This entire story is FICTION, which means NOT REAL. If you, by any chance, every see a bald, evil-looking someone with a wand, please do NOT approach it and say comments as to anger it. This is a very, very bad and dumb thing to do, and I, the author, will not stick up for you in court, though it is more likely that, if you follow what the main character does, I will see you at your funeral. Please, do not attempt any of these stunts. I want to keep my readers.
I do not own any of these characters other than our Anonymous, Piglin, Rinell and the kids at the orphanage.
This story was printed on one hundred percent Microsoft Word documents. Save the rainforest!
Chapter 1 – Far From Home
London, England
Orphanage
The rain pattered hard against the window as our Anonymous sat by the fire, trying to bring some life to her frozen bones, soaking in all that the glowing embers gave her while sitting on a rose carpet. The equally pink walls with cats painted above the beds surrounded her, keeping her safe from the tormenting storm outside that had unexpectedly turned from a light drizzle to a dark thundershower. She hugged her knees closer to her chest, keeping in all the warmth possible during this harshly frightening day, petting one of the many kittens who lived with the warden.
Yet, Anonymous was never scared of anything. Anything. Not even the cruel caretaker.
You may ask, who is this pitiless caretaker who tortures the children with pink - well, pink everything - ribbons, streamers, rugs, mattresses, toilets, mugs … and all the cats, too? A pink feline lover, she is. Who is she? Where is she?
Ah … right there, hiding under the comforter of a Georgia H. Oley's bed. So where is Georgia? Watching a classic horse movie, 'Black Beauty' with all the other girl orphans, of course. It's the "clip-clop" of hooves that scares the poor caretaker, yes.
Anonymous watched with amusement as Dolores Jane Umbridge breathed deeply, trying to control herself and not let the cen - ahem - horses bother her. Heaving her not-so-light self up from under the comforters, she walked angrily over to the tiny television set and pulled out the plug, her once scared face now pink with anger and slight embarrassment.
"Aww, we were just getting to the good part!" A girl with long pigtails automatically started up. "Can't we see what happens to–?"
"I think not!" Umbridge huffed, "It's already 11:47; you children swore you would be in bed by midnight!"
"Exactly! It's not midnight yet."
"It soon will be! Don't ever talk back to me again, Miss Hurniet!" Umbridge replied furiously to the short blonde. "You darn kids should be so thankful that I take care of you orphans ... young ladies like yourselves should realize how much I've done for you. I decorated this entire room for you, I picked the exact colours for you, I choose the kittens for you, I bought clothes and toys for you –"
"But you won't just shut up for us, will you?"
Everyone in the room gasped and all heads turned at the same time to stare at Anonymous, their mouths wide open with surprise. Umbridge frowned, but that was quickly replaced by an evil grin. She unearthed a magenta notepad from her backpack.
"Detention, Anonymous." Her smile widened even more, showing off how big her lips could really get. This wasn't needed, however, given that it only made her look more like a giant frog.
"And how do you suppose that, ma'am toad?"
"I can suppose whatever I want."
"Sure you can." Anonymous paused as she counted up all the times she had set foot in the caretaker's ugly office. The office was even more hideous than the girl's dorm, and that was saying something. It was that way because Umbridge had put more work into it. "Great. A record … what has this been …."
"Thirtieth ... this month," Umbridge smirked.
"Joy."
As you can see, dear reader, Anonymous had been tormented for her entire life at the orphanage. However, this suffering stopped as soon as she received a certain letter in the mail; no, not from Hogwarts. It was from You-Know-Who, also known as He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Or just simply Lord Voldemort, the Dark Lord, Tom Riddle … the list goes on and on. Here is the exact letter from which Anonymous had read from only yesterday:
Dear Who It May Be Concerned,
After a few blood tests and the like, I have unfortunately been informed that you are related to one of my … friends. Your relatives, Lucius Malfoy, Narcissa Malfoy and there son, Draco Malfoy, are your new family. Please take the train at exactly 10:43 a.m. We will be waiting for you. Wear a scarf. Or else.
Sincerely,
The Dark Lord
Anonymous knew very well who the Dark Lord was; she was a witch. The only witch, by the way, other that the two caretakers (Percy Weasley being a wizard, taking care of the boys). She was sure they wanted her for something, and couldn't fully trust any of them. On the other hand, she had never had a known family; nobody had ever came up to her and said that they were related or were connected in any sort of way. She had to believe them. Anonymous forced herself to do just that, took the train at exactly 10:43, and got off at 5:09, bringing her scarf with her.
