I wrote some of this in the hotel and in the car on the way home from visiting family. =) But I was a little loopy from lack of sleep and too much time in the car, so I know it's bad. I'm too tired to fix it now, but it looks fine to me. I wrote in the car until she jumps out the window, that's when it gets good.

Disclaimer: I do not own HP, but I own the plot and unknown characters. So NO STEALING!

For the next weeks on end, I put away all my fantasy 'geek' books, and focused on the books I got with Hagrid. They were more interesting than I thought they'd be; much more interesting than history books about any Muggle school. It wasn't 'On June 13, 1943, we got a new reading teacher' but more like 'On June 13, 1943, a pupil was killed by a giant serpent and is now believed to be haunting the girls' bathroom on the 2rd floor. But won't worry, she's harmless... we think.'

I had a mental note to check the girls' bathroom on the 2nd floor.

But however interesting it might be, I wasn't saved from being called a freak or a weirdo. This got even worse when the teacher took up the Hogwarts history book, or as she called it, the 'Big book about an imaginary school that made fun of an animal's unfortunate warts.'

I almost couldn't stop myself from throwing her through a wall.

Teachers and students weren't the only ones who thought it was weird. My parents, especially my mum, treated me like I had an incurable, contagious disease. They would apologize, but wouldn't get within ten feet of me. I desperately hoped it was just a phase all Muggle-borns' parents went though, because it hurt me terribly.

I cried myself to sleep every night.

I didn't see Sape or Hagrid again, no sign that the secret world I belonged to was still real. The books that were by my side 24/7 were all that kept me from thinking the trip with Hagrid wasn't a dream, a glorious dream where everyone was a 'freak' like me. On the other hand, it reminded me that I was still shunned in my reality life.

But I would rather have them than not.

My magic, thankfully, was getting more and more under control. I only had one mishap when I first got them - the books - and hadn't read anything. One more girl though a wall. She was sent to the hospital and expected to make a full recovery, unfortunately.

It was great fun, though.

I was already counting the days until my 11th birthday, when I could finally get my acceptance letter. Every morning, as soon as I woke, I made a big X in the box of that day on my calendar on my wall and count the remaining days and months. The days were too slow for my liking. There was nothing for me to look forward too but torment and reticule, teasing and being a 'geek' or a 'nerd'. But to these Muggles, I was. I knew Hogwarts would be the only place I'd fit in.

One day down, 526 to go.

Witches and wizards, according to my book, were required to hide their magic from Muggles. Most were brought up my at least one magical parent, and were taught from a young age how to control magic when they were upset or mad. I was Muggle-born and had no magic parents, and because of that, I was a freak to my classmates and parents.

So it wasn't my fault.

I sat at the dinner table with my parents in uncomfortable silence, the only sound was rain pattering the roof and window, the occasional thunder. They were as far as they could get from me: Across the length of the table, their chairs pushed as far back as they could and still be able to reach their plates. I sat pushing my food around on my plate.

Tears stinging my eyes, I stood up and picked up my plate. "May I be excused?"

They said nothing, but exchanged looks as they continued eating.

My head bowed, I walked down the hall to my room, not caring that my too-full glass was sloshing red liquid all over the carpet. I slammed the door of my room shut as I dropped my plate, shattering it and spilling meat and vegetables all over my floor. I didn't care; I didn't have the appetite to eat it anyway.

I sat with my back against the door as I finally allowed the tears to stream down my cheeks. I felt the blood rush to my eyes as they turned red and puffy. My vision was dimmed by tears as I glanced around my room, my eyes falling to the calendar. Two months until I turned ten. It was too long.

I was hardly conscious of what I was doing as I emptied out the army green messenger bag I used for school, textbooks being strewn all over the floor. I jerked a few shirts and jeans from hangers in my closet and threw them in, with my books, and threw in the remaining galleons and pounds I had. I threw in my calendar and a pen. I snapped it shut and threw the strap around my neck and shoulder.

I jumped on my bed and grabbed the window sill. It slowly came open, blasting me with smells of rain and nature. Looking over my shoulder one last time, I threw my leg on the other side of the window, groping my way on the outside. I didn't bother to close the window, I just started running.

Rain pricked my skin like needles as I ran down the driveway, my bag bumping my side. I had no idea where I was going, just that I wanted to get away from my judgmental parents. I hesitated at the driveway, weighing my options. Shivering from the cold, I ran down the road on my left.

It was deserted, everyone inside their homes to get away from the storm. Water sloshed up on my calf to my end of my shorts as I ran through the streets. Thunder rolled up ahead, and a bolt of lightning sprang through the sky, lighting my path. It was gone as fast as it came. I knew I couldn't ask anyone in this town to help me, they'd just send me back to my parents. If they did, I feared, my next step might be to try to kill myself.

Though I knew it would never happen, I wished desperately that Hagrid or Snape would be in the shadows of a building. I tried to remember the way back to Diagon Alley, or at least The Leaky Cauldron. But it slipped my mind.

How long would it be before my parents found out I was gone? Would they care? Or would they be happy the 'freak' was out of their house?

These were the questions circling in my mind as I sloshed through the streets. The rain was coming down hard now, wind blowing my hair and bag behind me so hard I had to tip my head forward. Trees bent towards me, branches threating to snap. I knew that I should get shelter, even if I couldn't take shelter in someone's house.

I tried to shield the rain from my eyes, already stinging, as I looked around for shelter. Rain still blurred my view. I remembered a little old lady just up the street with an old garden shed that was never used. Though she loved flowers and gardens, she didn't have the mobility nor the time to keep a thriving one.

Surely no one would search an old shed in a rainstorm. I glanced up at the sky. The growling, vicious gray clouds didn't look like they were going anywhere any time soon. They would definitely last the night. I would spend the night in the shed, and be out as soon as the storm ended.

I convinced myself it was a solid plan as the old woman's house came into view. I jogged around the side of her yard and to her garden shed.

It was just as I remembered it. Solid brick, with a thick metal roof. Very well built. It's a shame it wasn't used anymore; it was in mint condition.

The door, a thick layer of rust build up over time, refused to move. I threw my back against it and shoved as hard as I could, grunting as if it would help. Eventually the door came slightly ajar, and I stuck in my foot in to move a few stray hoes from blocking the door as I pushed it the remaining way open.

A musty, moldy smell hit me as soon as I walked inside. It was very dark, only the occasional lightning casting a quick blue glow through the open door and dirty old window. Garden tools lay everywhere, pots broken, and shelves threating to give way from the walls. Needless to say, it looked better on the outside.

I shoved the door closed behind me and felt my way through the shed. I decided, even though I doubted anyone would come in, I should stay hidden. Groping my way behind a pile of trowels and shovels, I threw my bag on the ground for a pillow, and, ignoring the filthy cement floor, collapsed onto the ground.

"Ouch!"

It wasn't me.

I got SUPER close to Moaning Myrtle's death date when I was writing in my notebook. June 5, 1940. She actually died June 13, 1943. I had no idea that her death date was even in the books! Pretty sweet, eh?

Well, I hope you liked this chapter! Please review and tell me what you think, criticism welcomed! =)