There was a time when I once was happy, I guess. I think I was about two, and my mum had come home with my new baby brother. I was ecstatic. I had a new baby brother! I remember begging and begging my mother to let me dress him up in girl clothes. He would be my own personal doll. But of course, mother didn’t allow that.
Over time, my little brother became my best friend. He would always be there for me whenever I had a bad day, and I would always be there for him if he needed to vent. Other brothers and sisters always fought with each other, but not us.
I was seven when I got introduced to magic. My father was Theodore Rosier, but he died when I was four. Our mother was magical too- Danielle Dupont. She was French, and had long blond hair with sparkly blue eyes. She looked like a princess. I never questioned why my father fell for her. They say opposites attract, right? My dad was big and tough, my mother was little and soft. And they had the sweetest love story.
They went to Hogwart’s together, and used to despise each other. They would always be in a shouting match, or had their wands pointed at each others throat. It didn’t matter that they were in the same house-Slytherin-, they still hated each other. They couldn’t even be in the same room together.
At graduation, my father realised he couldn’t live without my mum. He confessed his love right there on stage, in front of his parents who disapproved of my mother, in front of her parents who disapproved of my father, and in front of everyone else. My mother was shocked, especially when she found herself on stage next to him, grabbing him down to kiss him. Our grandparents tried to force them apart, but then they had us.
Everyday with them was a laugh. We would have pancakes every morning, watch movies all day, and even have tickle fights. But then my father died and it all stopped. My mother delved straight into depression and neglected us. I was four years old, and looking after my two year old brother. In the end, our grandmother came down.
I was nine when my mother didn’t wake up. I remember crying hysterically when my grandma found her dead in the bed. They say it was of natural causes, but I saw them hide the pill bottle.
I guess it was too much for her. Me and my brother; Mark, live with our grandmother.
I don’t mind it, but sometimes I hear my brother screaming in my sleep. I told my grandmother about it once, and she pulled me aside.
“He doesn’t know we can hear him,” She said quietly, before bustling off to do the laundry.
When I turned eleven, I got my letter to Hogwarts. My brother begged me not to go, but I knew I had too. My grandmother had to pry him off of my leg so I didn’t miss the train.
He said he would never forgive me for it, not even when he got his letter. He got into Gryffindor, unsurprisingly. He was always so brave, especially from a young age. He still doesn’t know how our mother died. I don’t have the heart to tell him that she took her own life.
I got into Slytherin, which was a surprise to everyone. I was little, and the rest of the first years towered over me. I had my fair hair and bright sparkling blue eyes just like my mother. I didn’t hurt people, I couldn’t hurt people.
It was a tie between Slytherin and Hufflepuff, but I begged the hat to be in Slytherin.
Most people look over me because I’m small for a seventh year, and because I couldn’t hurt a fly even if I wanted too. I don’t hate anyone.
Well..
Except for Al Potter, but that’s a long story.
I was twelve when I started to hear the voices. I thought it was normal, to hear the voices in your head. But I guess not, because Al turned around one day and whispered loudly; “Will you stop talking to yourself, its getting weird.” Ever since then, I guess I’ve hated him.
Keep your head high, Alice, your seventh year will be a tough one.
A/N: Hello. This is my first fic, so don't be mean.
Everything you recognise is not mine, obviously.
I only own my character.
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