Disclaimer: OK, I'm
a procrastinator. If I owned Harry Potter, we wouldn't even have
book two
yet.
Author's
note:
Hey! This is my first posted story ever :)
Sure, I
write all the time, but I've decided to do something different and
post this here and see
what people
think.
Enjoy!
First Person Point of View:
My life started out just like any other.
OK, so
I lie. Nothing about you can be normal when as an adolescent your
father beat one of
the worst wizards known
to wizard-kind and your mother was his best gal pal.
I was
not privy to most of the knowledge of that part in the past, though.
So don't go thinking
that I was up to date
and down with all there was to know. No.
It was a chapter of the
world that the people who populated it just wanted to disappear.
This
wasn't just the
decision of the people who ran the world at the time, nor was it the
decision of
just the people who
lost their loved ones in the terrible battle. It was a uniform
decision.
Encouraged largely by Ministries of Magic around
the world, sure, but beyond that there were
professors who didn't
want it in their classrooms, young survivors who didn't want it in
their
homes, and battle
veterans who did not want it haunting every corner of their
mind.
Everyone decided to wait several decades for the air to
clear, and then it would be added to
every school textbook
in Flourish and Blotts. Memoirs would be released by the thousands,
most
likely. Journals would
surface, movies would be made, and heroes would be found. A new breath of
life would be given to
everything lurking out there and it could be looked upon in a new
light.
And, hopefully at that
later date, those directly involved and their children would, for the
most
part, have moved on in
their lives and not be brought down.
Who am I you ask? How do
I fit into all of this? Well, I don't. I happen to be a member of
the
next generation. The
generation born in the months after it was all over. The generation
that is
referred to, informally
of course, as 'the stupid generation'.
My name is
Charity. Charity Lalaine Lilly Prewett, child of Harry Prewett and
Hermione Prewett.
Very thin and lanky,
and told I'm rather skittish which is not the best thing
considering how nosy
I am. I am rather
introverted when it comes to large groups, but in a small group I can
be
surprisingly upbeat and
energetic.
I got my father's knack for defencive spells and
hexes, and I gained my mother's book smarts.
Sorted into Gryffindor
first year, I took the school by storm just as any first year would.
OK, OK,
so I was nervous,
scared, and worried. But I took it all in stride.
I found my
interests right off of the bat. I found my calling in history. ACK,
no, though; not
History of Magic,
yeegads no. I wanted to know about the war. Nobody was supposed to
know
about it, but of course
we would know little bits. The half a second snippit you heard
before
your parents shut the
door, or that look that would pass between them that instantly said
they
were recalling
something, together, that you were supposed to know nothing about.
But,
between all, you were
to know that no words were to be spoken.
Oh how I wanted to know more.
But, really, the only thing I knew: I was a
green-eyed, short child with mousy-brown hair that
falls down in spiral
curls and gets tangled in the frames of my glasses.
And that was all I knew. That's all I was supposed to know. Ignorance is bliss, and so it was.
You like it? Oh boy do I hope so! Read and review!
OR! If there is something you'd
maybe like to see, review and tell me about it! I might put it
in :D
RunnyPurpleInk
