The words in italics are the thoughts of the narrator, and main character, Hazel Diggory. The story takes place in the first person narrative, most of which takes place in the past. The italics present in the present as Hazel narrates the story of her life.
Disclaimer: I have created the characters in the following chapter. As of right now there are no known characters that belong to corporations such as Warner Brothers or J.K. Rowling. In future chapters I am sure that some familiar Harry Potter names will appear and I in no way own them. I am not making profit off this story or anything that may potentially be owned by someone else. Thank you for reading.
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I remember the story now, as I sit by the foggy window, gazing into what my life used to be. That day on the street changed my life forever. Who would have thought that a random discarded tree branch would have thrust my life in a whole new direction; towards new friends, new adventures, and a new life? I wonder what would have happened if I had continued walking and ignored that branch and the eerie man lurking in the corner beyond the pizza shop. If only I knew. But I wouldn't change it for the world. Picking up that branch was the best thing that ever happened to me.
As I look back on my life, stuck in this feeble old body of mine, I yearn for the adventures I once had after leaving that awful foster home. To think, that day on the street, I had planned to run from that place and get as far away from it as I possibly could. I had planned it so carefully but I had ever really planned to execute it? Perhaps, maybe, no… it couldn't be. Maybe he knew, maybe they knew? Was my whole life planned from that day in the Market? It couldn't be. But nothing else would explain it.
It all began nearly fifty years in the past, in the dirty, over-populated, downtown core of London, England. I, Hazel Diggory lived in a foster home with thirteen other children, and one very large, overweight, sad excuse for a mother named Miss Argus. She wasn't my real mother, just the woman I had to live with after my parents died. She used me as a free maid, cleaning up after her and her spoiled rotten thirteen children who had been left to fend for themselves after Mr. Argus had left. I had ended up at Miss Argus' after my parents died in what the newspapers called a "freak accident". I had only been about two years old at the time; we were on our way back from a day in the country. As the car rounded the corner just at the outskirts of town a truck lost control and overturned, skidding right towards my parent's car. There was no time for them to react, and what happened next was described as "the most horrendous accident seen in English history". I was never told the full extent of the accident, just that my parents had died instantly, and that the soul eye-witness, an older gangly man, had pulled me from the wreck to safety just before the car went up in flames. The newspapers never got to speak to him as he disappeared just as the sirens could be heard in the distance. Because my parent's union hadn't been the most wanted marriage in family history, there were no relatives willing to take on the burden of their offspring, and so I ended up at Miss Argus' house.
Miss Argus often sent me out of the house, usually when it was raining, to gather her groceries and run her errands for her. I often found myself cherishing the short moments I had to myself as I traveled from shop to shop gathering her things. This particular story begins on one of those few cherished moments.
I was walking down the street; Miss Argus had sent me to fetch her laundry. She never did anything for herself. Her beloved children never lifted a precious finger and I did all the work. Miss Argus was able to get away with it because she always explained it away as offering me a place to stay, free of charge, and all I had to do was a few odd chores. Few was an understatement. I did the washing, the cleaning, the sweeping, made the beds, washed the other children's laundry; Miss Argus had hers professionally cleaned, she didn't feel that I would do it properly. My life there was miserable, all the days spent cleaning and scrubbing, my mind was constantly working on different plans to get out of there. To think, I spent so many wasted years there, but as I think back, maybe there was a purpose behind it all, maybe there was a lesson to be learned from those who had made my life so miserable.
I had been walking down the street, contemplating whether or not to sneak in a slice of pizza and tell Miss Argus that her washing had been more than expected. I was so caught up in trying to think of the perfect excuse, that I hadn't noticed the scuffle that had started just up ahead. I continued to walk on, I had finally decided to get the slice for lunch and just tell Miss Argus that the washing had been a few pounds more to remove the butter stain on her favourite sweater, when I noticed three large men chasing a very elderly man, who was running in my direction. I had gotten used to occurrences like this one, what with all the shoplifting and pickpockets found on the London streets, that I paid no heed to the man and his pursuers. I continued walking, attempting to ignore the man, that is until he came barreling towards me nearly out of breath. He grabbed the hem of my tattered jacket and begged me to listen to him.
"Please miss, please, just listen to me. I know this sounds crazy, but believe me I'm not. I've been sent to look after you, I've watched for all these years. I believe you're ready; in fact I know you are" he said in an almost whisper before he ran off towards the alley behind me. I noticed as he fled that he dropped what appeared to be a tree branch from his pocket. I tried to call out to him, let he know he dropped something. He turned once to glance at me and if I didn't know any better I swear he even winked at me. But then he disappeared into alley before I could say another word.
I bent down and picked up the branch as the two pursuers followed into the alley. It was such a strange looking branch. It was smooth with a touch of the slightest curve at the center. It was a deep crimson colour, the colour of a blood red rose; the ones Miss Argus liked to buy for herself and pretend were from her secret admirer. The more I think about it, the more I can't believe I didn't see it then. How naïve I had been to think it was merely a tree branch. Of course, that was the beginning of the rest of my life. Of course it had all been planned, that meeting was just the beginning.