I remember it like yesterday. For once, I was laying on my bed, listening to the sounds of the night. My mother could be heard crying softly from her room, but I easily tuned her out. 'Nothing new,' I thought. You see, my mother had been doing this for months now… ever since he had betrayed her; betrayed everything that he had stood for and had been her strength. Anthony Granger, loving father and devoted husband, was cheating on my mother. I was nine at the time, and I retaliated in the only way an underage witch could. 'Accidental magic.' Sure, I didn't have the slightest clue about the wizarding world, but the fact that I had powers beyond the norm was obvious. I did little things at first just to annoy him. Lights would dim whenever he tried to read, and things he reached for would as if by some supernatural force, move. I'm sure that in the beginning, he felt that he was certainly going mad. As time progressed, however, I noticed how he'd stare at me strangely whenever he thought I wasn't looking. Eventually, his car keys would go missing or no longer fit the locks of his car when he declared that he was going for a drive. I believe that was when he stopped trying altogether. From all the yelling between my mum and Anthony, I discovered that he spent entire lunch hours away from the practice and more than half the time, came back doused in cheap perfume. It wasn't surprising considering all that I was putting him through. By all means, I can't explain how I had grasped the concept of magic so easily. Rather, I just accepted that it was something I was good at and used it to its fullest potential. Living with mum had become nothing less of painful. As thin as she was before, she gradually grew thinner and I only felt it right that Anthony suffer the same as she. Anytime he would eat something in my presence, the food would turn ashy in his mouth and water took on an oily texture. As much as this served to piss off mum when he would rampantly spit out food in half chewed chunks, I would tilt my head down and a satisfied smirk would dance across my lips, hidden by a wave of bushy brown hair.

After two more brutal months, it became apparent that my mother was under severe depression. My 10th birthday found my mum in Intensive Care at the local hospital. 'Accidental overdose…' That was what the doctors told me but we all knew that a bottle of anti-depressants and alcoholic drinks was never accidental. I sat by my mum's bed for hours and still he never came. When visiting hours ended, the nurse on duty asked if anyone was coming to pick me up. I shook my head no, and she offered to take me home when her shift ended. In the mean time, I just stared at my mothers pale complexion. Her long, golden brown locks were matted to her forehead and I leaned over to brush them out of her eyes. Not that it would have mattered. She had fallen into a coma and I doubted she would be waking soon. Another hour passed and I waved good-bye to the kindly nurse as I let myself into the house. I found him slumped over the arm of an easy chair, putrid smelling liquid dripping from his mouth. I stared at his drunken form and something in me just snapped. I screamed at my father, calling him an irresponsible bastard, not fit to be the love of my mother's life. I ranted and raved, telling him off in any possible manner that would filter through my mind. I told him that he didn't deserve us… didn't deserve to be my father.

That's when he stabbed me. Not in the literal sense mind you, yet somehow, he managed to thrust the blade into my heart and twist the hilt for good measure.

"I'm sure you wish I was." It was a whisper and had I not seen his lips move, I would not have strained for the words.

"Excuse me?" I stood there gaping at him. "What did you say?"

"You wish I was your father!" Anthony stood up, stumbling slightly to the left. "Only I was too stupid to realize that I had the ill fortune of marrying your sneaky witch of a mother and playing father to an otherwise illegitimate child."

I could not believe what I was hearing. For starters, as a ten year old child, some facts took longer to register than others… but then again, I wasn't your average kid now was I? My mind reeled at his words and momentarily ceased to function properly. In an attempt to placate the moment, I stretched my arm out and took two feeble steps towards Anthony, but he turned away in disgust.

"Filthy child," he spat. "Take your dirty blood out of my sight."

Anthony woke up with a groan. He had consumed a lot more brandy than his aging body could handle. Slowly, he groped his way to the bathroom to relieve himself. After splashing some cold water onto his face, he crept into the bedroom. He was in no mood to face another one of Lynn's emotional tantrums. To his surprise, he found the bed empty. Glancing at the bedside clock revealed that it was half past five. He wondered at her absence, shaking his head vigorously to clear out some of the remaining fog. Dimly, he could feel the fatherly urge to check up on Hermione. She may not have been his daughter by blood, but he had raised her for the past 10 years and any animosity towards his wife did little to change his affection towards his daughter. She was only an innocent bystander caught in the crossfire of two adults.

He knocked on her bedroom door and was met by silence. A second knock rewarded him nothing more. Anthony grabbed the door knob and opened the door with a slight push. He found Hermione curled up in a corner of her room, papers scattered all around her. On her face were telltale signs of the hours she had spent crying until she had literally exhausted herself to sleep. He tentatively made his way towards her tiny figure when the crunch of paper underfoot marred the silence like a snapping twig. He bent down and picked up the traitorous sheet, squinting at the markings. Hermione's tiny scrawl covered the entire surface. Over and over she had written the same words and had scratched them out as if she had written something foul. Everywhere in the room were sheets and sheets of paper done in a similar fashion, and tossed haphazardly around. He clutched the paper in his hand and tried to make sense of the words that had obviously haunted his daughter to no avail. In bold, angry script blotted with tears:

Filth… dirty blood…

A/N: well here's to chapter 2... i know they're short chapters but they WILL get longer and as long as i update frequently i'm sure youreaders won't mind. Anyway...

thanks mi-chan for being my beta... haha... you're ALWAYS my beta. lol

and of course... REVIEW! i need feed back ppl...