The screeching alarm was the first thing I remember; it was an alarm that my father had sent me two years ago so that I was never late for classes. It had been his when he was a Hogwarts and his fathers before that. The thing was unbearably loud and piercing, like a two year-old child throwing a tantrum, reverberating straight through my skull. Sadly, it was possibly the best gift ever given to me by my father.

My surrounding then slowly came into focus; the warm wooden, poster beds, the ancient curtains bunching around the windows, the magnificent view of woods and fields in fresh morning light that flooded in... It was about that point that my brain started to function. You couldn't have a view from a dungeon. Information erupted from my malfunctioning brain.

It was like something out of a horror movie that muggles watch. I had no control of my flailing limbs and my nose bled profusely, which it continued to do so for at least 30 minutes. But most of all, was the agonisingly horrific headache that pounded in my brain. Like some small animals had crawled in and were tearing it apart, that or, dread the thought, someone was using an unforgivable curse on me. The only reason for that would be if they'd found out. If they... knew. I prepared myself for the worse, I would have been looking down the barrel.

However, my brain then started to fell like it was being re-written as images flashed before my eyes. Though I didn't recognise them, they seemed familiar. My father beating me, my mother leaving, Pansy and Blaise taunting me, flashes of fiery red and royal blue. This life was unreal and didn't belong to me. The faster the images flashed, the worse the headache got.

Once the fit had finished, I crawled out of my bed and stumbled towards the bathroom. The dormitory, thankfully, seemed to be empty; although this contradicted my unforgivable curse theory.

Looking in the mirror, I saw a man that I didn't recognise. It wasn't the blood smeared across my face; it was the unusually long floppy blond hair that was a shade or two darker, the thinning cheekbones that had been fuller and healthier the day before, and finally, the scar that ran from my right temple to my left jaw line, hideous and a clear mark of a violent anger.

The scar made me think of the image I'd just seen of my father beating me. Anger flaring in his eyes and hatred clear for his stiff expression and body posture. The cane he carried was hoovering above his head; threatening another blow. In the corner, a boy I didn't recognise, blue and bruised. He curled into the foetal position, making himself as small as possible. The boy was clearly me.

I was confused. You would be too, if you woke up, not only to a horrific 30 minute fit, but to an unrecognisable face as well. I walked back to what I assumed was to be my bed. The uniform sitting next to it was mine, the fine silky robes, bought new every year, slipped through my fingers as they always did, my trousers still looked the same; shiny, new and pressed to perfection. Even the stitch used to hold my Hogwarts badge onto my cape looked the same. The only piece of uniform that was out of place was the slightly tattered blue and bronze tie laying on top the pile. It looked as if I had been wearing the same tie for 5 years.

Was someone playing a vile practical joke on me? Who would go to such extraordinary lengths, just to get a kick out of my pain and confusion? That was just sick. Really sick.

I decided to check out the rest of the dormitory, for clues to what had happened and see if they also contained more horrid Ravenclaw artefacts. Four other beds surrounded mine in the same way they did in the Slytherin Dormitory. Two of them were scattered with muggle items of no particular interest. Pictures containing family members, friends and outings, littered their bed-side tables. The other two were littered with similar items. Home comforts, brought to school with them, but they had a clear wizardry influence about them; floating tokens, moving pictures; nothing out of the ordinary.

One picture, however, particularly caught my eye. Picking it up, I inspected it thoroughly and found a horrifying sight. Four people were in the picture, one was the Weasley girl clinging to an average looking boy with dark brown hair. The other two had their arms around each other shoulders. Here, in this picture, I had found evidence of a youthful and happy self. He was not real and not me; beaming from ear to ear as he embraced his friend, a boy with black hair and huge dark eyes. His frame was small, even compared to my own, but it was not from starvation. The miraculous thing was the companionship that I had always yearned for was clearly shared between these two boys. I managed to identified the boy as Kevin Entwhistle; a muggle-born with a tendency to shy away from people.

Then, a realisation dawned on me, one that changed my way of thinking forever. It dawned on me that if I was able to befriend someone as shy as Kevin, and who my father would clearly disapprove of, then the thought of having, holding and loving Hermione Granger was not so unrealistic now. After 5 years, he would have gotten use to the repulsive idea of his only son befriending muggles. Although I don't think that I would ever introduce Hermione to my father, especially not as my girlfriend.

I lay back down on my bed and smiled that wonderful smile that could be identified as the same one as the one in the picture. I had found a place of peace and who would have though that it was hidden somewhere so far from the world I had been brought up in.

I also realised that something had changed my life, for better, or for worse, I could not yet tell, but something had rewritten my past so that I could change my future.

I looked across at the mirror. The scar now made perfect sense. I would have been from the anger that my father would have unleashed once he realised I was "weak and treacherous." My thin cheekbones and darker hair would be due to being held captive in a house all summer by my father. The headache was still hard to understand though, and even harder to think about, but eventually I put it down to being caused by some shift, or something along those muggle-science lines. I didn't understand it, but I knew what I must do.

The first step in my grand master plan would be learning about this world. How much had changed? Who was I now friends with, and how well was I doing at school? Did everyone hate me; the muggles because I was so pureblood, and the purebloods because I was such a traitor? The only way I was going to do that was to find my diary and hope that I was as thorough in this world as I was in my own. After a few minutes of digging through trunks and draws, I found the soft leather bound diary I was looking for and opened the cover.