A/N: I've never tried this; I've never tried writing my feelings into a plot a story. This girl is loosely based upon me. However, her name is mentioned in the first book. She seemed to have disappeared in JK's writing. So she's kind of an OC, since we know nothing about her, at all, except her name. This isn't a Mary-Sue, she'll never met the Trio, except once, she'll have mediocre powers, she'll be out of the spotlight.
Disclaimer: I do own Mandy's personality, looks, life, but not her name. I own the plot but not many of the things in it.
'The table second from the left clapped this time; several Ravenclaws stood up to shake hands with Terry as he joined them.
"Brocklehurst, Mandy went to Ravenclaw too…" (Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone, Paperback, p 119)
I was second sorted into my house at Hogwarts. How fitting, Mandy, never first, never last, never seen.
I remember in my third year, Professor Flitwick mistook me for a new student. And when, in my fourth year, Professor Sprout called my name and there were looks of confusion upon the faces of my fellow Ravenclaws and the Hufflepuffs.
The students didn't do it on purpose, but I hated to be in the spotlight, so how were they to know who I was? I hardly ever spoke; I didn't say my first word until I was three. I never had to be in the spotlight, my sister took the liberty of filling my space in the spotlight.
Not that I didn't like that. In fact, I was grateful to her. She knew I hated people looking at me, and she knew that if they found out I was showing magical abilities before two, a rare feat, or if they found out I was reading before the age of four, I'd be shoved into the spotlight. She saved me from all that. She might have been a bit selfish in wanting the spotlight, but it wasn't like I cared.
I idolized her, she was my hero. She saved me from humiliation, embarrassment, or discomfort so many times, I could nothing less. When she became a Gryfinndor one year before the Weasley twins, I was sure that would also be my house.
But I was sorted into Ravenclaw. I remember the Sorting Hat's words: A Gryfinndor? Oh no… you aren't fit for that. You aren't like your sister. You could do amazing things in Slytherin, or make great friends in Hufflepuff. Or you could be left alone in Ravenclaw.
And so I made my own decision, I created my own downfall. I should have chosen friends, but I decided I wanted to be left alone. I was such a fool. I was smart, I guess, but I failed miserably at things in the projects we needed partners for. Which was nearly them all.
And now, no one knows me. I'm not here. My dorm-mates never noticed when I stopped sleeping in my bed. I found my own little niche in the castle. It was a room, a dormitory for one below the Ravenclaw Tower. It was easy to hide it from others, as the door was already covered with ivy. I never knew why I found it.
I haven't slept in a dorm for five years. After that year, my friendship with my sister was never the same. She no longer covered for me, nor did she help me out. She didn't turn on me, but she no longer felt a friendship with me, merely a sisterly love.
And my life was officially invisible from the first day when I looked to her in help because of my mother's friend and she refused. My life was never the same. Ever.
I shoved myself into my books in my second year. I completely stopped talking. Not that anyone noticed.
The next year, I did the same. And for two years I had nothing but books.
In my fourth year, I was sick of books. I had read nearly every one in the library. I was more educated than my teachers, in a variety of subjects. But I could never prove it. I couldn't stand my teachers watching me, and I frequently blundered on my work because of it.
But fourth year changed me. It was the last year my sister would be there, and I decided that books didn't matter so much.
With my extensive knowledge, and mutual respect to and from Madam Pince, I was able to create genius pranks that I used upon the Slytherins, Hufflepuffs, and my fellow Ravenclaws. Gryffindor had Fred and George Weasley and I still had respect for that house as my sister often proclaimed it the best.
But still my pranks went un-noticed, or if they were, blamed upon someone else. And still I remained lost.
Never noticed.
My fifth year was the same.
And I was fading, fading into the nothingness and the invisibility I had once so hoped for.
My story starts here.
The story of Mandy Brocklehurst, an invisible girl to all. A story out of the spotlight, a story too precious to be forgotten, though a story too small in these times to be remembered.