"Murphy's Law is a well known precept that states that everything that can go wrong, most definitely will go wrong."

I found out the hard truth of this precept at a very young age and have been learning it ever since.

I was six when I first attempted to ride a bike. I had seen all the muggle children riding them outside on the street outside our house and decided that I wanted a bright blue one. My parents agreed and I got a bike for birthday, a shiny blue one and my dad acted like your standard proud dad, secretly glad I was interested in bikes rather than dolls.

He wouldn't be proud for much longer, I can tell you that.

After helping me get the hang of it, my Dad eventually took the stabilisers off and let me go – if only I had realised early on that it was the stabilisers keeping me upright and not my amazing bike riding skills. I was fine at first; happily speeding down the path at what was a fast pace for a 6 year old, hair flying backwards in the wind and a big smile on my face. I didn't notice next door's tree until I went crashing into it. My dad reassured me that falling off happened all the time to first time riders – I was a little skeptical but I tried again regardless.

I brushed myself off and got back on. This time I missed the tree but ended up going head first into the bin at the end of the street. On my third and final attempt, I fell into a pond.

I never tried riding a bike again – it clearly wasn't my forté in life.

After the bike incident, my Mum gave me a muggle set of colouring pencils and paper and told me to try drawing instead. It was a relatively safe hobby where not much could go wrong. Except for pencil snapping, paper ripping, stabbing yourself in numerous places, missing the paper and scratching Mum's ancient mahogany table and last of all, paper cuts. A lot of paper cuts. My poor hands have never been the same.

Only I could turn drawing into a hazardous activity.

It was safe to say after that, I was banned from drawing – and also anything else that involved sharp and potentially dangerous objects. My parents believed that I was just having a run of bad luck and that it would end eventually.

They couldn't have been more wrong.

In fact, it only got worse and soon enough, it got difficult to keep up with the number of times I had broken bones, shattered priceless urns and glasses and ended up causing a huge scene – all by accident.

Just to name a few of my unlucky mishaps;

Aged Seven – I was given a muggle candle making set, one that was for ages 5+ and nearly burnt the house down. This had been a bad idea the moment a muggle candle making set was put in my hands but I guess my mother's judgement wasn't the greatest back then. After ruining her favourite set of Laura Ashley curtains, she learned her lesson and I learned how valuable those curtains really were to her.

Aged Nine – I went ice-skating with my parents. I ended up falling over, causing a domino effect of toppling children and broke my arm. Again, another poor judgement but this time from my Dad. He thought it would be wonderful for us as a family to go ice-skating (his muggle obsession just beginning to flourish) and see if it was as fun as muggles thought it was. It wasn't. Once I had finally learned to stand up on the ice, where I was reminiscent of a newborn giraffe trying to stand up for the first time, it took me all of 5 minutes to cause the huge accident which ended with me in St. Mungo's, drinking a disgusting potion to mend my broken arm.

Aged Ten – I went to muggle birthday party, was poked playing 'pin the tail on the donkey', hit someone when I was trying to hit a piñata, made the birthday girl cry and fell into the garden pond. This was an accident waiting to happen and I knew it the moment Mum and I walked into next door's back garden and spotted the pond. We should have turned around then, in fact, I wanted to but Mum was insistent I needed more friends. After being 'accidentally' poked playing 'Pin the tail on the donkey' (muggles played strange party games) by Billy Jones, I then went on to hit him square in the face with a bat whilst trying to hit the pinata, causing him quite the severe nosebleed. The last straw was when I ended up in the pond. My Mum dragged me out of there, practically by my pigtails and I was never invited around again.

Aged Eleven – Arriving at Platform 9 ¾, I fell onto the train, walked into a carriage door and caused the sweet trolley to overturn. This was when I learned that I knew how to make an entrance and that first impressions really did stick for life. Getting through the barrier was surprisingly easy so you'd think stepping onto the train would be a doddle compared to that yet I was very wrong. I somehow managed to trip over thin air and ended up flat on my face in front of the whole Weasley-Potter clan. And if that wasn't bad enough, walking straight into a compartment door containing said Weasley-Potter clan and then in a panic, turning around too quickly and causing the nice old lady with the sweet trolley to fall over, her trolley quickly following. I don't think I have ever lived that first day down, not even after all these years.

It was quite clear that these events weren't the isolated incidents my parents believed or perhaps hoped that they were and there were far too many for them to be classed as coincidences.

I, Pippa Marie Murphy, was simply a bad luck magnet. Bad luck followed me around like an evil puppy I couldn't quite shake off my leg.

My luck never got any better at Hogwarts. In fact, it got predominantly worse. I won't go into specifics but let's just say I'm not allowed near the Astronomy Tower for my own safety, I have a note saying I am not allowed in any close contact with any magical creatures and I am most definitely not allowed in the potions ingredient cupboard.

There is nothing I can do that won't end up in a trip to the Hospital Wing; for either me or those in close proximity. It is for that reason I am somewhat a social pariah at school. In general day to day life, everyone is lovely; I can have conversations with them, sit with them whilst we do our homework and eat with them in the Great Hall without there ever being too much of a problem.

However if there is something important happening, everyone keeps away from me like I have the bubonic plague.

Last year it was Hogwarts' turn to host the Tri-Wizard tournament again. Scared I would seriously cause someone's death – which was overly dramatic in my honest opinion – Headmistress Vector kept me away at the requests of the Heads of Beauxbatons and Durmstrang. It was quite obvious Vector had informed them of my 'condition'.

The secret parties that the seventh year's holds always remain a secret. Quidditch games were also a big no-no.

And because of these reasons, I lead quite the boring life at Hogwarts. Add that to the fact I'm in Hufflepuff and according the popular girls in school – I'm what you would call a loser.

Constance Stewart is the only constant - I couldn't resist - in my life. And Dominique Weasley too, when she felt like it. Mad as hatter, it's probably the only reason Connie befriended me in the first place. That and the fact she loves the trouble my bad luck causes. Constance is usually front row watching avidly as the events unfold, cheering me on like my own personal cheerleader.

Dom is the other nutter who also talks to me most days of the year. However, most of the time she is only looking for a story to add to the school paper. Either that or she is looking to get out of classes or a date she agreed to whilst drunk (it's been known for Dom to seek me out and stay with me until I do something that ends up with her being hurt, thus making her unavailable for said dates). It's then I get the would-be suitors shouting at me in the corridors about ruining their would-be 'perfect' night.

If only they knew the actual truth.

But anyway, those two are the only ones truly brave, or perhaps stupid enough, to approach me. Them and James Potter but he doesn't count because he's verging on becoming my own personal stalker so his attention isn't welcomed. The only time the eldest Potter doesn't bother me is in the run up to the Gryffindor Quidditch games. It's my only relief from his constant attempts of flirting and 'banter' and is why I happily welcome the Quidditch Season.

So that's my life in a most probably cracked nutshell.

It could be worse I guess.

I could be Peter Frogsbeard, a fellow Badger who panics every time he hears the croaking of a frog. He can't even sit through Flitwick's Frog Choir without fainting.

Or I could have the surname 'Frogsbeard'.

Now that is bad luck.