A/N: This was originally written back in the summer (August 29, 2015) for the Kayaking Challenge for the Hogwarts Challenges Forum's Camp Hogwarts. A few days ago, I realized it was completely written in code (not sure the actual word for it). I think it's because of the word processing program I used (Pages from Apple). So I've fixed it now. :/ Not my best work, but I'm going to keep this here...

Practically no one bothered with Marilyn LaVoy. She was the type of girl who planned her day down to the last minute and followed it. She was the type of girl who wore a ponytail so often, that it would have been impossible to even begin to imagine what she looked like with her hair down. Besides that, however, everything else about her seemed to radiate mediocrity. She had a flatter sort of nose and her eyebrow hairs didn't go in one direction. Her eyelashes were short and her eyes were brown. Just brown, with none of those little flecks of blue or streaks of green. She wasn't short, she wasn't tall; her hair was the shade in between brown and blonde and that's exactly what she was. In between. And if one happened to glance in her direction, their eyes would probably skip right over her.

So when Marilyn got a letter in her mailbox to "Miss M. LaVoy, First Bedroom on the Right, 26 Aster Lane, Winchester," she was beyond baffled at who in the world would send a letter to her, a girl who's only talent was always handing in her homework.

To say Marilyn and her Muggle parents were shocked would be an understatement. But after a good 15 minutes of reading and rereading the letter, David and Margaret LaVoy accepted the fact that there was, indeed, a magical world that they had not known of, and their daughter was, indeed, a witch.

This theory was confirmed a day later, in the form of a man that just emanated magic, from the roots of his long silver hair to the tips of his buckled shoes. The LaVoys were left with a single piece of parchment drifting on their tan carpet, with detailed instructions on how to get to Diago Alley.

Marilyn, her mother, and her father were walking down yet another busy street in London, when David repeated again that he was positive there was no bar called the "Leaky Cauldron," as he walked down this same street everyday for work. But alas, not 5 minutes had passed when they came across a door with a creaky sign that had exactly the words they were looking for. The bell on the door clinked and tinkled as the LaVoys stepped into the musty bar. A few pairs of eyes glanced at the newcomers before returning to their conversation or their large mug of frothy golden liquid or their newspapers on which Marilyn could see the big words, "The Daily Prophet." Then the bartender was there, rushing them into a courtyard. Marilyn did not really notice what the bartender had done, but a moment later the bricks in the wall were rotating and twisting until an archway appeared. He pushed the three shell-shocked Muggles through the doorway with a "Welcome to Diagon Alley" and a "My name is Tom" as an afterthought. When Marilyn looked back, she got a glimpse of his wizened, toothless smile, and then the archway had disappeared and the wall was just like before.

Today was the best day of her life, Marilyn decided, as she licked her butterbeer ice-cream and pored over the pages of her new books, bags and boxes stacked on the table and chairs around her. Discovering another world was, well, thing was, Marilyn figured that she could be someone new in this "wizarding world." She could be exciting; she could be someone really, truly, special. And that, thought Marilyn, as she swallowed the last of her cones,w as the best part of being a witch.

So they had left, laden with packages, and weaving through the throngs of colorfully robed people, who occasionally gave odd, furtive glances toward her and the few other people who were also dressed in Muggle clothing. And she had the briefest thought that maybe she would never fit in, not in her own world, and not in this world either, where Marilyn was sure that almost all the families were from generations and generations of witches and wizards.

By the time Marilyn LaVoy crossed the barrier onto Platform 9 3/4 and got her first glimpse of the red steam engine, she had read "Hogwarts: A History" front to back twice. She had practiced the spells in her books, and organized her potion ingredients. Marilyn felt ready.

The Hogwarts Express pulled into Hogsmeade Station with a lurch, and Marilyn hopped off, pulling her trunk and donning her robes which she had put on hours earlier, when she had first boarded the train. Lanterns were bobbing through the darkness, and Marilyn walked quickly (or as quickly as one could with a heavy trunk) toward a big booming voice calling, "Firs' years! Firs' years this way!" until she came upon the larges man she'd ever seen.

The first years had crossed the lake without anyone falling in, and Minerva McGonagall had lead them into the Great Hall. Marilyn knew from reading "Hogwarts: A History" that the beautiful ceiling was enchanted to look like the sky outside. They had lined up, and there was an air of apprehensiveness as the first years fidgeted and wondered if there was something else, some test of skill for them to be able to attend Hogwarts.

Professor McGonagall placed an old hat she was holding onto the stool beside her, startling the new students when the hat began to sing. It sang about the four houses at hogwarts and their characteristics, and how the children were going to be sorted.

Then McGonagall unfurled a long scroll of parchment and called out the first name.

"Bilkins, Anna!"

A girl detached herself from the line and nervously sat on the stool. Professor McGonagall placed the hat on the girl's head, and after it had what seemed like a conversation with the girl, the Sorting Hat deemed Anna a Gryffindor. So it continued, with "Chancy, Drew!" and "Connell, Sam!" until, "LaVoy, Marilyn!"

Marilyn was not nervous. Her palms were not sweaty. She sat down on the stool patiently.

"Ah…" spoke the hat. "A great mind, intelligence, but also great courage. You could be a wonderful Gryffindor."

Marilyn thought to herself that she'd rather be in Ravenclaw.

"You'd rather be in Ravenclaw?" asked the hat, startling Marilyn. "Well, I guess it'd better be…RAVENCLAW!"

As Marilyn LaVoy stepped toward the clapping table of blue and bronze, she realized she was anything but mediocre.