((ok guys I hope you enjoy what I have so far If I get a positive response I shall continue I apologise for the lack of dialogue in this opening chapter))
Someone looking at Miss. Furrow from a distance would be able to tell she was tall, with darkish skin and was carrying a violently green bag, if said person was to move closer, perhaps a few feet or so they would see that she had a few freckles dotted about her face and that her mop of blonde hair sat high on the top of her head, swept well out of her face. On this particular morning however, it would be wise for any inquisitive passer by to not venture any further for it was quite plain to see that she was in a foul mood. Stewing so deeply in her anger was she that she did not notice the way she hunched herself forward, as if battling a gale, or the way her feet made a definite clatter against the marble floor of the station.
To even begin to understand why this young lady was in such a dodgy mood you would have to shove your head into a bowl of pensive and look back a few hours, now because there is only one such supply of pensive currently registered in Britan (Dumbledore's study, the small cupboard at the back you can't miss it really) you'll just have to put up with me telling you why on earth Matilda Furrow was so miserable.
Matilda wasn't a morning person; in fact it was her worst time of the day. Rays of light streaming past the blind? The hum of sweet birdsong drifting in from the street below :NOJUSTSHURRUPNBOGOFF! was the normal reply to such rude awakenings.
It didn't help of course that Matilda, not having a strong aptitude for charms , hadn't quite managed to work out the fault in her alarm clock, that fault being that it would ceremoniously burst into violent flame whenever it felt like it - normally just when Matilda was due to get up- so it was no surprise for her to wake up to a room full of black smoke.
"murrrr" she croaked as she stumbled past her bed sheets and flung open the window. "effing clock" she reached for her wand , silently conjuring a steady stream of water immediately dousing the fire but leaving a rather damp smell about the place, a bit like a swamp or the inside of a P.E changing room.
Blindly reaching for her chudley cannons dressing gown she flung open the door, jumped down the stairs (yes I actually mean jumped, 3 at a time ...old habits are hard to break..) and entered the kitchen with a satisfying bang. Here Matilda was greeted with a rath-
"TILLY COLDREN CAKE?" And there as usual was her younger and most definitely not wiser brother Arty. Sparkling teeth perfectly quaffed hair and annoyingly chiselled features, he could charm the pants off any unsuspecting young witch from a good 10 feet and he knew it. Matilda had expected him to be sitting there. She had not however expected there to be a beautiful blonde girl to be perched on his knee, crumpet in hand giggling away as Arty squeezed her waist, the girl yet to be introduced was wearing a particularly short skirt and a tight top. Matilda also noticed she had rather large knockers, but wisely decided not to mention it.