Love To Hate You (A Harry Potter fan fiction)

Chapter one: Morgan

"You sure you have everything?" My mother fretted, rechecking my luggage for the hundredth time. "Yes mom," I reassured, giving my mother a quick kiss on the cheek, pushing down the guilt that bubbled inside me.

Mum handed me my luggage and hugged me, and I breathed in her sweet scent of lemon dish soap before letting go.

The train whistled and the people of the nine-and-three-quarters platform jostled around, cries of excitement from the kids and tearful goodbyes from the parents echoing around.

I wiggled my fingers in farewell at my mother and a fresh wave of guilt engulfed me as I watched her use her back fists to wipe her wet cheeks, tears spilling out of her eyes.

My mother was raising me alone.

I always felt like a terrible daughter leaving mum to fend for herself for a whole year, let alone the past five ones.

She always said she wasn't lonely, but I knew she was. Who wouldn't be, sitting in a house alone with no husband or other children to take care of? If only I wasn't half-blood.

My dad's a Muggle, and he died shortly after he found out that my mum was magic when I was eleven.

But it was a different type of death, not like the normal one where you'd have a funeral and people came to pay respects, and where the person dying 'moved on.'

No, my father died in a much different way.

If only my father would've been magic. Then my mum wouldn't be alone, and I'd have a father, and I wouldn't be ashamed of my own dad...

I pushed down my thoughts. It was the first day of school for gods sake; no time to wallow. My mother would be fine.

I hoped.

Turning my back to the station I climbed onto the Hogwart's Express, throwing my luggage into the nearest seat.

The train whistled one last time and pulled out of the station, and I watched as my mother's scarlet scarf blew around her neck in the wind, her waving hands and tiny figure growing smaller and smaller until she disappeared completely.

After I had set my luggage down and gotten my bearings I pulled out my latest Muggle book called Lost Girl.

As I got lost in the world of Emma Dosay and her troubles of finding a job in the 1860s as a woman I forgot all about my mother and the chattering of the students around me turned into a dull roar that faded into nothing. All that was left now was the wind blowing my dark curls around me, the rolling green fields of sweet smelling morning and flouncing deer out the window, and Emma Dosay arguing with her soon to be lover at the market.

I had read about halfway of it, and I couldn't put it down. Sometimes my mother would tease me about my love of reading, telling me fibs like if I read too much I'd disappear into a book. Sometimes when my mother and father would fight I'd wish I could disappear into the books, but no matter how hard I wished and tried I never could.

Sure, I wasn't reading "witch books," but I loved Muggle stories, and how they lived life without magic. How do they do it? I can barely go a day without twiddling with my wand. Muggles, besides my father, are extremely fascinating.

Soon a couple hours had passed and I had picked up some treats from the trolley, chatted with a couple of friends that stopped by, and had moved on to writing in my diary.

Writing down my feelings made everything better for me. It put things into perspective, and I could pour down my emotions as heavily or angrily as I wanted.

It was the only thing I would dare share my secrets with.

I was about halfway done with recording my day and snacking on a pumpkin patsy when my two best friends slipped into my compartment.