Disclaimer- I don't own Harry Potter, but I very much want to. It is Harry Potter, trust me, you just have to get to the next chapter to find it.

Chapter One

My name is Sasha Fisher, American, but on my 11th birthday, traveling to London, England, the plane crashed and left me stranded here. Me, and my two friends, Sapphire and Amber, also were on it, along with their families. The three of us have swum to shore, and we find ourselves in a poor city, far outside of London.

The people were not so friendly, they could see the money we wore in our clothing. Their eyes were hungry, for food and for what we had, and what we still have. They could not get to it, and we found a way out. On this outer bank, we slept, and were captured by a man and a woman, faces showed loyalty for someone, a leader, or a group.

We stayed locked up in a cell, and woke up, me first, and saw what was around us. A black and dark house, not abandoned, but it showed wealth beyond my reach, or ever, and it showed utter disconcert of what was to happen in its basement.

It was not shelter, not a home, at least for us, I can't explain it. My family died, that was true, and so were my friends, my new, and only family. A young boy, 15 at the least, came into the basement. His hair was a light blonde, with brown eyes, and his father next to him.

His father was a duplicate of his son, or better yet, vice versa. He stared at me, a look in his eyes that said, 'You should not be in my house you little filth, you belong somewhere else, not my house, that's all.'

Sapphire raised an eyebrow, her look responding to his. 'Yeah, you didn't shower today, I see dirt in your long hair.'

He could not read her face, but the son could. The son looked at her, and took out a stick, and as he touched it, it lengthened to a whip, and Saph got it bad.

Amber stayed silent in the corner, facial features hidden. I slip beside her, and put a hand on her back. She softly shakes, eyes tightly closed, as I put my jacket over her. Saph retreats behind us, pain filled her eyes.

"We are not our past. We are not time." That, I believe, is the most normal thing she has ever said.