It was the first day of school at Hogwarts. I was transferred there from Beauxbatons Academy of Magic in France, so I was technically a first-year, but my age and, what is the word, "grade" as the muggles call it, placed me as a fourth-year. I was moved because of reasons I don't like thinking about, but I am glad I was. This transfer allowed me to meet Beau Winters.
When McGonagall called in the first-years when the Hogwarts Express finally arrived and docked, I was to go as well. It was time for the sorting hat to work its magic, and was the most awkward moment of my life. I was probably at least a foot taller than all the other new witches and wizards, and that did not help in hiding my pudginess. (If there was anything I could hate more than Voldemort himself, it would be my body.) As the hat touched my head, I could hear its uncertainty. Ravenclaw or Hufflepuff? Hufflepuff or Ravenclaw? Hufflepuff. I ended up in the house of the badger, yellow and black, where "those patient Hufflepuffs are true and unafraid of toil."
Beau, a seventh-year Ravenclaw, would not have been expected to be as close of a companion as he became. He was tall and skinny, seemingly weak, with a mess of unkempt hair that "absolutely must be washed every single day." His attitude was that of loneliness, insecurity, and decrepitude. In other words, he had given up. Every task he had to do was sprinkled with carelessness, and because of that, he was failing. Also, il n'est pas très beau.
How could he be sorted into Ravenclaw? How could he be such a good buddy to me? I don't know, and I never will, but I am forever thankful that it happened. It was an unlikely friendship riddled with awkward matches and uncommon characters. A "try your best, never less" girl and an "as long as I pass I'm good" kind of guy with a 3-year age gap, hopeful met hopeless and somehow it just worked. I would say that I love him, but that word, love, apparently has romantic connotations that prevent its use where it really matters. I did not want to be his girlfriend, and I was not in love with him. I just loved him and he loved me back. Platonically.