Hi guys! Bear with me, by the end of this chapter she's fallen into the books, but the start and rest of the next chapter will explain to her that she's in the books!
I've already written a few chapters which will happen a while in the future for our heroine, so I hope you stick with it! A few twists will be around to keep you on your feet!
Enjoy!
Elizabeth Brown had never thought of herself as anyone special. She had grown up in the shadow of those more attractive girls at school, and her grades had been sufficient enough to warrant 'average student' on all of her report cards.
She was born into a relatively middle class family living in a small suburb just outside London. Her Mother, Father and younger brother were, to her, quite enough to fill her days and nights with endless entertainment, or annoyance, and her friends were ones of convenience, rather than life long. She therefore awaited the opportunity to be old enough to either go to University, or to earn enough money to fly the nest, since she had always felt as though she belonged elsewhere.
This sense of belonging had always pushed Elizabeth to daydream during classes, or to wander around aimlessly, walking and thinking to herself, as many young girls do at the age of sixteen. These daydreams had never been filled with chatter, or endless adventure, rather mostly based within those Harry Potter books which she grew up reading.
Every day would be a new scenario, she would at once be battling a dragon, helping Harry to escape Gringotts, or changing the entire timeline in order to prove Sirius Black innocent and reveal Peter Pettigrew. Though through all of this she knew that there was no way in which she could actually do anything to change the Harry Potter timeline as it was, and always would be, fictional.
It happened one warm yet overcast July afternoon, when Elizabeth was sitting in the rather large back garden of her house, attempting to expand her vocabulary by reading a Jane Austen novel named Northanger Abbey. It had been harder than she had realised for her mind to stop conjuring up new spells, or learning the proper use of a Beozar, and to concentrate on an actual novel. She had therefore resigned herself to lying in the warmth, listening to the wind flow gently through the trees.
Elizabeth had definitely grown into herself over the past summer. The last inch of puppy fat with which she had been plagued since the age of twelve, had left her, and her skin had responded well to her new resolution to eat more fruit, and less of those burgers which she knew and loved. She had shot up, at the age of fourteen, to a cool five feet eight, and had gained an inch for every year afterwards, making her a rather tall five feet ten.
Although she had a need for glasses, it was so small that she had resigned herself to only wearing them when she was watching television or on the computer, and that suited her well. Her hair had finally been tamed and framed her face with beautiful curls down to two inches below her collar bone.
All in all, Elizabeth had grown into a fine young woman. Her mother would have said so too, from where she stood at the kitchen window washing up glasses, had it not been for her daughter's inability to ground herself.
'Elizabeth!' Immediately, the young girl jumped up and ran towards the house, for she hadn't seen her father in a few days whilst he finished his business in York. 'Come here. Want to show you something!'
And what a something it was! An old and seemingly beaten up yellow Vauxwagon beetle was parked in their small driveway.
'Oh my god! It's beautiful! Can I go in it? Can I drive it? Who's is it? Is it for Mum? Oh Dad that's so romantic!' Before her father could respond, Elizabeth had run inside to fetch her camera. She wanted to capture her mother's face in its rarest form - completely flabbergasted. 'I'm back! I'm back! Oh, when're you going to tell her? She'll love it!' Elizabeth began to circle the car taking photographs, since this was her dream car.
''Liz. It's not for your mum!' her father laughed, 'It's for you. Well, for when you turn seventeen and can get lessons! Thought you'd like to help me do it up?' The truth was, that her father was concerned at her lack of commitment to her schooling, and was trying to instill a sense of pride and competition in the young girl before she entered adult life.
'No! You're kidding me! Oh my god!' Elizabeth squealed from her spot which, although in the road, was concealed somewhat by a rather large tree in front of her house, and by the overgrown hedge of her neighbours' front garden. 'I can't believe it! Oh my gosh!'
It was at this moment of happiness that Elizabeth heard it. The gentle hum of an engine revving caught her ear and she turned her head to the left. At that exact moment in time, a young man had decided that a small street was the perfect place to both drive, and change the volume of his music. It happened so fast that Elizabeth's father, her brother who had been jealously eavesdropping from his room, her mother who was smiling and wiping her hands on a teatowel just inside the door, and the driver who had dropped the nozzle to his volume control and only just looked up, were able to see Elizabeth's fall from grace.
In slow motion one might have captured the look of surprise, horror, and pain on Elizabeth's face as she flew across the bonnet of this ordinary car, but sped up their own reactions were the only ones they could recall when questioned by the police.
When she woke up, Elizabeth was in a small room by herself, in the comfiest of beds. As she looked around for the usual machines for monitoring both your heart and lungs, she saw nothing. She also thought it strange that she did not feel any pain at all, and, as she swung her legs round to face the door, she realised that it was not due to a strong dose of morphine, but rather that she was completely alright!
Smiling, she walked over to the door and opened it slightly, for she knew that her parents would be overjoyed to see her up and about. Yet there was not a soul in the corridor. Carefully, Elizabeth returned into the sanctury of her own small room and started to search for a change of clothes. As much as she loved the floor length robe she was wearing, she felt that a nice pair of trousers and a top would be more appropriate when convincing her parents that she should be allowed to go home.
Some half an hour later, Elizabeth once again braved the hallway and walked quickly to the end, pausing only to laugh slightly at the sign which read 'St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. Long Term Patient Ward.' Whoever had placed that there had a good sense of humour.
