It had been raining torrentially for hours now. In the morning the sky had still looked a pleasant blue, but clouds had started to form quickly as the day wore on due to the sultry weather that had dominated most of Britain these last days. It certainly was a relief once the rain had started, but people got grumpy and irritated as the rain simply hadn't shown any signs of stopping soon. As much as they wished for it to stop, their wish was not fulfilled. Adding to this was a light mist that lingered over the streets and squares of London and over the green water of the Thamse. In Manchester the situation was similar. People were grumpy and only the few wanting to go their local pub down the corner of the street to have fellows to complain about the wave of bad luck that had hit their country, dared to set a foot outside their homes only to get instantly drenched instead of 'just' wetted.

'Bloody weather!,' hollered a man with a heavy mancunian accent to his companion, ' I tell you Jack, I always told my wife we'd be better of in a place more sunny, but she didn't even want to consider the thought of us moving away from Manchester while we still had money… Not that I silently agree with her over not wanting to move, but this weather is dragging me down, making me depressed. I mean if you only had a look at it! Our whole stupid street is flooded! This time Mary can call the fire department on her own to ask for our basement to be pumped out!' a man gruffed to his friend Jack.

'Our's is even worse, David! Thank God the pub is open through this! What will you take? A pint?", he snorted derisively, "Ha! Jean told me t' stop drinkin' so I don't strike the kid again. What was I s'posed t' do? She couldn't even do the washing up correctly. Broke two goddamn glasses and nearly brought down the whole damn shelf. Not like money grows on trees! Has to learn a lesson, she has!"

"Yeah, Jack!", David agreed, "What should you do when the bastard is not stoppin' to cry? Nightmares, he says. Sebastian recently broke up a good night's sleep with his howling. Not as if people will treat him more kind once he's out of 'ere! No one will respect an' obey him if 'e don't stop that snivelling, really! He got to stand up and fight for what he wants! A disgrace he is, behaves like his sister. He's gotta learn to stand up like a man! My son's not goin' t' be a coward for God's sake!'

'Should serve him right, mate! Things won't get easier with the years an' if 'e doesn't learn control and to obey, when then? As for my daughter: I can only hope she doesn't take to mouthing off more often, God knows the freakish clumsiness is bad enough. Enough of this! How 'bout a game of pool with the rest of the guys to cheer us up?'

Their voices rung through one of the many poor streets of east Manchester and died down only when they had arrived at their pub and had shut the door firmly behind them so as to let none of the cold or rain inside the building.

A few yards away in a small alley in between of two blocks of terraced houses a dark figure stood stiff. They had been tense all along but at the second man's, Jack's; words had tensed up even more. Not a sound or motion came from the person. The man stepped out of the dark alley and continued walking down the street like he had only moments before he was interrupted by the two men. He kept closely to the dark shadowy walls of the houses as if he didn't want to be seen and even quickened his pace. He was dressed all in black. His trench-coat with the flipped up collar and the completely buttoned up front, his thick woollen scarf which covered most of his face, only to reveal his dark eyes and the upper part of his nose, his boots, yes even his long hair were completely jet-black. He blended in perfectly with the dark of the night and was barely to make out through the heavy rain. The man could barely see though the veils the rain created as everything looked blurred. He glanced around discretely every ten to twenty steps to make sure no one followed him. Little did he know that he was being watched...

I could not understand why anyone would show signs of anger about the way my father treated me. Look at David, he even encouraged it and did the same to Sebastian; I bet that his drinking and factory companions would only agree too much. To them all, even to my own father, I was a freak. A freak because I could make weird things happen, things which frightened my father, things which made him beat me and I could not help but grow weak every time he raised his hand towards me. And every time I had grown weak I had started to hate myself because I had wanted to please him. But I could not change who I was, my mother told me, despite my father's hated of my powers. She told me that I was a witch and that when I turned 11 I could go to Hogwarts school and live in a castle with lots of other magical children. She could only tell me about magic when my father was out and even then she was reluctant to do so. My mother had been such a fool to marry my father. Even now after so many years of abuse she wouldn't leave him. I didn't know if they were in love but if that is love then one thing I knew about it with my 6 years in this unfair and miserable world, is that I wouldn't recommend anyone to fall into its trap. It only made you weak; it made you lose your independence and because of that I didn't believe a word all those people on the telly said about how love makes us stronger and how people who couldn't love should be pitied. Mother secretly took me to Dragon Alley a couple of times. We always drank a vile potion that would change our appearance. Even in Diagon Alley she would not use her wand. We always had to wait to slip in behind someone who had opened the passageway before us. I once asked her why she didn't use magic but she only became very cross and tightened her grip on my hand.

Although I had put on nearly all of my clothes I possessed I was still shivering and the rain continued to fall mercilessly. I was hungry too and had no energy anymore to run. I just wanted to sink against the wall of the brown terraced house behind the corner of which I had watched my father go into the pub to spend all the good money on alcohol instead of something to eat or clothes for mother and I or fuel for the house. Behind this corner I had also seen that dark man listen to my father and David from a corner on an ally which lay a little opposite to mine on the other side of the street. Behind this corner too had I seen him cross the street to continue waling on my side of Hodge Terrace, continue walking to the left and quicken his steps. And from behind this wall I had gotten up from my crouched position, quickly rounded the corner and ran after him, as silently as possible.

There was this certain air of secrecy and mystery about him which intrigued me as I quickly set out to follow him. I could sense something. Something like I only felt when I let my magic make things happen. I hoped that this man would be my saviour from my miserable life.

AN: I'm not sure how long this is going to be, however, I'm open to any suggestions as to where you would like to see this story go. I might be able to incorporate them.