"Monster. Freak. Nerd. Emo. Bitch. Snake. Traitor." Words swirled around Eleanor's head as she writhed in agony. The image of James Potter's fist punching her repeatedly, of Peter kicking her, of Sirius' abusive words, and of Remus Lupin's cold, calculating gaze haunted her like ghosts in the dark. "I just wish," she whispered. "For one thing." "For someone to stick up for me." Eleanor Delacour never wanted this. She never wanted to be bullied, to be tormented, to wish she could just restart her whole life. She only ever wished for one thing, all her life. She could stand the prejudice against her being French. Against her being a slytherin. Against being bullied by the marauders. But there was one thing she hated and could never understand. Why didn't anybody stick up for her?