Another gloomy day. I love it. Everything outside that would normally be glowing with the brilliant sunlight is now tinted with a comforting shade of gray from the storm clouds in the sky. The faint scent of rain lingers in the air, and the light breeze sways the dew-covered blades of grass on the school grounds. Definitely my kind of day.
Not that I didn't like sunlight. I despise it. Not because it represents what many believe I'm not, and that is good, but just because it's so misleading, only showing the world for what it wasn't. Everything glowing in an unearthly manner giving the impression of what many considered happiness and joy. I prefer the darkness, it's much more welcoming and peaceful, in my oppinion.
I'm not the bad person that I'm portrayed as, just...misunderstood, to say the least. I may prefer the opposite of what "normal" wizards do, but who's to say that's a bad thing? I see things in a way others don't, but that's because I don't think of myself as ignorant compared to them. The world is not perfect, but everyone tries to think it is. They do whatever they please, not thinking of the consequences, and why? Because they are ignorant, only looking to please themselves.
I do not see myself as better than them, nor below them, but equal to them, though they refuse me. Even my own family doesn't trust me anymore. But they're muggles, they don't understand. And everyone in the Wizarding world calls me the "Mudblood Saint." Somewhat flattering that I'm different, but I don't like the riddicule from them. I welcome it. I am one of the only Slytherins whos parents are both muggles. Actually, I'm the only Slytherin who is a muggle-born. But I don't care. But you can expect the kind of treatment I get. Or what I used to get, at least.
My name is Rain Estacado, a sixth year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. I was born in London to, strangely enough, a Puerto Rican mother and an English father, but I moved to Liverpool when I was six. My previous four years at Hogwarts were supposed to be Hell for me. The other Slytherins were horrible, but that's expected of them. Every year it's the same thing. "Oh, look! Saint Mudblood hasn't been ravaged by an angry mob yet!" Everone would taunt me by saying that all wizards find me a disgrace and that they would come after me someday. Absurd, but they'll do anything for a laugh, those hypocrites.
Everyone in the other houses avoid me, though I have done nothing to them. The only speak is if we have no choice, like if we're paired up for group projects in Herbology or another class. Otheriwise, no comunication whatsoever.
And the teachers...they act like I'm beneath them as well. Most of them, anyway. I'm capable of doing anything they teach me, or so I have seen, but the glory always goes to Hermione Granger, who is in most of my classes. My hand may fly up first, but nobody looks back at me. Granger is brilliant, I admit, but she's not the only person in class. She may be a muggle-born as well, but she wasn't a Slytherin muggle-born.
During my first year at Hogwarts, I made some friends on the train. Seamus Finnigan and Dean Thomas. We got along well, actually. Then after the new students gathered for the Sorting, it all changed. They were sorted into Gryffindor, which doesn't surprise me at all. When it was my turn, they expected Gryffindor for me as well. But the last thing anyone expected was hearing the Sorting Hat bellow, "Slytherin!" I remember that as if it just happened today. Everyone who knew I was muggle-born fell silent. And there was actually a large number who knew that when I asked what exactly Hogwarts was (Hey, I was young, I didn't know any better!).
But the looks that Dean and Seamus gave me I'll never forget. I can't explain them, but they were penetrating. I sat down at the Slytherin table, but I felt like I was sorted into the wrong house. But the Sorting Hat is never wrong, and I know that. There was whispering, and soon everyone knew I was one of the first muggle-borns in Slytherin. But it was all hushed when Harry Potter was sorted into Gryffindor. The attention was taken off of me and placed on him from then on, but nobody forgot that year. And to this day, nobody has.
And they want me to regret this so called "curse" of mine, so they attempt to bring me down. But all they do is bring themselves down. And why? Because it's pointless. If they think tearing me down makes them bigger then me, they better think again. I'm not easily intimidated, but that doesn't mean I'm not annoyed.
I mean, last year was supposed to be Hell. Everyone just had to beat me on the back of the head with thier books and throw Bertie Botts Every Flavour Beans and Couldron Cakes at me. Hogsmeade trips were always hard for me, since nobody let me be. Usually I would end up getting a butter beer and walking to the Shrieking Shack by myself. Sure, they'd follow me, but once I went through the gates, my tormentors would stop dead in thier tracks. I didn't fear the building; I actually loved the view of the small town below it, and the silence and shadows were peacful.
But even with all this, I enjoy who I am, and I enjoy Hogwarts. I don't care if I wake up to Pansy Parkinson's annoying voice every morning, I don't care if students whisper in the hall, and I don't care that Professor Snape bows his head in shame when I speak. I am who I am, and you know what? I wouldn't have it any other way.
