Author's Note: I've never published anything here before, so I'm quite nervous about posting this sub-chapter. I've divided Chapter One into sections of alternating perspectives, but future chapters will be significantly longer. I expect the story as a whole to be quite long, as well, though I can't be sure.

Disclaimer: Unfortunately, I'm not the genius who created the Harry Potter universe, whose elements belong solely to J.K. Rowling.

SUBCHAPTER ONE - MARLENE - AN INTRODUCTION.

Up until my eleventh year, I had always considered myself average.

I mean, the stats don't lie.

Name: Marlene Rose Johnson

Johnson! JOHNSON! Have you ever heard a more common last name? In primary school, there were seven Johnsons in my year alone, and a Johnson Atkins besides. I suppose the name "Marlene" is a bit dated, but common nevertheless. And a flower! Could my parents BE any more cliché, choosing my middle name based on the symbol of the city where they met? Paris, of course, where all romance appears to happen. All in all, the most boring of names.

Physical Description: stick straight hair, brown but not too black nor too blonde; medium brown eyes; vaguely ethnic looking, but not to the point of identifiable race; average skin, not pale nor overly tanned; medium build, average weight

Not a single attractive quality, but no particularly unattractive qualities nor remarkable blemishes, either. Essentially indistinguishable from the masses.

Interests: Reading, Writing, Maths, Science

All of it, really. Likely to fuel my perpetual, albeit futile, quest for self-actualization.

Strengths: None, really.

I'm not dreadful at anything, either, I suppose. All in all, (unsurprisingly) average.

That was before I got the letter, of course. In hindsight, perhaps I should have seen it coming. After all, my emotional reactions had always been a bit…explosive.

Specifically, the summer I turned eight years old, my parents sent me off to sleepaway camp in the woods. It was to be two weeks of pure, unadulterated fun. Swimming, hiking, canoeing, archery, the whole works. However, my parents failed to mention the (still dreaded) Swim Test™. I had (shockingly enough) always been a fair swimmer. I could make it across a pool without drowning, but at a rather lacklustre speed. My counsellor, however, was notoriously bitchy and not at all suited to work with young children, and she rather disagreed with my assessment of my swimming abilities. The nasty woman had the nerve to place me in the INTRODUCTORY SWIMMING GROUP with SIX-YEAR OLDS. Not six seconds after she made the announcement, the swimming hole erupted, ejecting the offending counsellor and launching her six metres in the air, and drenching the gathered campers. The counsellor landed on the hard bottom of the now-empty pool, breaking both of her legs in the process. She never returned to the camp.

I had no way of proving it, of course, but I had always privately taken responsibility for the event.

Three years later, I awoke to an owl rapping at the door, two thick envelopes in its beak.

The first letter was addressed to my parents. We pored over it together, and it was in those fifteen minutes that I first learned of the magical world around me. To their credit, my parents took the information in stride, although I think they found the entire situation a bit madness-inducing.

The second letter was mine, and only mine. It contained loads of useful information about the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, including relevant booklists and instructions on how to get there. I was a bit confused, of course, but on the whole, quite excited. It didn't take long to convince my parents that they should promptly enroll me, although the issue of payment was quite complicated. Apparently, I was to go to a place called Diagon Alley, in which the Wizarding bank was located. There, I would be able to exchange Muggle money for galleons, sickles, and knuts. I was also to purchase all my school materials.

Hogwarts was practical enough to send a representative to my home in Surrey, a sort of Muggle Ambassador, I suppose. She assuaged many of my parents fears and doubts, and assured them that the school was quite real, and they were not the victims of some elaborate television hoax. She was also tasked with chaperoning my first trip to Diagon Alley, and ensuring that I successfully purchased all the necessary supplies. The highlight of the trip was by far our visit to Ollivander's. After three unsuccessful attempts, I was quite pleased with the wand I received, and still am. Made of hard black walnut wood, my wand is 25 centimetres in length and contains a unicorn hair core. I was quite proud when I first placed it in the inner-left pocket of my freshly purchased robes, and couldn't wait to show it to my mates, an action that I soon learned was strictly forbidden.

It was during that visit that I first learned of the Hogwarts house system. My local public school, of course, had similar houses, although we were sorted randomly by the school computer. Then, I had hoped to be sorted into Ravenclaw, although I thought it more likely that I would become a Hufflepuff – certainly my lifetime of average-ness dictated that it would be so.

Back then, I still had a bit of an inferiority complex. I'm not entirely sure that it has ever completely gone away, but I think it was September 1st of 2012, my first day at Hogwarts, when I fully realized that although I might turn out quite average in the Wizarding world, that would never be the case in the Muggle world.