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I sat in my room clutching my knees to my chest. He was dunk again, he was always drunk. He and my mother were downstairs fighting. This was nothing new, but for some reason it seemed different this time, bigger. The screams seemed louder and more heated than normal.
Chris jumped up from the table and drew his wand, walking cautiously towards the door. Just as his fingers closed around the silver doorknob, the entire door was blown of its hinges, sending Chris flying backwards through the air. He hit the wall , his head slamming into it with a sickening crack, and crumpled to the floor,
I smelt him before I turned around and saw him. He smelt of stale firewhisky and puke, not a very pleasant combination. I slowly rotated on the spot, completely unaware of the crowd of people bustling around me. It was just like in my nightmare, accept this time, I wasn't going to wake up in a nice warm bed.
Chris grabbed both of our shoulders tightly as we firmly grasped our trunks and with a loud crack, we were gone. When we reappeared, we were in the middle of a large crowd of people, most of which I recognized but didn't actually know personally.
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