The Girl With Brown Eyes

A/N: Yay, new chapter! Please please please review, it\'d mean soooo much to me! I think I can get quite far with this story... Not sure how i\'m going to finish it yet.


DISCLAIMER: I don\'t own any characters you recognise from the HP books.

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She closed the letter. It said term started on September 1st, and the train left from Kings Cross station. September 1st was only a week away. She could still go.

Willow stood up, as anger surged through her, fuelled by hope. She was going to get her father for this.

Willow went to her father’s room, not caring if she left a mess, and dragged a suitcase from the top of his wardrobe. She stuffed most of her clothes, some books, pens, paper and a plain notebook so she could keep a diary. Then she stopped. She didn’t have any money. Willow went to her father’s ‘secret savings tin’ that read ‘Cookie Stash’ on the front, that she’d known about since she was seven, and, thinking of all the lies, took out well over £200, not feeling the slightest bit guilty.

Then she lay in wait for her father to return.


When the pubs closed for the night, her father staggered his way home, swerving into roads and lampposts, knocking on the doors of houses that weren’t his own, yelling at invisible enemies.

He finally arrived home, not bothering to keep quiet. Willow sat on the settee, in the lounge, in the dark, her heart pounding, her suitcase waiting in the hall cupboard.

Mr. Hardman opened the front door, mumbling something under his breath. He went into the lounge, turning the light on. He stopped short when he saw Willow.

“What are you doing? How did you get out of your room? Get the hell back in there!”

He started storming towards her.

“No,” Willow said quietly, not quite being able to keep a slight tremor out of her voice.

“Do what?” he said as quietly. ‘It would have been better if he’d shouted,’ thought Willow.

“No. I’m leaving. Get out of my way.” Willow stood up and faced her drunken stepfather.

“Do you want another fricking scar to go with the one you’ve got already?” he yelled, and Willow automatically put a hand up to protect the plaster. “Didn’t think so! Get out of my way, bitch!”

“No!” shouted Willow, and she lashed out with the candlestick concealed by her side, that he had used against her so many times.

The candle fell off as Willow swung out with it, just leaving the holder. It hit Mr. Hardman on the bridge of his nose, and Willow heard it crack. The man’s head was flung back with the force of the blow, and he put both his hands up to his shattered nose.

Willow used the moment when both hands were at his nose to kick him between the legs. Mr. Hardman fell to his knees in pain, moaning softly.

“Ib you leab now, don’t eveb fink about coming bat!” Mr. Hardman looked up at the tall teenager, still clutching the candlestick.

“Don’t worry,” she whispered. “I won’t.”

Willow stepped round her stepfather, with the candlestick in her hand still. On the spur of the moment, she put it in her suitcase. Willow collected the last few things she thought she might need; a rucksack to put drinks and snacks in. Some pictures. Her childhood teddy she had treasured for years. Willow touched the faint bloodstains on its arms, and grabbed it to her chest. She held it there for a few seconds before putting it in her suitcase. She grabbed a thick coat, a cardigan and a packet of chocolate chip cookies.

She passed the man in the lounge, still kneeling on the ground, one hand on his face and the other between his legs.

“Goodbye…” Willow paused, wondering if his first name would bring him back to his senses, and then deciding against it. “Stepfather.”

“Goodbye… Willow…” he murmured, Willow wondered if she had imagined it, but she could have sworn she saw a lone tear trickle down his face. “Take this,” and he handed over his mobile phone. “Ring me sometime. Let me know… how you’re doing. Or if you need… money… or something…”

Willow sniffed. She knew he was only drunk because of the death of Mrs. Hardman. He was a wonderful man when she was alive, but the drink ruined him.

“Yes. I will. I’m sorry… goodbye…”

And she left the house, not looking back.

Willow got to the end of her road, and suddenly collapsed. The weight of it all hit her. She had left home at fourteen, beaten up her father, and was on her way to somewhere she didn’t know the location of. She sat in the gutter, leaning on her suitcase and hugging her rucksack, the wetness on the ground soaking through her jeans.

A stray cat she had seen begging at their back door wandered up to her and meowed loudly. She absentmindedly scratched his head and he rubbed himself against her.

Willow finally got up, and tried to find a place to spend the night. She decided on the little Wendy House in the park nearby. Realising she hadn’t brought a pillow or cover, she rolled up the cardigan, put it on the rucksack and covered herself with the coat. The cat curled up in the crook of her knees and purred contentedly.

Willow looked out of the hole in the wall and watched the wind blow all the trees… then she fell into a deep and troubled sleep.