The Boy Who Only Lived
Through the gap left by a missing windowpane, he could hear the song of the wind, the ghostly voices of the dark, as he watched the ink dark sky striped by the thin lines of the raindrops carried by the cold gust of the storm. Despite the height of the tower he was in, he could see the dead leaves swirling in the turmoil.
Luckily enough, Michael Corner was safe, in his bed in the Ravenclaw tower. He was never too fond of thunderstorms, and the flash of a lightening took him out of his doze with a start. He always had a very hard time falling asleep on those nights, and so the other boys in the fifth years' dormitory wouldn't notice, he usually closed the curtains around his four-poster bed, but that left him alone with the storm.
Expressing Michael's feelings towards storms as fear would be wrong, as it was more of a fascination. He couldn't help it; he had to watch until it was over. He often compared that to a gruesome story that you can't stop listening even though the very thought of it makes you cringe. That didn't stop the other boys from calling him Micamomile, since apparently, camomile cured insomnia.
However, once stuck in them, Michael didn't mind those sleepless nights, except maybe before exams, since he found in them relative quiet and time to think. Right now, he was thinking, uncharacteristically, about Harry Potter. Three hours of rambling had led to that subject. Michael didn't really know the guy well, technically, since they rarely had classes together or talked at all. Once Michael ran into him when he was late to Astronomy and made him drop his books. He helped Potter pick them up then. A surprised look, hasty thanks, two nods and they didn't talk again since then. It was in the first weeks of school, and we were now in October.
But the reason why Michael thought of Harry at the moment was that Michael wondered how Potter could keep up with everything that was happening to him. What he felt towards him wasn't admiration; he left that to the Hufflepuff girls. Maybe it was pity, or envy, he couldn't tell. He had heard crazy stories about him, half of them proved themselves to be true, the other half were quite unlikely to be so. Michael's scepticism was one of the reasons why people couldn't stand becoming too close to him, but he felt that it was a good thing not to believe everything that is said without having proof.
As an example, he knew that the story of Potter getting the Philosopher's Stone was true, even if he didn't believe so at first, because Dumbledore himself said it was, but recently, Dumbledore had been acting rather weirdly, yelling on rooftops that You-Know-Who is back and all, but Michael couldn't see why he would lie about that, except into tricking Gryffindor into winning.
Nonetheless, he knew that the story of Potter finding the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets and saving Ginny was true, since the bloody sword of Gryffindor has been hanging in Dumbledore's office since and the girl was safe. Michael almost thought Potter was the Heir for some time, since he was a Parselmouth and all, but he's half-blood, and I wouldn't see a descendant of Slytherin marrying a Muggle. The reason why he can speak to snakes, Merlin knows.
The other stories, though, as the one were he apparently fought alone a hundred Dementors, or slayed a Manticore, fought a werewolf or even stabbed vampires, were surely pure nonsense or his middle name was Rowena. Michael would admit that the boy had some quick-thinking and courage under his messy hair, but he also knew that girls liked to invent stories to give themselves reasons to fancy him. And he was a pretty good, well, great Quidditch player, too, on top of all.
He didn't know what to think about what had happened the year before, though. The way Potter got in the Triwizard Tournament in the first place was unknown and rather suspicious, though you really have to be an idiot to sign up without knowing all the magic you need to survive. The most suspicious thing, though, is how Potter said Diggory died. He told everyone about how Voldemort came back and killed the Hufflepuff boy.
Michael didn't know what to think of that, since that's pretty hard to believe, but how could he explain the death of Cedric Diggory, the brilliant, handsome, older and more talented than Potter, otherwise? He really doubted Potter would have killed Diggory, or could have, anyway, since he saw with his own eyes the way he clung desperately to his dead body, screaming his lungs off like he was mad. Really, he didn't know.
And now, there was Potter, walking around the castle like he was any other boy with his friends Weasley and Granger, the girl that was always on top of everything. Like nothing had happened, or almost, since he did look a bit glum these days, while people stared and pointed like idiots. Michael wondered why they didn't leave him alone, as he didn't have enough to deal with already.
This summer, though, the Daily Prophet said a lot of rather mean things about him, and Michael decided not to believe everything in it, since the Ministry was a bit too close to information in his opinion. The result of these events is that people turn their back to him, even his Gryffindor friends.
"It's the Heir of Slytherin all over again, Merlin's pants" thought Michael, as he noticed that the wind seemed to have calmed down, leaving the sky peaceful, though it was still raining. He finally fell asleep, as the watch on his bedside table read 1:52.