Disclaimer: I do not own anything you recognize. This is part of the "Different Perspective Challenge" by Luck O' The Irish Seamione. Also, the lyric italicized at the end of the first chapter is by The Beatles from their song "She's Leaving Home."

A/n: As I said this is for the "Different Perspective Challenge" which is a massive undertaking because it's all the Potter books from the Perspective of a different character. I chose Tracey Davis, a Slytherin girl in Harry's year though she is never mentioned by name in the book, she was just on one of J.K. Rowling's class list for his year. At the beginning of each chapter will be a set of lyrics, followed by the song and artist.

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The Wallflowers

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Book 1: Sorcerer's Stone

Chapter 1:

Once Upon A Time Somebody Ran, Somebody Ran Away Saying 'Fast As I Can, I've Got To Go... Got To Go.' Once Upon A Time, We Fell Apart. You're Holding In Your Hands The Two Halves of My Heart.
(Princess of China- Coldplay)

September first, Tracey Davis lay in bed awake, staring up at the ceiling. She'd been unable to fall asleep during the night, due to her excitement. Her large, olive-colored eyes stared up at the ceiling, as the rising sun filtered through her bedroom window. Her dark-brown hair, which was for the most part fell in wavy layers a few inches past her shoulders, was slightly mussed. However, Tracey was unconcerned with this.

She'd been looking forward to this day for as long as she could remember and nothing could dampen the excitement she felt that she'd finally get away from the run-down and depressing neighborhood she lived in. However, as much as she was looking forward to attending Hogwarts, she was also a bit apprehensive.

She'd never really been away from her mother, however, she doubted very much she'd be homesick. After all, she and her mother hardly had much of a relationship, as since her father abandoned them when she was nine, her mother had withdrawn into her work and left Tracey mostly to herself. Which, Tracey supposed that she was fine with as it wasn't too different from how things had been when her father had been around.

No... what she was mostly concerned about wast the people she'd be attending school with. Would they be more advanced than she was? Would they like her? Would she fit in anywhere?

For as long as she could remember, Tracey never really fit in. The fact that she knew she was a witch and different from the people she went to primary school with, made her mostly keep to herself. The only friends she ever really had, were those in her beloved stories and books in general. She had voraciously read for years whatever she could get her hands on. Even though most of those books belonged to her mother and she often struggled through the material that she was trying to get through.

Sighing, Tracey got out of bed and headed to the bathroom, hopping in for a quick shower. After she was all freshened up and dressed, she headed down the stairs and walked to the kitchen ignoring the creak her bare feet made on the steps.

The kitchen was decently sized, with an island at its center. No table for eating, as she or her mother usually ate on stools at the kitchen island instead, and being as it was just the two of them... well there was no point having a table. However, on spotting the island, Tracey shook her head.

He mother was slumped over asleep, her face buried amongst several sheets and scrolls of parchment. Noticing a few ink stains on her mother's face and fingers, Tracey figured her mother fell asleep while working. Shaking her head once more, she walked around her mother and carefully set about waking her. Knowing her mother, she'd jump out of the stool and fall to the floor if she woke her too suddenly.

"Mum," Tracey said softly, standing beside the tall, slender woman with long, wavy brown hair that fell all the way to her hips; Tracey had always felt this the length was rather impractical and more a nuisance than anything, but it was her mother's only vanity. "Mum," Tracey said, this time a little louder, but not by much. A pair of almost yellow eyes shot open and her mother sat up straight, groaning as she did so when her back and neck popped. Tracey frowned, a look of concern crossing her small, pale features. "What time did you go to sleep?"

Regina Davis nee Rookwood straightened in her seat and blinked slowly the confusion of waking away. "Tracey," she deadpanned. "I'm not sure, darling. What are you doing up at this hour? It's summer, usually you sleep in until high noon or later."

"Mother, it's September First. I start at Hogwarts today. Don't you remember?" Tracey asked her mother as a look of comprehension entered her mother's eyes as she nodded her head slowly.

"Ah yes, of course. Sorry darling," her mother stated, yawning and stretching her long limbs as she did so. Tracey sighed in exasperation.

"You should go up and shower. You have ink stains all over your face. I'll make breakfast for us while you're at it," Tracey stated imperiously, grabbing her mother by the arm and pulling her up on her feet before gently pushing her towards the kitchen doorway. For a few minutes, she lingered in the threshold and watched as her mother glided away, her long, forrest green robes trailing after her. Once her mother was out a sight, she waited longer for the tell-tale creak of the old stairs and the sounds of rushing water through pipes before she heard the spray of the shower.

Nodding to herself, Tracey turned around and with resignation, shoved her mothers work to one side of the island counter, before setting about making a light breakfast. Neither she nor her mother had ever been morning people, much less the type to eat breakfast.

Tracey guessed it was from her mother from which she got that. One of the only things she was sure, as she didn't have the Rookwood coloring about her. Nor were her features so narrow. While she was dainty, and even pretty, Tracey was sure she must look much more like her father. A fact she tried hard not to resent, despite the fact that she hated the man and did not want to be reminded of him.

It wouldn't' do after all, to hate herself because of him. Besides, it was bad enough to be a Rookwood.

Even at eleven, Tracey was not ignorant of her family history. Her mother was a pureblood witch, and had been disowned for marrying her father who was a muggle. However, her mother hadn't cared because she hated her family, especially her brother, Augustus.

The man, who was technically her uncle, was also a Death Eater and her mother had told her tales about her childhood, growing up in a manor with a psychopath. When her mother had turned fourteen, she shot a particularly nasty hex at her elder brother, who at the time had been eighteen. From Tracey's understanding, Augustus had been permanently scarred for life with pockmarks on his visage. Her mother never told her why she had hexed him, but Tracey assumed it was for something extremely unpleasant as her mother was not a particularly violent person.

However, even then he had not ceased to try to make her mother's life hell. When her mother started working as an Unspeakable at the Ministry, her uncle had changed departments and started working in the Department of Mysteries as well. All to torture her mother. Luckily, he'd been arrested when she was a year old and Tracey had never had to actually meet him.

Tracey didn't want to be a Rookwood. As much as she hated her father, she hated the idea of being related to a Death Eater even more. Though, nothing in her life thus far had make her particularly fond of most muggles, she didn't hate them. She didn't think they were stupid, or useless, or another specie.

Besides that, she really liked their forms of entertainment. She thought television and films were ingenious. And she loved their music. She thought it was a bit mind-boggling how they managed to get airplanes to stay in the air and fly without magic.

Shaking her head of these thoughts, Tracey turned to work on breakfast and concentrated on that. She made a few pieces of toast, pulling out the marmalade from a cupboard and grabbing utensils from a drawer before heading to the refrigerator and pulling out a carton of juice. She poured out two glasses before placing the juice back, and turning to the bread which popped out from the toaster. She quickly spread marmalade on them, and set them in separate plates, two apiece before carefully moving it all to the island.

She sat and ate slowly, not bothering to wait for her mother and instead reaching for some of the scrolls and looking through what her mother was working on now. She furrowed her brow as she found herself looking at a dizzying array of numbers and equations. Arithmancy, she thought dryly. She'd never really cared for it much; numbers and math never being a strong suit of hers.

Absently, she munched on her toast as she pushed the parchment away and picked up another. However, it took her several minutes to come across something she might recognize. However, before she could read anything, a sound startled her as her mother stepped back into the room looking considerably fresh-faced and with all her long hair tied up in a complicated bun.

"How many times do I have to tell you not to look at my work! It's classified!" her mother snapped at her, snatching the parchment from her hand and placing it with the others. Tracey shrugged and swallowed the food in her mouth.

"If you didn't want me to look, you shouldn't leave it lying around. You know I'm curious," Tracey responded, grabbing a glass of juice and taking a sip from it.

Her mother sighed, but flashed her a tired smile. "I know you are, pet. But you know, curiosity killed the cat."

"Well then it's a good thing I'm not a feline and human instead," Tracey responded, giving her mother a cheeky smile before continuing to eat.

Her mother chortled as she shook her head and sat. Placing her elbow on the table, she placed her chin her hand and tilted her head to look at her daughter. Reaching out, she pushed a strand of dark brown hair out of her daughter's eyes; her hair was not quite the mahogany brown of her mother's. "What am I going to do without you, Tracey?" her mother asked, her eyes a bit shiny.

Tracey shrugged, swallowing her bite of toast and wiping crumbs from her hands as she finished. "You'll be fine, it's only until December. I'll be back before you know it," Tracey responded, her gaze darkening for a moment, knowing it was true. Tracey knew, despite the fact that her mother was distant, that her mother loved her. However, she'd always been aware that with her mother, her work usually came first. She was sure if Tracey didn't remind her mother of her presence daily, her mother might just forget about her. "Finish your breakfast. I'll be down in a bit. Want to make sure I didn't forget to pack anything."

With that, Tracey rose from the table and walked out of the kitchen and into the living room. It's walls were filled with books, stacked in bookcases that covered almost every inch of spare wall. However, she paused and looked at the large fireplace. Over the mantle, there were a few pictures, mostly of herself and some with her mother.

There were very few pictures, five in all. She recalled that there used to be a lot more. Most of them had been removed when her father left. Tracey felt a small tug at her heart which had remained broken and incomplete since that day, as much as she hated to acknowledge it.

He had left and it had broken her heart. She could still recall crying for days after... it was the only thing she remembered from those days after. She'd only stopped crying when her mother had had enough and smacked her across the cheek, yelling at her and telling her that crying never solved anything. Her heart had broken for a second time that day, when her mother had struck her.

Tracey had never been hit before. It had shocked her momentarily, before Tracey recalled feeling hatred entering her, flushing into every nerve she had. Her mother didn't look guilty. She looked like a shell. She was empty inside. Tracey knew this, because she could feel that.

And then, Tracey lost it.

"It's all YOUR fault! He left because of you! Because you're cold and you don't feel anything! I hate you! I wish he had taken me with him and far away from you!" she recalled yelling and for the first time in her small life, she felt something inside her mother break. The yellow eyes, which had always been a bit frightful to look on, seemed to melt into molten gold as they filled with tears. And Tracey knew for certain then than what she'd ever known before; that her mother wasn't cold. No, her mother was afraid of something inside of her. That something which made her strike at Tracey and feel nothing after. Her mother kept her distance, because she was afraid of hurting Tracey; afraid of damaging her as she had been damaged.

Since then, everything seemed worse for a time, but it all fell into place. And despite the growing rage, there was a sense of clarity. She could now understand her mother, who'd always been a little distant before.

Complex as her mother was, Tracey could now understand her a little. She could look past the woman's defenses and see the weariness and fear within. Tracey did what she could to assuage her mother's fears, to show her mother that she'd never truly hurt Tracey if she got too close, but nothing she did could really accomplish it. Because they were both broken. Her mother beyond repair and Tracey... Tracey still had hope that she could be whole again, perhaps in the future. She was not so lost.

Shaking her head, and drawing her gaze away from the mantle, Tracey headed for the stairs. Taking them slowly, she ran her hand along the railing and stared at it. She hummed to herself as she continued the steady climb. She's leaving home, after living alone, for so many years...

TBC...