No humor at all… amazing isn't it? (Rhetorical.) I only own the opinions expressed. If you it, that's wonderful for you. I don't give a crap.
Memoirs of a Gryffindor
Gryffindor's really not all it's said to be. We're made out to be a bunch of brave heros, but are really worse prats then the Slytherins. We argue over stupid things like rats, have rows that wake up half the school, and act like horrible backstabbers when the teachers aren't there.
But no-one knows that. To them, we are the perfect house. Brave, honest, daring, what more could you want? How about loyalty? How about a hero who wasn't destined to be in Slytherin until he argued with the mind of four geniuses? Gryffindor has none of these.
But no-one cares. They care about the Boy-Who-Lived, the Know-It-All, and He-Who-Cheated-On-Me. They care that Gryffindors defeated Voldemort. They care that a Gryffindor became the Supreme Mugwump, Headmaster, and a brilliant alchemist. They don't care that a Gryffindor obliterated 13 muggles with a single curse, that a Gryffindor betrayed Lily and James Potter to Voldemort.
But no-one remembers that. They don't remember that we only win the Inter-House Cup because of points awarded for sheer dumb luck. They don't remember that the life-changing prophesies were made by a Hufflepuff. And, above all, they don't remember me.
- Anonymous
Memoirs of a Ravenclaw
Brilliant. Zealous. Top of the class. All are marks of a Ravenclaw, none of which I have. Ravenclaws are independent and don't care what other people think. We take the smart course, even if it is the cowardly one. We are bookish and wise, and don't concern ourselves with tedious things such as Quidditch. With that said, no-one would ever choose me to be a Ravenclaw. Well, except for an old hat.
Ravenclaws are not supposed to cry, but then again, how many Ravenclaws boyfriends were killed by Lord Voldemort and his supporters? Two actually, but the other wears radish earrings and is loved by all who read the Quibbler.
How many Ravenclaws cry themselves to sleep at night, though the threat is long gone? Still two, but the other's tears are because her face tells the world of her true nature.
How many Ravenclaws have dated the Chosen One, only to find out he doesn't feel anything for her? Just two, the other now realizes her pink dress robes were a waste of time and money.
How many Ravenclaws were sent to Mungo's for 'extreme emotional distress'? Only one, the one who now holds the quill that is writing this. Me.
- Anonymous
Memoirs of a Hufflepuff
Hufflepuff is for the rejects, the flukes, those of us who are a drop of magic away from being Squibs. I speak for all of us when I say that never were we given a chance to show the world that, we too can succeed, that we are not rejects, only misunderstood.
Helga Hufflepuff was said to be an extremely loving person, to the point where she took those who would otherwise be left out, and taught them all she knew.
We're not brave or noble, we're not cunning and sly, and we're most definitely not smart and logical. But we do have something more then any of those.
We are willing to work towards seemingly unattainable goals, and achieve them. We have trust in our fellow misfits, and we had Cedric Diggory, before that mysterious night with the Chosen One. We have a sense of purpose, a common drive. We have ourselves.
- Anonymous
Memoirs of a Slytherin
I am a Slytherin. I can not smile, cry, or be jealous. I can not love a Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, or Ravenclaw; loving a muggle would be suicidal. I can't be insecure. I can't feel. The problem is, I can.
They say I am destined to be a cunning leader. They say I am meant to be another follower of Voldemort. They say I live to win, no matter the cost, or pain to other people. The problem is, they're wrong.
I'm a backstabber, a womanizer, a traitor. I am the person who wins no matter what. I'm the one who everyone else only wishes they could be. The problem is, I'm not.
My father is in Azkaban; my mother is going insane; my aunt wants to kill me; my uncle loves my archenemy. I have no feelings for any of my old friends, only for those who show me a brief kindness. The problem is, even they don't care.
If I am found, I will be immediately killed, but I must live with the guilt of causing the demise of a great man, and I will for every day I live. Everyone in the world, it seems, despises me; even those who I once loved. No-one could ever possibly feel any gratitude, compassion, or love towards me, and that is for one reason only. The problem is, I'm me.
- Anonymous
Not my usual junk, is it? Anyone who can figure out who the writers are, yay you! They aren't actually all that hard… Peace Out.