Not that long ago I was born in Galway, Ireland. It was a rainy day, as it often is back home, but I came into the world on that February day with a smile on my face.

My mum and dad both work boring desk jobs (they told me that themselves, I swear!) at the Ministry. We've got a home in Galway and one in England; usually I'm stuck at home with either mum or dad for a week or two at a time, and then they switch. I don't know why we didn't just move to London so I could spend more time with both of my parents at the same time, but they said it was better that I stayed at home in Galway. I guess they weren't wrong; I'd hate to have to make friends in two different places, I'm bad enough at making friends in one place...

I look more like my mum than my dad, apparently: I get my blue eyes and blond hair from her. I get my height from my dad, though, since I'm apparently fairly tall for my age.

Despite that, I was a late bloomer when it came to magic. I was seven when it happened: my dad was going to work for the week and I wasn't best pleased. I begged him to work from home so we could all spend time together, but he said he couldn't. I was upset. Any time he tried to open the door to leave, he found himself unable to open it. My doing, apparently. For all the commotion I'd caused, both of my parents seemed pleased that their only son had finally shown that he had some magical ability. I didn't think it was all that special given that both of my parents were wizards too, but my mum said it made me different than my friends.

That never really changed anything until I turned 11; that's when the Hogwarts acceptance letter came. My dad was home this time, and he gave me the biggest hug in the world when he saw it. It would've been nice to have my mum there to witness it to, but I can't really do much about it now.