To be exact, my story starts when I was seven. Naturally, not many exciting things happen to a seven-year-old, but that’s what my nana—who’s a Muggle, and who teaches reading—would call an exposition. The good stuff begins in my fifth year at our beloved Hogwarts, set of so many wonderful yarns. But I feel this is important, and it’s my story, isn’t it?
Exactly.
So, here it is.

“Okay guys, seeing as to the fact that nearly everyone’s on the train,” James announced loudly, “will someone please give me a word that rhymes with detention?”

Don’t all good Hogwarts love stories have at least one Hogsmeade day?
Seriously, we’ve got to get out of the castle every once in a while.

Then all three turned to stare at me.
“Erm . . . yeah, see, about this whole ice skating thing . . .”
Vacant expressions.
“I kind of might not actually know how to.”