Chapter 1 -

My childhood could be described in many words. It was strange, eventful and hard to live but I made it through with the help and support of my mother and my friends. My father had a drug addiction. At night he would stumble around the house in a drugged stupor. When I was younger my mother would tell me to go to bed and lock the door. She would tell me to stay away from him. When I asked my mother what was wrong with father she would say he was just sleepy or use some other lame excuse. I knew she wasn't telling the truth but I also knew it was only to protect me. I would do as she said and lock the door and some days I would press my ear to the cold wood. I would hear the sounds of my dad falling all over the place and yelling hateful words at my mother, hateful words at myself.

If I didn't lock my door I would usually wake up in the morning to find my father passed out somewhere in my room. One day when I was six I opened my closet to get my outfit for school to find my dad asleep with drool and sweat plastered to his face. It got so bad that mother didn't like me sleeping in my own room anymore. She forced my father to sleep in my room and had me sleep in his place in there bed. I would sleep more peaceful when she was there to protect me. It was strange that I thought if my mother was with me neither of us would get hurt. My mom was like superman to me, my hero.

The years passed by and nothing changed. Until the age of nine I continued to sleep in bed with my mom and was forced to watch as her soul drifted away. I was soon faced with a drug addicted father and a shell of a mom who had seen things no woman should ever have to see. After that I returned to my room and I took over the role of woman of the house. I would get my dad to go to bed, stop him from hurting himself or other and most of the hateful words started to be more directed towards me then to my mother. She would just sit in bed all day and wait for death while I had to act like I was so much older then just a nine year old girl. As far as I was concerned I was never a child, I matured faster then anyone should ever have to and I hated my mother for that.

I wasn't myself at school. I was the perfect girl. I got perfect grades, I didn't speak when I wasn't suppose to and I was friends with all the right people. My teachers loved me and everyone thought I had the perfect life. People saw that something was off with me but they chose to ignore it. I had my guard up everywhere I went. I wouldn't let people into my emotions and my thoughts and watched through the years as the brick wall surrounding my heart began to break under the pressure. I told myself I wouldn't cry, I told myself crying was weak. I learned to bottle my angst and depression and then store it into the deep recesses of my mind. Everyone knows that if you hold your emotions inside of you it's only a matter of time before you explode. I was at the bursting point.

I could remember on my eleventh birthday, the day I had enough and ran. I could remember waking up in the morning and walking into the kitchen. My father had been sitting at the table reading the news paper. I stood beside him and waited, waited for him to give me at least a tiny smile or a birthday wish. I didn't expect a present, but some sign of acknowledgment would have been nice.

"What?" My father had said loudly throwing the newspaper down on the table and glaring up at me. I had blinked down at him in complete anger and shock. After all the things I had did for him over the years he couldn't even bring himself to remember one day in the entire year? If it weren't for me who knows where he would be in life or if he would even be alive. There were times where I had saved him from really hurting himself and if I hadn't been there who really knows? If it weren't for me he could be dead!
"I said what!" My father yelled standing up from his chair and knocking it over. He towered over me and rolled the sleeves of his oxford shirt above his elbows. I didn't take a step back or flinch like he wanted me to. I just looked up at him as if he was no scarier then a butterfly and it made him furious. He took his hand back as far as he could and slapped me across the face. The sound of flesh on flesh hung freely in the air and I could feel the red finger marks forming a bruise. It was the first time he had hit me and yet I liked him hitting me more then I liked his ugly, hateful words.

"It's my birthday dad." I said softly crossing my arms over my chest and staring down at my bare feet. I had painted my toes a bright pink for the first time in my life because I thought today would be different. I guess I should have went with the usual black.

"So?" My dad grunted before pushing past me and towards his room. I could remember the tears brimming my hazel colored eyes. A single tear slid down my rosy cheeks and dribbled off my chin before sliding down my neck. I rubbed my eyes with the back of my hand removing the salty tears before doing what I had wanted to do for such a long time. I ran.

I ran to my room and grabbed my over night bag (Which I had to that day never been able to use) and stuffed it full of enough clothes for a week or two. I threw the stuff I needed into my bag before lacing on my purple and gold running shoes and grabbing my sky blue jacket and running out the door to my room. I skidded down the stairs and stopped into the kitchen to grab some granola bars and a couple bottles of water and then ran out the back door.

The cold air nipped at my nose and my fingers and the wind made a wishing sound in my ears as I sprinted away from my life. I felt tired but for some reason I didn't stop even when I was far enough away from the house. I couldn't stop my feet from moving swiftly through the streets and all around London. People looked at me like I was some kind of freak but I couldn't tell because tears were still blurring my vision. My cheeks were sticky with the salty substance and so were my fingers because I kept trying to wipe the tears from my eyes.

I could remember running for hours maybe even a day or two until one day I fell over. I had did a face plant into the sodden mud and I didn't even have enough energy to lift a finger let alone push myself up and keep running. I let my eyes flutter closed and slipping into a milky sweet dream land.

I woke up a few hours later and rubbed the crust from my eyes. The sun had set and the stars were spread sparsely across the pitch black sky. For the first time I really realized how pretty the night sky was and lied on the ground for awhile watching the twinkling stars.

After awhile I propped myself up on my elbows and looked around. I was in the middle of nowhere. There was nothing around me other then mud and a few trees. A bird was perched on a limb of a tree watching me with it's head cocked. If only I was that bird then I would have been able to just spread my wings and gracefully fly away.

I brought my knees to my chest and wrapped my arms around my body. The tears started to fall from my eyes and I did nothing to stop them. The best thing I could really do was just lye there and wait. Wait for a miracle. Something like a miracle did indeed find me.

A soft wind blew through the trees and sent a few strands of my hair flying behind me. I payed no mind to it until the wind picked up to a roar. I grabbed onto a rock lodged into the mud to keep me from blowing away and deeper into the trees and squeezed my eyes shot.

Finally the wind died down and I hesitantly opened my eyes. A Double Decker bus sat in front of me and a man in his mid twenties stood at the door. A smile was on his face and he held an index card in his hand.

"Hello my name is Phil and welcome to the Knight bus for stranded witches and wizards." Phill read off the card and then slid it into the back pocket of his jeans.

"This is a mirage..." I mumbled closing my eyes and trying to go back to sleep. I could feel eyes burrowing into my skin and reluctantly opened my eyes to see Phil leaning up against the door to the bus with his hands crossed over his chest.

"It's not a mirage love. Your a witch and you called for the Knight Bus whether you care to admit it or not." Phil said casually. I took in a gulp of air and reached for my bag. I pulled out a hair brush and chucked it at Phil hoping to see it go right through him but much to my shock the brush hit him in the chest and fell to the ground.

"Ouch! Jeez I'm just trying to help! Do you want me to take you away from this place or not?" Phil said angrily placing his hands on his hips.

"Get me out of here." I whispered scrambling to get my bag and rushing to the door of the bus. I gave my rescuer a quick hug before walking up the steps and through the door onto the bus. A few beds sat on the bus holding people a variety of ages. I took an empty bed and crossed my legs Indian style absorbing the strange thing which had just happened. I didn't remember calling the Knight Bus or anything like it but maybe somehow I had.

"Where would you like to go Ms.?" Phil asked me settling into the drivers seat and shifting the bus into drive. I bit my lip in thought and shrugged my shoulders.

"I'm not sure. Where do you recommend a stranded wizard like me to go to?" I asked nestling my head on the white cotton pillow on my bed.

"Hogwarts. Your almost eleven right?" Phil asked about to press hit foot on the gas pedal.

"Just turned eleven today." I replied bitterly flipping over so I faced away from Phil and shut my eyes. With a giant jolt the bus took off at hundreds of miles an hour. I looked out the window and couldn't make out any shapes just blobs of color as we zoomed forward. Hogwarts was my destination and I had no intent on going back to my home.

I have no idea where I'm going with this or where it came from but I just sat down to work on my Tom Riddle story and my fingers typed this instead xD it might suck but it might actually turn out good so I'm posting it. Review and I'll continue. If I don't get any reviews I'll just take it down no harm done :P Bye duckies!