This is my first stab at a fanfic. Before I start, I guess I should make a few things clear. If you have any comments about how my characters are Mary Sue, I don't want to hear it. They probably are. Oh well. I don't care. Also, I won't make up excuses if I take a long time to update, because this is just a side thing that has recently got me interested. I've got about six chaptersworth already finished, but considering that I'm a blatant perfectionist, the chapters will be edited constantly, even if they are already posted up. I love comments and criticism and suggestions, so feel free to bash me. If you want to discuss anything related to the topic of Mary Sues, please just don't bother, unless you really feel you need to point it out. Not that I'm afraid of the embarrassment, I just don't want to bother with it.

On a happier note, I really hope you guys enjoy. This is probably semi-fluff, but not really. This is about my own OC battling wits with the Marauders, tied in with some romance and humor. I'm new, so don't hate me too much. ;

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters mentioned here that appear in J.K. Rowling's books. Any characters you do not recognize are my own.

A Bitter Prologue

I'm sorry, I'm tired of anyone saying otherwise. And I seem to be the only one with enough sense to not beat around the bush. So to spare myself from any further strife, I'll just say it here. So at least you'll have to agree with me. Before I say it, please keep in mind that I really don't mean any harm to them. They're sweet. And damn good friends. But there's no other way of saying it: Hufflepuffs are complete idiots.

There. Out in the open for you. Thank Merlin I didn't have to bother with that kind of crap. I guess it is a bit harsh, but considering how many different ways I've heard it, I'm afraid I'm going to have to agree with Slytherin (God help me), though I can't be too harsh. The lines of Hufflepuff have had their miracles: take Gregory Davis. That boy is one fine piece of Hufflepuff, and I don't care who tries to say otherwise. Those who disagree are all surrealist morons anyways.

Why did this topic come up, of all the things to talk about?Sixth year, is what. Being a Gryffindor, and the team's Keeper, I had pretty easy my fifth (and first) year there. I had friends, I had horrible classes (but the few that were decent made up for the ones that didn't even come close), and above all: I could prove those stupid boys they weren't the hottest things around. Oh, come off it. You all know who I'm talking about. James bleeding Potter and his bloody group of sodding drones.

Yes, it sounds harsh, but if you've known as long as we've known each other, and to what state that acquaintance was, then you'd probably have to side with me. Ever since I stepped onto Platform Nine and Three-Quarters, I've been one of the infinite amount of victims of the quartet. Apparently, these blokes call themselves "The Marauders". Honestly, how cheesy could you get?

There should be a rule for things like that. No stupid titles for yourself. You're not special, no matter who you are. And no one really gives a bloody damn. Well, except for yourself, obviously. But no one really gives a bloody damn about you, either.

Okay, this probably has come out wrong. And I'm probably rambling. But if you had gone through what I've gone through (oh, how cliché is this? Hex me, please), then you'd understand.

Just so you know, my reputation isn't exactly clean, either. I've managed to hex a good amount of people during my years in Hogwarts, not including the hundreds of pranks I pulled back in Dwardiem. In fact, Professor McGonagall hasn't exactly been proud of me. But the only time I got really nasty wasfifth year with a particular Slytherin (who shall go nameless). And he definitely deserved it. As a matter of fact, he deserved worse. And even though I was almost expelled, it was completely and totally worth it. Everyone except for the House of Slytherin thought it was completely and totally worth it too. Yes, redundancy and all!

This probably doesn't make much sense. Okay, I know it doesn't make sense. I guess I should start from the beginning. I should say, that wasn't exactly pleasant, but don't say I didn't warn you. And for those who have a hard time dealing with the utmost embarrassment, you should just turn around now. Seriously. Just drop this right now.

And if you happen to be a student at Hogwarts right now, I should hope you drop dead within the next few seconds, because you shouldn't be reading this anyway! This is for me and a select few people that will only be allowed to look several years from now. This is your first offense. Don't be too proud of yourself, it won't be as easy next time.

Oh yes, the diary. No. Not diary. I'm not that lame. This is more of a… biography. Since it doesn't have many dates and all that "Dear Diary" crap. How about journal? Ugh, whatever. It's not going to help make me sound less cheesy.

So I guess I should start the beginning of fifth year. When I first started going to Hogwarts. That's really what started this whole ordeal…

September. A month everyone dreads. "Dread" wasn't the right word for me. It sounded more along the lines of "loathed" or "wanted to hex into the next oblivion" or something else of the sort. Why? I was to be dubbed the "new kid". How was that?

God, you're nosy. Let's go further back. Instead of fifth year, let's take it to my fifth year into life.

I'm an orphan. Big shocker there, huh? I've got it all down: sarcasm, cynicism, sadism, easily annoyed, perhaps a bit crafty, too. And I've got one helluva chip on my shoulder. My parents left me, and the orphanage really didn't want to tell me why. I'm guessing it was either drug abuse, alcohol, or they were just too damned ashamed to admit they were too poor to support me. Should've thought of that BEFORE you left the condom out of it, huh?

Yes, it's harsh. But what's even more harsh is the fact that they just left me. Didn't even have the balls to knock on the damned door. Nope, they just left me. Bare naked, no blanket, on the mat. The least they could have done would be wrap a blanket around me. It was in the middle of winter! Oh, and get this. All they freaking left was a pathetic little locket. It wasn't even real gold. Just a gold-plated heart shaped locket with my name in it. Biggots.

Oh, my name? It's not at all special. Actually, I'm not very partial to it. Antares Jett. I looked Antares up in the library once. It's a star in the Scorpius constellation. It means "rival of Ares". What were those Greeks thinking, anyway? I refused the name the minute I could speak. Antares? Come on. And then I picked my favorite Greek Goddess for my new name: Circe. It was much better than Antares. But at least I knew something about my family: I'm pureblooded. How, may you ask? Myheadmaster in Dwardiem said something about constellations and pureblood names, and how they coincide with the alternate matters of the universe... blahblahblah... I don't know. Bottom line: I'm most likely a pureblood.

At the orphanage, I didn't have many friends. No one did. They knew it was pointless to try and be social, because everyone hated the place—how could we like each other, then? I did manage to be friends with a girl my age. Janet was a sweet girl, only a day younger than me. And we grew up to be quite the pranksters, not to mention the best friends we could ever ask for. We constantly found new ways of sneaking out and into the kitchen, and configuring ways to scare the living daylights out of Madame Plotz (one time we set her bathrobe on fire; her expression will happily be implanted in my brain forever), our lovely caretaker. I hope you noticed the sarcasm there. We were inseparable. Janet and I, that is.

Then I got adopted for the first time. Then I got dumped, and adopted again. And again. And again… Well, you can only see where this is going. I wasn't horrible. I was just… difficult. And that was only because they caused me to be difficult. Drunks, obsessive-compulsives, fakes, I've seen them all. Not to mention I've terrorized them all. With love, Circe. Hehe.

And then I found out I was a witch. I was in Scotland by then, and I had settled down with a rather charming family. I was content, and I didn't plan on moving at all. I was the youngest of three, the only one that was not biologically related. They made me feel at home and loved, and both of them really changed my view on things. Especially the average family. Not to mention boosting up my general view of human beings as a whole. Other than them, Janet was the only person I could dub as decently deserving to live. Harsh? Get over it.

We moved from our beloved Scotland when I finished up my fourth year to the less-charming Britain. Not exactly my kind of place. I guess I just missed the rolling green hills, the country, the meadows, the rain... All I found in London was dirty streets and perverted bums.

Needless to say, I was a little more than disappointed. But I forgave them. They had forgiven me, after all.

Okay, happy that you know my whole life story now, you nosy twat? Now I will be glad to announce, my story of my life in Hogwarts is about to begin.

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