My life had never been interesting. I had never done anything worthwhile, such as saved someone's life or wrote a worldwide bestselling novel. In fact, up until I was nineteen, nothing much happened to me. My life was plain, ordinary. Normal. Then it changed. Something happened to me that even to this day I suppose I can't really explain. All I know is that on that day, on the 25th August 2013, my life was altered, irreversibly.
I had never believed in magic, not really. Of course, there are the cheap magician's tricks that have been around for years, like pulling coins from behind your ear or sawing someone in half, but they aren't really magic, jut illusions. No, real magic was not something that I believed in. I suppose at some point in my childhood, probably at the age of nine or ten, around the age I began to read the Harry Potter books, I had wished with all my heart that it was real. But even then, when I was waiting by the post-box at the top of my drive on my eleventh birthday for some sign of an owl with a letter, I knew it was all fake, a fantasy, cooked up by one of the world's most talented authors. By the time I started secondary school and entered year eight and nine, I had forgotten about that stupid wish for magic to enter my life. By the time I finished College, and then moved onto University, my Harry Potter books were gathering dust on my bookshelves and were only picked up every once in a while, in secret. Magic was only real in books, or films. Not in real life. Everyone would know about it if it was.
Yeah. Right. That shows how naive the people of this world are. Just because you don't know about something doesn't mean it doesn't exist. A whole world could exist alongside your own and you wouldn't know it. I certainly didn't. I blindly thought magic only existed in books. Up until that day in August, when my life changed forever.