Well, here's my attempt at writing fanfiction.
I am part of a Harry Potter Next Gen roleplaying forum, and I'm including all of my forum-mates' characters into this little fic here.
Enjoy.

CHAPTER ONE: A Letter to My Parents

I'll always be a failure in my parents' eyes. Somehow, I just can't shake away that notion whenever I write them a letter.

"Hey mom. Hey dad.

How are you? I heard Liverpool's doing okay. Finally getting out of the economic rut it was in for the past decade or so, eh?

Well, as for me, schoolwork is the usual. I'm learning a lot in Astronomy and Herbology, but not so much in History. Thought I'd be honest with you. Anyway…"

No no no. I scribble all over my paper because the sentences I've scrawled on it are too expressive. Plus, I've violated one sacred rule when it comes to writing messages to Asian parents: never tell them how you're actually doing in class.

I sigh and try to think of how best to write the letter. Perhaps this time I should be more formal.

"Dear mother and father,

I am pleased to inform you that my experience at Hogwarts has been a very enlightening and joyful one. Professor Dawn, my Astronomy teacher –"

It doesn't work. This is not me. I pause and wonder if I should continue to write this letter in a farcical but well-mannered tone. Then I realize that it doesn't matter if I write them a meaningful message or not because my parents could hardly read English anyway. The only words they can discern from a composition are the titles of the courses I take and the letters "O," "E," "A," "P," "D" and "T."

After coming to the conclusion that drafting this letter is a waste of time, I place my quill in its inkwell and stretch out my arms.

"Looks like I'm not gonna receive a howler this Christmas," I say, well aware of the fact that there is nobody else in the room.

I leave my desk and plop myself down on my bed, all the while doubting the morality of my decision. It's been four years since I've started attending Hogwarts, and I haven't returned home during the winter breaks at all.

My parents, of course, don't seem to mind. As I browse the library or explore the castle's secret corridors, I often imagine them sipping a glass of wine together and cozying up on a king-sized bed located right underneath a portrait of the two of them in Paris. Besides, every time I send them a letter I always receive a curt reply asking about my academic activities.

There's one letter in my sock drawer that's a perfect example of this. It says:

"Dear Lena,

We are glad to see you do well. Your father and I are very proud of you. But you must do better. If you are to become a famous witch one day, you must study.

An O in Astronomy is not enough. You must get O's in all classes!

Love,
Your mother and father."

I guess the reason why I've preserved this gem is because it contains this one sentence: "Your father and I are very proud of you." No matter how insincere it sounds, I always try to pretend that it really means what it says. Keeping up this attitude, I believe, prevents me from failing school altogether.