Disclaimer: There is no disclaimer! Harry Potter is really my invention and Mrs. Rowling stole it from us! So Bring It On! WHAT NOW?
A/N: This being my first ever please send all flames to yo mama. Thank you.
T rated because't' is the prettiest letter in the alphabet.
Chapter 1: Humble Beginnings
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Never had there ever been a more likely candidate for Hogwarts than Melinda Brothrael. She had long, blonde hair, luscious ruby-red lips, rosy cheeks, a slim figure, and was wearing a white tank top with a black bra.
She wasn't from a magical family but could do magic really well, but, like, on accident. This one time, she turned her brother into a newt. He got better.
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Before Albus Dumbledore was a scroll with a long list of names. Most of the names had stars next to them, denoting the 'magicality' of the potential student. Melinda Brothrael's name had a great many stars next to it, especially for someone who had been unexposed to magic her entire life (oh wait, she had been to a David Copperfield show once!-but that doesn't count.).
However, Albus Dumbledore was fast asleep, not looking at Melinda's star count as he should have been. With minutes to go until the letters of invitation to Hogwarts were to be sent out, Albus gave a start as his phoenix gave a loud squawk and regurgitated a pellet of vole bones.
"Great tiddlywinks!" yelped Albus, glancing at his clock. He scrambled to find a time-turner in his unkempt desk. However, he instead found a Chinese finger trap which kept him occupied for the rest of time he had allotted to finding said time-turner.
He then had to hurriedly decide whom to invite to Hogwarts by a hasty game of Eeny, Meeny, Miny, Moe. Which is how Melinda was not chosen, and our main character was. Because honestly, as great as Melinda is, she doesn't have much interesting material left, now that fate has destined her to be a fry cook or something.
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"MAIL!" bellowed a masculine voice from downstairs. Gravis paid it no attention as she was entirely devoted to locating the friend of the shoe she was frantically waving about; as if that would make its mate cry "I'm over here". It was eventually located by her dad in the refrigerator, next to the cabbage and behind the sour cream, but by that time, she had missed her bus.
A/N: At this point I went into the kitchen to get a diet coke. However, my dad was watching Saving Private Ryan, and someone was dying, and I felt queasy and forgot where this bus was going to.
So Gravis decided to open her mail. She had been…pre-approved for a credit card! She stuffed the "time sensitive" document back into its envelope and tossed it in the recycling bin.
She had just poured herself an overflowing bowl of Fruity Pebbles and drowned it in milk, when she realized her sister, Jillian, was opening a more important looking letter than the one she had received. Gravis, hence, did what she was obliged to do as an older sister, she snatched it from her.
Jillian attempted to retrieve her letter by leaning across the table and snatching it back, but she only managed to trail her sleeve in Gravis' Fruity Pebbles. So she punched Gravis in the nose, stole the letter back, dashed from the kitchen, and locked herself in the bathroom. With Gravis howling and pounding on the door, she opened her letter, and began to read.
Dear Ms. Jillian Dodaster,
We are pleased to inform you have been accepted into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Due to an unforeseen ink shortage, however, we are unable to complete the usual formal letter sent, and instead implore you to just guess at what you might need and what not to bring. The train departs from King's Cross, Platform 9 ¾, 9:05, on Sept. 1st.
Yours Truly,
Minerva McGonagall
Jillian stared, dumbfounded, at the opposite wall. She couldn't be a witch. There was no such thing. Or was there? She was unresponsive for several hours. This made her sister and father very upset, because they had to ask the weird cat lady across the hall if they could use her bathroom, which smelt of litter boxes and sauerkraut.
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A/N: OK, there it is. I have my soul bared, ready for you to take a jab at it. And sorry about the letter, but I didn't really feel like digging out my book and copying it verbatim. Diet Coke and Fruity pebbles are probably copyrighted by someone, but I don't feel like telling you who. So, review, or not. The choice is yours.
P.S. I'm writing more even if you do flame me. I'm becoming rather fond of my story.