Title: Maggie Potter: The girl that wasn't seen.
Author: MarigoldMonarch
Summary: Growing up with a slightly crazy old woman was easy, attempting to become a powerful and recognized witch while being the older twin to a boy who defeated the dark lord at the age of one, not so easy.
Author's Notes: Maggie scored a seventeen on the Mary-sue litmus test, which is really good for most original characters. The chapters will be one to three thousand words long. I hope you enjoy my fanfiction. I worked really hard on it. Some of this stuff that will be mentioned will be after her time, because I am after her time. Which is really strange to think about. It's difficult to find things to relate to before your time, so I apologize for any confusion over that.
I mean "seen" metaphorically, referring to no one noticing her in favor of her brother. This fanfiction is about her journey of trying to get over that. Of being something people will one day look back, bump their fist on their chest and say "Respect." She doesn't exactly have eidetic memory, but something more than that, more like Kim Peek's ability at being able to memorize more than 9000+ books.
Chapter Title: Field Of Innocence
I still remember the world
From the eyes of a child
Slowly those feelings
Were clouded by what I know now
Maggie's POV-
Light splatters of rain plopped against the heavy jacket I had on. It certainly wasn't a rain jacket, but more of a blanket of security. Nobody wanted to be near the girl who resembled a nerd, even without glasses. I guess people sensed the natural insecurity that just permeated the oxygen in the air around me.
It was better that way, I guess. My books overshadowed the need for friends and human contact. The smell of paper was better than the smell of puberty.
My denim colored converse were covered in watery mud. The liquid sopped off with each stomp on the welcoming carpet of an old library. The scent of home rose into my nostrils and I wanted to sigh in relief.
"I'm here." I announced to the near deaf older woman sorting the last aisle of books. She muttered under her breath and I just knew she was thinking of burning the store down again. It had caused her more trouble than what it was worth, or at least she thought so. I loved reading. It was my obsession. If I was upset I could always read "Coraline" again. She reminded me of me, except I loved cats.
I have lived with my caretaker, well I don't normally consider her my caretaker, more of an aunt or something similar. It doesn't help she makes me call her Aunt Mildie. Aunt Mildie was probably in her sixties, I didn't exactly know. It isn't something I considered polite to ask.
She took me in after my original adoptive parents died at the hands of an armed robber, not before my adoptive father had called the police. I doubt the robber actually knew that there was a baby in the house. She was the closest relative alive. It makes me wonder if the social care people realized how eccentric the woman they gave me to was? What's so interesting is that I wasn't exactly adopted, but I was left on their doorstep somewhere in November. I seem to have bad luck with parents. My biological parents died, or at least that's what the letter found in my basket says.
I didn't linger on the thought.
"Oh, girl, you're here. Skip doing your math homework and help me sort these." Did I think she was a bad influence on me? Not a bit. Math stands for Mental Abuse To Humans. Aunt Mildie taught me that. I didn't think my math teacher agreed.
I walked over to the shelf that Aunt Mildie stood at. She turned around, her neon orange dress whipping at my knees. She dropped at least eight moderately sized books into my arms. I could feel my bones scream at me 'Why are you doing this to us! Why!' I toughed out though by balancing the bottom few on my organs, and a little on my ribs. I could handle not being able to breathe for a bit.
"I already have them sorted by republican to democrat, remember keep those who like democrats at the bottom." I am eleven, I don't normally get into politics at my age. I found them interesting and I agreed with most of the main points of both running parties. Just to certain limits and degrees.
"Yes, Aunt Mildie." She didn't hear me and kept walking forward, heading towards the bathroom. I sorted them out of order anyway. Aunt Mildie didn't really care. I doubt she could actually see the author's name on the spine.
I looked at the backpack, it was the middle of July and I was doing homework. Why? I flunked my fifth grade math class. I said books were my life, not boring old math textbooks. Silly people of my subconscious. As long as it isn't math, it wouldn't be going into my fireplace, not that I had a fireplace to put it in. It would be going into my memory.
I could remember almost everything I paid attention to, which isn't much to be honest. I had ADD. Attention Deficit disorder. My doctor said that I showed early symptoms of depression. We didn't have enough money to get me medicine though, so I had to try really hard to pay attention. Which more than often,fails.
It's really limited to books, video games, comics, manga, anime, television. I am your everyday geek and I'm proud of it.
"Finished Aunt Mildie!" I didn't bother to care if she replied. She wouldn't give a darn. I wrote on a piece of torn off paper in large highlighted letters. "AT PARK, BE HOME AT SUNSET." I'd do my homework then.
I grabbed a random book off the shelf and walked outside. Staying only a millisecond to hear the satisfying honk. Aunt Mildie wanted to get a bell, but found she couldn't hear it. So we taped an old bicycle horn up at the top of the door, so far we didn't know how, but it worked.
I had my own little game I played while walking, well more like skipping across the sidewalk, I had to avoid the cracks, the gum, and the old cigarette buds on the concrete. It was a lot harder than it sounds. I finally made my way to the park and purposely sat on the Mary-go-round in hopes of creating a challenge of reading. My weak eleven year old legs helped me spin, at half a mile an hour. Yep, I am a failure.
"Did you see Bradley Augren, he looked at me." I winced at the light-pitched voice bordering on annoying. I then purposely jerked myself off the Mary-go-round, she would not get me here. She won't ruin my peaceful afternoon.
"Did you see that, what a freak!" She was such a snob, I wanted to punch her or at least make her nose bleed a little. Anything to get her off her high horse. "Wait a minute, is that- Oh my god, that's Haggy Maggie!"
I froze and felt the freakishly long fingernails touch my shoulder. I,being the weakling I am, was flipped around like I was a used toothpick. Natalie Watts looked at me with her hooked nose, watery blue eyes, and bleached hair. Was it strange that eleven year/twelve year olds had cliques at this age? My town did?
"Excuse me, but I am a firm believer in the theory that girls have cooties, so just- thank you." I pushed her hand off my shoulder, but I am naturally a polite person so I thanked her for the deep punctures in my shoulder now. Darn my sophisticated and highly mature personality. It must have come from my actual British parents, I don't know how I ended up in a place like America. Couldn't I have gone to Canada or something, weren't they stereotypically pleasant?
"You're so weird Haggy!" She shrieked and looked at her girls for backup only to realize that they were talking to the man of her twelve year old dreams. Bradley Augren. I really didn't understand the fascination with him.
"I prefer the term eccentric, hook." I watched her face ball up in a mixture of anger and sadness. Something ate away at my brain, it gnawed at my emotions. I must not yield. As you can tell most of my actions are complete fails. This is one of them. "I'm so sorry Natalie that was unbelievably low of m-Ow! Did you just hit me." She stared at her hand in awe.
It wasn't a slap, but it most definitely was not a punch. It was like a flop, like her hand had decided it was going to smack my cheek, but it tried to punch my anyway. The flop didn't sting as much as you would think it would. This physical hit came from a girl who probably had ultra-awesome robots to brush her teeth and curl her eyelashes.
Natalie looked at me an insane smile forming on her mouth. Her blue eyes shifted slightly in the direction of her raised hand again. "I think you need to think your actions throu-"Why did I always get interrupted to get physically hurt? My green eyes widened in terror, and I thought geeks were excluded from get beaten up by jocks. I was proved wrong.
Natalie had other girls join in with her, after they gained the confidence. I watched as none of the adults noticed a thing. Well if not noticing meant averting their eyes in shame at not doing anything out of cowardliness. All the kids beating me up were all older than I was, I was born on July thirty-first. So I had barely made it to their year. After an hour of them hitting me until I was bleeding mess, they got tired of not getting a reaction out of me. Sure there were tears, just not the pleas and screams they wanted. I would not give in to sick kids like that.
I couldn't move for another hour or so. Everything hurt so much. For the first time in my life, I felt pure hate flow through my veins. It was bubbling, spilling over the pot of my usually kept in check emotions. I could feel every bug crawling over me, biting me. I finally eased my arm up and checked my cracked watch. It was nine-thirty at night. This was the time that Aunt Mildie would consider killing me, baking me into a pie, sell me to innocent pedestrians, and laugh as a cop says, "Mmm! What is this delightful ingredient?" and she would say, "I call it my niece Maggie."
I let out a groan and set my arm back down. The pain had finally calmed down to a yelp and not a "OH MY FREAKING GOD! KILL ME TO EASE THE PAIN!" sensation.
I got up anyway and wiped off my jeans and t-shirt. Part of me hoped that Aunt Mildie would be asleep, that part of me was only hoping. That woman doesn't sleep. The pain went from yelping to screaming, still not as bad as it was. Because I am idiot, I tried to skip and make myself feel a little bit happier. Screaming was pure joy compared to what I was now going through.
I made it. Like a slug, but I made it. I looked at the stairs that led to the apartment on top of the store. I let out a cry of frustration that echoed through the quiet town. I immediately covered my mouth and my eyes widened. The light on the side of our small "porch" lit up like little balls of sunshine. Curse my luck.
"Maggie Smith, how dare you worry me like that!" Aunt Mildie had her glasses on, which made everything worse. She took in my appearance and gasped. "Maggie what happened." For a sixty-year old lady whose losing most of her senses, she sure could run fast. As if knowing what happened. She took me in her arms, and showed a rare caring side. It didn't take much, I sobbed into her floral nightgown.
I cried while writing this part and I really don't know why. This chapter was really just about telling you what type of person Maggie starts out as. She is ten and has now dealt with verbal and physical bullying. It's sad that this is a real thing that kids do. They gang up on this one defenceless person until they're a bleeding mess and it's sick!