The Other Potter: Book One

Chapter Two: Toto, I Don't Think We're in the Basement Anymore.

[Chapter Two: Toto, I Don't Think We're in the Basement Anymore. Edited.]

The moment before you're awake is so peaceful. You aren't in pain, you aren't freezing, and the world isn't impossibly cruel to you. Of course, moments pass and whatever world you're living in can feel too hard to bear some days. But occasionally – very occasionally – your whole day can feel like that moment.

The best day – or days – I can remember is when my parents took my brother, Draco, and went on a holiday. They were gone a short while and Dobby and I lived it up! We ate one square meal a day – each! It wasn't even shared. Dobby ventured to the muggle world for an hour and returned with what he called a 'tele-vizzi-own-eh'. He said it was French. We hid it in the tiny cupboard where he slept and watched it for hours. We kept the house strictly clean the whole time – which was still not enough for my father. He never did find the television, though. Dobby and I always tried to get all our work done before midnight, so we could watch a show called 'Hospital Love'. Of course, after every viewing – which we knew was very disobedient – we had to punish ourselves.

The moment between sleep and wake today didn't pass. I was warm. I was in no pain. Even with my eyes shut, the room was brighter than anywhere I'd ever been. I knew when I opened them, my moment would be shattered, but I was curious as to where I was. My bedroom in the basement had never been this bright. The only light I ever had in there was from the tiny window, high above my bed, or candle-light if I had to be punished into the night.

I braved the brightness and opened my eyes. The room looked like a hospital ward. To my right was a large window, overlooking a wide, beautiful field. Both ends of the field had three tall sticks with circles on the ends and several high towers were littered along the outskirts. Outside, much further down from the field, was a tiny house, with a smoking chimney. The backdrop of the lovely scene was a mass of trees – a forest.

That was when I noticed – the sun. It shone on my face. It was warm. It was beautiful. I moved my hand under the light. I hadn't seen the sun in what felt like forever. The vague memory I did have of it seemed like a dream, an invention. I had trouble with most happy memories – I never knew if they were real or not.

"Fond of the sun?" said a deep voice from behind me.

It was not my parents, nor my brother. It was someone else. Someone who my mother warned me about. I swallowed hard and forced myself to turn around.

Sitting in a chair beside my bed, with a pleasant smile on his face, was an old man with long white hair and a long white beard.

My breathing now uneven, I made to get away. To my detriment, I was in a bed, under blankets – so as I edged away, I ended up rolling off of the bed into a tangled mess. It wasn't quite the subtle escape plan I had hoped for.

"Oh dear," He reached towards me to help, but I flinched away from his hand, somehow pulling myself from the blankets. I clambered to my feet, darting to the other side of the room. I thought my heart would burst out of my chest, it was beating that hard.

The old man frowned at my reaction. "Willow, it's okay."

I had only ever spoken to four people – my parents, my brother, and Dobby. I had only ever known four people. None of them called me my name. I wasn't allowed to speak to strangers at any rate.

I made several tentative steps toward the doors, which he seemed to notice.

"Take a deep breath, Willow. It's okay. You're safe here." There was a kindness in his voice that I could not compare to anything I'd heard before. But it wouldn't do. I had to go. I had to find my way back home before he hurt me. My parents had to look after me. My mother had told me not to tell them anything – not to trust them. They were bad people. They'd hurt me. They'd hurt me.

The man stared, waiting for me to make the first move, and I did. I ran out of the double doors, leaving him shouting my name, a name I didn't belong to, in my wake. I'd vaulted onto a flight of stairs when they began to move. What is this place? My body argued with each step I took, but I couldn't stop running. My head felt weak. My eyes blurred slightly. But I couldn't stop. I felt cold shivers again so I ran faster.

Nausea built up in my stomach. The lump in my throat seemed to grow. I heard footsteps and looked behind me. I turned back too late —–

I ran into something at full-speed and was thrown down to the floor at violent velocity. With horror, I realised it was a man. He had midnight-black hair and hesitated as he stared at me, a mixture of curiosity and concern on his face. I attempted to stand, but my legs argued against it. Black dots were dancing in the foreground of my vision.

"You don't have to be afraid." It seemed as though the man had taken time in choosing his words.

I couldn't look up at him. I needed to apologise but I couldn't make myself. I could hardly breathe. My chest was tight and my breaths weren't getting enough air. I needed to get out of there, but my body didn't want to cooperate.

"Willow, it's alright." He crouched down, right beside me. "What do you want?"

The first half of my sentence was lost in translation. "Home."

He whispered something and I was consumed in green mist, before the darkness took over me once more.