Author's Notes: This had been sitting in my writing folder for some time, essentially gathering dust. I found it last night while working on the sequal to Ties of Blood and Loyalty and revised and added to it. More chapters will be coming shortly. Note that this will be a bit heavier than my other stuff; rating may change to M in the future. And yes, I know I should be dedicating myself to the TOBAL sequal, but this caught my attention. Don't worry, though: I haven't abandoned the other.

Disclaimer: I don't own anything you recognize from Harry Potter.

Song of Myself

Not I, not any one else can travel that road for you,

You must travel it for yourself.

It is not far, it is within reach,

Perhaps you have been on it since you were born and did not know,

Perhaps it is everywhere on water and on land.

You are also asking me questions and I hear you,

I answer that I cannot answer, you must find out for yourself.

-- Walt Whitman, "Song of Myself"

Prologue: Assumptions

Everyone has assumptions. People think they know things, but they don't. People have assumptions about me, but they're wrong. People assume my life is perfect, but in reality it's far from it. People think they know Lucilia Dumbledore; they don't.

"Flitwick's test was impossibly hard."

"I'm sure I failed."

"She did fine, I'm sure."

It's the last name that does it. Say "Dumbledore," and everyone thinks of my father. Albus Dumbledore, renowned wizard and loving father. People say that he's a good man, and he is. He's also very well known, as is my mother, Minerva McGonagall. My parents are two of the most influential people of the wizarding world; while I'm proud of them both, their fame has set the bar quite high for me. And I don't know if I'll ever be able to reach it.

I'm tired of assumptions. Don't jump to the conclusion that my parents are the source of this pressure. My parents are nothing short of amazing to me. They encourage and support me in my studies, but the plethora of pressure doesn't come from them. No, it comes from somewhere else. But where does it come from?

"She must love being on the cover of The Daily Prophet. That's so amazing. She lives this charmed life."

"She must have the perfect life."

"Yeah, lucky Lucy."

That is not a simple question to answer. I could say the media and be partially correct, because Merlin knows Geraldine Skeeter loves to run stories on my family and their success. Teachers expect nothing short of perfection from me; both of my parents were at the top of all their classes. Why shouldn't the same be said of me? I do try my hardest, but when I typically receive nothing but eighty-five and seventy percents on my exams, it never fails to surprise my classmates. "Dumbledore and McGonagall are your bloody parents, shouldn't you be some sort of genius?" chants surround me and my marks.

I don't exactly excel in the social field. I have a group of wonderful friends whom I love dearly, but I'm not the most talkative. My shyness always gets the better of me. I'm not an outcast, but since my parents are famous, everyone expects me to be the most popular girl in school.

"She's so quiet."

"Probably thinks she's too good to speak to us, or something."

Really, though, I think the source of all the pressure comes from myself. I know I'm not the smartest, the most talented, or the most popular, but I feel the need to be. I always give one hundred and ten percent as a result, but sometimes I just don't succeed. Mum and Dad are both so talented and renowned, and I don't want to be a disappointment to them. I'm so scared that I will be.

"What do you mean you didn't get an O in transfiguration? You're McGonagall's daughter!"

Last week, Timothy McLuhan asked me to go to the Yule Ball with him. He's a prefect, and one of the most popular boys in our year. He was quite sweet at first, and I was so happy and shocked that he wanted to go with me. I was ecstatic as first, but then I overheard him talking to his friends.

"Lucy Dumbledore…how on earth did you manage that, mate?"

"Yeah…Dumbledore's girl…nice."

"Congrats, mate!"

They exchanged words like that, along with swaggers and slaps on Timothy's back. It was as if was nothing more than a prize. I was wrong. He didn't appreciate me for who I really was; he just liked my last name. I want to be liked for who I am, but the irony is that I'm not sure who I am. I've yet to figure out who Lucy Dumbledore truly is.

I want to find myself. I want to discover who I am and dispel people's assumptions about me. At the same time, I'm scared to do that. Everyone still thinks I'm still as talented as my mum and dad, when in reality I'm not. I'm not brilliant; I'm just average. I live in fear of the day when the media will figure this out. I'm scared of not living up to the standards that the world seems to have for me. I don't want to be a failure. If I don't drown in other people's assumptions, I'll surely drown in my own insecurities.

It's a shame I've already capsized and landed head first in both of them.