Arielle Potter and the Philosopher's Stone

And the Story Begins...

-Chapter One: And the Story Begins!-

If you looked around the house of 4, Privet Drive, you wouldn't notice that almost ten years have passed. But they indeed have as the pictures on the tables and walls have changed from a small pink piggy to a large pink pig. Well, not literally. That was just Dudley, the son of Vernon and Petunia Dursley.

If someone looked in the house, he would think, 'Oh my, what a normal looking house!' and he or she would be right. But... the family held a dark secret. At least in their opinion. You see, almost ten years ago, on the 1st of November 1981 to be exact, a small bundle was left on their doorstep and the Dursleys didn't have a choice but to take that bundle into the house and sealing the contract with doing this.

That bundle was Arielle Lily Potter.

At the moment the petite girl was making her way to the kitchen where she had to make breakfast for her cousin. It was his birthday, namely. She sighed as she massaged her shoulder which was dislocated from where Uncle Vernon threw her in her cupboard. Arielle Potter was not your everyday girl. And that wasn't just because she was beaten to a pulp every time something strange happened around her. Her stature was petite, which could be contributed to her being malnourished all the time. You see, the Dursleys often forgot about her, her being locked in her cupboard. She was often starved and that wasn't doing her any good. She had long curly jet-black hair that seemed to never be completely neat. She wasn't allowed to comb it nor wash it, so it lay limply on her back, her curls in a greasy lump. She didn't even know how it really looked like! She was wearing a black skirt, which had many holes in it and since Aunt Petunia said that she won't waste any time on the girl, she didn't sew the holes. Her jumper was milky grey, but that could be because it was so washed that even Arielle couldn't remember the original colour.

The only interesting thing on her were her brilliant green eyes that once remembered of an emerald, but were now dull with sadness and hopelessness. She also had a scar on her forehead that resembled a lightning bolt. As hard as she tried to remember how she got the scar, she couldn't remember anything but a green light and a woman's scream. The one time she asked her Aunt how her parents died, the answer was, "They died in a car crash... And don't ask questions!"

... Don't ask questions! This was rule number one when it came to Arielle. She was never allowed to ask questions. She was never allowed anything really. Sometimes Arielle would dream of a distant relative, coming to save her from her sad fate, but no one ever came and Arielle was starting to lose hope.

Turning her attention back on the task in front of her - making breakfast - Arielle sighed softly. Putting the eggs and the bacon on three plates she put them on the table and went to sit on the chair that was in the corner of the kitchen. Apparently, her Uncle found it funny watching her looking at them eat. What a sadistic bastard, thought Arielle with a mental sneer. After the family (which didn't include Arielle) ate their breakfast, Dudley turned his attention to his presents. There were many of them. Big, small, short and long.

Arielle was just about to slowly make her way to her cupboard when Dudley started complaining about there being only thirty six presents. That ensued to a fight that ended with Aunt Petunia's promise to buy him two new presents when they went to the Zoo. Arielle opened the door, just as the telephone begun to ring. Aunt Petunia picked the telephone up and started talking to whoever it was that called. Arielle made her way to her cupboard as Aunt Petunia finished the conversation. Her Aunt had a look on her face that could make the milk go sour. The older woman walked towards Uncle Vernon and said, "Mrs Figg just called. She said she broke her leg... She can't take the insolent girl."

Arielle sighed in relief. It wasn't that she didn't like Mrs Figg; it was just the cats that got on her nerves. Not that she didn't like cats... it was just those cats that she didn't like. Mrs Figg had an obsession about cats and told her numerous stories every time she had to stay there, which was a lot, since the Dursleys never took her anywhere. Turning her attention back to the conversation between her Aunt and Uncle she gave a jolt as her Uncle said, "Well, we'll just have to take her with us. I won't be leaving her here alone! She would blow up something even before we got back."