25th August, 1970.
10. 00 AM, My Bedroom.
"Katie?" mum calls through my bedroom door.
I grunt and roll over, ignoring her until she gives up and comes striding in. How very, very typical. Without even bothering to knock, too. I could have been naked in here, but no. She just doesn't respect my privacy. Or anyone else's, for that matter.
I sit up and look at her as she stands over me, a small box in her hands.
"Mum, it's only 10, you know I don't like being up this early," I groan. She ignores me, and marches over to my windows and pulls the curtains open. The sun comes in and I tuck myself back up.
"Oh, don't be moody, I have you a present," she says, holding the box out. Well, that's a first. Moody woman barely does anything for me, she's too busy with all her work and research and parties.
I take it off of her and she goes back out again, slamming my door behind her. I think my ear drums have just burst.
Oh well, it won't kill me. I turn the box over and run my hand along the seam, and pull out what's inside.
...
As. If.
My lovely mother has brought me a diary.
I'm not going to call it a diary though, because that sounds wimpy. And girly.
But, if mum really wants a fun-filled record of my first year at Hogwarts, she may.
Anyway, may I introduce myself to you, dear new 'Notepad'? You are now in the possession of me, the almighty Katie Armstrong! Behold the terrors, run in fear as I scribble down my thoughts. But I still don't really want to.
Ho Hum.
I get up (slowly) and get dressed. My rooms pretty big, just for general information, and could probably hold another three beds.
Anyway, I am going to Hogwarts!
And I am only just 11. Thank god I was born two days early, or I would have had to wait another year.
How crazy is that? Hope I'm in Gryffindor. Dad was, but Mum was a Hufflepuff.
A Hufflepuff.
What the Hell is a Hufflepuff?
But to be perfectly honest, she's far too mad and stuff to be a Hufflepuff. I heard they were meant to be nice and loyal and humble, not go on violent rampages round the house, chucking books in boxes at their dear young daughter, and then waking up their son.
Errgh, I don't want to get up. I suppose I have to, though. I step into my shower and turn it on. Bloody hell, that's hot!
I let the water douse me for a few minutes before bothering to move and actually get washed. I never get up before eleven, usually, in the holidays.
But, as Dad says, this is a special occasion.
Dad wants to go to Diagon alley today, for my school stuff. I don't particularly, but I do need the things, as using dear old Olivia's stuff would not be nice.
Surely he can go alone?
Psh.
He did say he would get me an owl, though. And I need a wand. It would look stupid arriving at a magical school without a wand. Duh.
And he likes midget owls. You know, the tiny little Scops ones that are sooo adorable, but hopeless for mail?
So really, I have to go, or I will end up with one of them.
I want a big one. But a nice big one. My auntie has a huge Great Horned Owl, and he is called Jeremy.
I know, it's a bloody ridiculous name, and he's the most evil, grumpy thing on this earth. But then again, so would I if I was called Jeremy.
Somebody is trampling up my stairs, I can hear them. I step out o the shower and grab some clothes from my floor. Yes, they're dirty, but who cares?
They could at least try to be quiet, it's only... 11.30, now, and I could still be asleep. Honestly.
But no, my loving father is knocking on the door.
"Katie, hurry up and get out, I want to go before it gets too busy!"
I snort and start drying my hair. If I go down, mum could dry it for me, but her reputation is not good outside of cooking spells and healing spells. I would prefer to keep some hair on my head. It's an alleyway that only magical people can get into. I'm sure it won't be too bad.
...
Later,
Diagon Alley
I take that back. It's bloody awful! Packed with people, and heat, and funny smells!
It is pretty cool though, and miraculously, it's still relatively sunny, on the one day of summer we have here in the UK. Ok, I lie; we have a few months of summer. But it's always raining, so somehow I don't think it counts.
We walk through the street to Gringotts (I still think it's awesome in there, even if it is the several thousandth time I've been there over the years.)
Still hate those carts though. And the goblins, stupid stumpy things, bad tempered and they all have silly names.
I said that to dad, and he looked mortally wounded.
"Katie! You can't say that about other magical creatures, its discrimination!" he looks rather astounded. I sigh; it's only a mere thought.
"I know, but it's true! Are we going to Ollivanders yet?" I say, and he nods before turning me into a little grey shop.
...
In the shop thing,
Still later.
Mr Ollivander is a strange, strange man.
First he measures me with a silver thing, then ignores the measurements completely, then grabs random boxes and tells me to wave the wand inside around whilst he says a string of more strange, strange things that I don't quite hear.
He passes me yet another wand and I sigh, before seeing what's inside. A long, Black wand looks quite happy in its box, and I gently pry it out. I quite like it, actually. I wave it around, watching as silvery flames shoot out of the end. Ollivanders has wandered off again, saying something about Europe.
I continue to wave the wand around, but the flames have suddenly got bigger and incredibly close to his head.
Ahh! No, not near his head! Stupid flames...
I try to guide them away, but it just spreads out more, and catches onto the shelf, right above the old man's head.
I begin to panic as it gets bigger, and I'm unable to drop the wand. Someone grasps me from behind, and dad takes the wand off of me, much to my relief.
"Err, excuse me, sir?" dad says, his eyes on the flaming inferno above the wand makers head.
Thank god, super dad to the rescue.
"Not to worry, it's quite normal, quite alright..." Ollivander says, and I sigh in relief. Dad puts it out with water that squirts out of his wand with a flick, and it dries immediately.
My breathing returns to normal, and seeing the fact no one has died or anything, smile slightly. I make a mental to warn Jake of it for when he comes to get a wand. He's three years younger than me, and is a complete lunatic. Not even lying, he would have made Mr Ollivander explode himself, had he been here.
Ollivander takes back the wand, and we continue trying wands for at least another hour.
How long can this take? I'm starting to get a bit fed up now.
I mean seriously, who cares what wand I get?
I say that to the man.
"Excuse me, sir, but what is the point in waving these wands around like this?"
Both men look at me. Oh good grief, Dad looks mad and the shop guy looks rather offended.
"It is a serious business, little one! If you would up with the wrong wand..."
BlahBlahBlah. I probably know the talk already. It's all 'oh, you might explode and die!' in my house, especially with Jake.
And especially since my dear older sister Olivia is home. She's going into her last year at Hogwarts, and we got a letter a few weeks ago saying she's head girl.
What an outrage. Okay, she's a Ravenclaw and extremely no nonsense, but I think Dumbledore must be a bit mad to make her head girl, along with her boyfriend, David Spinnet.
We keep trying wands until he holds out another long one, this time in a rich brown. I wave it around, and gasp as the little shop lights up with little gold and red lights.
Mr Ollivander snatches it out of my hand and puts it back in a box.
"Ash and a Black Unicorn tail hair. 12 ½ inches. Swishy. Good for defensive charms and hexes. Over-protective of its person, but powerful. Strange combination... I never would have used it myself. This is a Gregorovich creation. Rare, them."
Dad looks a bit startled, but pleased and we pay the money and get out.
Phew. It's nice to be out in the open. Ollivanders smells musty and old, but if it was cleaned I think the place would fall down.
"Well, Katie, looks like you have a good chance at becoming a Gryffindor!" dad says, and throws an arm around me.
...okay? What does that have to do with anything? Not lying, but I think he has rather severe mental problems. After all, he did buy me and Jakey ponies, and tried to tell us they were unicorns.
They obviously weren't though.
Because unicorns have horns...
I think.
"Err, why?" I ask, glaring slightly and shrugging his arm off.
"Because it spat out red sparks! Mine spat out red sparks, and I was a Gryffindor, and your mothers spat out yellow sparks and she was a Hufflepuff- it's the most prominent house colour."
Like I said, mad. I'm pretty sure that wands can't 'spit'. But ho hum, there we go.
My family are all mad.
Apparently that's true for all pureblood family's, but I only know a few, like mums friend Augusta Longbottem. She has a son that will be in my year... I think.
But apart from that, I don't know many people. Although I did go into the ministry this one time, and met a pair of nice boys with a lunatic father.
But that is again, beside the point.
...
Still in Diagon Alley,
Still later.
I and dad are STILL in Diagon, walking through the long, long street to Eeylops Owl Emporium.
I like owls.
Once upon a time I do remember having a family owl (I think his name was Oscar- what is wrong with my family?) but then he fell ill and dad got some carrier pigeons.
What lunatic buys Carrier pigeons?
How stupid must it look, when a carrier pigeon just casually flies up to your house, drops of a letter and then flies away again?
Anyway, we still have... three of them? They have such irritating noises! Seriously, all I hear at night is wheeehewww, whewwwheeww, wheeeeewww. That's also possibly the reason for my extremely late get ups – it's the only time the pigeons are quiet.
It's enough to drive a poor young girl insane.
Eeylops' Owl Emporium, Even later
Blimey, it's dark in here.
And smells like owl poo, too.
Not nice.
But it's still pretty cool, once you can actually see, there are lots of owls. When we walked in, a little bell tinkered, and a man came hurrying out and is now waiting for us behind a counter.
"Dad, there are lots of owls in here, aren't there." I say, just merely observing. He shoots me a funny look.
"It's an owl shop. What do you expect, Chickens?"
I sigh. What an imbecile he is. I could have expected a pigeon store, though.
We go over to the counter and the little man. (It's a very attractive shade of charcoal, and scattered with poo)
He's very short, shorter than I first thought, and bespectacled, with a big smock-y sort of thing under an apron.
Why do you need an apron in an owl shop?
Pushing this small fact aside, I decide to take a look at the owls.
Dad starts to explain that I want an owl for school.
No, I definitely don't want to buy an owl from an owl shop.
Duh. I roll my eyes and huff under my breath at him.
The man pushes his glasses up his sweaty face and wrings his hands, looking up at me.
"You'll be little Armstrong, then wont you?" No. Duh.
I bite back a sarcastic comment, and reply, "Yes, I am indeed. Can I take a look at the owls please?"
The guy grins and shuffles off to the back of the store, with me following in behind.
At the back are cages full of beautiful, beautiful big owls, each about six times the size of Jeremy, and a million times nicer, too.
There's a black one, and a grey one, and a bronze one, and a white one, and another grey one, and a silvery bronze one, and a golden one.
Oh, wow! I have to contain a gasp at the sight of them, their feathers rustling and eyes as bright as jewels.
"Just go around the cages and poke a finger through the bars, and the ones that don't nip at you we can take out to see how they get on with you." The guy interrupts my train of thought.
How dare he.
I go up to the first cage, with the big black one. He opens up a big orange eye and glares at me, then when I held a finger out, tried to take my hand off. Well then. I would like to keep all body parts intact, so step back, and move to the grey.
Pretty much the same happens with the other ones, apart from the first grey one and the silvery-bronze one.
But the silvery one looks sad. I feel quite sorry for the little guy.
I know how it feels to be locked up in a cage, where nobody wants you, whilst everyone else is off having heaps of fun and games (Well, not literally, but it did when 'Livvy went to Hogwarts!).
Awww. Bless him.
I ask the man, "Can I try the silver one, please, as well as the not-so-vicious ones?"
He looks rather shocked, but does so all the same.
The big bird looks a bit confused as to why he's being taken out of his cage, and then looks at me, with his lovely head held high with a sort of pride in his eyes.
Awwwwwwww.
I grab him (again, not literally or the poor thing would have fallen out of the window, knowing my bad coordination) off of the man, and he looks at me again.
I can feel my heart melt. This time almost literally.
After a minute the owl relaxes and ruffles his feathers and looks away, and chirps at the other owls, as though he's laughing at them.
My heart solidifies again, thank god.
How would I get on at Hogwarts, if just one owl had the skills to make me go mushy? How would I live?
I glance up at the man.
"I want him. How much?" dad reappears round the cage and glares at me. I get the message, and clear my throat, looking at the man again.
"Oh dearest shopkeeper, would you ever so mind me buying this exquisite owl?"
Dad nods at me.
Is this how he wants me to speak? Like some posh imbecile?
I most certainly will not do so again. Humph.
...
Even later than it was earlier,
Home, in the Pigeon/owl house.
We brought the silvery owl!
In the end he was the only one that didn't attack me, even the relatively-friendly-ones-that-didn't-quite-take-off-my-hand.
So I said to the shop keeper, "Please sir, may I buy this owl?" In the lovely, lady-like tone the family want me to speak in.
Psh.
"Of Course!" he said. "This poor thing has been in here for a while- a lad came in here earlier to take a look, but his mother wanted a black one. Poor things could have got on nicely together too."
I scowled, and dad nudged me in the back. I had just brought the owl! Why would I care about if anyone else wanted him?
He's mine.
Dad paid two galleons for my owl, and we left the dingy place, to my relief again, because the smell was getting to me.
Sadly, it started to rain on the way back. We hurried up the street back to the Leaky Cauldron to go home. I asked dad about everything else, but apparently mum brought me books and robes a few weeks ago. So maybe she is useful.
I'm sat in the little room overlooking my house – the ex-owlery and long since turned pigeonry and home of the lets-annoy-Katie-until-she-wants-to-savagely-attack-us noises.
Owly looks relatively happy up here, the pigeons have shut up, for one too.
It's a miracle.
Seriously and truly a miracle.
They hoot all night and all day, but the moment I release my owl they all shut up. Hah.
I think Owly needs a name. A name other than 'silvery owl', 'creature', 'owl' and 'Owly'.
I brought a 'History of Magic' and some Astronomy books up here; maybe there will be some interesting names. I open them and settle down in the window seat overlooking the forest, and start to read.
The books themselves are interesting enough, but there are only goblin names, and I'm sure my owl doesn't want to be named after some dead goblin.
Oh well. There'll be something in here.
...
Still later,
Still in the pigeon house.
I am, once again, wrong.
It's almost as though I'm being punished, because everything goes wrong in my life.
Please, God? What did I ever do to you?
Maybe I was that evil guy that said 'kill all the muggles!' and started a huge war.
Knowing my luck, I probably was.
The only relatively nice names are things like Poseidon and Neptune etcetera, but I don't like them. My owl is not a Greek god. I'm looking and watching him fly about at the same time, and it's getting rather distracting. His wings make a lovely noise as he flies, almost like snow dropping.
I flick over a page and almost carry on when I see a picture. I take a closer look, and it has the sun, the moon and some squiggly lines on it.
Maybe I can call Owly Moon...
Nah, that'd be weird for a boy. If he was a girl, then it would be alright, but I asked the man and Owly is definitely a boy.
I wouldn't say Sun either. So that leaves these funny lines.
I read on, because underneath is a caption, with the funny symbols complete with dates and months and animals. It takes a second for me to realise what it is. A Lunascope.
Apparently the one with a tail is called 'Leo'. And he is an august lion.
That means I'm a lion. Oh yes. Lion in birth and (hopefully) lion in house.
That means Jake is... Cancer?
A strange muggle disease? Always knew he was mad.
Someone calls up, and comes running. Oh dear, speak of the devil and the devil appears. (Well, he would do anyway. With my bad karma, I practically AM the devil).
Jake is knocking on the door, and yelling at me to let him in. Good grief.
"Oi! Katie, let me in! I want to see the owl."
Honestly. Boys.
I get up and go over to the door, opening it to reveal my little brother, who scowls at me. Lovely. Friendly bloke. The muggle disease is welcome to him.
"Can I see it?" he asks, a little pleading look in his eyes.
Hah, that doesn't work anymore!
Gooey Owl eyes work, but not little bro's!
"First of all, He is a 'he', not an 'it', and second, you can if you wish. But be careful, in case your face scares him,"
Aren't I nice?
He jumps up and wanders over to my Owl, fussing his head.
Owly pushes his head into Jakeys' hand, and closes his eyes.
Awwwwwwww.
He is such a cute owl.
Something sharp hits my head and I glare at Jake.
"What's his name?" he says very slowly, as though he was talking to a mad person.
I am not mad, thank you dear brother, I just have bad karma. And poor attention skills.
"Err, at the moment he doesn't have one... d'you want to help me look?"
The child looks up, then looks at the book and frowns. "What about them? Astrology and stars and stuff?" he asks.
Hmmm. Good plan, but I won't tell him. His big head may expand.
But, as a good omen to be in Gryffindor and to represent my birth (so patriotic, I know) I will call him 'Leo'!
Leo looks quite pleased with his name; he flutters down and lands neatly on my shoulder, ruffling his little wings.
Awwwwwwww. Bless him.
"Jacob Robert Armstrong, you are officially amazing," I tell him, clapping him on his back. He looks rather confused, thick child, and reaches out to pet Leo on the head.
"Why?" he says slowly, giving me a worried look. I roll my eyes, and point at my owl. Honestly, how stupid is he?
"I have named him Leo. And technically you came up with it,"
Jake looks quite amazed, then he folds his arms smugly and nods.
"I know. I noticed that a while ago."
Stupid cocky bastard.
He sniggers as I scowl him, then turns and began to leave the little room. "By the way, dinners ready soon and mum wants you to pack your trunk ready, or it won't be done in time."
I suddenly grin at him. He looks surprised, and backs out of the owlery.
Only 7 days now!
I can safely start counting down (I did technically start when 'Liv first went, but that seemed a bit desperate.)
Ah, all the food, and the magic, and the professors, and the jokes, and the house elves and the Quidditch... I think my heart's working overly hard, because I'm grinning manically and am finding it a bit hard to breathe.
I actually haven't played Quidditch properly for years- not since Olivia got her boyfriend and barely comes over at summer. I miss it, really, and I was quite good at one point... Psh.
I'm dreading her being head girl. She's scary enough as it is, and because 'we have a reputation to uphold', she'll be going for my throat every time I do something wrong.
She does say that the food is amazing though, because there are over 100 house elves, all professional. We only have one (Mini- Liv named her when she was 3) and she is an amazing cook.
I hope they serve pasta there. My auntie went to Italy once, and came back with the most incredible, incredible recipes for pasta, it tastes like gold dust – although I don't know what that tastes like, but if you could eat gold dust, it would taste like Annette's pasta.
Well, before she went to India to research curry (I love curry. Basically I love food in general. It all should become the eighth wonder of the world) and got attacked by a rampaging manticore, and was never seen since. I really miss that woman. Although she was still a psychopath, like so many other beings in my poor family.
I don't think I'm that mad... I just have bad karma for almost killing everyone in a previous life.
I think?
Oh well. I get up and wave good bye to Leo – he hoots and flies out of the window. Oh. I shake my head at him, then head off back to the house for dinner. Mum'll be angry if I'm late, as per usual, and angering her at the moment is a bad plan.
She might change her mind and send me to Beuxbatons. I think I would puke.
...
AN: Heh, first diary entry, of the series that will begin around my OC Katie Armstrong and her fun filled time marauding at Hogwarts with everyone's favourite marauders!
I have decided to close 'Mischief Managed' as it was irritating me a lot as I couldn't get the parts right, so I surrendered. Then I had the thought for this. And here we are now. I find it much easier to write diary style, and this storyline is based off a dream I once had. It was the Best. Dream. Ever. Siriusly, it was amazing. Updates should be sooner, and IC will have a new chapter tomorrow.
