(no subject)
24.7.10 I write like JK Rowling
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I hate it when others look at Slytherins like we're traitors. I thought they were all supposed to be so happy with his defeat, but is that enough for them? Apparently not. They have to watch us as if we're the ones in Azkaban, rather than the parents of some of us being there.
I'm lucky because my parents aren't in prison.
But do you know what else I despise? The members of my own house looking at me like I'm a traitor because my parents weren't Death Eaters. My parents aren't the only ones.
So, excuse me, but to everyone who is being ignorant, sod off! I don't care which house you belong to, even my own.
From childhood's hour I have not been
As others were; I have not seen
As others saw; I could not bring
My passions from a common spring.
From the same source I have not taken
My sorrow; I could not awaken
My heart to joy at the same tone;
And all I loved, I loved alone.
Then - in my childhood, in the dawn
Of a most stormy life - was drawn
From every depth of good and ill
The mystery which binds me still:
From the torrent, or the fountain,
From the red cliff of the mountain,
From the sun that round me rolled
In its autumn tint of gold,
From the lightning in the sky
As it passed me flying by,
From the thunder and the storm,
And the cloud that took the form
(When the rest of Heaven was blue)
Of a demon in my view.
'Alone' by Edgar Allan Poe
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I hate it when others look at Slytherins like we're traitors. I thought they were all supposed to be so happy with his defeat, but is that enough for them? Apparently not. They have to watch us as if we're the ones in Azkaban, rather than the parents of some of us being there.
I'm lucky because my parents aren't in prison.
But do you know what else I despise? The members of my own house looking at me like I'm a traitor because my parents weren't Death Eaters. My parents aren't the only ones.
So, excuse me, but to everyone who is being ignorant, sod off! I don't care which house you belong to, even my own.
From childhood's hour I have not been
As others were; I have not seen
As others saw; I could not bring
My passions from a common spring.
From the same source I have not taken
My sorrow; I could not awaken
My heart to joy at the same tone;
And all I loved, I loved alone.
Then - in my childhood, in the dawn
Of a most stormy life - was drawn
From every depth of good and ill
The mystery which binds me still:
From the torrent, or the fountain,
From the red cliff of the mountain,
From the sun that round me rolled
In its autumn tint of gold,
From the lightning in the sky
As it passed me flying by,
From the thunder and the storm,
And the cloud that took the form
(When the rest of Heaven was blue)
Of a demon in my view.
'Alone' by Edgar Allan Poe