A/N: Okay, Oddish. I'm game. Here's my character. DeeMarie Dorian MacDonald sat at her desk. She just put the finishing touch on a story she had been writing. With a flourish, she wrote "The End." Smiling, she shut the notebook she had been writing in. She put her pen down and rested her chin on her hand as she stared out her bedroom window. There were so many stories bottled up inside her. It would take time, but she was sure she would learn to write her stories much better. She had a little collection of notebooks on her desk. She had been writing since she could put words together. Dorian had written everything down. As she grew as a writer, she would go back to the stories and make them better. By the time she finished university, she was expecting to be a published writer. She didn't care which world she was writing for, she just wanted to write. If she found that she was magical, like her mother, then she would take her place in the Wizarding World. But if she was like her father, a muggle, then she would work to get published in his world. They weren't sure which world she belonged in. For her entire life, she had never shown any tendency toward magic. Not that her parents looked for it. They would be content with either outcome. Her mother had adjusted well to life spent half in the muggle world. She knew her father would be happy if she showed she was a witch. He dearly loved his wife and only child and would be content no matter how things turned out. Dorian sighed and got up from her desk. She went to her dresser and picked up her hairbrush. Looking in the mirror, she knew it was almost hopeless to try to tame her dark brown curls. It was as if her hair had a mind of its own. Her brown eyes sparkled through her gold rimmed glasses. She had a lovely smile, and even though she was on the shy side, had a great sense of humor. Her father said she was going to be quite a catch, when she grew up. Dorian didn't know about that. She had a tendency toward plumpness, and already she noticed that the boys liked girls who looked like the pictures in the magazines. She shook her head. Well, they would certainly miss out if they didn't take notice of her. There wasn't any hurry anyway. She'd only turned 11 at the beginning of the summer. There was plenty of time for boys later. Sighing, she put her brush down. Her hair had managed to get in some kind of order. She looked at her watch. It was nearly tea time. Mum was getting cucumber sandwiches and tea ready. Dorian made her way down to the kitchen. Her mother was at the stove pouring hot water into the tea pot. Her father would be home in about two hours from his job at the factory. He was a sales representative for Grunnings Drill Works. The windows were open letting in a light breeze that was blowing through the Surrey suburbs. She kissed her mum on the cheek and went to the table. She loved to listen to her mother as she puttered about the kitchen. She would hum without realizing it. She was doing so now. Dorian smiled and picked up the harmony to the song her mother was humming. Her mother turned to her and smiled. Suddenly, through the window behind her mum an owl flew in. It landed on the table in front of Dorian. "I just knew it..." whispered her mother.