Summary- What if Harry Potter had an older sister? A sister placed in an orphanage. One that never lived to make it to Hogwarts, who lay forgotten under a simple headstone, with no inscription besides her name? This is her too short story.
Amalia: the Potter who didn't make it
Amalia raced home. Well it wasn't really home, but the Conrads made her call the dilapidated building she lived in home when around strangers.
Her bare feet pounded against the pavement and her breath puffed in the cold January air. She was after curfew, the Conrads would kill her. She wasn't allowed to be late today. It wasn't my fault her mind cried desperately, but without hope.
Every time her left foot hit the pavement she winced. She thought that maybe Higgins had broken some of her toes.
Ben Higgins was the first grade bully, and he hated Amalia with a passion. He teased her about her small height and ragged, unfitting, and torn clothes. After school today he had cornered her and beat her up, leaving bruises in invisible places.
Amalia was a realist, or at least she thought she was, it was her firm belief that she must have done something very wrong in a past life if she was now so unloved in this one, and if she deserved the punishments she got, then who was she to complain.
Finally Amalia made it to the rickety apartment building she lived in.
Praying to god that Mr. Conrad wasn't drunk again she stepped foot inside the building. Quickly she made her way to the elevator and got to the fifth floor quickly.
From all the way down the hall Amalia could hear the glass breaking. Guessing correctly that it came from her apartment she knocked on the door quietly.
The door opened to a room beyond that was dark, to dark to see. A hand grabbed her by the neck and pulled her into the room roughly.
Amalia could smell the beer in the room, it stunk of it. Whimpering she turned around and faced the blood shot eyes of her adoptive father.
"Your late." The man growled out. "School let out an hour ago! Where were you girl? Answer me! GOD DAMMIT!"
From there the situation was worsened as the intoxicated man grabbed the girl before him and slammed her against a wall. From the rage in the man's eyes Amalia knew, just knew, it was all over. She was thankful. At last she would be free.
Free from the Conrads.
Free from Ben Higgins.
Free from the stares and sniggers she received from her classmates.
The word took on a whole new meaning to the dying girl as she pictured in her mind the freedom she'd have in death.
Somehow as she was slowly strangled to death by her guardian her lips twitched upwards a slight bit, as if to say thank god it's all over, even as her face turned blue and tears streaked down her face.
When Amalia died she spent her time in heaven watching over her brother. However as she did this her real parents stood by her and eventually others joined them. Sirius first, and others over time.
From her notch in heaven she watched her brother, and cried for him as she could never have done for herself. Please she'd tell herself, give him the life I never had, not the death that I did.
A/N- This story is depressing and is only planned to be a one-shot. However if enough people review and want I will consider making this a two-shot were harry visits her grave after the war. I won't tell you how Harry would find it unless I write another chapter; I do have a good idea. If you don't like sad stories then don't read this one.