we were never meant to be

chapter 1.

I woke up and all I could feel was pure exhaustion. 

"Ugh," I thought. 

Why do I need to wake up on a Monday?? I already was whack-a-moled by my mother last night, when she had too much tartar sauce. She whack-a-moled me again this morning to wake me up, and her breath smelled heavily of tartar sauce. (This early??) 

I dragged myself out of bed and pulled my hair in a messy bun. I pulled on a black hoodie and walked out the door, with my mom whack-a-moling me one last time. At least my hoodie was there to comfort me as my mother whack-a-moled me, drank some tarter sauce, and snorted some cocoa. My dad died from an overdose of cocoa beans. It was so annoying having parents like this. 

Before things got too depressing (and before I spiraled into insanity), an owl shat on my head. I groaned and wiped the crap off of my head, stupid owl. I realized an envelope was embedded in the shat (ew). I slowly plucked the letter out of my hair that had (literally) become a bird's litter box. The envelope wasn't very special. The address was:

Y/N

Standing in the Middle of the Road (probably covered in owl shat)

I stared at the envelope in disbelief before opening it and reading the (surprisingly not soiled) piece of old-looking paper.

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We are pleased to inform you that you have a place at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.

Term begins on September 1st. We await your owl by no later than July 31st.

Yours sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall

Deputy Headmistress

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What.

There is no way any of my parents are witches or wizards. Between a mother who likes to play whack-a-mole or a father who died of cocoa beans, could any of them have been a wizard? If it was my father, he must be ashamed. To think that cocoa beans are what took away his final breath must be embarrassing. Surely there has to be a spell to turn him into a super hot buff guy.

But then I realized, at that moment, I was going to Hogwarts!! I smiled, thrilled, and then I realized that my mother would whack-a-mole me and refuse to let me go. She hated me so much. So I took out my frustration on the paper (that did nothing wrong). I tore up the envelope and chucked the pieces into the air haphazardly.

An owl came and angrily hit me on the head with another envelope, but I ate it instead.

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"Are you drunk?"

"I'm a poet."