Author's Note: Well if anybody out there is reading I made a few adjustments to the speech and some terrible spelling mistakes. I am planning on uploading another chapter soon, I'm just testing out the story first. Also, what do you think about her name? And the story line in general!? I will have more coming up soon!

P.s. I am going to be a sheep and copy what every one else here is saying by adding that I am not J.K Rowling. But I can always dream!

I Want You To Know

By MirrorDawn25905

Chapter 1

It all began with my Grandfather's heart.

The heart is the center to all the organs in our body, and I believe it is the most important. I know this is unusual. Surely it is the brain? It holds every single cherished memory. It stores every smell, sound, touch, feeling, color of that moment. Sometimes it can become more real than anything that this world provides. So yes, you could say that our brain is the most important. That is the left side of our brain, and I think mine is missing. Doctors would probably define it as post traumatic stress disorder and then they would rattle a bottle of pills in front of me as though I was a baby. But the right side of my brain works just fine. I remember memories like they were facts, I cant seem to remember the smell, the sound, the feel, even the color My present is more real than my past memories can ever be, and I guess that's OK, because I'm slowly coming back to life. The only thing I am sure of is my heart pumping. It's a constant reviving engine causing all of my other organs to purr for more blood. Its intoxicating.

My Grandfather's heart was passionate. He used to say that there did not exist a single thing which wasn't worth your time. So he constantly tugged, and stretched, and twisted his heart until it finally snapped. It wasn't strong enough, and the disease drained every piece of him. And he loved my Grandmother, My Father, and me, but it eventually drained the blood from all of us too.

The heart disease skipped a beat in the family generation, and landed upon me with a gentle thud. But I do give my little heart some praise, the little ticker lasted until my 16th birthday. So you can imagine the chaos it caused my Father, Doctor of Kings College hospital in London. My Father would travel into London everyday from Cambridge, Kent working 24 hour shifts. I guess my Grandfather's passionate heart didn't skip my Father. It's strange how we were barely able to spend any time with each other, yet I knew him better than anybody else, he built me. When my heart failed he was adamant that he would be the person who treated me. When I was finally hospitalised, my Father would check the waiting list every day. 20 times a day pleading that my name would bump that bit higher. Finally, it arrived. The boy had only just turned 16 when he died in a car accident, yet he had chosen to donate his organs at the mere age of 10 when he signed up. Brave kid. I caught a glimpse of the Mother as I was lead into the surgical room, she looked traumatized, she had swallowed too much grief at once. And in the space of 3 months I would experience these emotions all at once.

During the illness my Mother had given up her entire career to stay by my bedside. We barely left each other for months at a time yet her past is still fading beneath the dust in the loft. She was a University Professor teaching Science. Imagine her only daughter getting a letter to attend Hogwarts school of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Her beliefs shattered. So we had this silent agreement, that life of mine did not exist, and it kept her content. One night we sat in the lounge by the fire, beneath the dusty loft and the floorboards containing my Hogwarts life. It was agreed that my Dad would take some time of work to help me recover, and after a rather difficult night, he was fast asleep on the sofa. My Mother was watching a documentary about the Cosmos while envisioning the next twenty years of enthralled students and copious textbooks. My new heart was introducing itself to my organs and finally allowing me to settle in peace. Three men broke into our house, and I was sure that one of them belonged to the Father of my new heart. I remember briefly thinking that they looked like dementors and I longed for my silvery patronus. But my wand lay upstairs. They knocked me unconscious and as the blackness began to dim I saw that I was alone in my living room bound to a dining room chair. The straw sliced through my skin like it was trying to make its way to the cool hard wooden surface beneath. I felt as though I was going to dissolve in these ashes. It felt like I was in an empty warehouse, the ghostly silence had sucked every thought, feeling and memory from this house. But those eyes, those cold blue eyes framed heavily by two blistering scabs of skin. As though his eyes had killed everything surrounding them. I thought to myself that I could scream, plead, or give some amazing heart breaking speech. But nothing was happening with my lips, nothing seemed to connect.

"My family is dead. And now so are yours. I will not kill you. But I am not merciful, I promise. I want you to live everyday as alone as I feel right now. You don't deserve my boy's heart. And you don't deserve your family. In 10 years time, If your still feeling pretty raw about it. Well, I guess I will be ready". Funny, the things you remember.

My parents are dead. I could feel the weight of their bodies upon me. My Fathers emerald-green eyes which caressed every part of you. My Mother smelling like vanilla. Gone from my life, just like that. It was like their absence had left a brittle wind sweeping around my shoulders and scraping the back of my neck. And all I could do was stare. I wanted to make sure that he remembered every little piece that he had destroyed. I wanted it tattooed upon his brain. The only thing I could do was watch, separate it from my body, and instead I was left with my parents standing next to me. Eventually the police came and they sliced open the murder case. I went back to the hospital and then entered a police station. They advised me to go and live with my family, but I could also live independently.

So I cremated my parents bodies and left them to be reused by nature. They left me enough money to live independently for the next 10 years. But I didn't want that as my memory. So I brought a flat in Kings Cross, left enough money to survive a month, and gave the rest to the British Heart Foundation. I got myself two jobs over the Summer at a Clothing store by day and a bar during the nights. I was provided with Ministry of Magic protection so I could live without fear. I should have never left my wand. I should have been honest with my mother. Living with grief is a funny thing, you think you would be rational. But I have since had to replace several sets of plates and windows. This attention then turned to my 6th year at Hogwarts where I forgot to care. The Headmaster was the only one who knew what happened. And I owe my 7th year to him.

I'm sorry, Jules and Libby. I'm sorry, James and Dom and Fred. I have written this in the hope that you will forgive me for hiding so many truths. It's difficult to be honest with the things that truly matter, because when you do, it makes them far too real.

I love you, I miss you, come back to me.

With love,

Arabella Rose Kidman