Prologue
It was a rather ordinary September day when a small silver Beemer cruised down 125th Street. At first sight, nothing except the huge piles of papers taking up the passenger side of the car stood out. However, there was something rather omniscient about the vehicle that pedestrians took note of. Magic, perhaps? Well, people are people and they are quite busy, so they forgot about it, some of them completely. What they did notice was the driver.
She had golden hair, dyed by the look of her black hair roots, skin slightly tanned possibly from standing out in the sun for yard work, and sapphire eyes that give away hints of hardship. Her face looked familiar to those who paid attention to details, yet if you asked if she has been in Oregon before, her soft, British voice would tell you no, this is her first time in the States, and please stop ogling the owl necklace I wear. The daring ones who ask for her number will be met with blank stares and an expression that clearly says "I don't have a cell phone."
Driving carefully down the quiet suburban street, the female muses to herself whether her choice on who to tell the real story to is wise. It has been fifteen years since the war, yet rumors are starting to leak out that what Harry Potter has told JK Rowling is untrue. In fact, on a website well-known for fantasy gossip called , someone has already been researching her. The very same person she is going to now. The mystery woman smiled to herself. The girl is very clever. Her first year has already been guessed by this Muggle adolescent and half of what has been written is true. Annalisle, as this female is named, deserves to know what really happened, the backstory as to what truly happened the years Harry Potter stepped into Hogwarts. She trusts in whatever Annamarie does to be wise, whether it is published on a website or kept in someone's attic for centuries.
The gentlewoman stops the car in front of a pale pink house. Stepping out of the vehicle, she sees curtains from the upstairs window move. Almost as if this person was already expecting her. Pulling out the huge pile of papers from the passenger seat, she squares her shoulders.
It is about time everyone knew the story of Mary Lilith Potter.
Her story.
