I was nicknamed Miss Independent, Untouchable, Flirt-You'll-Get-Hurt Girl,
the Rebel.
I was considered, I suppose, a perfectionist and a tomboy, but no one except my best friend Hazel ever dared to call me a tomboy. Because I hated boys, and anyone who dared call me a tomboy paid.
Hazel was my best friend for I don't know how long a time. She understood me, and I understood her. She was one of the rare people I put up with.
I of course put up with the teachers, except perhaps Professor Terence, the Head of Slytherin. In fact, I got along quite well with most adults.
Its just boys who are the problem.
I suppose, ever since Randy Nickerson in kindergarten said that boys were better than girls, I strived to out-best all boys. Girls were as good as boys.
They were, in fact, better. So I never associated with boys, and my teachers knew better than to pair me up with a boy for a class project.
You'd think I'd get along with girls well.
I didn't.
Most girls were ditzes and I disliked them. They teased me. They tormented me. I blew up at them, with the famous redhead temper.
I did things. Strange things. I turned Prissy Missy's pale white-blonde curls (now that I think about it, she was the Muggle, female version of Lucius Malfoy) into purple dread locks. When I got hungry while playing in our back yard, a bowl of fruit flew out the window. Mum, in the kitchen, looked everywhere for the fruit bowl she had just set down on the counter.
People started to be afraid of me. Not that I wasn't avoided before. But now, I was shunned. Only Hazel stood by me.
Hazel. What a mysterious girl. She had long black curls, and would have been as popular as Prissy Missy, but instead, chose to be my friend, and chose to be shunned.
Hazel was not the stereotypical ditzy girl. In fact, she bested me at math! She was not a ditz, but she encouraged the girly-girl part in me enough so that when I went to Hogwarts, I could surprise everyone now and then.
Hazel knew everything about me. She was one of the few people who understood my need to prove myself. She taught me about make-up. And she stood there faithfully beside, at recess in primary school, up to my wedding.
My parents knew that I was different, and took it into their stride surprisingly well. They realized I was a normal human being, not some freak who did weird things. They were the best parents ever; up to the day they died.
Petunia, my older sister. She was sort of detached from me, unreal. With her blonde hair, and her fashion obsession, she was either on the phone, at the mall, out on a date, or putting on make-up. She rarely interacted with me, or I with her. Until I received my Hogwarts letter.
This is my story.
I was considered, I suppose, a perfectionist and a tomboy, but no one except my best friend Hazel ever dared to call me a tomboy. Because I hated boys, and anyone who dared call me a tomboy paid.
Hazel was my best friend for I don't know how long a time. She understood me, and I understood her. She was one of the rare people I put up with.
I of course put up with the teachers, except perhaps Professor Terence, the Head of Slytherin. In fact, I got along quite well with most adults.
Its just boys who are the problem.
I suppose, ever since Randy Nickerson in kindergarten said that boys were better than girls, I strived to out-best all boys. Girls were as good as boys.
They were, in fact, better. So I never associated with boys, and my teachers knew better than to pair me up with a boy for a class project.
You'd think I'd get along with girls well.
I didn't.
Most girls were ditzes and I disliked them. They teased me. They tormented me. I blew up at them, with the famous redhead temper.
I did things. Strange things. I turned Prissy Missy's pale white-blonde curls (now that I think about it, she was the Muggle, female version of Lucius Malfoy) into purple dread locks. When I got hungry while playing in our back yard, a bowl of fruit flew out the window. Mum, in the kitchen, looked everywhere for the fruit bowl she had just set down on the counter.
People started to be afraid of me. Not that I wasn't avoided before. But now, I was shunned. Only Hazel stood by me.
Hazel. What a mysterious girl. She had long black curls, and would have been as popular as Prissy Missy, but instead, chose to be my friend, and chose to be shunned.
Hazel was not the stereotypical ditzy girl. In fact, she bested me at math! She was not a ditz, but she encouraged the girly-girl part in me enough so that when I went to Hogwarts, I could surprise everyone now and then.
Hazel knew everything about me. She was one of the few people who understood my need to prove myself. She taught me about make-up. And she stood there faithfully beside, at recess in primary school, up to my wedding.
My parents knew that I was different, and took it into their stride surprisingly well. They realized I was a normal human being, not some freak who did weird things. They were the best parents ever; up to the day they died.
Petunia, my older sister. She was sort of detached from me, unreal. With her blonde hair, and her fashion obsession, she was either on the phone, at the mall, out on a date, or putting on make-up. She rarely interacted with me, or I with her. Until I received my Hogwarts letter.
This is my story.