Hello! Just saying that this story is plot-less and a place to put my random ideas. So it is on Harry Potter, and my own story 'The Marauders and Me'. It will mostly be on the original Harry Potter plotline, so you don't have to read TMaM, but I highly encourage that you do. If I do decide to put a one-shot of TMaM, then if you don't want to read the story, I will put a summary up at the top, filling you in on everything.
The one-shots won't be particularly long, and there will be no order, and no connection.
I'm turning this into a game, meaning that whoever guesses the person whom the one-shot portrays, then I'll mention you in the next chapter, and the first person to guess correctly will be the winner!
Enjoy!
As he entered the classroom, his eyes narrowed on the boy-who-lived. He was the spitting image of the man that made his life hell for seven years, black messy hair, glasses that were slightly lopsided, and the same smirk that was almost constantly tugging at his mouth. He considered himself a reasonable man, no harsh judgments, unpretentious, but the boy's father was an exception. So was the boy.
The room went quiet as he swept in. He relished having power, finally in these halls, being in a high position where his talents were, if ever so meagerly, acknowledged. He loved being able to put Gryffindors in their rightful places, or at least desist their arrogance.
He watched as the boy's eyes flickered to a red-headed boy seated next to him, in a lazy way, just as he father practiced with teachers. But those eyes were the only thing that differed from his tormenter. Bright emerald green, they seemed to haunt him, to punish him for his sin. They seemed to be his only reminder of the woman he once loved. No, loves. Time didn't whither his feelings. The eyes. He looked at them again. His expression softened to one of helpless remorse, if only for a moment, and the eyes looked back at him, almost saying, "Why did you tell him? I thought we were friends."
He pushed those thoughts to the back of his mind, and resumed the hard, cold expression. But, he needn't do that. The eyes, belonging to the boy, had already turned away. The boy seemed to pay no attention as he talked, choosing to doodle idly on his paper. He felt a fierce anger rush through him. Why, this insolent boy was no better than his father, bearing all his traits as well as his looks. As he spoke the boy's name, his head snapped up again, zeroing in on the figure that seemed to have an unreasonable amount of hatred in him. He thought he was reasonable, but staring into those bright green eyes, just for a second, he felt worthless and pitiful, and just for that moment, he felt all pride of himself and the banner that he had pretentiously looked up to disappear, just like all his caitiff did.