Boys learnt to stay away from me earlier on my first year. A third year Slytherin thought I was a little naïve Gryffindork that must be taught the facts of life. It's almost funny when I stop to think about it. I can bet you that at that time I knew more about the facts of life than him, and not just the theory. At seven I learnt a very important lesson, never let your guard down, never. When he came to talk to me in my second day at Hogwarts I knew he was up to no good. As any young slytherin he thought he was devil incarnate. He was utterly wrong, I am. He threw me in a broom closet. When I got out there 3 minutes later I was fixing my clothes. The look the prefect in charge of showing the castle to us gave me was priceless. He thought I was a little slut, which was making out in a broom closet at the tender age of eleven. He reconsidered his judgment when he heard cries of pain coming from the closet. A broken arm, 2 broken ankles, a broken wrist, a black eye and a smashed ball. Of course he hadn't told this to anybody. What would people say about a 13 year old slytherin that was beaten shitless by a first year gryffindor, a girl, for god's sake; and worse, a mudblood. Normally the injuries I gave him would demand months to be fixed. In Hogwarts we have the Pomfrey factor. Madam Pomfrey can fix almost anything. So, the prefect, frank Longbottom, had to levitate him to the Infirmary Ward.

"God, what happened to him?"

"He fell from the stairs, he was running." I cut whatever Frank was thinking to say. He gave me a funny look. I told him I would explain later.

"Enough, Put him on a bed."

"OK."

We got out of there. At the corridor Frank demanded a explanation.

"Well, you see, I don't want detentions, or points taken from Gryffindor. I know the professors won't understand."

"They will, I was there, we can tell them."

"They won't understand frank." The truth is that they would never trust my word. Hell, I wouldn't trust my word if I were them. Not with my past.

He gave up. I made him promises that he would never tell what happened to anybody. Frank is not very good at keeping secrets. By lunch everybody knew what I had done. In the end, my little broom closet adventure was not so bad. Most of the slytherins avoided me. James Potter and his gang never pulled a prank on me. They knew I didn't play on their level. They pulled pranks. They humiliated the slytherins. The snakes looked for revenge, and life was going on. Neither side dared to involve me on their childish games.

Unfortunately good things don't last. I was the outcast, but I was happy this way. The only people that talked to me was my school projects partners, the ones I was forced to tutor in charms, my best subject, and the Professors. Of course, I haven't forgotten Hagrid. You don't just forget someone that saved your life. I use to visit him on a regular basis. The big problem is that I was made a prefect. What the hell is going on Albus Dumbledore's head to make someone like me a prefect? Better, what the hell is going on Dumbledore's head to make someone like me, and someone like Remus Lupin prefects?

Come on, the boy is gentle, has good marks, is sensible, etc. But he is a fucking werewolf. I know what I was, what I did to live for almost 3 years. I'm not ashamed of it. Just don't like to remember.

God, Dumbledore is asking Wednesday Adams to be a prefect. What come next, inviting Voldemort to teach DADA? On second thought that would be very interesting.

Back to the problem: Wednesday Adams as a prefect. It's not so bad, patrol the corridors after curfew and take care of the first years. Help children with their homework, etc. Not so bad at all.

It's just that there are a lot of things going on. Apparently everybody chose this great and glorious year to forget what I did to Frederick Nott on my first year. I heard that even after so many years he ever walks funny. Hope he is the last one in his lineage and doesn't have any brothers or sisters; no more Notts would be good for the World.

This year my school letter was different. It demanded a dress robe for this year. Apparently the professors thought that a ball was a rather good way to cheer up the school. Great, I had to spend 5 galleons on a dress robe I will only wear one time. They didn't have anything cheaper. Oh yeah, I have my own money. Work on summer. While the good guys go to France, Spain, or wherever their purses let them go I work on summer. It's not that bad. I work at Zonko's. It's family business, but the owner let me work there so his daughter can relax on summer.

It's hot. I am too damm tired on the end of the day to do anything. I like it. Oh, I'm not masochist. Zonko's storage at summer is much better than to stay with my mother. God knows I could not recriminate Petunia when she fled. At least I work on the storage. Nobody knows I live there on summers. What they don't know can't hurt me.

When I stop to think, I realize I'm lucky. I'm almost a happy person. Don't know what is missing.