Charged

Chapter One

                I woke up to a dark figure hovering over the edge of my bed. A scream caught in my throat, and all that came out was a sort of choking sound as I scrambled backwards and pressed myself against the wooden headboard. My heart was beating impossibly fast in my chest and I wasn't sure if I would throw up or pass out, but neither were much of a concern with the broad-shouldered man looming by my feet. There was nothing nearby that I could grab, nothing to use to protect myself.

"You're not very good," he mumbled seemingly to himself, still making no attempt to come any closer. I couldn't see his hands but imagined there was a gun clenched in his massive fists, or at least a knife. He waited, motionless. Did he want a response?

"I... what?" I finally stammered, hating how meek my voice sounded.

"You're not very good," he repeated, annunciating better this time, as if I was a child who couldn't quite understand English yet. The disappointment in his voice was obvious, too, and I found myself feeling offended, even though there were a lot more pressing matters than my ego. The room lapsed back into an uncomfortable silence until at long last he sighed, shook his head, and turned his back on me to trudge away.

Adrenaline pumped through my system. It was my chance to escape. I could attack him from behind while he left the room, save my family from the creep.

He flicked the light switch and turned back to see me crouching on the bed in Mario boxer shorts. Another exhausted, resentful sigh.

"I'm not gonna hurt you, alright? I just want to talk. You're not easy to get alone, you know?" He faced my walls while he talked, picking things up from my dresser to examine before putting them back in the wrong places. My gaze still flickered around the room, trying to find anything I could use to my advantage. It was no use. Besides, the guy looked like a brick wall. He was at least six-three, and had biceps thicker than my head, covered with sloppy tattoos. His sandy blond hair was close cropped – and was that a tattoo on his head?

"Would you put some pants on, or something?" The raspy voice jarred me back into focus and I realized that he was staring at me now, his eyes an unearthly light brown that seemed to freeze me in place. I tried to shake out of it, size him up, and forced a deep breath.

"Who are you?" I demanded. It didn't come out nearly as challenging as I had hoped, and he scoffed.

"I'm Hagrid. Yer a wizard, Benny. Does that make you feel better?"

"No," I replied, my voice flat. Who breaks into someone's house and then jokes with them?

"You're a real killjoy. Alright, whatever. We know about your ability. Whatever it is that makes you special. And I'm just here to have a word with you about it." He went back to toying with my possessions, while I considered the fact that maybe this was all a weird dream.

"I don't..." my voice trailed off. Why was I even trying to reason with him? "Get out of my house."

"Yeah, sure." He sounded terribly bored. "I'm not wasting my time with you, alright? You're only in the 'D's. Screw it." Horror surged through my veins as he reached into his jacket, and I scrambled toward the door. It was too late. A blinding white flooded my vision, and then everything went black.