The weather outside was mild and sunny, an ironic contrast to the stormy atmosphere brewing inside the drably decorated office, which would have appeared almost normal, if it weren't for the owl asleep on its perch in one corner, and the moving photographs that festooned the walls. A desk in one corner of the room had an array of strange objects littering it, whose uses involved everything from hypnosis to making tea. There was a large photograph on the wall of a witch with auburn hair pulled back into a tight knot at the back of her head. At the moment, she was asleep in her frame, her chest rising and falling gently. A brass nameplate beneath it read: Dr. Angela Richardson, in lettering that seemed to shift and shimmer. The same woman was sitting perched in a leather armchair, her legs crossed daintily. Her hair was now streaked with gray, but it was still pulled back in the same fashion, and you could see her eyes were a soft blue-gray. She smiled kindly at the young woman sitting opposite of her, yet the smile seemed somewhat strained, as if she were tired of forcing her face to assume a benevolent expression. "Well, Miss Murdock. You certainly are uncooperative this afternoon." The young woman merely shrugged and stared out the window, apparently not caring in the slightest whether she was cooperating or not.

"I'm told your father died when you were young, and that your mother raised you until you graduated from school. Did you find your childhood pleasant?" the psychiatrist inquired, and it was obvious from her tone that this was not the first time she had asked the question. "Was your mother supportive? Did you have a poor relationship with her?" When none of the questions yielded a response, the woman sighed, and waved her wand at the quill that had been poised to take notes. It fell lifeless on the tabletop. "I suppose I will see you two weeks from now, Eva," said Dr. Richardson, standing wearily. "I would suggest that you try and be more open towards sharing your experiences with me, or perhaps a close friend. It would benefit your current…mindset." The young woman, Eva, stood up and nodded wearily. Then she strode over to the door, took her coat from a hook by the door, and shrugged it on. "See you in two weeks," she murmured, before opening the door and stepping out into the hallway. The door shut behind her with a hollow click. Dr. Richardson sighed again, and pulled a small notepad from her pocket. Using a small quill that she always carried on her person, she scribbled a note to herself:

Unwilling to discuss, does not communicate willingly.

Needs more work…

Evalyn Murdock paused outside the office, and ran a hand through her hair, which was a dark shade of brown that was nearly black. She turned back toward the door, then shook her head and walked briskly down the two flights of stairs that led her to the main lobby. "Have a nice day," the receptionist chimed, while chasing a spindly-legged clock across her desk. It let out a high pitched giggle and scampered out from under the desk and through the revolving doors. Eva nodded and gave the receptionist a half-hearted smile, before striding out the door herself. The shops and stalls of Diagon Alley were a familiar sight, and she barely glanced up as she wove her way through the sea of people. Slipping through a group of boys huddled outside Quality Quidditch Supplies, she thought back to the interview. Dratted psychiatrists…she thought, frowning. Think they can know everything about you just by asking you a bunch of rubbish.

"Ma'am, would you be interested in buying an umbrella?" Someone thrust a fluorescent orange umbrella in her face, so that it would have impaled her head had she not taken a step backward. "Muggle invention. They use 'em as a sort of shield to keep dry in the rain. Two Sickles apiece, and that's a bargain." Despite the man's comment, Eva could see that a great deal of umbrellas remained. Hardly surprising, since all a witch or wizard had to do was wave their wand and utter a simple rain repellent charm in order to keep dry. This wizard was wasting his time. "No, thank you," she muttered, pushing it away. "Could be worth something someday, y'know!" the wizard called, brandishing his umbrella at her retreating back.

The temperature had increased steadily as the day wore on, and Eva was only too happy to spend the rest of the day inside The Leaky Cauldron, drinking pumpkin juice and watching witches and wizards go past. They chattered amiably to one another, or remarked on how much the price of such-and-such had risen, et cetera. Outside, the air seemed to crackle with tension and electricity, and the clouds that had dotted the sky were gathering menacingly. "Going to be a hell of a storm tonight," the bartender commented, wiping his counter with a filthy rag. A dark-skinned wizard who was sitting at the counter nodded in agreement, and spoke in a thick Scottish accent. "Aye, 'tis been frightful odd weather th' past couple a' days." A witch sitting on a stool beside him nodded. "My Augurey has been wailing since late this afternoon. Drove me positively barmy, until I put a silencing spell on it." The bartender laughed and re-filled her glass.

Disinterested, Eva set her glass of pumpkin juice on the table and stood up, striding in the direction of the room she was currently staying in. Although she had inherited her mother's house when she passed away, Eva had no desire to live there at all. She preferred a nomadic sort of life, even if it was a bit more expensive. She could do what she wanted, on her own time and schedule. "Not that I have much of anything to do these days," she sighed, opening the door to her room. Oh, lovely. You're talking to yourself. No wonder they sent you to a shrink. Ignoring her self-criticism (she was used to it), she flopped backwards onto her bed and glanced around her room, drawing a small amount of comfort from the simple-yet-familiar items that occupied it. There was a rather worn copy of 'Oliver Twist' that she had bought at a rummage sale, a cedar box that contained a sapphire necklace that looked as if it were missing several pearls, and a set of parchment, quills, and ink. A battered looking suitcase was propped up on the window seat, several shirts and sweaters hanging limply from it like deflated pythons.

Lastly, there was a pair of slightly wrinkled, black and white photographs. One was of an older man, with hair that was graying slightly, and a broad smile. As she turned her gaze toward it, the man lifted a little girl off the ground and swung her above his head, before hoisting her onto his shoulders. She clapped her hands over his eyes, giggling, her dark hair ruffled by invisible wind. Her large dark eyes were full of a child's innocence. The other photo was of a grinning young man, who looked to be about sixteen years old, his arms circled around the same girl's waist. She was older now, and her eyes were sparkling with genuine joy, yet there was also something somber about her as well. The boy's hair was slightly mussed, and his eyes were wide and almond shaped. The two of them were wearing the traditional Hogwarts uniforms, and you could see the glint of a Head Girl badge pinned to the girl's robes. They waved energetically at Eva and then laughed silently. She turned away from them and curled her body into a ball of exhaustion and misery.

The coffin came to rest in it's grave with a dull thud, and Eva flinched, her hand tight around her mother's. Olivia tugged her wrist from her daughter's grasp irritably. "Don't cling so," she scolded. Eva looked up at her, a hurt expression on her tear-streaked face. Her mother hardly glanced at the six year old, and as she dropped a handful of wilted-looking daisies onto the lid of her husband's grave, her eyes held no trace of emotion. The flowers lay on the dark mahogany, looking dirty and pathetic. "Come, Evalyn," Olivia snapped, turning from the grave and marching away across the lawn. Eva obstinately stood rooted to the spot, rain drenching her black dress. "I said, come!" Eva shook her head mutely. Olivia glowered. "Fine, find your own way home. I won't have you sulking." And she turned and disappeared. Eva sank down on the muddy turf, her own rose clutched so hard in her hand that the tiny thorns were pricking her palms. "Daddy," she whimpered, but the dark pit before her didn't answer. She bit her lip, but the tears continued to trickle down her face. She wiped her nose on her sleeve, blinking rain from her eyes. Everyone had gone except for the priest, who stood looking at her pityingly, and spoke kindly. "There's no need to fret, my dear. He's not suffering anymore."

But Eva only cried harder, huge sobs wracking her body.

The ear-pounding boom of thunder made Eva sit up in bed, rigid. There were tears on her cheeks. One slid down her chin and dropped onto her lap. She wiped the others away with her hand as a flash of lightning threw the room into bluish white for a split second, before plunging it back into to darkness. She swung her legs down from the bed and stumbled across the room to pull her wand from the dresser drawer. "Lumos," she whispered, and a small globe of light appeared at its tip. Eva set it inside an empty flower vase, and by its feeble light managed to pull off the jeans she had been wearing, and tug on a pair of cotton bottoms. She grimaced as she felt the puckered scar across her shoulder blades, an ugly reminder of the old days. "Nox," she muttered, and the light at the end of her wand extinguished, giving Eva a brief glimpse of her pale, ghostlike reflection in the mirror above her bureau. She went to sit on the window seat, moving the suitcase to the floor.

The memory of her father's funeral was one that seemed to visit only at night, when there was nothing to distract her from the gaping hole that still existed inside her, right next to her heart. Eva could picture her mother's face in her mind, as she stared out the rain-lashed window. The hard emerald eyes, a full red mouth that was turned down at the corners, ebony hair that fell past her shoulders. Beautiful, but cold like a porcelain doll. Olivia was more concerned with ways to keep her face smooth and youthful than taking care of her daughter. This made Eva very unhappy until one day, when she was eight. She overheard a conversation between her great aunt, her mother, and Ms. Freidman, (a friend of the family whom Eva rather disliked, because she had a way of speaking to you that made you feel like something foul and smelly). They had been invited over for tea, and since she wasn't allowed to join them, Eva had to make do with sitting on the bottom step of the stairs and listening to their conversation. "Darling, it's not your fault that your daughter turned out so oddly," said Ms. Friedman, waving a scone at Eva's mother. "It's lack of discipline, that's what. Your husband, God bless him, he didn't exercise any restraint, no. Just let her do whatever she pleased." Eva's great aunt nodded in agreement. "She's so plain," Olivia fumed, stirring her tea. "Yes, indeed. It's a pity that someone as lovely as you, had to have such a nondescript child."

Eva found that she was gripping the banister so hard her knuckles turned white. She let go, and saw that it had turned black and charred looking. She had always been able to inflict some amount of damage when she got angry. Her mind reeling, she whirled and ran from the house, into the woods that were behind her house, hardly heeding the twigs and brambles that caught on her clothes and whipped her face. She stayed there all day long, until she got hungry and crept back into her room and lying down in her bed, exhausted. But she couldn't sleep. She kept musing over why it was she was such a disappointment, that her mother couldn't accept that she couldn't be everything she wanted, including pretty.

The next morning, and every day after that, Eva no longer cared whether what she did was acceptable. She spent all her time in the garden, growing potion ingredients and getting rid of gnomes; or reading. She kept as far away from people as possible, and had no friends, but it seemed to suit her just fine.

The small but elegantly furnished home where Eva had grown up, had become a place where it seemed nobody cared whether she was happy, and nobody wanted her.

When she got the letter of acceptance from Hogwarts, she feared that it would be the same: that no one would take interest in a freakishly tall eleven year old, who preferred books to people. Eva sorted into Ravenclaw-- which came as a surprise, since her mother had always told her that she was completely useless and would never amount to much. Hogwarts made her feel more welcome than the dreary house she had lived in before; people didn't seem to ignore her everywhere she went, and Eva found that she didn't avoid people as much as she used to. Nevertheless, she only had two close friends and a handful of acquaintances.

Eva was pulled out of her reverie by another clap of thunder, and she glared out the window. There was absolutely no point in bringing up the past, since there was nothing to be done about it anyway. She sighed, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, her face suddenly weary. It was time to move again. Abruptly, she leapt up and snatched her wand. "Pack!" she ordered, and instantly her belongings sprang into her suitcase. She tugged on a jacket and trainers, pulled her hair back in a hasty ponytail, and left the Galleons and Sickles that she owed Tom (the innkeeper) on the bureau. Then Eva heaved her suitcase off the floor, and opened the door to her room just enough so that she could sneak out without anyone hearing. She crept down the stairs and out the front door, covering her head with one arm in a pathetic attempt to keep from getting wet. She dug her wand out of her suitcase, and then waved it, making sure to take a step back after she had done so. Instantly, a pair of bright headlights came speeding around the corner and down the street, attached to a violently purple bus. "Hullo Stan," she said tiredly, and the lanky teenager, who was standing on the steps of the Knight Bus' doorway, grinned. "Hullo Lynnie. Tired of Diagon Alley all ready?" She nodded and gave him a small smile. "I need to get away from here, for a while."

Stan's grin broadened, and he leapt down from the bus and picked up her suitcase. She noticed that much of his acne seemed to have cleared up, and he had grown a several inches. "Well, me n' Ern can help you with that." "Thanks," she said, clambering on and giving Ernie a gratified smile. He nodded in reply, and the bus sped off down the street. "No problem. Where to?" "Hogsmeade," replied Eva, picking the first name that popped into her head. "Right, then. Make y'self comfy, and-- watch it, Ern!" Stan grabbed a bedpost as Ernie swerved to avoid an 18-wheeler. "Damn Muggles," he muttered, combing his hair with his fingers nervously. "What was I sayin'? Oh yeah, go ahead and make y'self at home. I'll take that," he added, as she held out a handful of Sickles and Knuts. Eva collapsed onto the nearest four-poster, and, despite the bus' tendency of swerving and braking unexpectedly, managed to fall asleep.