A/N I do not own Harry Potter or anything else that you know from somewhere. I however b do /b own characters that you do not know from somewhere else, and I would appreciate it if you did not steal them from me.

Thank you, and please enjoy the story

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: I'm Lawyerphobic . . .

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"We're moving?" I screamed inside my head. I couldn't believe it; I lived my whole life at Honeysuckle Lane. All of my friends lived there, I grew up there, had my first kiss under the Dogwood tree behind the big, blue house, and we were moving

"I don't understand mother, why?" I asked my mother nicely with a fails smile on my face.I asked nicely against my will, but only because if I didn't I would get smacked for being rude as my father put it.My father believed in punishment, as did I, but he believed in a different type of punishment: Harsh punishment.

He wasn't in the living room where my mother and I were talking, but being polite was a habit that was given to me I wanted to yell and scream, punch and kick the air in frustration. It had been a long time since I last had a temper tantrum. Twelve years ago in fact.

I was three at the time. Father, mother and I were at the grocery store and I wanted the blue bubble gumball in the machine, but my father wanted "his little girl" to have the pink bubble gum. So instead he bought the pink gum off the shelf, and refused to give me a quarter for the gumball-machine.

I was always, and will always be, stubborn so I cried, that was all, cried. I didn't scream, shout or whine, just cried. And from the 'discipline' I was given for crying, I learned that I would never, ever, cry for something that I did not have permission to have.

I had learned at the simple age of three that my father did not have a soft heart.

"Your father and I decided that we need to try something new. Broaden our horizons, as they say," mother said kindly.

I knew it was a big, fat lie when my mother said, "your father and I."

My father and mother never decided anything together. My father would tell, and my mother would do, that was the way it worked with my parents.

I had made an oath when I had turned four, that if I ever married I would never let my husband tell me what I was, and was not permitted to do. I had learned that my mother was weak, I knew I would never be weak.

Just then father walked into the room. Mother sat up straight in her chair, placed her gentle hands on her small lap, and looked straight in front of her.

I remembered being very young, and wondering why mother would always do that whenever father walked into the room she was in. I understood it now.

"What's going on in here?" Father asked sweetly.

He always acted the angel when both mother and I were in the same room together. I figured he thought I didn't know that he was mean to mother, and mother didn't know that he was mean to me.

"He never was the bright one." I thought to myself.

I never left mother alone if I could help it; I had to take care of her. There was one time father didn't know I was still in the room. I still had bad dreams about it at night. Mother didn't defend herself against him as he hurt her, but I had to help, she was my mother.

I had ran in front of my mother before father struck her again. I had closed my eyes, ready for the blow, but I didn't feel anything, just heard father scream. I opened my eyes and saw him on the kitchen floor, cradling his arm. I still didn't know what happened, and I didn't care to figure it out now. I just wanted to know the real reason why we were going to move, so I decided to ask.

"Mother was just telling me that we are going to move, but you are not going to make us move . . . Are you?" I asked in my princess voice.

"Yes, we're going to move this weekend," he replied. My eyes widened in disappointment. "Go get packing."

My heart fell all the way to the light green carpet. "So it's true," I thought. "I'm really leaving everything behind."

"Don't worry about it Abby," father said.I cringed. I could never stand it when someone called me Abby or Abigail, my full name, but I liked Abigail better then Abby. I only really liked to be called Atarwyn, but only my close friends called me that.

I sniffed. I would miss my friends too. I thought about one of my best friends, Kristin."What a strange person," I thought as I shook my head, smiling.

I turned and went to leave the perfect living room to go say goodbye to my bedroom, when I snapped back to reality and remembered my important duty.

"Umm, mother . . . Could you come help me pack?"

My mother looked so relieved it made me sick. She had been afraid I would leave her alone with father. She was so helpless, needing her own daughter to take care of her.

Mother and I walked down the hallway, past the kitchen to my room.

I would miss my room so very much. Even though I was not able to put what I wanted in it, it was still my room.

I wanted dark green walls: Father made them purple.

I wanted swords, dragons, wizards, art and all fantasy: I got horses and unicorns.

Father said that unicorns were enough fantasy for a girl.

When I thought about it, I wouldn't miss my room that much, just the memory's that were in it.

I remembered being small, and mother telling me stories on the nights when father was away.

So many wonderful stories.

Stories about wizards and witches that would do extraordinary magic with wands made of wood and magical creatures.

Stories about horses you couldn't see unless you saw someone die in front of you and it haunted your dreams at night. They were as black as night and their eyes were as pale as the moon. They had wings like a powerful bat, and could fly over the highest tree with them.

Stories about a Dark Wizard who had red eyes that looked like cats pupils. Pale skin that looked like death. Hands that felt like cold spiders and a voice that hissed like a serpent.

Mother told me that this wizard was so evil, people didn't even speak his name.

When I asked mother what his name was, she told me that his name was so scary that little girls would be to scared to sleep if they heard it. I told her that I wouldn't be scared, and that I was brave.

She said that even the bravest witch and wizard feared his name, and that she would not tell me until I was older.

To this day she says that I am still too young.

Now I wondered if she even came up with a name for this villain that haunted all of my bedtime stories.

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