First Comes Last, Now Crack The Code

Prologue

There are things in life that make you want to scream.

Scream in frustration, scream in envy, scream in excitement or fear. Scream in all together and many, many more.

Then there are things that make you want to cry.

Cry in frustration, cry in envy, and so on and so on.

Besides these things that want to make your head pop under the pressure, there are also things that are completely awesome. Like Birthdays.

Birthdays are awesome if you celebrate them. They're even more awesome if the people around you celebrate them with you. What makes a birthday even more awesome than that, however, is when you get to celebrate it twice - once with your family and once with your friends.

Once with supervision, once without it.

My mother is a master of supervision. This means that if my Dad buys me a present, she drinks a glass of wine. If he writes me a card, she drinks another.

She only reaches for the whiskey when he rings the doorbell.

That's why I prefer celebrating my birthday with my friends rather than my family. With my friends it usually goes down a better road.

Remisa Daniella brings in the drinks, Kate Tommans pops beer tops with her teeth, Lily Evans sticks to wine, Marlene McKinnon drinks fire and starts lap-dancing on her imaginary friend, and Darla Holmes proclaims vodka to be Poseidon and downs the bottle.

We usually tell Darling Sherlock she's pissed, but her argument is the same every year: "I'm not pissed, I'm having a great time!"

Then they all call "Baker!" together as I reach for the window handle and Remisa Daniella rolls her eyes. I tried jumping out that window once and they'll never get over it.

To be understood, Remisa Daniella Baker is not my friend, she's just always there.

She's me.

As for me, I was lucky to be born when I was, at 6:00 AM on a Thursday, otherwise I would have been hanging out with May-Day April and would have missed out on this absolutely character-defining group.

Which is why each time I wake up on my birthday, I'm excited. But not for my birthday.

Usually I'm calm at first. I register my white curtains, my disgustingly cleaned out closet, my bare desk, the dark green bed sheets at my feet, the cold seeping into my bones through my unprotected skin, the red dot on the opposite wall, the sun outside and the trunk at the foot of my bed.

And I realise what day it is.

The first of September.

Since it's a wonder Dumbledore even let me into the year I'm in, I'm literally the youngest in our year. And look twice as small.

Overstatements. I'm full of them.

Then I think of last night, how dad bought me the most beautiful little kitten of all time, which beat mum's although heartfelt, but slightly less exciting gift of a dark teal dress I will never wear at school, and how this made her nearly collapse into hysterics when he came around to deliver it.

My mother is in a constant competition with my dad. They broke up over me when I was eight and mum got custody over me. In all truth, it was dad's fault, but I still don't understand how after six years they haven't been able to sort out the parenting problems.

Mum thinks dad shouldn't go anywhere near me, but can't stop him from doing so, especially if I ask for his express attendance on the 31st of August. Dad thinks mum's bat shit crazy and likes to make her go nuts.

Last year he brought a pretty brunette of the age thirty to my birthday party, along with her thirteen year old daughter. Mum went nuts when my new friend Marissa helped me break her mixer on frozen chocolate water.

I don't know why we did what we did, but I've been in contact with that kick-arse girl ever since. Too bad she's a squib, it would have been crazy to have her at Hogwarts.

The reason to why my parents broke up is quite simple - my dad's a liar. So when I was eight years old and had just processed a ton of ice-cream, I got hyperactive and suddenly stuff was blowing up. The couch, my bed, the trampoline. It nearly hit the cat we had then, but she survived it with an angry hiss.

Then some guys in cloaks were on our backyard, because yes, accidental underage magic is accidental underage magic, but blowing up trampolines was apparently a step too far and required to be checked on. So obviously my mum was just about as surprised as me when there were suddenly two guys and a woman in black cloaks that looked expensive appearing out of thin air and asking for Mr. Baker.

Mr. Baker is my dad, which I told the young man standing closest to me with a bewildered look and short hair sticking up with static electricity.

When my dad got into the picture, my mum and I found out some new interesting stuff. Like that I was a witch and my dad was a wizard - a coworker of the ones here, in fact. They called him Paul, and that about cut it. They were friends.

The man who had stood closest to me was named Daniel something. I remember only his first name because he informed me I was named after him. He laughed when I said that was stupid because I was named Remisa Daniella and Daniella was a girls name.

It's weird that my dad has a godson I knew nothing about. I guess now he's about 28. I never see him much. He's busy.

I wish he wasn't, he's OK. More OK than anyone in my family, anyways, and he is kind of family, right?

(29.09.15) A/N: Hey there! If this seems familiar, then you're probably that one person who read this the first time around. The first time around, this was horrible and I really hope I can say it's at least a little bit better now. Last time, Remisa was such an under-cover Mary-Sue I can't quite believe it now.

This is the Prologue and if I have enough inspiration to continue then I will, which I really hope I do since I never really wanted to abandon this totally. Just tweak it and make it make sense.

So I hope you enjoy, and if you have an opinion please share it. Constructive criticism is my best friend.

Cheers,

MissSlytherpuff