighed. My stupid mother thinks I can fend for my self on my first day. Sure, she explained it to me, but did I listen? No! Stupid, stupid, stupid...
I'm Rain Sanders. This was my very first day at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Excited? No. I've never felt so stupid in my life! Wearing robes? That was what people were wearing in the 17th century! Not in my time. Why can't I wear my clothes? My black, baggy pants and my Nightmare Before Christmas shirt? My black arm warmers? WHY? I asked my mom, and she said, "Why do you wear those clothes?" Ugg... But I didn't expect her to understand. No one understands. My whole life I've been the outcast. The freak. The weirdo with no friends. Yep, that's right. I haven't had a friend my whole life. Its not that I'm not social... I talk. It's just the conversations usually turn to why I where the stuff I do. I just hate that.
I ran through the barrier than my mum told me to and appeared before the Hogwarts Express. I looked around and saw older kids greeting each other. I think that I will never have that. To most kids, that would seem really depressing, but to me- same old, same old.
I pushed the trolley holding my cart onto the train and looked for an empty compartment. At the very end of the train, I found one. I lifted my trunk off of my trolley.
My trunk was interesting. It was covered in stickers, words, and signatures. Like, an Evanescence sticker, Linkin Park's Faint lyrics, Mettalica's signature, Deftones picture, Nervana lyrics, and more rock bands. I stared at it, smiled, then came back to reality.
It fell to the ground with a clunk, I was surprised how heavy it was. I tried to lift it, but it wouldn't budge. With a heave, I lifted it, and put it onto of the seat. I brushed my self off and sat down with a sigh. I leaned against the seat, and closed my eyes.
I heard the door slide open and someone drag their trunk in. I opened my eyes and saw a boy about my age with black hair standing there, trying to lift it. He looked pleadingly at me. "Can you help me?" he asked. I nodded, and got up. Within a few minutes, his trunk was neatly above the seat. "Thanks" he said, before sitting down, "Hope you don't mind. Everywhere else is full. I'm Spencer." He held out his hand, and I shook it. I was about to pull away, but he wouldn't let go. He was staring at my hand. I gasped. My left hand.
I pulled it away quickly and hid it in my pockets. "You do it too?" he asked, looking away. "Do what?" I asked, trying to sound confused.
"You- you know- cut?" he asked. I slowly nodded. "You do it too?" He also nodded.
My breath caught in my throat. This was the first person I'd ever met who also cuts themselves. (A/N This may sound like Struggle, but it's different. I wrote this before I read that story. I wasn't going to publish it, but decided to anyway.) This was the first time I'd ever showed, or told someone. Or talked about it.
I slowly rolled up my sleeves, and took off my arm warmers. My arms- didn't look like arms. It was like a spider web on flesh. Cuts, bruises, scars, burns- you name it, it's there. Spencer rolled up his sleeves and revealed- the exact same thing. I looked at his arms, he looked at mine. "You burn too?" he asked. I nodded.
"When was the last time you cut?" I asked. "Y-Yesterday," he muttered, "What's your name?" I looked away. "Rain. I cut yesterday too. Then, I burned."
"I don't have a knife, but I do have a lighter," I said. He looked out the window also. "I have a knife," he mumbled. I looked at him. "You do?" He nodded.
Then, our compartment door slid open. 3 boys our age walked in. One had uncontrollable black hair, another had brown, flat hair, and the other one had strawberry red hair. "Hey! Who are you?" the lack haired one said, sitting down next to Spencer. The strawberry head sat next to me, and the brown head leaned against the window, arms across his chest.
Spencer opened his mouth, but I said, "Why?" The strange boys looked at each other. The strawberry head said, "Because... we want to. And besides, only weirdo's sit in the back. You've got Snape, Malfoy, Evans..." The black haired boy smacked the strawberry upside the head. "Hey, Lily's pretty hot!" the black-haired boy said. I was about to open my mouth to tell them to sod off, when Spencer said, "I'm Spencer, and this is Rain. Who are you?" I gave him a look that screamed, 'Idiot!' He shrugged. The brown haired boy decided to do something utterly repulsive and disgusting. He squeezed into the almost non-existent space between me and the wall. He sat on my leg for god sake! I jumped up, and he looked at me with pleading eyes.
"WHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING?" I screamed. He got up and got very close to me. I pushed him away. "GET OUT!"
"But no one can resist dear old Sirius!" he said, smiling, and trying to be seductive. "I can!" I said, pushing him into the wall. I was furious! How could someone do that to me? To anyone! I was on the edge of throwing a punch in his face. Who did this-Sirius think he was?! Spencer got up and grabbed Sirius' shirt collar. With a mighty swing, Sirius was out the door and across the hall. "James!" Sirius cried, trying to stand. The black haired boy-I assumed who was James- glared at Spencer. "Come on, Remus!" The strawberry head stood, and followed the others out the door. I slammed the door shut and sat down, my face very red. "AHHH!" I cried, and I sat down, putting my head in my hands. "First day, already hit on," Spencer said, restraining a chuckle.
I looked up at him, then sat up. I closed my eyes. "Can I see your knife?" I asked. "Sure," he said, and I opened my eyes, watching him open a bag at his feet, pulling out of short, sharp knife. He handed me the hilt. "Where do you cut?" I asked. "Wrists. Arms. Shoulders. Ankles. Neck. Chest. Thighs. Anywhere, really," he said. "I cut where most don't look. Like my ankles. Or wrists. Anywhere where there is a lot of veins," I said, and I put the knife to my wrist. I pressed lightly and felt the cool blade against my skin. I pressed harder. I felt the trickle of blood. It wasn't enough. I pressed even harder. I saw the crimson liquid spill out. I smiled and moved the blade. I looked at it, stained with my blood. But not just mine. Someone else's blood. Dried blood. "You don't wash your blood off?" I asked, looking strangely at him. He shook his head. "Nah. What's the point? I get beat up if I hog the sink for more than 5 seconds," he said. "By who?" I asked.
"Mom. Dad. Sister. Brother. Anyone who needs it. Bruises? I didn't make those," he said, looking away. "I'm beaten too," I whispered. He looked at me, and we got eye contact.
"You're the first person I've told," I said. "Same," he said. I smiled slightly, then took a deep breath. "Spencer?" I whispered. He looked at me.
"Yes?" he asked. "Have- have-"I never finished my sentence, when someone called down the train, "GET DRESSED PEOPLE!" "What were you going to say?" he asked. "Never mind," I said, "I'll leave so you can dress." I got up, and let Spencer have the privacy he needed. About 5 minutes later, he came out, dressed in a long black robe. "Your turn," he said, then stepped aside to let me through. I smiled, then walked inside. I opened my trunk.
I groaned. An ugly, long, short, pinstriped skirt, a gray, itchy shirt, and a long black robe that could trail on the floor behind me, it was so big. I picked up the thing that I hated the most. The skirt. I wasn't the kind of girl to where a skirt at all! If I wore one, it came past my knees, and I would be forced by someone who is really, really above me. After about 5 minutes of glaring at my uniform, I heard a pounding at the door. "Hurry up, we're almost there!" Spencer called. "Okay!" I said, I threw on my uniform. I couldn't see what I looked like, because I'm no prissy like the girls that carry pink purses and mirrors. I smirked, remembering a girl boarding the train in a super low shirt and a pink, frilly, barely-there skirt.
I ran my hands through my black, red-tipped hair. I dyed it to be different. Everyone else thinks it was for attention.
I opened the door and Spencer smiled. I smiled back. "He said leave our stuff on the train," he said. "He?" I asked. "The conductor person," he said. "Ah."
Suddenly, the train came to a lurching stop, and we were thrown forward onto the seat. I sat up and looked at Spencer, and burst out laughing. He started laughing too. From that moment on, I knew he would be my best friend.