This isn't just a fanfiction, this is a letter.
This is a letter for all the girls that think they're sometimes too much for everyone, and for their mothers, who helped them feel like they are rotten work.
This is a letter to my mother.
I love you...
Strange song choice, I know. But it does match this chapter a little too well so I couldn't help myself.
Hope you like it :)
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
***
We are in the train back to Hogwarts.
We all had to go back home for a few weeks. Dean to his cousins, all boys in a rather very large cottage. Noah to his homophobic mother, stuck in a very poor house. Charlotte to her strict aunt and evil stepsisters that use her witch powers to their advantage. Nicole to her sexist parents, taking care of her brothers and their share of chores.
Harry and Hermione stayed at Ron's house, filled with laughter and love. Though the Weasleys are poor, they seem to have a blast in their home. The train ride was filled with the twins talking about all the adventures they and the Golden Trio got up to.
I on the other hand was stuck on the run every single day, the Hunters on my toes. I was worried I'd be stuck in my house with my mother and father, and I was-For a few days, which was filled with hatred and beatings, especially onto my back which my father now knows is my weakness.
He then went to Hogwarts to prep for the new year, being the new HeadMaster of the Wizarding School.
I almost want to barf at the thought of it.
That left me with my 'mother' which was quite strange. I think protecting her from her husband was my only purpose to her, and now that he was gone, she ignored me. Thankfully Neville taught me how to cook in my free time, knowing that I wouldn't get food from my parents. They do not give me food on purpose I think, wanting to weaken me even more.
I doubt they would notice if I died in that excuse of a room I have in their cottage. All dust and cobwebs, no actual bed. It's more like an old rag matt that they simply placed on the floor in the darkest corner.
The injury from the impalement into my back didn't heal as quickly as I wanted. Usually my skin rejuvinates and goes clear from all the pain I or others put it through. However, this time the blue and yellow marks on my body are still there, clear as day. I had to cover up my upper body extra now that we are in the train, eager to go back to school.
