THE STUDENTS OF Hogwarts: School of Witchcraft and Wizardry plainly did not understand Mamarie Elton— clear in the crass whispers that jumped through the halls only a week after her admittance to the school. Clear in the piteous glances they spared, and the way they seemed to slink away from her, as if her very aura exuded misfortune and sadness.
They learned very quickly that was not the truth. Mamarie was much happier than they had concluded— spending her days socializing and roller-blading from class to class trying to cause as much harmless havoc as possible.
However, the realization did not stop wide speculation about the young girl. Not only how, why, and when her abilities worked, though— and not only how she knew she would die before her graduation. Mostly they speculated why she didn't spend her days weeping across the cobblestones, morose and hopeless. The students could not wrap their heads around the fact that Mamarie seemed completely oblivious to the tragedy that shrouded her life. This wonder carried on throughout her years at Hogwarts, shadowing her to everyone who had yet to experience her up close.
The problem lie in Mamarie's past, really. She always liked to say she could understand the future well enough— but the past? She didn't have a damned clue. Mamarie, when questioned, was often unable to recall what she ate for breakfast the day before, or how many inches of parchment Professor Snape had assigned. Nevertheless, understanding the girls every-important future was impossible without first considering her past.
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FIRST YEAR WAS the year Mamarie expanded her small circle of companions to a couple of dreadful little eleven year olds; the first addition being August Porter.
