Where were you? He said.

No emotion was shown on his face, but sadness shone in his eyes. It pained me but I had to keep up my mask.

I shrugged. Nowhere, just out for a stroll.

Sadness flickered across his features for a moment until he smothered it with a frown.

Why didn't you wake me?

I shrugged again. I never wanted to wake him because he'd been woken up every single night since. . . well. . . forever due to my nightmares. It racked me with guilt when I'd see the tiredness in his eyes the next day.

So I'd slowly trained myself not to wake him up with my panic, and what he said were to be blood chilling screams.

It took a while but I'd finally succeeded one and a half years ago.

Now he wakes up every morning with sadness in his eyes, but it was a thousand times better than​ the tiredness he'd try to conceal.

I didn't want to wake you, I said truthfully, you seemed so peaceful.

He frowned and sat up.

Esmeralda Jayne P- he started with a look you'd give a young child that'd taken a cookie from the cookie jar, but I turned towards my books and ignored him.

I opened 'Grimm's Fairytales' up to the page I had last left off and begun reading.

It was a story of a young girl who's parents had both passed away and was left to her wicked stepmother and stepsisters. They treated her like a slave, even though she had once been richer than them all combined. She submitted to their rules, chores and work, allowing herself to be transformed into the slave they told her she always had been.

Then she defies them. Dresses up in a glorious gown and glass slippers and prances off to a magnificent ball with a new found light. A spark in her chest that lit a fire that grew.

And grew into a forest fire it did, eating up all the dead things inside her and making her new.

One dance with the Prince Charming turned into many. He only had eyes for her. Magic sparked between them and they fell in love on that night.

But then it started to rain as the clock struck midnight. The girl's fire dimmed enough to let doubt rush through her.

Then she fled as he turned his back. She ran and ran, unknowingly leaving behind one of her precious slippers, until she reached the place she loathed.

She was but a slave there. Nothing more, but something less if they wanted her to be.

She tried her best to extinguish the flames that had flared up, to forget the dull ache where magic once flooded. It was impossible to forget such a unfortunately unbelievable night.

That was, until her Prince came calling.

He had searched high and low for her. No one suspected a petty slave to be the girl whom was wrapped in the finest of silks that night of the ball. The shoe she had lost on that magical night had been the Prince's beckon of light, hoping desperately that it'll lead him back to the girl whom had a spark in her breast and a fire in her belly.

Her fire had nearly been put out.

But although the sister lost their heels and toes in order to fit the lost slipper he was finding his Princess with, he wasn't decieved.

He was disheartened. Having blood in the slipper his love should be wearing, he nearly gave up.

Nearly.

"Are there anymore maidens of this house?" He asked with a slight twinge of doubt in his voice.

"None that you'd be interested in Your Highness," the girl's Stepmother said bowing, slapping her girls to do the same. "She's just a mere slave we've had since we arrived here."

Hope sparked in his heart, just like his love's had on the night she'd set out to that ball.

"Well bring her out, she might very well be the one I am after." His voice had flourished with enthusiasm that hadn't been there since he'd seen his Princess run away.

Begrudgingly, they called her out. "Cinderella!"

The girl rushed out meakly, bowing to her step-family, avoiding eye contact with the Prince and his Royal Guards.

"Yes Stepmother?" She said softly.

She had long brown hair that although had been tied back by a thin strip of rag, still curtained her dirty face.

She wasn't his Princess.

She wasn't as beautiful as he'd remembered, with her brown hair done up in soft ringlets and her blue eyes sparkling with joy and wonder.

Hope fled from his chest.

"Come forth maiden, and try this slipper upon your foot." His voice was obviously showing his disappointment.

She didn't look to her Stepmother as she usually would have, instead walked out into the courtyard where the Prince stood with a heavy heart.

She kept her eyes lowered to the ground, for if he was so disappointed in her looks as a slave, did he truly see her beauty?

He was a fool.

And she too.

But as her foot slipped into the slipper with half crusted blood thickening the lining, it fit perfectly.

And not only was the Prince shocked, but her Stepmother and Stepsisters too. Cinderella had decieved them into thinking she had been at home throughout the night, but she'd also taken away whatever chance they had had with the Prince.

But they could not touch their slave girl anymore, for she was to be a Princess. Any harm they brought upon her was now upon the Royal Crest also.

And Cinderella and her Prince Charming lived happily ever aft-

A tap on my shoulder shook me from my trance. I looked up from my book and turned to Harry with irritation growing in the pit of my stomach.

What? I asked, trying not to look harsh. I don't like being interuppted whilst reading.

We need to get going, Harry seemed frantic, as if he'd forgotten something again but couldn't remember what it was.

It's Dudley's birthday.

My mouth formed a perfect 'O' shape, and stayed there out of shock. How the bloody hell did we forget our darling cousin Duddy-kin's birthday?

Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia- especially Aunt Petunia- had been rattling on about it for almost a month now.

I shut my mouth quickly, putting my book back in its hidden pile and rushed out of Harry and I's room.

Well it would otherwise be referred to as a cupboard, but hey! No need to be picky about those sorts of things.

The table was laden with gifts, all large and well wrapped. Looks like Dudley got a new computer, second television and a racing bike. All of which he'd been whining about for months now.

I had no clue as to why a boy like Dudley- whom was fat and hated exercise- wanted a racing bike. The only thing physical Dudley liked to do was punch people.

And Harry and I were his favourite punching bags. But we could out-run him easily, being about a quarter of his weight came in handy. We'd always make a race out of it, both being quite fast.

I'd always let him win though. If we'd get catch, it'd give Harry enough time to get away.

What's a couple of scrapes and bruises here and there anyway? It's good practice for the real world.

I got to the kitchen and started on the bacon and eggs. Dudley's favourite.

Before long Dudley came down and I turned around just soon enough to see his brighten at the sight of his presents. Then he started counting them.

I placed a plate piled full of bacon and eggs on a space on the table not already occupied by presents.

I knew a tantrum was brewing but with nothing to hold my attention, I fiddled with my fingers, standing next to Harry in the kitchen. I lent on him and rested my head on his shoulder. I felt his head rest on mine.

Affection swelled in my heart for my twin. We're closer than anything, I don't know what I would've done without him. With him by my side, everything became bearable.

Aunt and Uncle seemed flustered and annoyed- glaring over at us Potter twins- whereas Dudley looked as though he might throw another tantrum. I felt Harry's head lift and I closed my eyes, zoning out. Harry would tell me what had gone on later.

Harry nudged me, forcing me off his shoulder and I looked at him. He was smothering an excited smile. I cocked my head to the side, confused.

Mrs Figgs broke her leg, He said with his grin growing and growing, We get to go to Dudley's birthday party.

My heart fluttered with excitement. Mrs Figgs was an old lady that smelt of cat piss that the Dursleys made us stay with each year on Dudley's birthday.

I watched as Aunt and Uncle tried to figure out a solution for us, where we'd go or stay, or if they'd let us go with them.

Then Dudley started crying- not actual crying, he simply scrunched up his face and wailed- and Aunt Petunia rushed to him, trying to soothe him.

I rolled my eyes and rested on Harry's shoulder again. I zoned out again, not really bothering to pay attention. The Dursleys always hated me more, they said my eyes were a dead give away that I was the true little demon I was. You see, my eyes are-

Harry nudged my again. I heaved out a fustrated breath. Could you stop doing that?

Harry simply rolled his eyes and pointed to the door that had jut opened. I froze when I saw who it was.

Piers Polkiss.

The rat faced​ twit that Dudley shared a common interest in. Punching people. And while I tried my hardest to get Harry out of danger, I wasn't always so lucky.

Piers always favoured me out of Harry and I, punching and kicking me as I fell to the floor. He knew how to catch me off guard and used that to his advantage.

I shook myself, trying to get a grip over my stupid fear. It didn't work, my heart still thundered in my chest frantically. Harry took hold of my hand and squeezed it. I calmed a bit but not by a lot.

Half an hour later, we were heading to Uncle Vernon's car. And I was waiting for hell to unfold as it usually does around Harry and I.