A.N. Hi, please review. This is my first story and I want to know what you think.

The small, yet 13 year old girl, was due to start Hogwarts. In fact, she was over-due. After spending several years of education at Beuxbatons academy, Abigail grew tired of the same old marble staircases, and to be perfectly honest, she was undisputedly SICK of the same old etiquette and 'lady-like' manners. She was never one for rules, and these rules were the worst sort.

Okay, she had heard from people that Hogwarts had thousands upon thousands of rules (all placed by an evil lunatic named Filch), but her father had went there, and that one-upped the rest. There was also the fact that it was in Scotland, and she hated every part of France, her current country. She had lived in England, France, America, Australia: she had loved that one as she had lived near the kangaroos, and well, when you leave a 3 year old girl near kangaroos, things get real. Poland, Switzerland, Turkey, Spain and, finally, Iceland, which ironically is green and not icy.

All in all, she had lived in 87 homes, each time being passed onto someone who thinks they can handle her, who actually can't.

So, you can guess her excitement when her care-worker, who was somehow a witch, gave her the news of her late acceptance into Hogwarts. Carol, her care-worker, had personally wrote to Dumbledore, and he had replied with a positive. GO DUMBLEDORE!

One of the best things about it was who was due to teach DADA that year. You guessed it, Professor Lupin, her father. Though, she didn't think he knew about her. Yet…that was!

"Right….have you got everything?" Carol asked for the umpteenth time.

"Yes! I'm not that much of an idiot, you know…Wait, where is my cauldron?" She asked, her smile wavering slightly as she brought her predicament to a close. OK, now she was full-out panicking. She was doomed.

"In your trunk, along with the rest of it. I was just trying to provoke some sort of emotion for you, and ta-da!"She exclaimed, smiling widely, teeth glinting white against the roaring sun pouring through the window. The small, boxed cupboard looked barely room enough for cleaning equipment, let alone a 13 year old girl. That had been what hindered her height. She looked 10 at most, which really wasn't good for someone who should have hit her growth-spurt years prior. At least she would blend in when getting sorted.

She was kind of cute, as if she were young, but at the same time she was pretty and mature looking as if she were her actual age.

She was shook from her musings as she felt the similar feeling of tugging at her navel. Looking down, she realised, somehow, she had touched the port-key that was to take her and Carol to London, from there Carol would disapparate to her party in South London. There she would be left to fend for herself. Now she thought about it, how was she to get on Platform 9 and 3/4?

When she finally collapsed to the floor, she was thoroughly winded, no air left for her to ask. With a good-bye, Carol departed with a crack. Great. She was alone, on the floor, gulping for breath, in front of the most busy train station ever.

Eventually forcing herself to stand as to not draw even more negative attention to herself, she was hit with a wave of dizziness and nausea. She should have remembered last time she travelled by port-key. She had been sick for days, and now she was somehow supposed to get onto the train without being sick. Her legs, unable to support her weight no longer, gave way and she fell to the cold cement. She could vaguely hear low-voiced arguing, but she ignored it as it had nothing to do with her, and quite frankly, her brain, at the moment, could only do one thing, and that was to hold down her vomit.

"Fine, help the child. But God help you boy if she's one of you!" A fat, purple man said slightly louder to a skinny raven-haired boy, who looked around 13, her age.

"Yeah, thanks Uncle Vernon." The boy replied quickly.

The boy ran over to her and muttered something that sounded like "Here you're alright now. You're a bit white, is that normal? I can't remember." She responded with a shake of the head, no, not trusting herself to open her mouth. The boy helped her to her feet and helped her inside. He took her over to one of the benches and watched her as she slumped in the seat.

"Where's your luggage? Where's your parents?" He asked in quick succession.

Finally, she opened her mouth, even if slightly, and croaked:

"Carol shrunk me luggage. It's in me pocket. As for me mum and dad, I don't know do I, I've lived in a care-home long as I can remember."

"Shrunk your luggage?" He asked with a raised eyebrow.

She stumbled around with her hand for a moment until she came to her pocket, reached in and drew at a miniscule trunk.

"Oh poor dear. Where's your mum an-ahhh!" The women she now realised as her mum, Petunia Dursley, asked and then, as you noticed, shrieked. "I-it's you! I w-was told you we-went to F-france. B-beuxbatons, they s-said. You're not even s-supposed to be in this country!"

"Says who?" I croaked. "Not a rule is there mum?"

"Who's she?" A fat kid moaned.

"I'm Abigail."

"You look 10. If you're my daughter, you'd be 13, same age as Dudders and the boy." She snarled, smirking smugly at having found a way around our relation.

"I am 13!" I exclaimed. "I ain't fed enough. And I live in a broom cupboard at the France care-home. Don't like me much there though. But looks like you're other child's fed enough for the three of us." I said motioning to the skinny boy, the fat boy and me. "Who's he? Why's he so skinny?" I asked looking at the skinny boy.

"He's a nuisance, just like you. But we were forced to take him in. I didn't ever like you, and you dad had issues, so you were sent to a care-home. Simple." She put extra emphasis on the word 'issues'. I only growled in response.

"Come on." The raven-haired boy said. "We'll be late for the train. I'm Harry Potter, by the way." Harry said, whilst walking away and looking over his shoulder at me. I slowly followed, still feeling ill.

"And I'm Abigail Lupin"

I've just met mum, and she doesn't like me much, as you can tell.

Anyhow, we got to Platform 9 and 3/4 through a wall. Can you believe it? I know. Harry couldn't seem to grasp the idea that I was a third year, due to my height, weight and my late starting. I just shrugged my shoulders in response.

I couldn't wait for Hogwarts.

A.N. This is the first chapter, more to come. Just one question to ask. Did you like this chapter?