As a child, I was just like every other girl in my village, Little Hangleton. I had a mum, a dad, and a goldfish. Life was simple, and I never had deep thoughts or wild dreams. I wanted to be an artist, but nothing more, nothing less. I was ten years old, soon to be eleven, and, like all ten-year-olds, my focus was on having fun in life.

My best friend was a large portion of my life. I had known him for a very long time, as my mother was a government worker who frequently stopped by the local orphanage (they usually had more than one toe out of line) and we'd met there. His name was Tom Marvolo Riddle. Tom, to me.

His mother died in childbirth, his father leaving her before Tom was born. With no home to go to, Tom was taken in at the orphanage, to be kept until he was an adult, eighteen years of age. However, the begining of the story begins when we were eleven.

"TOM!" I shireked. "TOM! I give up! Now!" Laughing, I ran back to the porch swing, ready to tag him.

Sure enough, he darted towards me, and I jumped on him. "GOTCHA! YOU'RE IT!"

"Hey!" Tom exclaimed. "I...you...I....you called time!"

Grinning wickedly, I said, "Didn't you tell me there were no time-outs in hide-and-go-seek-tag?"

"TOO-OOOOM!" A loud cry echoed from the front garden. A fierce woman was leaving my house, having had a meeting with my mother about the orphanage educaion plan that was soon to begin. "Come, you ridiculous boy, let's go back."

Tom's face fell. "Well, Kat," he said, "See you Sunday, probably."

"Definately. I wouldn't let my birthday get by without it."

Tom's face twisted suddenly. It had been doing that for two weeks, ever since his eleventh birthday. Mine was in two days. "Er, okay, Kat, bye!" He turned and headed for the arch, intertwined with roses, that accented the pathway around the house. His black hair ruffled in the breeze and his pants were filthy, from when I'd pushed him in the mud.

"Bye, Tom, see you 'round," I said, but he was already gone.I headed back inside, eager to see the decorations on which Mum was working.

My jaw dropped. The house was beautiful. Colored streamers hung from the ceiling fan and a bowl, decorated with popcorn paintings, sat on the coffee table, ready for my slumber party. Tom wasn't invited. My girlfriends didn't like him. So he was going to the cinema with me the next day.

"Oh, Mum!" I cried, flinging my arms around her neck. "It's gorgeous!"

"Thanks, pumpkin." She smiled at my sweaty face. "You're a mess. Go wash up for dinner."

It was my eleventh birthday, and I sat in my room, tears cascading down my cheeks. I had a thick peice of parchment clutched in my hands, a prank letter, it had to be, but I was so disappointed. I had so wanted it to be real. Nobody else understood, really, but I yearned to be magical, to wiggle my nose and make things fly, or cackle and brew potions. What a cruel joke, probably from one of my classmates who knew I loved make-believe. The clever part was it was delivered with an owl. I remember laying there, so young, with pounding thoughts flashing through my head. But, ha, none of that matters now.

Dear Miss Medley,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

I looked away, I couldn't read anymore. Burying my face in my arms on top of my pillow, I sobbed. Voices sounded from downstairs. Someone had knocked on the door, and I was willing to bet my last pound who it was. Sure enough, Tom's eager voice drifted up to me. I plugged my ears, trying not to listen. But then I pulled my fingers back out.

Soon, I heard footsteps, and sat up. Tom burst into my room, and stopped short at the sight of me, sitting miserably on my bed, crying.

"Kat?"

"Tom," I mumbled. "I got a letter today."

"Really?" He breathed, sitting in my armchair. "From who?"

"Hogwarts School Of Witchcraft and Wizardry," I squeaked, expectingh him to burst out laughing.

I certainly didn't expect him to pull me to my feet and yank my arm in the air. "YES!" He shouted, waving my hand above my head, "YES, YES, YES!!!"

He let go of me, seeming suddnely embarrassed, and said softly, "I did too, but I knew that I would. You know how I wasn't acting... normal... on my birthday and there on?"

I nodded, confused.

"Well, I'm magic, so  was my mother. It's crazy, I need to get to Diagon Ally, oh, c'mon, Kat, let's go!"

Wiping away my tears and smiling at his eagerness, I nodded and followed.

When we walked into Diagon Alley, my jaw dropped. So many witches and wizards. I'll admit, I had been afraid that Tom was taking the mickey. But he was not.

"This place... it's like a memory from a dream," I whispered as my mum and dad walked along behind Tom and me, both staring in awe.

"Isn't it?" Tom's face shone with excitement. "Let's go!"

And we were off and running, tearing from shop to shop, buying the school supplies. Everything was different from the muggle world, but in my opinion, everything was also ten times better.

To my right, Tom stood holding his list tightly, frowning, as my father peered over his shoulder. "Black robes for daily wear," Tom read. "Madame Malkin's!"

So we marched cheerfully into Madame Malkin's Robes For All Occasions, still grinning excitedly. "Ohhh," I breathed, nodding towards a rack of robes all made of the finest silk. I fingered the fine material wistfully.

"You won't be needing those until your fourth year." A chipper voice made me turn around to find a short, graying woman standing with a smile on her face.

"Madame Malkins, I pressume?" Tom asked politely. The witch laughed happily.

"Oh, you have yourself a polite one," she said, elbowing me in a teasing manner. "Keep him. They're hard to come by, trust me. Sometimes I wonder if I married my sixth-year sweetheart or if I made a mistake and married a barnyard animal."

I giggled. "Tom and I aren't... like that," I said simply. "We're only eleven!"

"I figured that, my dear. Well, let's go ahead and fit thost robes."

So we soon were bustling on to the next shop, our arms laiden with hats, robes, and a shiny pewter cauldron from nearby. In the end we sat in the sparkling pub, Tom and I slurping butterbeer, Dad with a Bloody Mary, and Mum was daintily sipping a gillywater.