The air was crisp and cold, biting at my shivering, fragile skin.
The silence was deafening, the sound of my laboured breathing my only company in this deserted, dark room.
The smell was a mixture of sweat, blood and tears. All mine. All unwillingly taken.
I sat in my damp corner with a blank, unfeeling expression smeared across my stained face. I didn't know what to feel or think anymore; I was so sad, so unforgivably broken. I wasn't sure whether I'd ever recover from this ordeal.
With an inward groan, I shuffled over a little to make myself comfortable - even if it was an undoubtedly impossible task. I couldn't move my arms at all; the restricting chains secured around my wrists ensured that. I didn't have my wand, didn't even know where it was. It bothered me - probably more than anything else. It was a part of me and when it was missing, I just felt wrong.
For the hundredth time that day, I let a tear dribble down my cheek and onto my torn dress, wondering how I had gotten myself into a situation like this.
My name was Amalia, Mia, Thorn, the daughter of Sebastian and Clarissa Thorne; rich, aristocratic and powerful. I wasn't meant to end up like this - missing, dead to the world, dead to myself. That wasn't supposed to be my future.
I dipped my head and heard to cracking of stiff bones. I couldn't even remember how long I had sat here in the darkness. I couldn't see anything, but I didn't have to - the emptiness was crushing, forcing me into the only walls I could reach. Along with my hopes and dreams of getting out of here, that corner was my only comfort; at least I knew what was in that corner. I didn't know what else lurked that dark gloom, hunting.
Things used to be so perfect. My life used to be so perfect. He used to be so perfect.
He lied. Just like his Father.
He tortured.Just like his Father.
He murdered.Just like his Father.
And yet I still remembered the first time.
"Donovan Kane."
The boy with the jet black hair stood upon the platform, his clean and ironed robes hanging loosely at his sides. With genuine curiosity, I watched among the crowd of new first years as he sat on the rickety stool, awaiting the first proud moment in his Hogwarts life. He seemed to know exactly what was going to happen - that cocky, confident smile curving on his pale lips told it all.
The hat grumbled and blinked feverishly. Even though it was only a hat - well, a talking hat, it was clear it was uncomfortable. It didn't seem to like Donovan, not at all. I should have trusted it's judgement then. I would have saved myself a lot of heartbreak.
Almost instantly after being set upon Donovan's ebony hair, the hat screamed out the predictable, "Slytherin!"
To my left, the Slytherin's, dressed in their customary green and silver, jeered and cheered with such ferocity that the room actually vibrated. Donovan stood up proudly, a beaming smile pasted across his pale skin, and I watched silently, the only new first year that wasn't whispering about the strange-looking boy.
It wasn't that he looked strange, just… unusual. In my eleven years, I had never seen such black hair and such pale, transparent skin. And his eyes… they were still undecided. I couldn't tell what colour they were - in the shadows, they looked dark brown, in the light, they flecked grey and green. He did have a handsome face, however, which was probably the main reason the girls, in particular, liked to stare. He was tall and slightly lanky, but not unattractively so - he was the perfect Prince of Darkness.
Donovan strode towards the table and perched himself at the end beside the others who had been placed there - Liza Strange, Zoey Carlisle and Jacob Lark. They all had that superior look smacked across their puffy faces.
"Amalia Thorne."
I was staring at the Slytherin's still when my name was called clearly into the large hall, silencing the older students. My name always had that effect; the Thorne family were famous for a number of reasons among the Wizarding world. We were wealthy, owned a number of businesses, had a lot of influence in the Ministry - my Uncle, Julian Thorne, was the Minister of Magic. But most of all, we were the Wizards keeping everyone else in line. We were the modern version of Dumbledores Army.
"Mia! It's your turn!" I heard a fierce whisper behind me, and that's when I realized it was my moment.
I stepped up, gulping down the bile that threatened to pour from my throat, and sat upon the edge of the stool. I was always quite small and I couldn't keep my feet on the floor if I sat up properly - I didn't trust myself without them being planted firmly, not with my balance.
The hat was placed on and, unsurprisingly, it felt heavy and sticky on my blonde hair. It sounds strange, but I could feel the hat creeping through my thoughts like an unwanted visitor. I hated it, every long second that dragged by that the hat was deciphering my from the inside. Panicking, I diverted my eyes around the room nervously, glancing at all the awaiting tables, wondering whether they would be achieving the Thorne this year. I felt like a piece of meat.
And then I saw him again, staring at me with the most content look I had ever seen him possess at that time. Gazing into my eyes, he seemed normal and, almost, kind and welcoming.
It took me that long to discover his eyes were black.
"Gryffindor!"