The Five Flowers - A Marauders Era Story

Prolouge

"Wake up! Violet Mae Quinn you better get down here and fix us breakfast or you know what will happen!" a bitter voice yelled up the stairs. That bitter voice belonged to Miriam Quinn, Violet's mother.

"Coming," Violet groaned as she sat up from her small bed. She pulled on a thick black jumper over her white tee shirt and grey leggings before heading down stairs. Her feet padded lightly on the tile as she made her way into the kitchen.

"Don't burn it," a thin pale girl with crystal blue eyes and luscious brown hair, hissed at Violet. This girl happened to be Violet's sister.

"Everything needs to be absolutely perfect! It is Alyssa's birthday after all," Violet's father smiled, peering down at the child before sending a look Violet's way. "and nothing can ruin it."

"Quite right Julian!" Miriam spoke calmly as Violet set the food on the table. She was given half a slice of toast, a glass of water and was sent to her room. Violet wished that everything could go back to how it was three years ago. When her family loved her, but that was before she could do things. Strange things. Something caught Violet's eye as she passed the door. It was a letter with her a dress on it.

Miss V. Quinn
The Smallest Bedroom
7. Tartar Road
Cobham
Surrey

She picked up the letter and rushed to her room. After admiring the scarlet seal she ripped open the envelope, wondering who would be sending her a letter.

Dear Miss V. Quinn,

We are please to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.

Term begins on September 1. We await your owl by no later than July 31.
Yours Sincerely,
Minerva McGonagall
Deputy Headmistress

Violet stared in shock at the letter. She couldn't wait to get away from her family but how was she to buy everything and get to King's Cross. She sat on her bed thinking for awhile. She finally came up with a plan and crept back downstairs, holding her letter in one hand and railing in the other.

"Mrs and Mr Quinn?" she called softly through the doorway to the kitchen.

"What is it?" Violet's father yelled sharply.

"Is it possible for you to take me into London tomorrow and take me to King's Cross on September 1?"

"Why would we do that?" Violet's mother stared at her incredulously.

"Because then I can go to a special school. You won't have to see me unless it's summer or Christmas."

"That sounds rather nice. Ok, we will take you tomorrow at 10 AM. We will pick you up at 2 PM. Be on time or you won't be going or coming home." Miriam threatened the girl who nodded before rushing up to her room. It was already late and she wasn't allowed dinner. There was just one thing left to do before she slept. The daily torture to remind her of being a freak.

She heard a yell from downstairs and took it as her queue. She stepped shakily down to the cellar even though she had been doing this everyday for three years. After closing the door and locking it behind her she felt a tight grip on her wrist. She was shoved onto a wooden stool where her ankles and wrist were bound. She heard the sound of a whip swishing across the stone floor. So silent but it inflicted so much fear.

"Hello darling," her father mocked with a sneer as he circled her. "Long time, no see."

"Yes." Violet mumbled, staring at her feet.

"I still don't think you have learned your lesson." her father sighed before going to the back of her. She let out an ear splitting scream and the whip lashed her back. Pain seared throughout her body as the whip attacked her.

"Have you learned yet?" her father whispered menacingly. Her surveyed her before deciding that she had not learned.

He became careless and the whip slashed her face and her neck. Her breathing was labored as she felt beads of blood sprouting everywhere. She heard the soft click of a lock and the slamming of a door, signaling that her father had left. She slowly stood up before stumbling her way back to her room. Violet collapsed in her bed, too exhausted to even clean up the cuts that were sure to scar, and fell asleep.