Disclaimer: I own nothing, but you already knew that ;)
Chapter One
Everything was lost in a blur of motion; the pounding in my ears in sink with the pounding of my feet on the worn linoleum floor, the small refrigerator bursting into flames once again. I could feel the stench and the heat of his whiskey-tainted breath closing in on me with every shriek of his drunken voice. I could feel his dirty hands reaching out to grab the roots of my mangled hair.
"Come here you little freak!"
I willed my feet to run faster, my goal a few feet within my reach. I furiously yanked the closet door open slamming it shut in his face and held it fast with my mind. He pounded his fist several times on the door, before he gave up, swearing loudly before he stumbled off drunkenly.
I slid to the floor, breathing heavily for a few minutes while the pounding in my ears quieted. It was suddenly much cooler; I guess the refrigerator had stopped burning.
It was only quiet of a moment though, before there was the even thunk of a metal doorknocker, measurably making contact against old wood. This was surprising since our front door didn't in fact have a doorknocker.
I didn't hear anybody get up to answer it, but I heard the sound of the front door slowly creaking open, and the clunk of heavy boots coming down the narrow hallway, getting closer and closer until finally stopping at the entrance to the tiny closet.
The door slowly swung open, and even though I knew it had been locked, I wasn't afraid.
At first, all I could see was the long, almost white hair cascading like a waterfall, framing his clean face. His long black robes hung to the floor, and he carried a staff with the head of a snake in his left hand. The air around him had a tangible difference from that of my foster-parents. It felt pure, and it made me feel safe.
I felt safe. In the presence of a man I was sure I'd never met before.
"Lena Lestrange." the man said, smiling.
Before I had a chance the respond, I heard an earsplitting pop. Then another, and another. I couldn't see around the man, who was still standing in the narrow doorway of the tiny linen closet, but I could hear the sounds of shouting and maniacal laughter.
The man grabbed my hand, gently but still forcefully, and pulled me out of the closet. I saw several other men in cloaks, and my foster-father shouting drunkenly at them. Every shriek was followed by an unintelligible shout, and a burst of light.
It all happened so quickly, as I was pulled down our narrow hall and through the door, I barley saw one final burst of green light, and the drunken shouting ceased.
I only glanced back once; to see the house I'd lived in for over ten years in flames. I looked forward, and let out a breath I didn't know I'd been holding and felt the odd sense of relief.
We walked to the end of the street, before the man turned to me and told me to hold onto his cloak tightly. I clutched myself closer to him, and also grabbing hold of his staff, which I now realized was were his hand should have been.
Everything started to spin wildly. My ears began to pop, and I couldn't breathe. Before I could begin to panic though, the spinning stopped, and I could breathe again.
Except that now, I stood at the foot of a huge mansion.
I felt my eyes widen, and I glanced up at the man in astonishment. What had just happened?
He didn't look down at me though; he walked slowly, calmly, to the double doors and pulled them open, leading me inside.
And I wasn't afraid.
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