Glamour
by: epiphanies
VERY short.
Everybody thinks that being a Slytherin is glamourous. You're superior to everybody. You look down on all. You're probably at least halfwise intelligent, you're brave, you're ruthless, and you know exactly what you're doing.
I am a Slytherin.
Sometimes, it's so deep rooted when you're sitting there with one. It's like you're not sitting, but flying, but with them, and you never know where you're flying or which air current to take, but you take a risk because you're with them.
Sometimes, in summers, we would all gather and sit on London street corners and smirk together. And blast Marilyn Manson. And people would pass by and look disgusted, and this made us happy. And other house classmates would pass us occasionally, but not even stop or say hello, let alone mention that Marilyn Manson and his music and the stereo were of the Muggle world and what business did we have dabbling in it. They just walked right by.
It's a glare from across the Great Hall. It's a smirk from a classmate that really, coming from that particular person, could have been a smile. It's finding your soulmate, as horrible and lovey as it sounds, and knowing truly because they have green eyes speckled with grey. It's getting exemplary Potions grades with pure talent. It's isolation from others who despise you, even though they don't know you, fear you even though you've never spoken a bitter word to them. It's about never getting enough syrup on your pancakes or butter on your toast. It's about being evil, or at least having people think that you are.
It's about Slytherin, and whether you know it or not, it's about strength.
Would you be strong? Would you like to be a Slytherin?
Could you handle trading places with me?
Doubtful.
_Fin_