Medea had run out of the orphanage, she went to the only place she could think of apart from hogwarts, her old house.
She sat in the centre, crosslegged in the dust. On her black dress, the dust started to clump yet she didn't care, she prieded out her book of fairytales out of the rotting compartment and read.
It was as if it was the past again, when her parents were out, brother upstairs doing Merlin Knows What, her sister out with friends, she would just read...