A girl about seventeen sat at a small desk in a small room that was littered with broken toys, books that had never been opened, a small twin bed that held a single pillow, and a thread bear blanket. A old trunk sat at the foot of the bed that she used now as a chair for the desk.
The girl has shoulder length raven black hair that had been pulled back into a messy pony tail. Her bangs which were the same length as the rest of her hair, were pulled out of the pony tail to cover up a scar that was on her forehead. Her eyes were pools of emeralds that were covered by her wire rimmed glasses that kept sliding down her nose, and she would push them back up and continue staring down at her home work. Her skin was pale almost pale enough to see the veins that lay under her skin. It gave her a ethereal look, and made her seem harmless to everyone. The only blemish on her fair skin was a scar above her left eyebrow. A mark of a unforgivable curse that didn't do its' job of killing her. The mark was a lighting bolt.
Getting off the trunk she put her homework into it and pulled out a medium size black leather journal, that had Celtic designs on it. Closing the trunk she sat back down and picked up her pen flipping to a empty page that was towards the end.

Today was Dudley's seventeenth birthday.
Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia have
kept me locked in "my" bed room so I
don't ruin his "special" day. It seems
strange things are happening again, but
it is not my magic. I have been feeling
un-well these past few days. The Dursley's
know I have been feeling un-well, but they
have taken it upon themselves to increase
my work around the house. Instead of doing
the usual-cook, clean, and clean outside,
they have added the laundry, and shopping
onto it too, and when I don't finish my
chores I am locked in my room without
food, Uncle Vernon comes in later to give
me my daily beating, and verbal abuse.
It is just like clockwork. But my illness
seems to worsen with every day. The
first time was a day after I returned to
the Dursley's It started with a head ache
but now I can barely move. It is ten right
now. I still have to do the dishes after the
party is through and clean up the mess.
God help me.
K.P.

Kryta sighed as she closed the journal and put it away she was straining to do such a simple movements. It was almost ten times worse than her inanition into Transkull. She shuddered violently at that particular memory. She laid back on the bed careful not to get into a comfortable position so she would not fall asleep until she finished her chores.
A few more hours later the party ended and the work began. Kryta started picking up the trash and putting the food away so it wouldn't spoil. It took her until two o'clock in the morning to just get though with the picking up and putting away. It took another two hours to finish the job. Kryta slowly made her way back to her room and went straight to bed, not even bothering to change her clothes.

~~~~~~~~*~~~~~~~~~*~~~~~~~~~*~~~~~~~~*

Kryta woke up to immense pain. Opening her eyes she found Vernon above her with a purple face.
"Uncle Vernon....." Kryta said.
Vernon hit her across the mouth. She realized then that he had woken her up by hitting her repeatedly.
"Please stop," Kryta cried trying to get away from him.
"How dare you!" Vernon yelled at her hitting her again and again.
"Please! I didn't mean to," Kryta cried back.
Vernon pulled her off the bed and repeatedly kicked her, all the time Kryta begging him to stop By the time he actually stopped Kryta was coughing up blood, and he then began to hit her with his fists. After the third blow Kryta had passed out form pain and from lack of blood.
Even though she had already passed out Vernon kept up his beating until he finally had enough of not getting a reaction out of her. He hit her one more time then left the room to go downstairs to eat some breakfast before going to work that day.
Kryta came to a few hours after he left. The first thing she noticed was that she was having trouble breathing and every breath that came out was wet with blood. Noticing her trunk was next to her, she somehow managed to find the strength to open it and pull out a sheet of parchment, noticing it was her potions homework. Over the careful print she hastily wrote in her own blood -help me. K. P. Dayga who had just returned from his flying snatched the letter and was off in a burst of feathers after Kryta told him to give it to one of the professors at Hogwarts.
"Fly safe," Kryta whispered before succumbing again to the pitch blackness of passing out.

~~~~~~*~~~~~~~*~~~~~~~*~~~~~~~*

"Severus, we can't barge in there without proof," Albus sighed. He had been trying to convince his potions master t no do anything rash.
"Albus-" Severus stared.
"ALBUS!!" Minvera yelled running to the office, holding a piece of parchment.
"What is it Professor McGonagall?" Albus asked seeing the distressed state the transfiguration professor was in.
Minvera was trying to catch her breath so she just passed him the piece of parchment. Albus looked at it.
"It seems to be a very well written potions essay Professor," Albus said about to hand it back to Minvera.
"Look at the bottom," Minvera gasped.
Albus looked down at the bottom and saw the words help me k.p. written in blood most likely by hand fingers. Albus pulled out his wand and muttered a spell, before looking straight at Severus, "Severus go to number four privet drive, bring a lot of healing potions with you and bring Kryta back to Hogwarts."
Severus left without any complaint seeing the look in the headmaster's eye as he looked back down at the piece of parchment his features hardening. Gathering his healing potions taking the ones he thought would be needed, if he guessed how badly it was. He left with one thought on his mind "What have you gotten yourself into Potter?"