Hi there, this is the first story I have written on this site. I hope you enjoy. (Thumbs up to the person who spots the Prime of Miss Jean Brodie reference) :)


The rain splattered the windows of a medium sized bedroom, empty apart from a small beaded satchel on the bed and a girl standing in the centre of the room. The girl looked around hesitantly, her feet twitching towards the door every so often as if she needed to leave the room but was not capable of doing so.

After several long minutes, she slowly leaned forward, gripping firmly the strap of the small bag in one hand whilst simultaneously reaching out for a long thin piece of wood located on a white desk.

The rain pounded against the double glazed glass, hitting it so forcefully it sounded like bullets. However, the girl seemed unperturbed by the violent weather. Instead, her eyes scanned the room. Her room. A room that she had been living in for 17 years. A room, which she could have called hers for another several more years if not for the current unfavourable circumstances, she had been unwillingly placed in.

The girl's eyes then landed on an old photograph she must have forgotten to pack. She walked over to the windowsill and carefully picked up the framed photograph. A small sound escaped her lips, a half chuckle half cry, as she watched a small girl with brown bushy hair and big front teeth sprint towards a man and a woman whom she hugged tightly before jumping onto a large steam train. A tear splashed the protective glass on top of the photograph and the girl delicately wiped it away, whilst her lips formed a sad smile as she thought of her first day at school.

A sudden noise coming from downstairs awoke her from her musings and the warmth she felt when thinking of her school vanished in a heartbeat as she thought of the task that lay ahead of her. Gingerly she placed the old photograph into her bag snapping it shut when she did so.

It was nearly teatime she realised after glancing briefly at her watch. Her insides squirmed as if a nest of snakes lived in the pit of her stomach, and she looked down at the wood in her hand, her face expressing the utmost disgust and horror, however, she did not put it down.

'It's time for tea Hermione,' called a woman's voice, clear and loud, which penetrated through the thick door of the girl's room.

'Coming mum,' she replied in strong but shaky voice and with a last glance at her room Hermione marched out, her head held up, up despite the growing fear and sadness consuming her.


I am very grateful towards Ms Rowling for her wonderful Harry Potter books without which my story would not exist. I do not own any of these characters.