There I was. Lying on the ground. Crying hysterically. Was it because I was relieved? Happy? Miserable? Worried? I couldn't quite figure out why I was crying. But, Godric, did it feel good to let it out. The tears were warm as they slide down my face, but, magically, they were cold against my hands as they dropped through the air and into my palms.

I wasn't sure how I was going to explain myself. But all I know is when Harry Potter is standing over you with that look on his face, somewhere between empathetic and livid, you tell him the truth. And you tell him all of it.

My name is Amelia Elizabeth Corner. I should tell you that, yes, I have a very Muggle name. My mother is a Muggleborn, and I have no idea who my father is. My mother was only 18 years old when she had me. A fact she never let me forget. I came along and ruined her life.

My first memory is being around two and a half or three years old. We were walking, well my mother was walking, I was being pulled down a quaint street. I saw the most beautiful set of swings across the way. Two men were pushing two little boys. They were laughing. All of them. A dark-haired man and his dark-haired little boy. The other man had lighter hair and was bigger, and therefore, his laugh was much louder. His little boy was pudgy and the quietest, but obviously still having a blast.

Oh, how I wanted to swing. To feel the wind blowing my hair, see the ground go by and come back again. I wanted to be free.

"Mommy, swings! Mommy, look! Meel-ah swing!"

I tried to pull my mother towards the laughter and fun, but she yanked me back. She scratched her arm and quickly pulled down her sleeve.

"No, Amelia. No swings. We're going to be late."

"Mommy, PLEASE. I said the magic word."

"I said no. Let's go. I don't have time for this."

My second memory was of later that day of playing on the ground of some dirty basement while my mother slept off her high. I pretended to be swinging and making friends with those little boys. I pretended we made such good friends that one of their daddies brought me home forever.

Very rarely my mother speaks of family members other than me. I had grandparents, who disowned her when she became pregnant with me. They since passed away. Mother never had nice words to say about them. They were snotty and unloving and had stopped appreciating her the second they found out she was a witch, too. Too because I have an Uncle Michael. Uncle Michael is a no good son of a bitch who turned out to be worse than my grandparents. He didn't mind so much that my mom got pregnant at 18. He didn't mind that my father was not around. He minded the drugs. To be honest, I minded the drugs, but I had nowhere else, no one else.

"You have to stop. There can be no more of this. Do you see? Can you see what it's doing to you? You're a fucking mess. You can barely walk. Barely putting two sentences together. How the fuck do you think you're going to keep taking care of your own child?"

"Get. Out."

"You need help. That child needs help. You are going nowhere fast. How can you pretend that your life is okay right now? You're living in a dump. Your clothes are ripped and dirty. You smell like you haven't had running water in weeks. Your daughter is almost two years old and she has barely spoken a word yet. It's not okay. It hasn't been okay. It's not going to be okay."

"Get the FUCK OUT OF HERE."

"No. I'm not leaving."

"Get the fuck out, Michael. I don't need you. I don't want you here. I am on my own now. I don't need your fucking help. You look at me like I am dirt. Like I am less than dirt. Like I am nothing. Well, to you I am nothing. I am NOTHING TO YOU. Do not come here again. You stay the fuck away from me you no good son of a bitch. You're worse than our parents."

"How could you say that? I was with you. I went to the doctors. I held your hand when that baby came. I fucking bought her books and toys and clothes. And you repay me by shooting up in her nursery? No. Fuck you. I can't even look at you anymore. Fuck this. Fuck you."

And then there was no more Uncle Michael. Uncle Michael was a no good son of a bitch anyway.

Mother did not like me being away from the house unless it was for one of three reasons. The first being making money in anyway possible. The second being to purchase food. And the third was if she wanted to score and knew I would freak if I was around to see it.

When I was five or six, we started hanging outside of nice looking restaurants in London. My mother told me we were playing dress up. She would put some powder on my face and some eye shadow around my eyes. She told me I was a beautiful princess. A beautiful little sick princess who had to cough in front of the nice people. Yes. That's it, Amelia. That's a girl. You're okay. Oh, thank you, ma'am. Now we can afford her medicine this week.

By the time I was old enough to catch to what was happening, I began thinking of other ways to make money. Firstly, I didn't want to be a lying sick princess anymore. I also didn't want to know what would happen when mother realized I was too old to be that cute anymore.

After my tenth birthday, I began watching a little girl in the apartment directly above ours. I loved that little girls. Her name was Katherine. She was beautiful. The longest, shiniest blonde hair I had ever seen. Like me, Katherine did not have a father. But she did have a mother who had to go to work, and a grandmother who got very tired. So every day when Katherine's mom went to work at nighttime, I would play with Katherine while her grandmother made dinner.

Katherine loved to play with dolls and read books. She loved when I braided her hair. I loved Katherine. She was so sweet and her green eyes twinkled when she laughed, which was often. She was free.

Each night, I would help Katherine's grandmother put Katherine to bed, and then I would clean up all the toys we had played with. I earned fifteen pounds per week! Mother was happy at first, but very quickly we would run out of money.

Babysitting was easy and soon Katherine's mom would tell other moms she knew about me. I began getting more and more odd jobs. Mother was happier. We were doing okay. And by okay, I mean when I hoarded some money away to pay the water and electric bill, we had water and electric.

When I turned eleven, my letter came. It was beautiful. The off-white card stock sent shivers down my spine. The beautiful wax seal that I was terrified to fracture. The smell. It smelled like sunshine and rain and new books and old books. It smelled like hope.

I hugged it to my chest for a few minutes with a real genuine smile on my face. One I usually reserved for Katherine and my other wee friends.

I broke the seal and slide the letter out of the envelope.

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

Freedom. I was free. I was leaving this place. I was getting out of here.