Hi! Welcome to the story that just wouldn't leave my head and which I just had to write! I am seriously hoping you'll enjoy reading this one! As of yet, this story has not been beta'd, so please keep that in mind. I'd love to hear what you think about it! Enjoy!
Let me introduce myself. Meghan Abrams. Sixth year Ravenclaw. Misfit. Rather plainlooking. Muggleborn. Not all that interesting. Not all that popular either. Zero talent on the Quidditchfield. Not particularly talented in anything else either, unless you count knowing unimportant details about books and tvshows as a talent. Thourougly bummed Muggle technology doesn't work around Hogwarts ("I'm missing my shows damnit!"). Also bummed that because of all the boardingschool stuff, I can hardly ever see my favorite band, which only comes here every three years or so as it is anyway ("Life's cruel"). I'm a rather pessimistic person, which, of course, makes me highly popular around the school ("I'd wish. The universe would be so much better if sarcasm worked."). I'm a catlover. Don't like birds. I have a talent for making plants die ("Oh, wait, I do have a talent. So nice to know I'm good at something."). I don't have many friends. I have zero contact with people from primary school ("Not that I care much about them anyway."). I have a younger brother who is a fourth year Gryffindor. I hate people who write in books, mark things in books, and it's a blasphemy to make dogears in books. And I think thats about it.
I'f you're still with me, I'm thoroughly surprised. I'd dare think all of above was rather boring. In any case, if you're still with me, and want to know where this is going, picture yourself this.
A day in late September. The weather is particularly nice for the time of the year. Pretty much the entire school is either outside or holed up in detention for doing Merlin knows what, and I, as hater of pretty much the entire universe, am sitting in one of the windowsills in one of the empty corridors of Hogwarts, right across the Transfigurationclassroom where I can hear professor Blackburn yelling at an unfortunate student. Always hilarious, especially when you picture spit flying everywhere, a huge, red face and a cowering student because they don't want to get hit by all the spit that he's producing. He's yelling something about said person being an idiot because he (or she) should have known that the wandmovement was rightways and not leftways and that it was absolutely not hilarious do to just so as they'd had to know that doing that would result in the exploding of said object. I kind of want to know what the hell happened in that class now, but that's also not the point.
Back to me. I was sitting in said windowssill, partly reading my book, partly listening to that shoutingmatch across the hall behind the closed doors. All very entertaining of course. Nothing really interesting happened that day, at least not to me, and I didn't expect anything remotedly interesting to happen anymore as well. Of course, whenever you say that at Hogwarts, something of course is bound to happen, and alas, it was no exception to me either. And thus picture yourself me sitting right there, doing my thing, when another student quite loudly enters the corridor, and comes to a skidding halt besides me.
And no, it was not one of the very few people I did consider my friends.
It was James Sirius Potter, a sixth year Gryffindor whom I barely, if at all, had talked to in all those years at Hogwarts. James, who was looking quite flustered, slightly panicked, as he uttered the following words:
"Meghan, I have a problem." And as we end this chapter of my oh-so-entertaining life: my jaw dropped open for a bit as I gaped at James. Not so fancy, I know, and certainly not attractive, but that is what happened and I am not going to lie about that. I mean, why would I? I had already established that I wasn't the person with a high social status. I can add this to the mix as well. Right?