Chapter 1

I let myself into the house, grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge and then headed upstairs to my room, since I didn't have to hang around to know that George was still at the bar. George was always at the bar, chugging away bottle after bottle of whatever new whiskey he might have spotted from a crappy little barstool in an even crapier bar.

I didn't like George. I didn't like how he blamed me for my mother's death. I didn't like how he drinks himself into a drunken stupor every other day and I didn't like how he took all of his anger and frustration out on me.

Anyway, I guess I should just stop whining and be grateful. I mean, I have a bed, a dresser and a desk. I even have a pretty decent computer with internet capabilities and a not too old stereo. All I have to do is buy my own food, clothes and toiletries. Luckily I scored a job as a teacher's assistant a few weeks back and I haven't gone a day without food since. Wow, it kinda sounds like I'm doing a commercial for a dorm room or something.

Well, live is pretty much good most of the time.

I tossed my bag on the floor, grabbed my toiletries and headed for the bathroom. I quickly closed the door behind me with a click, turned on the water and pulled off my dirty clothes. The warm water relaxed my sore muscles and I sighed in relief. I honestly didn't know how I would ever be able to survive without a warm shower after a long day at work.

I grabbed my favourite shampoo from a little glass shelf next to me and lathered my hair with the strawberry scented liquid. To my relief it washed away all of the irritating pollen that was so prominent in my curly brown hair. When the last of the suds were washed away I shaved my already smooth legs. And yeah, I know you're not supposed to do that, but I really hated that stubbly feeling you get if you haven't shaved in a while.

The pipes rumbled slightly when I turned off the faucets. I wiped any excess water from my face and then dried my tingling skin with a fluffy white towel, feeling clean and refreshed. I rummaged in my toiletries and pulled out my black hairbrush. As I brushed all those painful knots out of my shoulder waist length hair I noticed a few split ends. It seemed like I needed to make a trip to the hairdresser's soon.

I pulled my hair back into a loose bun- I'm a big believer in letting your hair dry naturally-brushed my teeth and checked my pale skin for any spots. I sighed in relief when I didn't find any and noticed that I had neglected to bring any clothes to the bathroom with me. Seriously, where was my head at today?

The towel was wrapped tightly around my lithe body before I listened for any of the tale telling signs that George was home. I didn't hear anything so I reached out, turned the golden doorknob and made a quick dash for my room only to run into a tall wall of flesh.

Before I toppled over a rough a strong hand grabbed my arm and steadied me. I looked up into the face of the same person that I had been trying to avoid for pretty much eleven years. Shit.

"Uhm...hello George" I said nervously.

"What did I say about you calling me that?" he said and I heard the barely suppressed anger in his voice.

I groaned inwardly at my mistake. "I meant to say dad"

As you might have gathered, George was my father. I haven't always disliked him you know. When I was still little he always took me to baseball games, picnics, restaurants and even ballet recitals. It all went wrong when my mother and I got into an accident. She was taking me with her to get some groceries when a truck by-passed a red light and smashed into the side of our all too fragile red Hyundai.

Anyway, she was dead on impact and luckily I had climbed in between the dashboard and seat, which saved me from any major injuries. The doctor's said that my injuries were healing very well, almost too well, and that I would be out in a day or two. I know now why I had survived, but I at first I was guilt ridden, thinking it was all my fault, but when I turned eleven I learned why they called car accidents, accidents. It's like breaking a glass. You didn't mean for it to happen, it just did. That's what my muggle friends said at least.

Anyway, back then I didn't even know that magic was real. It never even crossed my four year old mind that I was a witch and I could have avoided the whole thing by casting a simple protego.

The only problem was that George didn't seem to see it that way. He conveniently gave me the blame so that he would have an excuse for treating me so horribly. I mean, if he really thought it was my fault and he couldn't stand me anymore, he could just have given me up for adoption, right?

He grunted loudly, breaking my thoughts and sent me spiralling back to reality, and yet he still wasn't let go of my arm. I heard warning bells go off everywhere in my head when his eyes travel from my face ,down to my toes and then back up again to stare somewhere under my chin. I tried to pull away my arm, but his grip only tightened until it was almost painful. His rat-like brown eyes suddenly jumped up and stared into mine. I didn't like the strange look on his face. It was the look a cat gave to an unwitting mouse.

He leaned forward so close that I could smell the alcohol on his breath. I could taste the bile rise in the back of my throat and swallowed it before I vomited. This was wrong on so many levels and I was not going to let this develop any more than George thought it has.

"Let go of my arm Geor- I mean father. You're hurting me"

I would have liked to say that I sounded strong and confident like in the movies, but in reality my voice was shaky. I had also tried to remind him that he was my dad and I his daughter, but I wasn't used to these kinds of situations. A guy has never so much as looked at me funny before I stopped him dead in his tracks. And no, that doesn't necessarily mean that I'm a prude. It's not like I haven't kissed boys before, it's just natural to want to do that, but I am saving myself for marriage. I know with my raging hormones that my resolution probably wouldn't come true, but I gotta try, right?

Like I expected George ignored me. Men hardly ever listen to woman and unlucky for them, I'm not the kind to lie down and take their crap.

I started to struggle in his grip and when he still didn't let go I cupped my free hand, and then swiped my long nails across his face. That seemed too get his attention, but not enough, so I brought up my knee as hard as I could and smashed it into his groin. With a yelp he let go of my arm and I ran as fast as I could into my room. I turned the lock, pushed a chair under the doorknob, grabbed a lamp from my desk and held it defensively in front of me. I wasn't sure if I would actually have the guts too beat him with it if he came through the door, but I was willing to test the theory.

I flinched when he started banging on the door and yelling warnings from behind it. George wasn't the kind to make idle threats and I knew that I was going to be punished for my 'disobedience' as he calls it. Great, I've been avoiding any arguments with this man for the last month or so and now I've gone and messed it up. I can't say that I'm sorry for swiping my sharp nails across his ugly face, but I'm not liking what the consequences were going to be.

I must have stood there for ten minutes before I heard him roar in anger. He stomped down the stairs and slammed the front door behind him. My heart was probably beating a thousand times a minute so I sat down on my bed, took a few deep breaths and pulled the towel closer around me. Damn, that was unexpected.

I wasn't used to George being violent. He usually just locked me up in my room without food and water for a day or two and only let's me out for bathroom breaks. And I know that's not the best way to raise a kid, but with George at least I know what I'm gonna get. If I just get up and call childline I'll be tossed from one foster home to the other and not all foster parents are as friendly as George.

When my heart rate slowed enough for me to function properly I walked to my dresser, opened the door with shaky hands, pulled on a pair of black skinny jeans and my over sized debate camp tee shirt. Yeah, I'm on the debate team and damn proud of it.

I lied down on my bed, pressed my iPod earbuds into my ears and cranked up the volume. Ramstein screamed something foreign, but strangely creepy, into my ears and I felt better immediately. The man always seemed to give me a courage boost for some reason. It must be because I have the ability to listen to scary music in my darkening room, alone, when most people can't listen to it in the daylight surrounded by a crowd of people.

What can I say? I'm used to being alone most of the time and here I am, lying on my bed alone again.

Don't get me wrong. It's not that I like being alone most of the time, but I can't exactly call up my friends and say 'Hey, you wanna have a sleep over at my house? Just stay away from the weird man that smells like a hobo, he has been known to bite"

For some reason I didn't think that, that would go over so well.

Ramstein faded away and was replaced by a piece written by Vivaldi. I know it's kind of weird to have metal and classical music mixed, but I liked to have a large selection. Just imagine you only eat pizza for a whole month and nothing else. It's great in the beginning, but after a while the pizza starts to taste about as good as a cardboard box. But imagine having an entire buffet table in front of you, with bacon, French fries, burgers, ice cream, chocolates and about everything else you could imagine.

There is so much variety that you never get bored with one flavour. And that is how I like my music.

As I hummed with the music my stomach gave a sudden loud growl. All that thinking of food had made me hungry. I got to my feet, pushed aside the chair, unlocked the door and slinked downstairs toward the kitchen. I felt around for the light switch then flicked it on and squinted a bit at the sudden change in brightness.

The kitchen was small and neat like the rest of the house. A wooden table and chairs stood in the middle on top of the chipping tile floor. I opened the fade white fridge, took out a cup of yoghurt, slammed the door shut and peeled off the foil lid on the container. Before I trashed it, I licked the lid clean and rummaged in the drawer for a spoon. I loved strawberry yoghurt-actually anything strawberry-and it's a good source of calcium. I think.

I didn't drink milk at all, so I was always trying to buy things to make up for the calcium loss. I didn't even drink milk in my coffee or tea. I didn't really know why I don't drink milk, but I think it has something to do with drinking something that comes from an animal's boob. Every time I see milk it makes me think of a man hanging from his mouth from a cow's udder. I know it's weird since I eat eggs and they come from a chickens butt.

Anyway, as I think over my strange phobias I searched for something suitable to watch on TV. Finally I find my favourite show ever, Vampire Journals. Ohmygosh, this was best cheer me up I could have gotten. I think that Deman is so much sexier and vampire-ish than his brother Stafen, which is such a vampire spaz. And don't even get me started on Alene. If I found out that my boyfriend was a vampire I would have jumped his bones a long time ago, not go on about how upset I was that he had lied to me.

After I got me some eye candy, I stifled a yawn and headed up to bed. George wouldn't return until tomorrow so I only needed to worry about the party for now. I pulled out my wand-yeah I've got one of those, jealous?- and quickly practiced the few spells that I had gotten for homework over the summer. A sudden wave of nostalgia hit me. I missed Hogwarts. I missed Harry and Ron. I missed my own kind.

I know it sounded strange too classify witches and wizards as another species and it sounded terribly biased, but muggles are really so very different from us. When I am at Hogwarts I can taste the magic in the air and it sort of gives me a boost, but without it it's almost like my essence weakens. It was draining too be around muggles for too long. The only person who even came close to understanding was Harry, but he was gone along with Ron in search of Horcruxes. Bloody brilliant.

I haven't seen anyone from the magical world in almost two months and it was taking its toll. At the moment I would even be happy to see Malfoy.

My thoughts continued on the same pattern until I turned out the light and let the darkness envelope me.

Wahoo! Chapter 1 is up (:

And would you please review? Pwetty pwease with a cherry on top (-o-)

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