Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, even though I wish I could own Oliver Wood, but that's beside the point. I only own the somewhat plot and my characters and some of the magical things I'll make up as I go along. Basically the things you recognise in this story belongs to JK Rowlings. Gotta love her! Please read and review telling me if you like it or if I should stuff this in the garbage like I did my other fic that was rotten and had absolutely no plot. enter sad face here But I've gotten good remarks about this one so maybe it will work. enter hopeful face here Oh yeah this is the only time I'll have a disclaimer because if I owned this stuff I wouldn't be a poor white girl now would I?
On with the story...
A girl of about thirteen bounded into the rich,brick, victorian home through the ebony front door leaving her trunk out on the porch. She searched the house, calling for her mother. The raven-haired girl had been a bit worried when no one had been there to pick her up from the train station, but she was told to not freak out and to call a cab if ever in the very situation.
When she entered the barely-used living room, a middle-aged man with long silvery-blond hair and hard, steel eyes turned to face her.
"Ah, Miss Black, I presume? I've been waiting for you," the older man said.
"W-who are you? And where is my mother!" She demanded, trying to sound more confident than she felt.
"Who I am is of no concern to this matter. I am so sorry to inform you of your mother's death." The mysterious man looked almost too at ease about telling this young girl of such a tradgic event. Most people's voice would have cracked or at least have shown some sympathy towards the girl, but this cold man's voice was too silky, and too calm for this, almost like he'd done this before, more than once.
"What are you talking about? My mom is not dead! She is not!" The girl was screaming at the stranger for stating this ludicrous thought. How dare he come here and tell her this! He didn't know her or her mom! Hot tears streamed down the young girl's face.
"On the contrary, my dear. She is very dead." She shuddered at the cold look in his eyes. A sudden thought crept into her almost frozen mind; he'd killed her mother! She paled and ran out of the suddenly very cold and very creepy room out onto the porch, but even the June sun couldn't warm her chilled blood. She had looked her mother's murderer in the eyes! She'd never be able to forget them; hard, cold, and almost emotionless gray eyes rimmed in a dark, midnight blue. Such strange eyes! Yet they were so beautiful, too beautiful for a murderer.
A loud pop emitted from the air as she sat on her porch, her knees cradled to her chest, her arms around her legs, and tears flowing down her face. She was shivering and shaking, and so very cold. From which the pop came an older woman appeared. This woman had the kindly grandmother's appearance, but the air of strictness around her. The old lady, Miss Veridian, came to the girl and stroked her long raven tresses as she held her, looking a bit uncomfortable.
"I'm so sorry for your loss, Dear," Miss Veridian tried to soothe. With their attention distracted, neither noticed an old, yellowed envelope seem to melt right into the girl's black trunk before they took off back to the best magical school in America...
