There must have been a misunderstanding somewhere. This was meant to be a school. When did the streets begin to run so red with blood? Why was a mere teenager forced into the Colosseum to fight for his life? Why was nowhere safe?
My left finger is coated with a thin layer of sweat. The taste is salty as it makes contact with my tongue. It seems my mannerisms are strange to these people. I am attracted quite the amount of stares.
They're muttering amongst themselves. Interesting, indeed. I could have sworn they had just met, yet they are so chatty - it's as though they've been friends for years. Perhaps that is it then - people simply need someone who they can unite against, and share a common opinion of, most often hate. Ah, I am getting ahead of myself there. They certainly do not hate me. They do not know me well enough, though perhaps they will learn to.
A girl catches my eye. A pretty young thing. Dark brown hair, slender arms, lightly tanned, hands placed gracefully within his lap, resting atop black robes. She blushes as I return her gaze. My lips curl into a smile. It's natural, I suppose, to feel a little insecure when you are confronted with perfection. I approach her with the confident swagger I always hold myself with.
"I am Harry Potter."
When it concerns my name, I am able to speak with confidence. I quite like it you see, it holds the right amount of syllables. Any less than what it has would not be enough to express the full volume of my existence.
With the position of the sun, and the angle of the building, the light is perfect, and I glance toward the window, I am able to see my own reflection. Handsome. Handsome, indeed. My hair is just the right length, just the right colour, perfectly messy enough to give off the impression that I don't care about it. I am a complicated existence. Truly it should not be expected that I am able to sum myself up in words. The foundations are there, and things are presented as they should be. I pursue what I judge to be pleasurable, whilst maintaining the most sensible of personal care routines to keep my appearance as splendid as it always is.
Hogwarts, was it not? These black rives are not befitting of me. They cover my figure more than normal clothes might, not allowing these normal people to get e precious glimpse of my physique.
"Mm"
The lighting is indeed perfect, as I flex my bicep in the window. I imagine if I was to expose my stomach here, then my abdominals would look even more defined than they normally might. People forget that much of beauty is to do with the setting, and more specifically the lighting.
"It's Hermione."
"Hmm?"
"You're supposed to ask what my name is."
The girl spoke up. It seemed I neglected to finish introducing myself. In this garb of ancient times, the natural curves of a woman are hidden. I'm glad in the outside world we are able to appreciate things from the past, and not feel the need to introduce them. As this institution has felt the need to.
"I see, nice to meet you then."
I wonder if my rejection came off as harsh? She did seem rather sweet. But it can't be helped. I pushed my brain to it's fullest capacity for you dear, so that I might let you down lightly. Please do forgive me, I'm sure there is someone with lower standards who will be willing to accommodate you.
Oh, look. Now the teacher is coming towards us. She suits the ancient dress better than the rest of us mind. I have a question for you: why is it that the majority of teachers are ugly? I don't use that term lightly - I mean genuinely physically repulsive. There seems to be a correlation - from a self-investigated study - between the attractiveness of a teacher, and their inability to let things slide. Perhaps it is due to their lack of looks not granting them leeway with members of authority, so they grant none themselves.
"Students may I have your attention please?" she said loudly with a strong Scottish brogue,
"In a moment we will be entering The Great Hall, where you shall be sorted into your houses. Your houses are like a family, and should be treat as such. Now follow me in an orderly line…"
Ah there is silence from the student body once again. I can gaze around freely. The last time I had attended an institution like this was the summer prior, as part of a compulsory education in a non-magical high school. In all honesty I never thought I'd return. But here I am, at the age of eighteen, back within a system that I look down upon.
I am a complicated person, and had this institution - or school, if you wish to be less sophisticated - not offered something different, then I would not have given it a single glance. I had been offered places at many of Britain's most prestigious universities, but I had not planned on attending one I would have preferred to become an athlete rather than a scholar. Although I pride myself on my intellect as well as my superior physique.
The building is extremely old. I believe it was constructed over 400 years ago at least. The wooden floor is polished and sheen, the ceiling a projection of the night's sky. Tonight it was a dark blue blanket, with distant white sparkles. The windows are small, befitting of a castle of this age, and in keeping with the medieval style the whole place has. Other than that it was as you might expect of a dinner hall rather than a Great Hall, four long tables lined the way to a raised platform at the end of the room. At which lay another shorter table, framing a golden throne.
Oh the teacher's speaking now, and look at that attempt at a smile. Hideous.
"Right then, in alphabetical order, each one of you shall sit on this stool and be sorted by The Sorting Hat. After of course it's song." she said the last part sullenly.
As the battered hat crooned it's tune I took another look at my future classmates. The men all had their hands in the pockets, and especially a few of them seemed to be exaggerating their cringing in response to the song. The women looked decent overall, some trolls - as to be expected - but some pleasant girls too. One boy stood head and shoulders over everyone, even myself. His bulky frame was barely hidden by the robes, and his head was completely bald. Unfortunate for someone as young as us, not everyone can be lucky.
The hat finished it's song, and the rest of the hall took a moment to remember to applaud.
"Hannah Abbot" the old women called.
A petite blonde girl stepped out and bobbed to the stool. The hat barely landed on her hair, before blaring out "HUFFLEPUFF!"
The rest of the classmates sortings I ignore, as the man in the throne catches my eye. He looked like he was wearing his nightclothes, and as I thought that he turned away and chuckled.
I walked up with my usual grace, and sat on the stool with my back bolt straight.
"Ah Mr. Potter, you certainly are arrogant aren't you? Well you're intelligent enough for Ravenclaw, that's for sure. Although you are quite cunning too. But how can we ignore that little rebellious streak hey? Well in that case it'll have to be GRYFFINDOR!" the hat shouted out the last part as the teacher directed me to my new house. The rest of the sortings went without anything interesting happening.
As the final straggler was sorted, the old man stood.
"Good evening all, to the first years welcome to Hogwarts, and to the upper years, welcome back. I hope you've all introduced yourselves to your new house mates? Good. Now first years, congratulations! The entrance exam is not easy, and I'm sure you're all aware of how many people applied? Hundreds of thousands, some from Britain, many from elsewhere. From those masses, only a hundred have been selected. Does this not fill you with confidence? It should. Now though the times for introductions has gone, it is time to eat! Nitwit bubble and squeak."
The first years in my house were all seated with each other. Those sitting close to me began to introduce themselves and their hobbies. None of the rest of the introductions will be quite as good as mine. They neither spoke with confidence nor grace. It's as though they actually care about what other people think of them. Well, I for one have quite the poor impression of you. Or lack of impression, perhaps, for I don't even remember your names. You are just one big mass of mediocrity that my mind was easily able to lump in with the rest. The one next to me finishes speaking, and it is evidently my turn.
"My name is Harry Potter," I make an effort to turn my head as to make eye contact with as many of them as possible, "And I like… perfection."
It took a moment to find the right word, but I did. A few of them eyed me strangely, and the one who spoke to me earlier scoffed. Calm down woman, you're making a fool of yourself. The little bit of attention her outburst gained her made her frantically work to get herself out of public view. I felt and urge to voice such thoughts aloud, but it would be too good of me. I don't owe her such constructive advice.
Thank you for reading.