Thank you AryaElf & Kokotheevilone for reviewing. :) Also, thanks to AryaElf for story alerting. Enjoy!
Alright time for a good ole *disclaimer*- I'm not J.K. Rowling, and therefore, I don't own Harry Potter.
Annabelle's ride home went smoothly, and soon enough the Hogwarts Express was pulling in to Kings Cross Station. Due to the fact that Annabelle didn't have a witch, wizard, or elf going home with her, she couldn't make her suitcase lightweight or smaller this time so she hefted it down from above her seat and dodged it as it came flying her way.
Picking up the heavy trunk, Annabelle followed the other students off the train. She tried not to look at any of the reuniting families, as she knew it would simply upset her further. She grabbed Sylvanna from the train conductor and continued on her way. However, her gaze caught sight of a waving figure to her left and she couldn't help but look.
Astoria Greengrass stood with her parents and elder sister, looking completely content as she waved to her friend. Annabelle waved back, but quickly looked away as she continued to walk towards the exit.
Finally, she reached the barrier and passed through it without a problem. On the other side, she immediately caught sight of her parents and grinned. They looked better than passable. They looked lovely. She practically ran toward them and wrapped her arms around her mother. The elder woman simply stood there, not reciprocating the hug in the slightest. Then, Annabelle barely heard a whisper, "What are you doing? Get off of me!"
Annabelle quickly backed away and hung her head. She couldn't deny that a small part of her had hoped, and even believed, that things had changed. She thought that going to Hogwarts would make them miss her. It would make them want to see her, but apparently not.
She stared at the pair's feet until they began to move away, and she quickly followed suit. She ran her finger tips across the end of her wand and sighed. She couldn't even use magic while she was gone, of course unless it was life or death, but her father had never pushed her that far.
Her father opened the trunk of the car and finally really looked at his daughter. Her hair was longer, and glossier, like her mother's used to be. Though she had her head down, she seemed to be standing a little taller, a little more confident.
As he took the bulky trunk out of her hands, he noticed the cat. "What the hell is that?" As he finally addressed it, the cat arched her back, bared her fangs, and hissed. Her ears were flat against her head and her tail was flicking back and forth in a very defensive manner.
Annabelle ran the toe of her boot across the ground and shrugged her shoulders, reaching out to pet Sylvanna. "She's a kneazle." She scratched the cat behind her ears and smiled as she stopped hissing. She still looked extremely defensive, but at least she wasn't being vocal about it. "A kneazle is a magic breed of cats. Well, really they're not a breed of cats. They're a species all on their own. Her name is Sylvanna." Annabelle realized she'd been rambling and quickly cut off her explanation with the cat's name.
Mr. Wyte snorted. "A magic cat, right? Is that supposed to scare me?" He tossed her trunk in the back of the vehicle and reached out for the crate. Sylvanna began hissing again and picked up a paw, ready to swing. Mr. Wyte retracted his hand and glared down at his daughter. "Put her in the back." He then stomped toward the front of the vehicle, opened his door to get in, and slammed it shut behind him.
Annabelle did as she was told and carefully placed Sylvia in the back, nestled up against her trunk. She then walked around the side of the vehicle and got in, strapping her seat belt around her body as she did.
Her father quickly pulled out from the station and they began the long drive home. Her father appeared to be drinking still, so Annabelle closed her eyes, and tried to imagine she was elsewhere. The first place that came to mind was the Quidditch pitch, and as the car moved under her, she imagined it was simply her broom. She pictured zigzagging through the air with Ginny, passing a Quaffle back and forth. She could almost see them holding the Quidditch Cup, but then her visualizations were interrupted.
"What did they teach you at this freak school?" It was her mother, being as kind and elegant as ever.
Annabelle shrugged and fingered her wand again. "Simple spells and theories. Professor Lockhart and Professor Snape tried to teach us how to duel." She paused for a moment, picturing Hermione in a headlock. "That didn't go very well, though."
Her father chortled and took another swig of his whiskey. "Of course it didn't go well. I told you that you wouldn't be any good at that stuff. I'm surprised they haven't already called to have us bring you home." His statement disappeared as he continued to laugh, not caring that she looked absolutely devastated.
Hogwarts was becoming her home. Surely, they'd always want her, right? They'd never try and send her home, right? She felt the tears stinging her eyes and quickly wiped at them. She wouldn't let him see her cry. She was stronger than that.
The ride continued in silence, or small talk between her parents. They barely even acknowledged she was there. To them, she was simply a way to get their food with the snap of their fingers. To them, she was their version of magic.
Once home though, her father tossed her suitcase onto the lawn and began to pick up Sylvanna's crate. However, her paw slipped through the cracks and raked across his skin. As he pulled back, his hand was bleeding and oozing a strange, purple puss.
Annabelle's mouth hung open, gaping at the sight before her. She had never seen that happen before. Soon, his hand was larger than its normal size and his wife was hyperventilating. Annabelle edged toward the trunk and slowly picked it up. She brought it inside and dropped it off in her room. She then made her way back downstairs and saw that her father's hand was still oozing and bleeding. It appeared to be back to its normal size, but it was now covered in the purple liquid.
She moved toward the back of the car and reached toward the cat crate, hushing Sylvanna as she did so. "It's just me, Sylvia. Let me take you upstairs." She grabbed the cage's handle and hefted it up and out of the car. The kneazle immediately fell silent but continued to glare at her father.
By now, Mr. Wyte was in shock at the whole encounter. His hand had never oozed purple before, but he was beginning to wonder if it was the effects of the alcohol fooling his body. Shrugging, he followed his daughter into the house and found that his wife followed after quickly shutting the trunk of the car. He kept close behind his daughter until she reached her room. She moved to let the cat out of the cage, but he cleared his throat noisily. "Not happening. The fleabag stays in the crate. The freak stays in its room. Those are the rules of this house." He grinned maliciously and leaned against the doorframe. "You're under my roof again, Anna. It's time to play by my rules." Backing out of the room, he shut the door, laughing at how he could so easily strike fear into her.
Annabelle's eyes overflowed with her tears. Why had she agreed to come home? She moved back over to Sylvanna and placed a hand over the lock, whispering, "I'll open it, but you have to stay inside. He's right. I have to follow his rules while I'm here. I'm sorry."
Sylvanna seemed to nod as she moved to lie down and Annabelle quickly unlocked the cage and pulled open the door. Immediately, she began to pet the cat, giving her fur a sleek appearance. "I'm sorry he almost threw you, too. I don't understand how you did it, but you stopped him really well." Her hand paused and she gripped the fur tighter. "I can't ever stop him."
Sylvanna gave a low growl in the direction of the door before turning back to Annabelle. Seeing her companion's tear-stricken face, she stood up and gently rubbed against the human's skin, purring lovingly.
Annabelle laid a loving kiss on Sylvanna's head before moving over to the bed and sprawling out across it. It'd been a long day, and it was already past time for her to be in bed.