NOTE: I'm writing this story because I need a break from everything else I'm writing.  And I wanted to write something in the first person.  Funny, to write something just because you want to say 'I' and 'me' and 'mine' and so on.  Well I say, 'mmm...whatever'.  And I write. 

By the way, the events leading up to the last three sentences in this chapter are absolutely true.  Oops, I shouldn't a told ye that.

Rowling's Portkey

Chapter One

My life had never been that interesting.  And when I say that I absolutely mean it.  Some people say that but with most there's always at least something that is interesting. 

With me, there wasn't. 

My life was so boring that I actually did watch paint dry for fun.  Honestly, my mother and I painted our family room a few years ago and I literally sat on the floor and stared at the caramel colored paint as it dried to our walls. 

And I was amused by it.

My life is was so boring that I can admit to the world that I am the type of person who will spend hours on the internet sifting through pointless sites to find something remotely interesting.  When I found that interesting something, it was normally nothing interesting to anyone but me. 

I was entertained very easily.  I loved watching America's Funniest Home Videos because I enjoyed watching people hurt themselves.  Honestly, that's the truth.  In fact, as I think about it, I still enjoy watching people hurt themselves. 

But that's just between you and me. 

I used to fold napkins as a hobby. 

And collect journals. 

I wouldn't write anything in them.  I still don't write anything in them.  I just have them.  They're empty.  And pretty.  I was too afraid I would ruin them with boring things.

Because my life was boring.

And then I met Harry Potter. 

I first received the Sorcerer's Stone one bright Christmas day in the year of...well, I don't precisely remember the year.  But that's irrelevant.  I do remember that I gave my mother a weak smile and thanked her for the gift.  I tossed it upon my pile of other presents and cast it off as a dull children's book and nothing more.  I was embarrassed, to say the least, that my mother had bought such a book.  I didn't pick it up again for a long while.

Until I started hearing more and more about what a wonderful book it was.  And then I heard it was going to be made into a movie.  So I picked it up again, and still with a doubtful mind, I started reading Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone.

And I loved it.  Loved everything about it.  And then I demanded that my mother purchase the next book.  By this time the first four books of the series were already out in bookstores, so you can imagine how frustrated I was at being so far behind in my reading.  My mother sighed and went off to find the next book.  She ended up ordering it online.  I nearly peed my pants when that sacred brown package arrived at our doorstep.  I ripped open the box and there it was.

The third book.

My smile faded.  I rolled my eyes.

            "Dearest mother, you were mistaken in purchasing this novel, for it is not the one that follows second in the Harry Potter series.  This is the third of that," I said to her.  Or something close to that.  So she suggested I read that one anyway.  I was appalled.  How could she say such a thing?  She had no idea the importance of reading in chronological order.  So after a frightful tantrum, brought to you by yours truly, she continued her search. 

After coming back from a long day at a craft show, she pulled out a large book from her arm and laid it out in front of my eyes.  And to my surprise it was a book.  A large, very large, green book.

The fourth book.

By then I concluded that the search for the second book was officially out of my mother's state of comprehension. 

But I was wrong.

When I finally received the second book I whizzed through it in a matter of days.  And now that I had the other two, I was all set in my reading.

So I read.

And read.

And read.

And finally I was finished.  And the movie was drawing near.  By this time I was fascinated by Harry and his wondrous world and I could not get my mind off of him.  And when the movie came I was ecstatic.  I could hardly believe it was happening.  The movie was amazing.  I was so happy to be there that the 2 hours and 32 minutes it took for the story to be played out felt like three minutes to me.  I was smiling from ear to ear for a week after I saw that movie.  I couldn't get over it.  In fact, I was so into Harry's world by now that I re-read the latest three books so I could remind myself of everything that happened. 

And then my imagination got the best of me.

I started writing my own fiction.  Most of it (okay, okay, ALL of it) had to deal with the character Severus Snape.  He fascinated me.  And not just by Alan Rickman's performance in the movie (which was played out superbly), but also by the character that is formed in my mind while reading J. K. Rowling's words.  What a disparity between the book character and the movie character.  I have always been a softy for bad guys, so naturally I chose to write about Severus. 

So I wrote.  I let my imagination run loose and I imagined myself as the characters that entered his life.  And looking back upon it, that was totally Mary-Sue-ish of me.  Which is funny, considering I didn't even know what a Mary Sue was until recently.  And by the way, I'm amused by stories like that.  And I say (not just because I can be like this also) if someone wants to glamorize themselves and be perfect in a story and end up with the person of their dreams, so be it.  That's what writing is all about.  Making our wildest dreams come true.  If that's not it, what the hell is it all about?

Anyway, getting back to me.  (Lockhart?  What are you doing here!?)  My life was boring.  And then I met Harry Potter.

And when I mean I met him, I really mean it.

I

met

the

real

Harry

Potter.