Prologue
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.
"It's a nice story as stories go but are you sure its not fantasy? I mean… time travel, wizards, witches… it's not real." The man behind the big desk shook his head at my story. I smiled.
"Sir, that is a romance story. It's not fantasy. That's how it happened." I told him, politely.
"How do you know it really happened? Magic does not exist." The man told me as though I was a small child.
"My mother told me that story. It's the story of how she and my father met." I informed him proudly. I loved this story. Why else would I take so much time to write it down?
"I think your mother was pulling your leg. This story is purely fantasy." The man's jaw set and I could tell I should not push this point.
"Maybe she was, sir. Will you publish it?" I questioned, still on my best behavior. I resisted the urge to check my watch, knowing it would be rude.
"I have to read it again. I'll get back to you." The dismissal was evident. I stood and held out my hand.
"Thank you for your time, sir." I smiled again. He shook my hand and returned to his work. I gathered up my purse and pulled on my coat before hurrying out of the office.
"So?" A tall man with blond streaked gray hair stood up.
"He has to think about it." I sighed, rolling my eyes. My father smiled at me.
"Let's go meet your mother then." He draped an arm around my shoulders.
"Will you take this damn spell off of me at least? I hate this age." I rubbed my nose. Glamour spells made me itchy.
"Once we get outside. And watch your language." He pinched me softly.
"Da-ad." I rolled my eyes. He laughed as we left.
ZxZxZxZxZxZx
Later that day, once I was sixteen instead of twenty-two again, I sat at my desk staring blankly at the screen of my computer. Something still wasn't right with my story but I couldn't figure out what it was. The editor had caught it, I could tell. What am I missing? I sighed heavily and stood up, moving to fall backwards onto my bed. A soft knock announced someone's intent to enter.
"Come in…" I continued to contemplate my ceiling. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed my mother sidle into the room.
"What are you doing?" She asked, amused.
"Trying to find inspiration." I muttered, letting my head flop of the edge of the bed.
"On the ceiling?" She moved to sit at my desk.
"Yes." I crossed my eyes at her. She laughed.
"What kind of inspiration?" She prompted.
"Something's wrong with my story." I groaned, sitting up and proceeding to fall off my bed.
"You're only sixteen. It's incredible for anyone, especially someone your age. You get it from your father." My mom grinned down at me, obviously trying not to laugh.
"But something isn't right!" I snapped standing and rubbing my now sore backside.
"And you don't know what it is," I shook my head, "That always happened to your father in school. It was funny to watch him tear his hair out trying to find inspiration."
"Will you tell me the story again?" I pleaded, hoping I had just missed something.
"If you insist…" My mother pretended to be reluctant but I knew she loved the story as much as I did, "When I was a girl…" And as she began, Ginerva Ruby Lupin found herself spiraling back to her childhood, lost in her own memories.
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Cheers,
Sarcastic Romantic