I do not own anything, even Marthin (becase who on Earth even would like to own such a jerk?)
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Marthin was an average boy in the middle of his teen years. A very plain looking, sometimes bespectacled (bless the inventor of contact lenses for 'sometimes'), acned boy. The only distinct thing about him was his imagination. It was vivid, fastidious and very realistic. That is why being an outcast in his school and nearly just the same at home, he was partial to escaping in his own universe by reading a fantasy book or by simple day-dreaming. Marthin was walking home through the ever-empty park when he spotted a forgotten book on the bench. The book was a brand-new, still smelling of paint issue of 'Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone'. From the appearance of the book one could say it was never read. A thought like 'why a completely new book lying like this' had never had happened to visit Marthin, so he gladly take the book and poke it down his backpack.
The boy, actually, never owned any hard-copy of the Potter series. A few years earlier he was a huge fun of Star Wars, then he switched to the Fellowship of the Ring, both times spending quite an amount of parent's money on books, posters, t-shirts, figurines and the stuff alike, so he was banned from buying anything associated with his next devotions. That is why, when Marthin became obsessed with the Potter Saga, he downloaded all the books from under the three-masted sailing ship. But electronic books were no more than a palliative for the boy. He could not read one while trying to push out his daily load of shite and that was really unnerving him. Finding a real book was a remarkably bright spot in his mostly grayish life.
When home, it took a great effort from Marthin to restrain his urge to immediately open the book and begin reading. Being a first reader of a book for him was like being a first man of a woman, and disjoining conglutinated pages was just like deflorating a girl, even more exiting because the latter did was just a mere fantasy, and with the former he was nearly professional. Anyway, with hand washed and clothes changes, he had no more digues between him and book. Eagerly he opened it just to feel a hot sharp pain in his finger, cut by the edge of a page. Instinctively, he jerked his hand, and a sprinkle of blood fell on the title page, making a blot just near the world 'Stone'.
Marthin was sucking his suffered finger off when noticed the blood spot was being absorbed by the paper. Letters on the page began to glowing and the next moment all went into darkness. When he was back to himself, he was no more in his room. The place around was looking like a train compartment and in front of him was an aggrievedly looking little boy with a lot of freckles, flaming red hair and a long smudged nose.
"Blyme" muttered Marthin, "I'm Harry bloody Potter".
Review, please, if you want to know how the story changes.