The Beginning
December 16th, 2016, 23:04. The day and time she was born. The day and time that started the most miserable years of her life. Her birth mother wasn’t very caring, only spending time with her to teach Melantha the teachings of an outdated, dead evil wizard. For as long as Melantha could remember, and perhaps even before then, just when she was a newborn, all she could remember were stories about her grandparents, stories about the Wizarding Wars, admonishing comments about muggles and half bloods.
When she was one years old, her mother began reading her books. Not children's books, mind you- no, no.. She was read magic books; whatever her mother could get her hands on. Books about Transfiguration, Magical Theory, Charms. Sometimes, it was almost as if her mother was reading for her own benefit, only reading out loud so that her daughter could hear her voice, to be enticed by the fantastical words, if only to delay the next “parenting moments”.
When she was two, Melantha had learned how to walk, even though it was slow and, at times, unsteady. She walked to her mother’s lap, time after time, as she began to read, and the cute little baby that she was would happily settle in for hours, listening to her mother’s voice behind her, watching as the long pages of words would occasionally show pictures, visual representations of runes or wand movements or potion ingredients.
When she was three, strange things started happening. Her mother was out of the house more often, and Mel was taken care of by the house elf more than her own mother. That was okay, though. The house elf was a lovely little thing, happily spending time with the three year old, even though the house elf couldn’t read. The more time that Mel spent away from her mother, the more her magic grew. At first, it was the stress from being apart from her mother for prolonged periods, and as time went on, it was because she enjoyed seeing objects floating in the air, or moving on their own.
And then finally, when she was four.. Her mother strangely disappeared. She didn’t come home for days. On the first day that her mother didn’t disappear, Melantha cried for hours, the house elf unable to console the poor girl. As the days passed by, the little girl’s appetite was replaced by stress, an early start to Mel’s habit later in life to eat lightly. The four year old’s nights were spent sleeping on the living room’s couch, which wasn’t entirely comfortable, in the hopes that her mother would finally walk through that front door.
Eventually, the front door to their home was indeed unlocked and opened, but instead of her mother, a strange middle-aged man stepped through the entrance. He had messy black hair and round glasses, and as his eyes scoured the room he stepped into, he sighed. A deep, tired sigh, as if this was the last place he wanted to be. Eventually, his eyes landed on the little girl sleeping on the couch, and the house elf drowsily drifting in and out of sleep beside her. He was shocked, and for a moment, he thought that he had the wrong home, until his co-worker came up behind him, “What’s wrong, mate?”
As the co-worker’s gaze followed the initial man’s, Melantha began stirring, groaning in response to the deep voice echoing through the room. She sat up slowly, her eyes blinking awake in exhaustion. The two men have never seen bags under a child’s eyes before, but now this girl with an exhausted, hungry appearance sat in front of them. Eventually, as if they had been locked in a standstill, the little girl spoke up in a groggy voice, “Who are you..?”