Hullo!
My first ever attempt at writing a fanfiction!
Disclaimer: Harry Potter is not mine, but Jackie Potomski is.
Some things to understand: This takes place in Jackie's, Fred's, and George's fourth year at Hogwarts which is Harry's first year there. I don't think I'll mention Harry much. I'm going to try to focus more on Fred and George, who are by the way, awesome!
reviews and critique are welcome... after all, I'm hoping to get better at writing.
Cheers,
Mira
########################################################################### Chapter One
I canÕt stand reward without toil. Just look at my brother,Joey, eating his Choco-frostified Cocopuffs. I had to do the work of preparing breakfast while he gets to munch to his heart's desire, and now I have to do the dishes. Is there any justice in that? Mood: resentful.
Thank Dumbledore there's only a week left before school starts... Ahhh! I've sunken so low that I think of school as an escape? How utterly unbelievable. Ridiculous! I think I'm going mad.
"Sugarpuff, what is taking you so long with the dishes? We have to leave! Diagon Alley has business hours you know!"
It does? Never mind that. Shopping is such a bother. Well, except shopping for broomsticks. Ahhh...broomsticks. That Nimbus2000 would be nice. A smooth ride. If I only had the money. Or rather, if I could only convince mum to spend the money she would spend on clothes and useless stuff like that on a well-deserved broomstick. For me. As an early birthday present maybe. Aw hell, I would give all my birthday and holiday for the next five years for a Firebolt. Well, maybe for the next three years. Five's a bit much. Ooops, seems like I've zoned out. What's she going on about?
"....and your robes are practically coming apart at the seams! I daresay you need a couple new cauldrons as well. Those bronze ones were nice when I saw them last week, but I hear they had a new batch of very sturdy iron ones come in..."
Robes? My robes are fine. "Mum, my robes are fine. I'd rather have the new Nimbus2000" Yes, the Nimbus2000, that's what's fine. I can already feel the rush the whoosh and feeling of soaring at incredible speed. Sighhh, if only. My SkySweeper99 is quite alright. He's like an old friend. Very old friend. A bit slow. But squeaky clean curves. Yet I dream of something more...
My unconscious daydreaming has caused me to forget about the dishes. Now I am covered in soap suds. Another one of my wonderful traits. Clumsiness. Well, at least I can blame a lot of stuff on it. Most of all my bizarre magic turnouts. Thinking about my magic makes me shudder. Nightmarish.
That's what my life is, a daily nightmare. It has been since the day I found out that I am indeed a witch. Not that I couldn't have guessed since my parents are both considered folks of the magical world. But I had my doubts you know. If your parents are witches and wizards there is quite an expectation for you to be magically endowed.
That testament to my witch-hood came one sunny morning, well, actually it was one of those foggy mornings, but the sun was out, and what the hey, sunny sounds good. It went something like this.
"Honey-cakes!"
"..."
"Choco-puffs!"
"..."
"Cheerios!"
"MUM! I have a name you know! And by golly I am not a cereal!" Though I do get slobbered on by Joey...
"That's no way to treat your mother! Finish cleaning your room and get the mail. I subscribed to that new Which Witch New Look is Best magazine. Heard it was fabulous for ideas on fresh new looks in robe fashion! Not to mention their most embarrassing stories column, and Thelma was saying their tips on casual wear and easy, handy housespells are excellent, and..."
"Mum, I'm gettin the mail. Be right back, keep talking. " I was hoping she'd be out of breath by the time I got back.
I went and got the mail and 'lo and behold. I had a letter from Hogwarts Witch and Wizardry School of Magic. I was thrilled. I was ecstatic and overjoyed. And then I wondered. Do they teach magic for real beginners there? I mean, what if you're not "magical" to begin with? I had good reason to be worried. I mean, don't the secretaries at Hogwarts ever make filing mistakes? Of course I'd applied... It's just that my indications of magic were never that big.
There was that time at Uncle Musicien, when I was 7, where he made me sing a B flat minor scale and I managed to break every piece of glass in the house. My folks swear it was magic. They said there was no way I could have done that without use of some type of magic, subconscious probably. Every single piece of glass. Poor Uncle had to have surgery in his eye because I broke his glasses too. On the other hand, I was never musically endowed either. I am still doubtful.
The only time I was sure I had performed magic was when I turned Joe into a warthog. But I never told my parents about that. And it was only for half an hour anyway. A very sweet revengeful half an hour.
Well, anyways, I had every right to be worried about getting into Hogwarts. I was doubtful, but I did not want to find out if they'd made a mistake. I figured I would take my chances going there, and if it turned out to be a mistake that I was accepted, I'd ask to stay as a gamekeeper or groundskeeper helper(this was before I know of Argus Filch). I decided I would stoop as low as to beg to stay.
My parents were of course thrilled about the news. Can lack of magical talent be genetically inherited? It's a possible explanation. My parents don't do too well with magic either. They had high hopes for me. Mainly so I could do house chores when I was old enough. But my ambition was to leave home by then. You see, the way we were living now was almost like a Muggle family. I had to do regular chores without use of magic because my dad was too embarrassed about me laughing at him if he failed at a spell, and my mum was more interested in witch fashion and crummy stuff like that.
No wonder I had to resort to a sport that would give me all the fun I wanted in a compact amount of time...Quidditch. Right now I own two brooms: my DusterBuster 95 and my SkySweeper 99. My DusterBuster, DustBuddy I call him, is my reliable steady broom which sparked my interest in Quidditch. SkySweeper, or Swoop, is the faster of the two, but I alternate between both. I am proud to say that flying a broom is second nature to me, or maybe even first. I am considered more sturdy on my broom than my feet. Yet I regret to say it may be my only talent. Hopefully not. I'm still hoping.
To my joy, they didn't make a mistake at Hogwarts. I was accepted into the Gryffindor House where I made best friends I will ever have with Fred and George Weasly. From the day I flipped over on the stool while being sorted (the hat was stuffy, and balance is not one of my strong points anyway), and I grew infamous for my clumsiness the first day, Fred and George have been there for me.
That first year, we never separated much. We played the meanest tricks possible. With the limited magic we had. It was especially fun because one could never foretell how much I would screw up the next spell we tried. Over the years, our tricks became more sophisticated. And we never ran out of ideas. The summers were hardest, but we always found time for a game of Quidditch.
Now we are heading for our fourth year. Who nows how it will turn out. Ohhh. I've finally finished the dishes. What a bother.
"Jackie!" Uh oh. My mum only calls me by my real name when she's mad.
"Haven't you been listening to anything I've said? We've go to leave! How can I expect you to ever listen to me if you keep daydreaming? This is why you're doing so badly in school. Listening is one of the key life lessons...." Blah blah blah. I'd better get ready. Diagon Alley, Hogwarts, Fred & George, here I come. Another school year.
My first ever attempt at writing a fanfiction!
Disclaimer: Harry Potter is not mine, but Jackie Potomski is.
Some things to understand: This takes place in Jackie's, Fred's, and George's fourth year at Hogwarts which is Harry's first year there. I don't think I'll mention Harry much. I'm going to try to focus more on Fred and George, who are by the way, awesome!
reviews and critique are welcome... after all, I'm hoping to get better at writing.
Cheers,
Mira
########################################################################### Chapter One
I canÕt stand reward without toil. Just look at my brother,Joey, eating his Choco-frostified Cocopuffs. I had to do the work of preparing breakfast while he gets to munch to his heart's desire, and now I have to do the dishes. Is there any justice in that? Mood: resentful.
Thank Dumbledore there's only a week left before school starts... Ahhh! I've sunken so low that I think of school as an escape? How utterly unbelievable. Ridiculous! I think I'm going mad.
"Sugarpuff, what is taking you so long with the dishes? We have to leave! Diagon Alley has business hours you know!"
It does? Never mind that. Shopping is such a bother. Well, except shopping for broomsticks. Ahhh...broomsticks. That Nimbus2000 would be nice. A smooth ride. If I only had the money. Or rather, if I could only convince mum to spend the money she would spend on clothes and useless stuff like that on a well-deserved broomstick. For me. As an early birthday present maybe. Aw hell, I would give all my birthday and holiday for the next five years for a Firebolt. Well, maybe for the next three years. Five's a bit much. Ooops, seems like I've zoned out. What's she going on about?
"....and your robes are practically coming apart at the seams! I daresay you need a couple new cauldrons as well. Those bronze ones were nice when I saw them last week, but I hear they had a new batch of very sturdy iron ones come in..."
Robes? My robes are fine. "Mum, my robes are fine. I'd rather have the new Nimbus2000" Yes, the Nimbus2000, that's what's fine. I can already feel the rush the whoosh and feeling of soaring at incredible speed. Sighhh, if only. My SkySweeper99 is quite alright. He's like an old friend. Very old friend. A bit slow. But squeaky clean curves. Yet I dream of something more...
My unconscious daydreaming has caused me to forget about the dishes. Now I am covered in soap suds. Another one of my wonderful traits. Clumsiness. Well, at least I can blame a lot of stuff on it. Most of all my bizarre magic turnouts. Thinking about my magic makes me shudder. Nightmarish.
That's what my life is, a daily nightmare. It has been since the day I found out that I am indeed a witch. Not that I couldn't have guessed since my parents are both considered folks of the magical world. But I had my doubts you know. If your parents are witches and wizards there is quite an expectation for you to be magically endowed.
That testament to my witch-hood came one sunny morning, well, actually it was one of those foggy mornings, but the sun was out, and what the hey, sunny sounds good. It went something like this.
"Honey-cakes!"
"..."
"Choco-puffs!"
"..."
"Cheerios!"
"MUM! I have a name you know! And by golly I am not a cereal!" Though I do get slobbered on by Joey...
"That's no way to treat your mother! Finish cleaning your room and get the mail. I subscribed to that new Which Witch New Look is Best magazine. Heard it was fabulous for ideas on fresh new looks in robe fashion! Not to mention their most embarrassing stories column, and Thelma was saying their tips on casual wear and easy, handy housespells are excellent, and..."
"Mum, I'm gettin the mail. Be right back, keep talking. " I was hoping she'd be out of breath by the time I got back.
I went and got the mail and 'lo and behold. I had a letter from Hogwarts Witch and Wizardry School of Magic. I was thrilled. I was ecstatic and overjoyed. And then I wondered. Do they teach magic for real beginners there? I mean, what if you're not "magical" to begin with? I had good reason to be worried. I mean, don't the secretaries at Hogwarts ever make filing mistakes? Of course I'd applied... It's just that my indications of magic were never that big.
There was that time at Uncle Musicien, when I was 7, where he made me sing a B flat minor scale and I managed to break every piece of glass in the house. My folks swear it was magic. They said there was no way I could have done that without use of some type of magic, subconscious probably. Every single piece of glass. Poor Uncle had to have surgery in his eye because I broke his glasses too. On the other hand, I was never musically endowed either. I am still doubtful.
The only time I was sure I had performed magic was when I turned Joe into a warthog. But I never told my parents about that. And it was only for half an hour anyway. A very sweet revengeful half an hour.
Well, anyways, I had every right to be worried about getting into Hogwarts. I was doubtful, but I did not want to find out if they'd made a mistake. I figured I would take my chances going there, and if it turned out to be a mistake that I was accepted, I'd ask to stay as a gamekeeper or groundskeeper helper(this was before I know of Argus Filch). I decided I would stoop as low as to beg to stay.
My parents were of course thrilled about the news. Can lack of magical talent be genetically inherited? It's a possible explanation. My parents don't do too well with magic either. They had high hopes for me. Mainly so I could do house chores when I was old enough. But my ambition was to leave home by then. You see, the way we were living now was almost like a Muggle family. I had to do regular chores without use of magic because my dad was too embarrassed about me laughing at him if he failed at a spell, and my mum was more interested in witch fashion and crummy stuff like that.
No wonder I had to resort to a sport that would give me all the fun I wanted in a compact amount of time...Quidditch. Right now I own two brooms: my DusterBuster 95 and my SkySweeper 99. My DusterBuster, DustBuddy I call him, is my reliable steady broom which sparked my interest in Quidditch. SkySweeper, or Swoop, is the faster of the two, but I alternate between both. I am proud to say that flying a broom is second nature to me, or maybe even first. I am considered more sturdy on my broom than my feet. Yet I regret to say it may be my only talent. Hopefully not. I'm still hoping.
To my joy, they didn't make a mistake at Hogwarts. I was accepted into the Gryffindor House where I made best friends I will ever have with Fred and George Weasly. From the day I flipped over on the stool while being sorted (the hat was stuffy, and balance is not one of my strong points anyway), and I grew infamous for my clumsiness the first day, Fred and George have been there for me.
That first year, we never separated much. We played the meanest tricks possible. With the limited magic we had. It was especially fun because one could never foretell how much I would screw up the next spell we tried. Over the years, our tricks became more sophisticated. And we never ran out of ideas. The summers were hardest, but we always found time for a game of Quidditch.
Now we are heading for our fourth year. Who nows how it will turn out. Ohhh. I've finally finished the dishes. What a bother.
"Jackie!" Uh oh. My mum only calls me by my real name when she's mad.
"Haven't you been listening to anything I've said? We've go to leave! How can I expect you to ever listen to me if you keep daydreaming? This is why you're doing so badly in school. Listening is one of the key life lessons...." Blah blah blah. I'd better get ready. Diagon Alley, Hogwarts, Fred & George, here I come. Another school year.