A/N: No chairs were hurt in the making of this chapter.

"Mum?" I called tentatively as I poked my head around the frayed wooden doorframe.

She was there, in the kitchen, but if she heard me she sure didn't show it.

Flies hovered over the stained dishes roughly piled in and around the sink, a thin sliver of light strained through the slight gap beneath the heavy moth-eaten curtains, and a pair of suspicious golden eyes glowered down at me from the dark space above the battered cupboards. I saw it all, yet noticed nothing, as tends to happen when things remain unchanged for too long. Wait, I lie: the dishes had further nurtured their furry covering and one of the chairs had been reduced to a splintered mess where it still lay in the centre of the kitchen. My bad.

Beside the remains of the unfortunate chair, perched stiff-backed in the remaining chair, was my mother. She may have been pretty once, eons ago. She held some appeal with her dark hair and skin, delicate features and brown eyes. But whatever beauty she had was lost; her eyes were empty, her lips were pressed into a tight frown and her hair and skin looked dull and sick from little sunlight.

She'd been that way since before I could remember, not the caring, loving, role model I'd only heard stories of. She wasn't the one to tell those stories either. I learnt to read young.

All she did was sit and think, staring at something only she could see. I didn't know what was on her mind, I knew better than to expect an answer if I asked. We didn't talk much and when we did we dithered on arduous topics, such as the weather. She never mentioned any other family.

We looked too similar, and it gave me no end of trouble. We had the same eyebrows, though my nose was perhaps slightly longer, my skin was unmarked by wrinkles and my black hair was shaggy and short; not even touching my shoulders. We both had large suspicious eyes, only whereas hers were brown, my hazel eyes were a flecked with green.

I was instantly recognisable as the infamous Mrs Night's little brat, the kid from that wicked lady in the shack down the street. The distrustful looks alone were enough to drive anyone nuts; it was like they were waiting for me to eat the other children. But I was better off alone anyway.

I softly padded around the various objects littering the grimy floor and cautiously approached the sitting figure.

"Mum?"

There was a long pause. Then the lady let out a deep breath; the first sign of irritation. Ah, so she was in one of those moods.

"What?" she bit out tersely. I guess she didn't like me interrupting her... whatever it was she was doing. Plotting was a likely answer.

I fiddled with my dirty shirt uncertainly, "I need a way to get to the station tomorrow."

"And?"

"Could you, er, maybe please drive me?" I mumbled.

I was hoping, praying really, that she would say yes. It was my chance to get away from that place, to go to Hogwarts.

"No."

I held back a sigh, somehow I'd thought not. But I squared my narrow shoulders, not willing to give up.

"But we've already brought all the stuff, and if you take me I'll be gone for the whole year, I won't even come back for Easter or Christmas," I reasoned, just a hint of desperation creeping into my tone.

My mother's lips twitched upward in a sneer, "It takes over forty-five minutes to drive there. You should have left sometime yesterday if you plan to walk that far."

That was rude. My freedom was so close I could practically taste it.

She snorted, seeming to think the entire situation was rather amusing, "Well, if you can get there you can go."

That seemed as good an offer as I was going to get. As I backed out of the room, Scrap, the grizzled, tough tomcat and owner of the pair of the glowing golden eyes, lightly leapt from the cupboard and trotted after me. Scrap wasn't exactly the prettiest kitty out there. One might even go as far as to say his appearance was downright disturbing. One ear had been shredded to ribbons and he walked with a slight limp. His body bulged with muscles and his dappled grey coat was traversed with scars. It would take a special kind of person to find anything adorable in that. Such a being may not even exist.

But all that just added to his peculiar character. He was the smartest cat in the neighbourhood and he quickly picked up on the survival trend: when mum enters the room, you flee. Quickly. And without hesitation. He knew when I needed the comfort my mother could never give, and he possessed a stubbornness to rival my own. Ever since I found him, he'd been my only friend. I was impressed he'd survived as long as he had, with mum roaming the house and all, but he got a good feed- there was never any shortage of rats.

I quickly navigated to hall to my room. Well, actually it could be more accurately described as a garage. The twenty year old Ford occupied over half, leaving a small area that I was able to call my own. It was the best room in the house: the view opened onto the park and the garage door provided a handy escape when fleeing from a psychotic parent.

My bed was the first thing you noticed as it easily took up the most space. Like everything else in the house it was rough and worn-down. Although hard and uncomfortable, it was better than sleeping on the street, even if the curb didn't have bedbugs.

But with any luck I would be able to put that debate to the side for many months. My gaze travelled over the remainder of my belongings. My heart thumped excitedly as it took in my new wand, second-hand spellbooks, cauldron and all the other things your average witch or wizard was required to bring to Hogwarts.

I still had my letter, I vividly remembered the day it came a few months ago. It was handed to me by an incredibly short man, Professor Flitwick, I think his name was. At first I didn't believe him, I thought he was insulting me, but in my defence, telling someone they're a witch isn't usually a term of endearment in my neighbourhood.

Since then I'd divided my time between reading and re-reading my letter, counting down the days until September the first, and browsing through my new books. I was hoped that this wouldn't be some cruel joke, that magic was actually real, that dreams could come true.

But it would all be meaningly if I couldn't get there. With dear mother unwilling to provide the means, it was time for operation Last Resort.

...

Well there it was; King's Cross Station in all its glory. I'd never seen anything so huge, they certainly didn't have anything that large in Cheshires End, and the only thing that came close to the smell was my kitchen.

Scooping up Scrap in one arm and hauling my trunk with the other, I made my way towards the entrance. Every one of my meagre belongings had been unceremoniously dumped in the old trunk. It was pretty pathetic that my entire life could fit inside a single truck without a single half-hearted shove to get it closed. Well, except Scrap. He protested furiously when I tried to shut him in. But he'd followed me that far nonetheless.

I figured dear mum would be a bit cranky when she found out what I'd done. She'd likely go on an angry rampage and trash the house even further, with my room in the centre of her war path. So in the interest of my things, I decided to take them along.

I felt my lips twitch in the beginnings of a smirk. Oh yeah, she'd be pissed. It was almost a shame I had to miss it. Almost.

The first crime I'd committed was having a shower. An act of felony, I know. I decided it would be best to start the year without looking as I'd just clambered out of a mud pile. I washed my hair and brushed it with my mum's things. Apparently I'm not worthy of using her almighty shampoo. And she would notice too; whether she measures the amount in the bottle each day or scans it for foreign fingerprints, I may never know. The question was: had she noticed and was it already fuelling her anger, or would it be a lovely surprise to set her off again later?

The second act was sneaking into her room, 'borrowing' a few pounds, fleeing at the crack of dawn, jumping on a bus and catching it to the station without her explicit permission. I'm relatively certain that when she said 'find you own way' she didn't mean it in a literal sense. I could be wrong; her heart could have defrosted a couple degrees and she'd been encouraging me to use my initiative. But I doubt it.

Over all, my quickly devised plan had worked relatively well. I may have underestimated the amount of money required to get to King's Cross and had to walk the last few miles in a city I was totally unfamiliar with, and I did arrive four hours early. But other than that it played out as perfectly as I could have hoped for.

The building was full of busy people bustling about in their busy lives. The noise was deafening. Trains pulled into platforms, others departed to their various destinations, and the people seemed to think it was necessary to scream at each other in order to be heard. I didn't like the noise and the crowd, people brushed against me and blocked my vision until all I could see was a churning chaotic blur of colours. All round me the deafening uproar seamed to form a solid formidable wall of noise. I could barely see, barely hear and at every turn I was jostled and pushed. I felt swamped and confused, it felt like there was a huge balloon inflating in my chest- I like to call it panic. All I wanted was to get out, but I couldn't; there was no way I was going back.

I scanned the platforms for 9 ¾. My mind wasn't working properly, I was just overwhelmed. Scrap wasn't entirely impressed either, and digging his claws into my arm was only one of the ways he chose to illustrate his displeasure. I couldn't remember what that little man, Flitwick, told me. There was something I had to do, there were spells to pass, or something, that were in place so normal people didn't find it by mistake.

Somewhere above me, hovering above the swirling mass of people, I saw the sign for platform 9. It was close, and common sense said 9 ¾ had to be somewhere near. I managed to make my way through the worst of the crowds to a brick barrier. But platform 9 ¾ was nowhere to be seen, it could've been on the other side of the station as far as I knew.

"Watch where you're going!" I barely had time to turn my head before someone the approximate size and weight of a small tractor slammed into me. I was sent hurtling backwards, I braced myself to hit the barrier, but instead of a painful stop, I kept falling. My surroundings flashed black before reappearing. The sound vanished, and so did all unbearable crowds. The platform was bare and near deserted, only one large red steam engine and a few families occupied the large open space.

I stumbled, dropping Scrap and my trunk, and fell flat on my ass.

'What an entrance, I hope no one saw that.' But no such luck. Of the two early families, both were staring in my direction with eyebrows raised. Ignoring their gazes, a relieved smile spread across my face as I saw the platform marker 9 ¾ swinging above me.

I didn't have much trouble finding an empty compartment, if you can imagine. I settled into the first one I came across with my arms aching from dragging the trunk. I set Scrap down and he immediately began exploring the little nooks and crannies of the cabin. I wasn't tall enough to put my trunk in the overhead racks, so I left it on the seat beside me.

I rummaged amongst my things until I found the book I had been looking for: 'A Beginners Guide to Transfiguration'. Everything inside that second-hand cover fascinated me. Well, almost everything. I wasn't too keen on the mysterious stain on page 48, or the spell, Anteoculatia, that turned hair into antlers as it seemed rather pointless. Surely there were more interesting ways to ruin someone's day.

Hours later, the steady trickle of people turned into something more like a flood until the whistle blew and the train slowly began to inch forward. As it picked up speed I spared a glance out the window. Parents were yelling final goodbyes and younger siblings were running after the train, waiting for the day they would join us. I was surprised to feel a painful tug in my chest and my eyes dropped back to my book. The words suddenly didn't hold the same excitement they used to.

A little later, the compartment door was shrugged open by a red haired girl and her greasy counterpart. They were absorbed in a heated discussion and barely noticed me.

The girl paused, throwing a friendly smile my way, "Could we please sit here?"

I nodded, turning back to my book as they returned to their conversation. I didn't really follow much of what was said, but I soon regretted letting them in the compartment. I could barely think with their relentless yapping.

From what I did gather though, I assumed this girl was Lily and the boy was called Sev. What an unfortunate name, and to think I thought mine was bad. They were bagging the crap out of some poor blokes that, as I was led to assume, were the devils representatives on Earth.

The next interruption was from the lady with the food trolley. We all stared at it hungrily, but none of us had any money to spend on such things. Instead I deliberately stared out of the window, watching hundreds of droplets stream down the glass, determined to ignore my growling stomach and avoid thinking about how tasty my poor cat was looking.

I was dressed in my robes and very ready to leave before the train had even begun to slow down; I'd heard some whispers about a feast and I my mouth was watering in anticipation. I couldn't exactly gorge myself at home, the only food in the house was from the meagre amount of money mum gave me for the task of slavishly fetching it from the shops, which she carefully monitored.

Consequently, I was skinny. As in a too-thin-to-be-healthy skinny. My robes hung off me like a scarecrow, it didn't help that they were many sizes too big. My less-than-average height only made me look even more like an eight year old.

The rain was bucketing down and only a few seconds later I was drenched to the bone. After that I basically gave up trying to shield myself from the pounding torrent.

"Firs' years! Firs' years over 'ere!" I stared up at the giant, for there really was no other way to describe him, and my jaw dropped in awe. He stood as tall as two men and his head was shrouded in a fuzzy black mass of hair. Two kind, beetle-like eyes glowed kindly down at us. He was definitely not helping my mild size inferiority complex.

A sizable group of people my age slowly dethatched themselves from the rest of the jostling throng and nervously approached the giant. Well, almost all of them. One hyperactive boy with a mop of messy black hair bounced his way right up to him.

"Hi Hagrid!" Messy-haired-boy called as he jumped to a stop.

"'Ey James. How've yer been? Yer mum's managed to keep yer under control I 'ope," Hagrid replied, just as another slightly-less-messy-haired-than-hyperactive-messy- haired-but-also-a-black-haired-boy pushed through the crowd, panting slightly.

"There you are! Now look at what you've done: you lost Remmy," he (let's just call him the other boy) accused.

I saw Lily and Sev stiffen and glare. My best guess was that those were the blokes from the train. They looked harmless enough. But then again, so do bunnies, and rabbits are vicious and evil.

As a group, while the older students filed away, we trudged to the boats. The action reminded me of robots, only we were half as intelligent and way less cool. My first mistake of the evening was to naively climb in the boat with this James bloke, the other boy and a scrawny guy with light brown eyes, pale skin and an apparent proficiency with injury. I sat in the back watching the other boy mercilessly poking the boys sitting in front of him with a slightly amused grin refusing to leave my face.

"Look Jam," the other boy hollered over the pounding rain, "I found Remmy!"

James turned and shook his head ruefully, scattering yet more water, though there was a smirk on his lips, "I can see that, Siri."

The other boy, or the one newly classified as 'Siri', made a face and continued yelling with unnecessary volume, "Don't call me that!"

"Then don't call me Jam."

"And my name is Remus, not Remmy," the other boy added. I glanced up in interest.

"Your name's Remus?" I asked curiously, "Were you perhaps named after Remus, one of the brothers who were raised by wolves? You know, the ones who supposedly killed their greedy king, then took their rightful place on the throne, founded Rome, and then ended up arguing, fighting, and he was killed by his brother Romulus?"

"What?" James and Siri asked simultaneously, eyebrows raised. Siri looked as if he was silently laughing at me. James was just confused. Remus shrugged and looked down into the dark water, his face pale.

I stared at my feet, shifting awkwardly in embarrassment. I managed to mutter something along the lines of, "Well I didn't write the story."

Just dazzling boys with my highly developed social skills, that's me! I was so proud right then I could've poked myself in the eye.

The air skimmed over the water, rustling my hair and making me shiver. But Siri didn't seem to believe that we were quite freezing enough.

I jumped about a foot in the air and desperately grabbed the side of the boat as it rocked suddenly. My heart was in my throat and beating rapidly. I whirled around shakily to glare at the boy beside me. Siri was staring up at the sky, leaning against the back of the boat with his legs propped up on the side. He was the picture of false innocence.

He grinned wickedly at my distress, "Afraid of a little water?"

I glanced back to the dark horizon where the lights of the train station were barely visible as a flickering haze. All around us there was only murky water lapping hungrily at the side of the wooden boat and a solid curtain filled the surrounding air. I decided that yes, I definitely did not want to go for a swim.

"If we fall in, you will be the first to drown," I promised darkly. This only made the fool's grin widen. He leant forward to whisper something to James and Remus, the former mirroring Siri's evil grin. This caused the impending doom senses to kick in and I clutched the side of the boat in a death grip again.

Instantly, James and Siri threw their weight against the side and the boat dipped violently. I yelled and Hagrid's huge head swivelled around, "Just what do yer think yer doin'?"

They rocked the boat again, only this time the side dipped beneath the surface and water streamed in. In the background I dimly heard the mad cackling of, presumably, those twits, Siri and James. The boat slowly pitched sideways and I was hurled deep into the dark water. I had just enough time to yell some colourful profanity and curse Siri and every member of his family, neighbours and friends to hell and back.

I couldn't have possibly prepared myself for just how chilly it was. I was paralysed with shock, and not to mention cold. But oddly, it felt as if I my entire body was being stabbed with red-hot needles. Coming to my senses I swam for the surface, but my muscles were stiff and unresponsive, slightly complicating things. I managed to claw my way upwards only for my head to collide with something solid above me.

Straining my eyes, I was scarcely able to make out the wooden texture of a boat. My lungs were now begging for air, my limbs were quickly growing heavier and I was beginning to panic. I tried to claw my way sideways but the water seemed to be getting thicker, everything around me was dark. At least I couldn't feel the cold anymore; I was far too numb for that.

My brain was a muddled mess but I wasn't too confused to know that I could easily die. And then I was going to come back and murder that Siri bloke.

I think I could feel myself slowly sinking, but I wasn't sure. I wasn't certain of anything.

At first I thought I'd imagined something curling around my waist, but it's grip tightened and suddenly I was rushing up through the water. My limp body broke the surface in a shower of water droplets that were lost amongst the pouring rain.

I took a shuddering breath, then another. My mind was flooded with cool, beautiful, life-giving oxygen. My senses returned, which meant I could feel the bitting cold again, unfortunately. I heard screaming, but it seemed to be coming from far below me. My head swivelled around what I saw caused me to swear quite loudly.

I was hundreds of metres in the air. Ok, admittedly, in hindsight it was probably closer to a hundred feet, but when you're being slowly waved through the air supported by nothing but a giant tentacle, it sure looks closer to hundreds of metres.

After the initial shock of finding myself suspended high above the lake rather than drowning in it, I found I was more afraid. "Gah, not heights! Put me back, I'll drown, thanks."

From there, through the veil of rain, I could see the outline of a huge castle with hundreds of warm and comforting windows. The spectacular sight was mirrored on the slightly rippled surface of the lake.

Below me, the moonlight shone off the upturned faces of my fellow first years. The sensible ones would've been thanking a greater power that they weren't in the shoes of those… well, we'll call them 'boys' for formalities sake, but they wouldn't be much longer.

The tentacle began to gently lower me towards the boats. It was a deep red, slimy and as thick as a tree trunk. Now that is some major calamari right there! As I got closer I could see that Hagrid had managed to right the boat and haul Siri and James out of the water. How unfortunate.

A second tentacle was trying to shake Remus into our boat, who clung to it in terror, when a third tentacle had to forcefully detach him and both sunk back into the water with a dull gurgling sound.

The tentacle gently placed me on the floor of the boat beside Remus, while Siri and James looked at us with a mixture of jealousy and shameless awe.

If I hadn't been shivering from head to toe, thoroughly soaked and freezing, and entirely too cold to move properly, I would've pummelled them then and there.

"That. Was. Freaking. Awesome!" Siri shouted, throwing his fist in the air. Then his face morphed to one of disappointment, "Why didn't the squid pick us up too?"

"It knows who's worth s-saving," I managed to force past my chattering teeth, "Hagrid's just too chivalrous to let you idiots drown."

"Sh-shame that," Remus agreed, glaring.

Siri leant over the side of the boat and stared into the water, "But it's so cool, do you think it's still down there?"

I snorted, where else would it be? "If you hurry, you might be able to get its number," I muttered cynically.

Siri crossed his arms and rolled his eyes, "Well aren't you just a little ray of sunshine? You're alive aren't you?"

"You won't be much longer!" How dare he speak to me about sunshine after as good as throwing me in the lake! He was saved a painful and gruesome demise by Hagrid, who, being the stupidly chivalrous giant that he was, chose that moment to dump his huge, tent-like moleskin coat over him.

"Wrap that 'round yerselves, we'll get yer some warming draughts when we get to the castle," he said, giving James and Siri a warning glare, before tapping his pink umbrella and sending the boats gliding across the surface of the lake again.

Siri surfaced from the mountainous folds of the cloak, grinning. I was really beginning to hate that smirk.

He opened his arms and patted the bench beside him, giving me a sly wink, "You heard him; snuggle up Sunshine."

I glared, remaining where I was on the floor. I was sheltered from the wind there and as far away from the dreaded boy as physically possible without going for another dip, "I'd rather freeze, but once I defrost, you are a dead man."