Author's Note
While on the Mugglenet forums, someone gave me the most interesting idea for a fanfic. (I've forgotten your name but you know who you are.) I've written two beginnings and would love it if you would tell me which one I should continue with. On to the story…
Chapter 1
Sunlight broke through gray clouds and streamed in through Joanne Rowling's bedroom window. Dust swirled lazily in the beam of light. The scene was quite beautiful but Jo was in no state to enjoy it.
Currently, all that could be seen of the young woman was a mass of tousled, blonde hair. The rest of her body was swathed in blankets and curled up against the chilly London morning.
Half-conscious but unwilling to wake up, she stirred briefly and rolled over to her other side. She felt the sunlight against her closed eyelids, like an insistent hand nudging her awake. Experimentally she cracked an eyelid.
The hand that had been gently nudging her switched tactics and viciously poked her in the eye. Jo fancied she heard the light laughing at her. Offended, she pulled the covers over her head and rolled over so her back was to her windows. She briefly entertained an image of her pulling the blinds shut and crossing her arms. "Take that." she harrumphed.
Did I just talk to a beam of light?
Yes, and now you're having a conversation with yourself. You're completely mad.
I'm not mad. I just have a...vivid imagination, she countered.
With that, Jo swung her legs out of bed and slid her feet into her slippers. Rubbing her eyes, she shuffled to her bathroom to freshen up. Her shower, however, did little to wake her.
Barely out of bed and I'm already exhausted she thought to herself. This should be an interesting day. She had no idea how interesting the day would be…
After showering and dressing, she stood in front of her mirror and eyed her make-up bag apprehensively.
Why bother? It's not like you'll find true love at work today.
Tired and in no mood to argue (even with herself) Jo responded. You're my conscious right?
Obviously.
Then why don't you say anything useful?
Satisfied that for the moment her inner-self was silenced, she turned back to her make-up bag. She found however, she had lost all interest in cosmetics.
Sighing, she made to run a hand through her hair. Half-way, she noticed her watch and she shut her eyes.
That isn't the time. It can't be. When I open my eyes, it'll be half-an hour ago.
She tentatively cracked one eye.
Nothing had changed.
Nice try, her conscious drawled.
Oh shut-up! she replied.
Jo took off the hallway at a half-run to grab her briefcase from her office. She had transformed her front room into an office.
Why do I need an office at home? Jo thought. The last thing I need is more work.
True, the second bedroom in her flat currently held only a dangerously unorganized desk a chair, and a bookshelf; but she loved it anyway. It was the perfect place to catch up on work or spend the day with a cup of tea and a good book.
Smiling fondly, she remembered the story that that she had come up with a few days ago. The other day, while sitting on a train, reading the news, a wizard named Harry Potter dropped into her head fully-formed. She had passed the rest of the time dreaming up adventures for him in Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. When she returned home she wrote bits of it down in a notebook.
No time to reminisce now! She reminded herself.
Oh. Right.
She reached her office and turned the doorknob. She took a step toward her briefcase but stopped when her high-backed chair slowly turned to reveal a tall, bald, black man. He sat reading her "Harry Potter" notebook. He lowered the book and smiled.
"I have chosen well. You have quite the imagination."
Jo's last conscious thought was "You don't know the half."
And then she passed out.
You have no doubt read the Harry Potter books. Watched him learn and grow. Looked on as he found adventure, intrigue, and even romance. Bitten yours nails as he goes up against Voldemort, the very embodiment of evil. But what importance does such a battle hold when there is a much deeper evil creeping into both our world and Harry's?
Yes, I said "his world" because he is real. Harry is more than a character in a book. He has a life outside of its pages. He exists in a universe just as real as yours.
Magic is real. How do I know?
I was there.
Author's Note: And it would go something like that.
I would appreciate you telling me if I'm completely off or how I should tweak it or that I should quit writing forever. Any feedback is appreciated,
La Nanita
