Rose
Tell me why prejudices will never die.
And maybe why I can't help but fall in love with a Slytherin, though I'd rather an answer to the first. They're fine, really. Just smart in a clever sort of tricky way, and when there's no evil dark homicidal maniac terrorizing everyone, including, yes, Slytherins themselves, they're just the same as the rest of us. Most of them never asked to be on that side of the war anyways. Most of them were scared out of their wits as well.
Love, really - well, I'm not so sure about the love bit, but his smile makes me go all funny and I'd do anything to talk to him. Purposely tried to get detention again with him, but that seemed to be a fluke for him, although when I see him around he still smiles at me.
Think about him all the time. He's perfect, I find myself thinking, then tell myself I'm stupid, because there's no way he's perfect. I hardly know him, and that's why he's perfect, because he's all in my head.
Makes me feel all funny. Can't think straight for the next hour. Jittery, like caffeine.
Anyways, I'm still wondering why these bloody prejudices and judgments can't just end. Wasn't that the point of the war? To gain freedom and choice for everyone? What if they don't want to choose to be all Gryffindor? They can't all fit in the dorms anyways, and getting rid of one of the houses - we'd be no better than them.
And we aren't. Father - can't you not scowl and mutter under your breath at Slytherins at the station? Mother - say something! And Harry, you fought this damn war - you of all people should know what it was for.
I'd like to bring him home - you know, if I ever got up the courage to ask him to Hogsmeade or something. I'd love for you to welcome him (or anyone else) into the family - you know, if we ended up married or something.
Just saying.
Of course, I'd have to talk to him first.
What if I'd been sorted into Slytherin? Would you have disowned me, like Harry tells me what happened to Sirius? And we scoff at the Blacks and their evil, insane tendancies, while you'd do the same, maybe.
Makes me sick. Makes me not want to be in Gryffindor. I try to talk to them, to make friends with them, but most of them laugh at me (don't even take it seriously) and even teachers smile sort of patronizingly.
Makes me sick. They're turning out prejudice back to us, laugh at us when we try to not be like you.
I love you, all of you, mum and dad and Harry and Ginny and all my aunts and uncles and grandparents and family, but sometimes I don't respect you, admire you, at all.
Sometimes, as Bill told me one time when I asked about his scars, you just have to suck it up and deal with it.