Harry's moodiness and Ginny's volatile temper, but none of their redeeming qualities.
Keep. Out. Of. My. Face.
Is that so bloody hard? My reclusive ways and openly rude behavior have taught my upperclassmen to leave me well alone over the years, but every September the first is the bloody same thing all over again. A new batch of harassing, presumptuous eleven-year-olds that can't wait to impose their unwanted presence on me.
I really wish my parents had just minded their own business during the war, would have made my life a whole lot easier.