“Dear Reader” [Prologue]
Dear Reader,
Welcome to the nonsense brigade. As you can surely see, this work has not a single chapter out of its most fledgling stage.
For instance, I am talking about the work in a rather meta manner, rather than telling you things about the work itself.
How terribly rude of me. Let me put down my teacup and wipe the corner of my mouth with a perfectly clean and embroidered napkin.
Oh, how silly of me. I can simply use my wand to do these things.
I am your narrator. Your Puck, your Ariel, your sweatered man with a record player - I know not what your particular tastes are when it comes to the theater, but it's such a lovely muggle tradition that I'm sure you'll understand what I mean eventually.
Perhaps not. Oh, bother, I'm simply out of practice when it comes to you muggles - you don't find the term offensive, I trust? This will be quite a long story for you if it is, I daresay. And not only because my writer is beginning this piece with a large brace rendering her right middle finger completely unusable for typing and rather in the way of things. I'd invite her to show you, but then I have it on good authority that I would most CERTAINLY be offending you, or at least someone reading this piece.
Now, don't look at me that way. Yes, yes, I know the tags that you had to peruse in order to make it this far, the options offered on that silly sorting quiz, I know you think I'm a silly old bat for thinking that something like a finger gesture would offend anyone who made it here in the content.
But as a very, very old bat, let me assure YOU: muggles are nothing if not easily offended. I will let others do the offending, thank you very kindly.
Our story begins in a world that many of you know quite well. So well, in fact, that I'm sure you'll be correcting ME on the appropriate details here and there.
Please feel free. Whenever I appear, dear reader, it will be a passing meeting. I will take the stage whenever the story is not quite clear, and let you know the gist of what you are not-quite-seeing in the current telling. I would argue that I'm a great deal better than the "construction cones" currently crowding the various alcoves of this series' parent work. You'll learn to appreciate my presence. Or you won't. Either way you won't be getting less of me... not without patience, and time. And the courage to correct me when I error on the details.
Now, where was that book. Ah, here it is. And as all good stories should, let us begin on page one.
"Mr. and Mrs. Dursley, of number four, Privet Drive, were proud to say that they were perfectly normal, thank you very much."