Written for:
The HP Potions Competition: Bundinmun Pomade – write about someone vain
The Bookshelf Competition/Challenge: Sophie Kinsella – write about someone being obsessed with something
You need everyone's eyes just to feel seen
- Cooler Than Me, Mike Posner
Romilda Vane, the truth is in your name, dear – you're vain. More self-confident than most young girls your age, more self-centred than you believe, but there's nothing wrong with that, is there?
You're giggly and bold as brass, supremely conscious of your own prettiness. You're the leader of your little group, and that suits you just fine. In fact, it's the only way you will be fine.
Pretty much every girl in Hogwarts has Harry Potter in her sights, but none of them, you're sure, is a match for you and your determination, and that's putting it lightly. You style your hair differently every day, carefully apply your make-up every morning and practise your smile in the mirror, all in the futile hope that you'll attract attention. You certainly achieve that, boys from all four Houses ask you to Hogsmeade at some point, stuttering and blushing, so afraid it's ridiculous. Luckily, you're nothing like them, you've got your sights set on the Chosen One, and those other boys are nothing but temporary distractions, something to keep you occupied before your true business begins.
You've never been much of a Quidditch player, a fact that becomes remarkably irrelevant upon the announcement that trials will be held for the Gryffindor team, orchestrated by none other than Harry Potter. Attending is a must, so you broach the subject to the girls in your dorm and it doesn't take much to convince them; they're captivated by the hero that is Harry too, any excuse to observe him will do.
Approaching him is something you plan in advance for days, and as a result your performance is nowhere near as laughable as those of the misguided boys who are brave enough to ask you out, but it's ultimately just as fruitless.
"Hi Harry," you say, pouncing the moment he steps through the portrait hole. "Fancy a Gillywater?"
He declines, and where others might have backed down, you're only more dogged in your attempts. "Well, take these anyway. Chocolate Cauldrons, they've got Firewhiskey in them. My gran sent them to me, but I don't like them." Lies. Your gran is long gone, and she'd never have sent you chocolate anyway, she was openly scathing of your self-absorption, evident even in your childhood.
When you see Ginny Weasley throw herself at Harry Potter after Gryffindor wins the cup, you're seized by a furious indignation – Harry was your target, your prize to claim, and who did that red-head think she was, stealing him from under your nose?
It has nothing to do with love of course, you've never felt that before, and you won't for many years. No, the only regard you have for Harry Potter is the anticipation of a fisherman waiting for a bite, the fascinated schoolgirl begging for attention.
(Because you need to feel their eyes on you, without them you'd be invisible.)
You're bitter and annoyed, yet rather than admit defeat you change your tune. Now you won't pursue the Boy Who Lived, you'll listen closely to all the gossip, gathering as much as you can and creating some yourself, so that everyone will know that you are the number one source for information relating to Harry Potter. It all comes back to him, for those few years. He is the centre of your life before you grow up and into other obsessions, and you'll always remember him for that, something far more important to you than the fact that he vanquished the Dark Lord.
(He is nothing but an example, because ultimately Romilda, the only thing you care about is yourself.)