golden girl

And when the bad nights came, when the nightmares visited as they frequently did during those early years living with the new family- her new family, she would curl up tight beneath her thick navy knitted blanket, limbs furled together as she repeated her truths, whisper into the darkness of her room, a prayer witnesses only by the silent observation of the moon and stars beyond her bedroom window. They were facts, whispered into the inky dark, irreputable truths. Promises. And a reminder.Her name was hazel. Her parents were dead. She was not. She was living with the mckinnon family at number 6 ashburn road, a family of witches and wizards. She had been adopted when she was eleven year old. She was twelve years old now, the same age as marlene, the youngest, and five years younger than danny, the oldest. The man who had rescued her was named dumbledor, who ran hogwarts, a school for all british students who possessed magic. A school she was unable to attend, as she did not possess any. Magic hurt, and scarred. She hated it, and under no circumstance, was she to come in contact with any, unless she could help it.Not anymore.