If only love were true...
By Josie E.
Love. It's a word I've always hated. It's too commercialised, and it doesn't exist. I don't believe in love, never have, and never will. Maybe it's the fact that I've never seen true love, or perhaps it's because I've never experienced it first hand.
When I was younger, living with my parents, I would usually sit on my bed, reading, willing with all my might to drown out their yelling. Every night, after super, they would go into the living room and yell about one thing or an other; they were constantly at each other's throats. Petunia, my older sister, at the time was sixteen, a teenager; she would sometimes come to play with me, keep me occupied and change my thoughts. Maybe even drown out my parents wailing. Of course being a teenager meant that she wasn't at home often, not that I blame her. If I had friends, I probably would have been spending all of my time over at their house.
I had gotten used to inventing places, things and people to keep me occupied, I had a great imagination. Life at school wasn't any better, if you hadn't noticed. I didn't have many friends, having changed school three times, I had stopped bothering. The kids all thought I was weird and I often heard them say in whispered tones, 'Here comes Lily, the freak. Careful, she might change you into a frog.' I had once laughed at these ridiculous words. I didn't mind being alienated by my peers, it gave me more time to read; left with only my books, I took art as an outlet to everything that surrounded me. I wasn't very good, and easily got frustrated; but my books were always there for me, and I took condolence in their pages, losing myself among the words.
I used to ask myself the same question, day after day, month after month, year after year; if my parents didn't love each other, why had they gotten married in the first place?
One day, tiered of asking myself these questions, I asked the only person who really knew, my mother. But the only thing she told me was: "When your older."
After that, I asked her once every day, but she always answered the same thing: "When your older."
Finally, a couple of years back, when I had come home in tears, my mother caressed me (one of the only times I ever remember her doing so) and asked what had happened. I told her about a boy in my class that I liked and how he had turned me down by saying that I was ugly. For some strange reason, my mother had thought the time was right.
She had explained to me that they had made love to each other, before they were married. That was and still is, a great sin. She had become pregnant of Petunia and had to get married before suspicions arose.
I was eleven when she had told me all this, a very young age, but I had always been wise beyond my years (but then again, I had been forced to grow up faster than other children) and my life couldn't get any worst, or so I thought.
She made matters more complicated by explaining to me that the man I had taken to be my father for eleven years, wasn't my maternal father.
It explained a lot, my red hair, my Irish temper, but I still didn't want to believe it because it also explained an other thing, one which I had always wanted to disregard. I had always thought that I was different from my family, an outsider, but I'm not talking about physical appearance, I'm talking about internal.
For years, strange events had been occurring in my life, especially at times when I got angry. See, it turns out that my father, my real father, was a wizard.
I know, your probably thinking I'm looking for attention or that I'm bonkers, but it's the truth. I didn't believe it at first myself either, until I received a strange letter.
It had not only been the way I had come by it that was strange, but mostly what was inside. It had come through the window, during a very uneventful super, tied to an owl's leg. I still remember the temperature, it had been humid and my parents had been arguing about it. We had fans all over the house, using lots more electricity than was needed. My sister Petunia had been chatting excitedly to anyone who would listen about a boy she had finally been able to get a date with. I think he went by the name of Vernon.
As I opened the letter and read it, I was shocked to discover that what my mother had said to be true.
I had been accepted into a very prestigious wizarding school, the finest in Briton; Hogwarts school of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
I was ecstatic. I would be leaving my wretched home, I would be making something of myself and above all else I would be learning magic. I would be changing schools, perhaps even make friends.
I decided right there and then, that I would try my hardest to make friends, even if it meant lying. Besides, I was a born liar or actress as my mother used to say. That place would become my home for the next seven years, and I was determined not to spend them alone.
Packing up my few belongings, which included my books, I walked out my front door for what would be one of the last times in my life.
Leaving behind everything I knew, everything I had grew up with: my 'father' and my mother who as hard as she tried had never been ready nor made to raise children (faith works in strange ways sometimes) and my sister, the only closest thing to a person that loved and cared for me.
I never looked back and if the circumstances had been different, I don't think I would have either.
The end of Prologue
A/N: well, that's the first chapter to hopefully a long chaptered story. I know I shouldn't start an other fic. when I've still got Raspberry Sugar Quills (which is really starting to amount to something), Dimension disrupt and A united friendship on the go, but I couldn't help it. It's been in my notebook for a while now and I have all these ideas for it. I even have these other stories I'm starting on, I love new stories lol! And a couple of one shots, but I still have to type them. Anyhow, I hope you all liked it, it will get better (I hope). So review! Review! (Flammers aren't accepted!)
P.S: no this isn't a story that goes from 1st year to 7th. The first chapter will be in their first year and then I think I'll skip to their fifth.