1131: The Madcap Attends Hogwarts - Sydney or Syd
TITLE: The Madcap Attends Hogwarts
PERPETRATOR: Piper at the Gates of Dawn
SUE-O-METER:
(bad)
FULL NAME: Sydney, "Syd," for short.
SPECIES: Human.
HAIR: Not described.
EYES: Not described.
MARKINGS: None described.
POSSESSIONS: None described.
ORIGIN: Born in India, moved to New York. Muggleborn.
CONNECTIONS TO CANON: Goes to Hogwarts to attain some sort of "sanctuary," although she really doesn't want to go. That sort of implies she has a choice of whether to go to Hogwarts, instead of the way Hogwarts admittance is usually portrayed: almost mandatory.
SPECIAL ABILITIES: She is excellent at nonverbal spells and loves to use them to play pranks on people.
NOTES: The rating from my Pretention Meter is off the charts on this one. She even points out her own literary references. She is oh-so-clever.
SAMPLE:I could smell change in the air as soon as I came through the platform. According to astrology, Taurus’s don’t appreciate change very much but I thrive from it. Consistency grows to be exceedingly boring as time passes, even if it’s in a place like New York City, where I’m from. Well, where I like to say I’m from. Where I really live is an affluent suburban town in New Jersey about twenty minutes in proximity to the city, ten minutes if my sister drives. The reason I like to say I’m from New York is because it’s the place I feel most alive. Although I hate the people from my suburban town, I find the mediocre yet beautiful nature and quiet streets very calming. But when I’m in New York, faceless among the thousands surrounding me, I can be myself without my creeping paranoia because it is a city that welcomes abstractness and atypical figures like myself. Even in New York, a city that moves with such great speed and new places to discover every day, ennui can still penetrate through all the animation.
My abhorrence of consistency subsists as the only reason I do not want to attend Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. If being in a city as bustling as New York would eventually bore me, I can’t imagine what being on a closed campus on a forgotten part of Rural England will be like, even if it does overflow with magic. So why did I come here? It was that stupid love I have for a change of scenery and the realization that out of all the people in the world who actually deserve to have magic embedded in them, I am the witch. Don’t misunderstand me; I am beyond excited to attend Hogwarts, just a little scared because all the times I have been forced to see the same people on a regular basis, I have never made friends. People just don’t seem to like me, I don’t know why, I mean, I think I’m a pretty friendly person. No, I am a very friendly person. I just intimidate them because I my opinions are slightly wayward, as in I’m a weirdo. That’s never bothered me though. I am completely fine on my own. I have acquaintances and all, but no one to really talk to. But that’s okay; all that emotional crap is one big phony. (allusion to The Catcher in the Rye)
I will move on with the story just after one last description of myself, I promise. I love talking about myself, in case you haven’t noticed. It’s only because I’m the only person, besides my family that I really care about. Shoot me, I’m a selfish little prat but hey, we all are. Some of us are just better at sweeping it under the rug. I think it’s essential that you know about my early beginnings, because while it may not help me understand myself better, it may help you. I was born in Madras, India and I lived there for ten years. Madras is an overpopulated city sheltered by black smoke from all the industries. It’s a beautiful place if you look in the right places, but I have a knack for finding things that most people consider ugly beautiful. It’s also a very sad place; similar to the way France was right before their revolution. You have the really rich people (people involved in the film or music or any popular industry), the aristocracy (the rich people recognized in the big cities) and the common people, a 90 residue. I would fit in the aristocracy, but I always felt uncomfortable everywhere I went because people knew I had money and they would use me for it. Even when I didn’t say anything, my classmates would ostracize me for showing off my wealth. This is exactly why I preferred being alone, so no one would bother me about my wealth, and later several more reasons. My central character is a dreamer, I always dream of a better place where people would just accept me because I can’t bring myself to change for everyone else’s fancy.
So my primary reason for going to Hogwarts is because I hope to find some kind of sanctuary in it. Now that I think about it, how could a school with gossiping people and obvious social classes be a sanctuary? But I made the decision, and I’m here, and the train is moving while I am standing on the platform. I run at the highest speed I have even run in my sad existence, which is still pretty slow. I can’t believe it! My muggle uncle was in the train loading my trunk while I was outside and now he’s on his way to Hogwarts and I’m stuck here! There has to be some kind of spell that can summon me to the train…
“Supellex supellectilis!” I said without moving my lips. I am extremely talented when it comes to nonverbal spells because I love playing tricks on random people without them knowing it was me. Although I am muggleborn, I spend the entire summer educating myself on all kinds of spells. This spell works like apparition, except it’s more dangerous because the spell deliberately hurts you in the end (I found it in a joke book). Sure enough, I landed on a really gorgeous bloke (I also practiced my English lingo before coming here). He had very white teeth and spotless skin. Big surprise, these kinds of unlucky things always happen to me. If it was anyone else, they would have fallen on a first year or something, but I had to fall on the hottest male human I have seen in a very long time. It wasn’t a romantic fall either; he didn’t catch me in his arms or anything like that. I kind of fell on him and knocked him unconscious.
“Holy shit! I am so sorry!” I spoke to the unconscious boy, then hit myself on the head for doing so. “I could really use some help, you know. I don’t really land on random people for a living.” I barked at his friends, or at least the other people in the compartment. (When I say barked I mean barked the words, not barked like a dog out of the blue. Even I’m not that weird.) After uncomfortable silence and odd stares, a surly guy about my age, without doubt a Quiddich player, said,
“Don’t worry about it. He was really tired anyway.”
“That doesn’t help the fact that’s he’s bloody knocked out cold!” I replied.
“Well, okay.”
I hate it when people reply like that. What does the idiot mean, “Well, okay.” No, not okay! I’m having a fit here. I have to recall some kind of spell that can cure this kind of thing. I also need to enhance my vocabulary and stop starting so many sentences with “I” and use expressions such as “kind of”. But that’s not my concern now, I swear.
“My sister is an aspiring healer,” stated another Quiddich player. That’s wonderful, why the hell would I care about his sister at this time? Oh, right. Sorry, I’m kind of slow.
“Great! Please contact her this instant. I have to go look for my muggle uncle,” I said before I stormed off, sensing that back in the compartment there are echoes of “What the hell was that?” I tried to call my uncle on his cell phone but I couldn’t get any reception, not that it could work in the magical world anyway. Twenty minutes after perusing the train, which by the way I have nicknamed, “The Great Search” because I like to name certain events in my life just like historians name events in history, I find my uncle talking to the conductor.
“Crazy day, eh?” he says to me after he was done. I simply glare back at him because I know he doesn’t expect an answer from me. My uncle is the coolest guy in my family and my favorite relative. He lives in London and tells me that he lives in a trailer, which I’m sure he is kidding about. Only a few hours earlier he took pictures of me walking down Abbey Road, like the famous Beatles CD cover. We spent a lot of time together this week because he got suspended from work for calling his co-worker an old bag. He didn’t say it directly to her; when his boss asked him if he’s seen any old bag around for the extra clothes, he loudly pointed out to I find it rather amusing, but apparently not many people do.
“I’ll go look in this directions for compartments, and you go look in the rest” he said before we parted ways. I could not believe it. Everyone has their friends and cliques because I am entering Hogwarts as a 6th year, making it even harder to me to find friends. I took my OWLS over the summer. My magical education had always been secondary to my muggle one, but I came out with mostly O’s and E’s. Every subject in the school really interests me, even though I don’t think I’ll be involved with something like Potions or Arithmancy. I want to be a musician or an artist, or just a vagabond who travels the globe with no particular profession. Anyway, back to the students I see, it’s like someone poked my balloon of a heart with a fondue stick because friends were something I was looking most forward to here. I was hoping for a new start but I can feel that nothing will change. No matter how many times I move, my problems always tag along with me.
I look around for empty seats but there’s no spare seat left behind. Actually, there are two: one was with a bunch of really creepy looking perverts and the other with the boy I had knocked unconscious, but no way in hell am I going to sit there. I eventually find my uncle in a compartment by the end of the train looking like he’s having a good time. He is talking to identical twins with blinding red hair and a few of their friends. Great, my uncle is more popular in this school than I am. I really want to join them because they’re laughing so much and look like they’re having a good time, but I didn’t want to ruin the picture. I have this horrible love for images of life that look so perfect the way they are that I don’t want to disturb them. My uncle, whose life has more downs that ups, is connecting with a flock of schoolboys not too different from him in everything besides age. The image is just so perfect and happy that I don’t want to change it. So instead I sit with all the trunks in the luggage compartment. I can’t imagine surviving here without my iPod, which I thankfully gave someone in Diagon Alley to make it run on magic. I love it, now it can never lose batteries. The oddest thing is that I like sitting here. It’s very soothing in a strange and lonely kind of way.
I hear the train stop so I saunter off of it uniform-clad and say bye to my uncle before he heads back to London. I tried to stop the tears from streaming down my face, but I can’t help it. I hate all kinds of goodbyes, including temporary ones. But for me it’s not just my uncle who’s leaving, it’s my entire life in the muggle world; a world I thought I belonged in until I found out I am a wizard. Yea, about that, I only discovered the magic in me about a year ago. I don’t know why they told everyone else when they were eleven and they tell me when I was fifteen, but they did it and I can’t change that so I just go along with it. The only reason I decided to start Hogwarts this year and not the year before is because my mother just recovered from cancer and I wanted to be with her for a year before I deserted her for England. I don’t regret it, it was a crappy year, but I don’t regret it at all.
After that episode, I get on to one of the carriages pulled by threstals. I’ve never seen a real one before, only read about them. I have seen someone die but it was nothing that had an effect on me for the rest of my life. It was my grandmother who I’d never spoken to. She was fighting to stay alive and my large, extended family was standing around her watching her struggle. By midnight, she just gave up. I love her and everything, but I would never fight so hard for my life. I want to die falling off a building or on an LSD trip or saving someone’s life, most importantly die for a cause. Funny, I’m more excited to see how I die than I am to see how I live the rest of my life.
I am the only one in my carriage, but there’s no other way I would like it. Actually, it would be grand if I had William, my acoustic guitar, up here with me. Shit! I left both my guitars in the platform because I was running for the train. I can feel myself slowly losing my mind; I love my guitars. I’m not a great musician or anything, but it’s a pleasant hobby. Since I am going to have no friends in this place, I need my guitars more than ever but how the hell am I going to get them now? Now I am really crying. Before it was only a tear or two, but now I’m bawling. Everything’s going wrong for me. I could get new guitars, but I love the two I have, or had. I’m used to them. I’m so damn materialistic. Well, what else can I be? I can’t play air-guitar for the rest of my life. Although it would be kind of fun to see people’s expressions when I do it. Maybe I can play air-guitar for a living and become the fist wizard air-guitarist. I wonder if you can play music with magic. Kind of defeats the purpose of playing an instrument though.
I thought I was alone before but now I’m in complete solitude. Amazing, people surround me but I feel like I’m completely alone in some central part of the desert in Mongolia. This time I don’t like it, I don’t like it one bit. My hands are vibrating and I can hear those boys from the compartment laugh at me. I feel like everyone is laughing at me. I am just about to turn in the opposite direction and run for my life to any place that’s not here when a handsome gray-eyed human stopped me; it was the boy I knocked unconscious.
“Hey! You’re the guy I knocked unconscious!” I said. When I’m frustrated, I let my mind speak for me. He smiles and holds out his hand,
“Hi, I’m Cedric.”
“Greetings,” (wtf!) I reply. “I just left something very important in London and I am flipping out so please forgive me for my rudeness but I have to find out how I can reclaim them and after I am done with my expeditions, I will return to you with thine name.” I said in one breath.
What the hell did I just do? I always get uncomfortable with guys; it’s so embarrassing. I’m not a lesbian or anything, just very shy when it comes to guys. Actually, not shy. I’m not shy at all; I just manage to act really strange around them. That’ll change soon, I hope. I wasn’t lying about finding those guitars though. I don’t care if I have to make my poor uncle search the whole damn city for them. I want those guitars more than anything right now and will do anything to get them. I should have given my cell phone to the guy so he could make that run on magic too, but being the idiot I am I forgot. Actually, I deliberately forgot. I despise my cell phone and hate getting phone calls; they disturb the peace of my imagination. But now I need the stupid scalawag to function. I quickly rip out a piece of parchment and write a letter to Professor Dumbledore, asking him to do whatever he possibly can to retrieve my guitars. I’ve had a lot of private meetings with Dumbledore before because I had problems getting my visa for the United Kingdom. The transaction took way too long and he helped set up a small, unofficial network in which I can travel straight to New York and back. I have complete trust in the man and know that my guitars will come back to me, so a wave of relief uplifts me. I love the feeling of relief more than I love the feeling of love, not that I’ve ever felt love anyway, except family love. I don’t really believe in love, to tell you the truth. I just see no evidence of it, and don’t ask me why I don’t believe in it, I just don’t.
“Hello, I’m Sydney, but you can call me Syd” I introduce myself to the girl standing next to me. She just looks at me like I have a coconut tree growing out of my head. Whatever, I think to myself. All ill feelings towards humanity disappear though when I walk into the room where they all eat. What’s it called again, the Great Room or whatever. I read Hogwarts, A History but I didn’t memorize it. The ceiling is bewitched to look like the sky outside. If there’s one thing I love in life, it’s the sky. I don’t see a lot of stars at night living in big cities or towns next to big cities my whole life, and I finally see what I’ve been missing. I just want to grab one of them, bring them to the ground, and set them free again. Maybe there’s some kind of magic that lets me do that without burning my hands off; I shall ask Dumbledore about it later.
I have to stand in line with the first years, brilliant. I’m attracting a lot of confused stares since I’m obviously not a first year. That doesn’t matter though now that I see the Sorting Hat. I’ve always wanted to touch that thing. I hope he sorts me into Gryffindor, although I belong in Slytherin because I can be quite cunning and am very, very ambitious. But I know that somewhere in my mangled but not insane self there’s a part of me that’s really brave. Sure enough, I get into Gryffindor! It was a bit uncomfortable when everyone it the Great Food Place ogled me because I hate getting mass attention, but I’m over it. I am surprised to hear the applause from the Gryffindor table when as I walk over, it makes me feel nice, even though they do it for everyone. I make conversation with those two twins my uncle was talking to, Fred and George Weasley and their friend Lee Jordan. Suddenly, I notice another red-haired boy and one with glasses and a scar,
“Ohmigod! I recognize you,” I point at the boy with the red hair. “And you. You flew that car over Kings Cross Station a couple of years ago. I collect strange articles like that as a hobby. No article tops that one with you guys and the flying automobile.” I say in one breath.
“Err, yeah,” the black-haired guy retorts. “That was fun.”
I talk to the two guys for some time about the experience. I inquire them constantly but they don’t seem to mind. Their names are Harry Potter (!) and Ron Weasley. I know it’s rude, but I have to do it, so I ask Harry about Voldemort. That gets a lot of winces from the table. Apparently, it’s bad to say his name out loud because he’s such a scary guy. Whatever, a name’s a name. He’s not going to appear (or land on top of me haha) if I say his name. Plus, I’ve always felt sympathy for the villain. He must have had a really sad life for him to kill that many people. I often make the mistake of calling people I have good conversations with friends, so I will leave everyone I speak with today as acquaintances. I have a lot of acquaintances because I like to talk and share my opinions; I especially love making conversations with people who seem like they lead dull lives, like a lunch-lady or bus conductor. They interest me. I even pick up a conversation with the really stupid guy from the compartment I landed in, Oliver Wood. He’s a funny guy.
A lot of people get the feeling that I’m very tense. I’m really not. I’m actually quite whimsical. I would be loud and obnoxious if I had friends who would accompany me, but I don’t and am unsure if I will. Before heading for the dorms, I catch Cedric who is just about to direct the first years to their dorms. Well, I stand in front of him hoping that he will start talking first. But because he doesn’t, I decide that it has to happen.
“Hello, Cedric. I’m sorry for being so short with you earlier. I was really worried about something I lost. I’m also really sorry for landing on you today, honest to God I never expected to.”
“Don’t worry about it. I was having a really tired day, anyway. Waking up after being knocked cold made me feel a lot healthier.”
“Are you being sarcastic?”
He replied with biting sarcasm, “No, really.”
Stupid terd. Here I am apologizing for something that wasn’t entirely my fault and he dares to use sarcasm with me. “Fine. Next time I hope it’s a hippo that lands on you and I hope it makes you lose your mind and make you think you’re an amphibian. That way you won’t talk.”
“How do you know fishes don’t talk?” Cedric says.
“Because they have a membrane that fetters the use of the mouth. They also have a mucus membrane that’s so strong that the mouth only has the power to open its mouth for food and nothing else. The way their jaw is set up leaves them no leeway to talk without being suppressed.” I reply wittily even though that was a complete lie and have no idea what the hell I’m talking about. “Plus,” I add, “How would you know if they talk? Do you talk to them on your spare time?”
“No, I prefer talking to my dog in Mermish.” I couldn’t help it; I snort. Not a cute giggle, just a snort of laughter.
“This conversation is becoming too serious for me. I have to go find Gryffindor Tower.” I say while walking away.
“Wait,” he follows me, “I still don’t know you’re name.”
“I’m She-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Now please evacuate my field of vision.”
He actually did! I didn’t want him to leave. He’s really hot. He seems really snobby though, what with all those girls fawning over him. I think you’re aware of my abhorrence for aristocracy. Well, this isn’t too different.
I take out the map of Hogwarts I drew from the information given in Hogwarts, A History. I am really interested in Cartography, even though it makes me look like an idiot because I am a sixth year using a map that’s going to be my home for a while. This action was unnecessary because Hermione Granger caught up to me and led me to the dorms. She’s really nice; we talk about the muggle world and all the music she likes and all. She seems like a genius and homework actually interests her, which I like. I hate it when people do work only so they can parrot their knowledge and not learn from it. Cedric seems like that kind of person. Not that I know anything about what he studies for I’ve only known him for about a minute when he was actually functioning. He gets a lot of female attention, actually makes me feel a little sorry for him, only because male attention makes me feel uncomfortable.
Before I sleep I make a few friends, I mean acquaintances. I can’t stop thinking about Cedric though, I mean, what if he’s mentally challenged? Does he really talk to his dog in Mermish? What other languages does he speak? Dear God I hope he didn’t get Alzheimer’s or anything when I landed on him today.
I can’t sleep. It’s been a problem for a really long time. Usually listening to music or reading a book cures my insomnia, but it’s taking a while tonight. As sleep slowly comes over me, a stupid bird pecks me on the head.
“Piss off you avian terd. What did I ever do to you? Couldn’t you have informed me of the letter nicely? I hope you jump off a cliff or something,” I spoke. Yes, I like talking a lot. I like talking so much that I even talk to things that aren’t human. I creep myself out sometimes, but it’s all good. The letter is from Dumbledore; I will get Drixain and William by next week.
I walk down to the Common Room to read because I don’t want to turn on the light when other people are sleeping. I try to read my book but I can’t concentrate, even though the room is deserted and silent. I don’t have a particular thought in mind; I just can’t concentrate. I think that’s what my problem is. I think about way too many different things. Once I think about one thing, I become obsessed with it. I hope this school will help me balance my thoughts. While I stare at the fire, my eyes drift to sleep and my heart wakes up with hope of revival.
PERPETRATOR: Piper at the Gates of Dawn
SUE-O-METER:
(bad)
FULL NAME: Sydney, "Syd," for short.
SPECIES: Human.
HAIR: Not described.
EYES: Not described.
MARKINGS: None described.
POSSESSIONS: None described.
ORIGIN: Born in India, moved to New York. Muggleborn.
CONNECTIONS TO CANON: Goes to Hogwarts to attain some sort of "sanctuary," although she really doesn't want to go. That sort of implies she has a choice of whether to go to Hogwarts, instead of the way Hogwarts admittance is usually portrayed: almost mandatory.
SPECIAL ABILITIES: She is excellent at nonverbal spells and loves to use them to play pranks on people.
NOTES: The rating from my Pretention Meter is off the charts on this one. She even points out her own literary references. She is oh-so-clever.
SAMPLE:I could smell change in the air as soon as I came through the platform. According to astrology, Taurus’s don’t appreciate change very much but I thrive from it. Consistency grows to be exceedingly boring as time passes, even if it’s in a place like New York City, where I’m from. Well, where I like to say I’m from. Where I really live is an affluent suburban town in New Jersey about twenty minutes in proximity to the city, ten minutes if my sister drives. The reason I like to say I’m from New York is because it’s the place I feel most alive. Although I hate the people from my suburban town, I find the mediocre yet beautiful nature and quiet streets very calming. But when I’m in New York, faceless among the thousands surrounding me, I can be myself without my creeping paranoia because it is a city that welcomes abstractness and atypical figures like myself. Even in New York, a city that moves with such great speed and new places to discover every day, ennui can still penetrate through all the animation.
My abhorrence of consistency subsists as the only reason I do not want to attend Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. If being in a city as bustling as New York would eventually bore me, I can’t imagine what being on a closed campus on a forgotten part of Rural England will be like, even if it does overflow with magic. So why did I come here? It was that stupid love I have for a change of scenery and the realization that out of all the people in the world who actually deserve to have magic embedded in them, I am the witch. Don’t misunderstand me; I am beyond excited to attend Hogwarts, just a little scared because all the times I have been forced to see the same people on a regular basis, I have never made friends. People just don’t seem to like me, I don’t know why, I mean, I think I’m a pretty friendly person. No, I am a very friendly person. I just intimidate them because I my opinions are slightly wayward, as in I’m a weirdo. That’s never bothered me though. I am completely fine on my own. I have acquaintances and all, but no one to really talk to. But that’s okay; all that emotional crap is one big phony. (allusion to The Catcher in the Rye)
I will move on with the story just after one last description of myself, I promise. I love talking about myself, in case you haven’t noticed. It’s only because I’m the only person, besides my family that I really care about. Shoot me, I’m a selfish little prat but hey, we all are. Some of us are just better at sweeping it under the rug. I think it’s essential that you know about my early beginnings, because while it may not help me understand myself better, it may help you. I was born in Madras, India and I lived there for ten years. Madras is an overpopulated city sheltered by black smoke from all the industries. It’s a beautiful place if you look in the right places, but I have a knack for finding things that most people consider ugly beautiful. It’s also a very sad place; similar to the way France was right before their revolution. You have the really rich people (people involved in the film or music or any popular industry), the aristocracy (the rich people recognized in the big cities) and the common people, a 90 residue. I would fit in the aristocracy, but I always felt uncomfortable everywhere I went because people knew I had money and they would use me for it. Even when I didn’t say anything, my classmates would ostracize me for showing off my wealth. This is exactly why I preferred being alone, so no one would bother me about my wealth, and later several more reasons. My central character is a dreamer, I always dream of a better place where people would just accept me because I can’t bring myself to change for everyone else’s fancy.
So my primary reason for going to Hogwarts is because I hope to find some kind of sanctuary in it. Now that I think about it, how could a school with gossiping people and obvious social classes be a sanctuary? But I made the decision, and I’m here, and the train is moving while I am standing on the platform. I run at the highest speed I have even run in my sad existence, which is still pretty slow. I can’t believe it! My muggle uncle was in the train loading my trunk while I was outside and now he’s on his way to Hogwarts and I’m stuck here! There has to be some kind of spell that can summon me to the train…
“Supellex supellectilis!” I said without moving my lips. I am extremely talented when it comes to nonverbal spells because I love playing tricks on random people without them knowing it was me. Although I am muggleborn, I spend the entire summer educating myself on all kinds of spells. This spell works like apparition, except it’s more dangerous because the spell deliberately hurts you in the end (I found it in a joke book). Sure enough, I landed on a really gorgeous bloke (I also practiced my English lingo before coming here). He had very white teeth and spotless skin. Big surprise, these kinds of unlucky things always happen to me. If it was anyone else, they would have fallen on a first year or something, but I had to fall on the hottest male human I have seen in a very long time. It wasn’t a romantic fall either; he didn’t catch me in his arms or anything like that. I kind of fell on him and knocked him unconscious.
“Holy shit! I am so sorry!” I spoke to the unconscious boy, then hit myself on the head for doing so. “I could really use some help, you know. I don’t really land on random people for a living.” I barked at his friends, or at least the other people in the compartment. (When I say barked I mean barked the words, not barked like a dog out of the blue. Even I’m not that weird.) After uncomfortable silence and odd stares, a surly guy about my age, without doubt a Quiddich player, said,
“Don’t worry about it. He was really tired anyway.”
“That doesn’t help the fact that’s he’s bloody knocked out cold!” I replied.
“Well, okay.”
I hate it when people reply like that. What does the idiot mean, “Well, okay.” No, not okay! I’m having a fit here. I have to recall some kind of spell that can cure this kind of thing. I also need to enhance my vocabulary and stop starting so many sentences with “I” and use expressions such as “kind of”. But that’s not my concern now, I swear.
“My sister is an aspiring healer,” stated another Quiddich player. That’s wonderful, why the hell would I care about his sister at this time? Oh, right. Sorry, I’m kind of slow.
“Great! Please contact her this instant. I have to go look for my muggle uncle,” I said before I stormed off, sensing that back in the compartment there are echoes of “What the hell was that?” I tried to call my uncle on his cell phone but I couldn’t get any reception, not that it could work in the magical world anyway. Twenty minutes after perusing the train, which by the way I have nicknamed, “The Great Search” because I like to name certain events in my life just like historians name events in history, I find my uncle talking to the conductor.
“Crazy day, eh?” he says to me after he was done. I simply glare back at him because I know he doesn’t expect an answer from me. My uncle is the coolest guy in my family and my favorite relative. He lives in London and tells me that he lives in a trailer, which I’m sure he is kidding about. Only a few hours earlier he took pictures of me walking down Abbey Road, like the famous Beatles CD cover. We spent a lot of time together this week because he got suspended from work for calling his co-worker an old bag. He didn’t say it directly to her; when his boss asked him if he’s seen any old bag around for the extra clothes, he loudly pointed out to I find it rather amusing, but apparently not many people do.
“I’ll go look in this directions for compartments, and you go look in the rest” he said before we parted ways. I could not believe it. Everyone has their friends and cliques because I am entering Hogwarts as a 6th year, making it even harder to me to find friends. I took my OWLS over the summer. My magical education had always been secondary to my muggle one, but I came out with mostly O’s and E’s. Every subject in the school really interests me, even though I don’t think I’ll be involved with something like Potions or Arithmancy. I want to be a musician or an artist, or just a vagabond who travels the globe with no particular profession. Anyway, back to the students I see, it’s like someone poked my balloon of a heart with a fondue stick because friends were something I was looking most forward to here. I was hoping for a new start but I can feel that nothing will change. No matter how many times I move, my problems always tag along with me.
I look around for empty seats but there’s no spare seat left behind. Actually, there are two: one was with a bunch of really creepy looking perverts and the other with the boy I had knocked unconscious, but no way in hell am I going to sit there. I eventually find my uncle in a compartment by the end of the train looking like he’s having a good time. He is talking to identical twins with blinding red hair and a few of their friends. Great, my uncle is more popular in this school than I am. I really want to join them because they’re laughing so much and look like they’re having a good time, but I didn’t want to ruin the picture. I have this horrible love for images of life that look so perfect the way they are that I don’t want to disturb them. My uncle, whose life has more downs that ups, is connecting with a flock of schoolboys not too different from him in everything besides age. The image is just so perfect and happy that I don’t want to change it. So instead I sit with all the trunks in the luggage compartment. I can’t imagine surviving here without my iPod, which I thankfully gave someone in Diagon Alley to make it run on magic. I love it, now it can never lose batteries. The oddest thing is that I like sitting here. It’s very soothing in a strange and lonely kind of way.
I hear the train stop so I saunter off of it uniform-clad and say bye to my uncle before he heads back to London. I tried to stop the tears from streaming down my face, but I can’t help it. I hate all kinds of goodbyes, including temporary ones. But for me it’s not just my uncle who’s leaving, it’s my entire life in the muggle world; a world I thought I belonged in until I found out I am a wizard. Yea, about that, I only discovered the magic in me about a year ago. I don’t know why they told everyone else when they were eleven and they tell me when I was fifteen, but they did it and I can’t change that so I just go along with it. The only reason I decided to start Hogwarts this year and not the year before is because my mother just recovered from cancer and I wanted to be with her for a year before I deserted her for England. I don’t regret it, it was a crappy year, but I don’t regret it at all.
After that episode, I get on to one of the carriages pulled by threstals. I’ve never seen a real one before, only read about them. I have seen someone die but it was nothing that had an effect on me for the rest of my life. It was my grandmother who I’d never spoken to. She was fighting to stay alive and my large, extended family was standing around her watching her struggle. By midnight, she just gave up. I love her and everything, but I would never fight so hard for my life. I want to die falling off a building or on an LSD trip or saving someone’s life, most importantly die for a cause. Funny, I’m more excited to see how I die than I am to see how I live the rest of my life.
I am the only one in my carriage, but there’s no other way I would like it. Actually, it would be grand if I had William, my acoustic guitar, up here with me. Shit! I left both my guitars in the platform because I was running for the train. I can feel myself slowly losing my mind; I love my guitars. I’m not a great musician or anything, but it’s a pleasant hobby. Since I am going to have no friends in this place, I need my guitars more than ever but how the hell am I going to get them now? Now I am really crying. Before it was only a tear or two, but now I’m bawling. Everything’s going wrong for me. I could get new guitars, but I love the two I have, or had. I’m used to them. I’m so damn materialistic. Well, what else can I be? I can’t play air-guitar for the rest of my life. Although it would be kind of fun to see people’s expressions when I do it. Maybe I can play air-guitar for a living and become the fist wizard air-guitarist. I wonder if you can play music with magic. Kind of defeats the purpose of playing an instrument though.
I thought I was alone before but now I’m in complete solitude. Amazing, people surround me but I feel like I’m completely alone in some central part of the desert in Mongolia. This time I don’t like it, I don’t like it one bit. My hands are vibrating and I can hear those boys from the compartment laugh at me. I feel like everyone is laughing at me. I am just about to turn in the opposite direction and run for my life to any place that’s not here when a handsome gray-eyed human stopped me; it was the boy I knocked unconscious.
“Hey! You’re the guy I knocked unconscious!” I said. When I’m frustrated, I let my mind speak for me. He smiles and holds out his hand,
“Hi, I’m Cedric.”
“Greetings,” (wtf!) I reply. “I just left something very important in London and I am flipping out so please forgive me for my rudeness but I have to find out how I can reclaim them and after I am done with my expeditions, I will return to you with thine name.” I said in one breath.
What the hell did I just do? I always get uncomfortable with guys; it’s so embarrassing. I’m not a lesbian or anything, just very shy when it comes to guys. Actually, not shy. I’m not shy at all; I just manage to act really strange around them. That’ll change soon, I hope. I wasn’t lying about finding those guitars though. I don’t care if I have to make my poor uncle search the whole damn city for them. I want those guitars more than anything right now and will do anything to get them. I should have given my cell phone to the guy so he could make that run on magic too, but being the idiot I am I forgot. Actually, I deliberately forgot. I despise my cell phone and hate getting phone calls; they disturb the peace of my imagination. But now I need the stupid scalawag to function. I quickly rip out a piece of parchment and write a letter to Professor Dumbledore, asking him to do whatever he possibly can to retrieve my guitars. I’ve had a lot of private meetings with Dumbledore before because I had problems getting my visa for the United Kingdom. The transaction took way too long and he helped set up a small, unofficial network in which I can travel straight to New York and back. I have complete trust in the man and know that my guitars will come back to me, so a wave of relief uplifts me. I love the feeling of relief more than I love the feeling of love, not that I’ve ever felt love anyway, except family love. I don’t really believe in love, to tell you the truth. I just see no evidence of it, and don’t ask me why I don’t believe in it, I just don’t.
“Hello, I’m Sydney, but you can call me Syd” I introduce myself to the girl standing next to me. She just looks at me like I have a coconut tree growing out of my head. Whatever, I think to myself. All ill feelings towards humanity disappear though when I walk into the room where they all eat. What’s it called again, the Great Room or whatever. I read Hogwarts, A History but I didn’t memorize it. The ceiling is bewitched to look like the sky outside. If there’s one thing I love in life, it’s the sky. I don’t see a lot of stars at night living in big cities or towns next to big cities my whole life, and I finally see what I’ve been missing. I just want to grab one of them, bring them to the ground, and set them free again. Maybe there’s some kind of magic that lets me do that without burning my hands off; I shall ask Dumbledore about it later.
I have to stand in line with the first years, brilliant. I’m attracting a lot of confused stares since I’m obviously not a first year. That doesn’t matter though now that I see the Sorting Hat. I’ve always wanted to touch that thing. I hope he sorts me into Gryffindor, although I belong in Slytherin because I can be quite cunning and am very, very ambitious. But I know that somewhere in my mangled but not insane self there’s a part of me that’s really brave. Sure enough, I get into Gryffindor! It was a bit uncomfortable when everyone it the Great Food Place ogled me because I hate getting mass attention, but I’m over it. I am surprised to hear the applause from the Gryffindor table when as I walk over, it makes me feel nice, even though they do it for everyone. I make conversation with those two twins my uncle was talking to, Fred and George Weasley and their friend Lee Jordan. Suddenly, I notice another red-haired boy and one with glasses and a scar,
“Ohmigod! I recognize you,” I point at the boy with the red hair. “And you. You flew that car over Kings Cross Station a couple of years ago. I collect strange articles like that as a hobby. No article tops that one with you guys and the flying automobile.” I say in one breath.
“Err, yeah,” the black-haired guy retorts. “That was fun.”
I talk to the two guys for some time about the experience. I inquire them constantly but they don’t seem to mind. Their names are Harry Potter (!) and Ron Weasley. I know it’s rude, but I have to do it, so I ask Harry about Voldemort. That gets a lot of winces from the table. Apparently, it’s bad to say his name out loud because he’s such a scary guy. Whatever, a name’s a name. He’s not going to appear (or land on top of me haha) if I say his name. Plus, I’ve always felt sympathy for the villain. He must have had a really sad life for him to kill that many people. I often make the mistake of calling people I have good conversations with friends, so I will leave everyone I speak with today as acquaintances. I have a lot of acquaintances because I like to talk and share my opinions; I especially love making conversations with people who seem like they lead dull lives, like a lunch-lady or bus conductor. They interest me. I even pick up a conversation with the really stupid guy from the compartment I landed in, Oliver Wood. He’s a funny guy.
A lot of people get the feeling that I’m very tense. I’m really not. I’m actually quite whimsical. I would be loud and obnoxious if I had friends who would accompany me, but I don’t and am unsure if I will. Before heading for the dorms, I catch Cedric who is just about to direct the first years to their dorms. Well, I stand in front of him hoping that he will start talking first. But because he doesn’t, I decide that it has to happen.
“Hello, Cedric. I’m sorry for being so short with you earlier. I was really worried about something I lost. I’m also really sorry for landing on you today, honest to God I never expected to.”
“Don’t worry about it. I was having a really tired day, anyway. Waking up after being knocked cold made me feel a lot healthier.”
“Are you being sarcastic?”
He replied with biting sarcasm, “No, really.”
Stupid terd. Here I am apologizing for something that wasn’t entirely my fault and he dares to use sarcasm with me. “Fine. Next time I hope it’s a hippo that lands on you and I hope it makes you lose your mind and make you think you’re an amphibian. That way you won’t talk.”
“How do you know fishes don’t talk?” Cedric says.
“Because they have a membrane that fetters the use of the mouth. They also have a mucus membrane that’s so strong that the mouth only has the power to open its mouth for food and nothing else. The way their jaw is set up leaves them no leeway to talk without being suppressed.” I reply wittily even though that was a complete lie and have no idea what the hell I’m talking about. “Plus,” I add, “How would you know if they talk? Do you talk to them on your spare time?”
“No, I prefer talking to my dog in Mermish.” I couldn’t help it; I snort. Not a cute giggle, just a snort of laughter.
“This conversation is becoming too serious for me. I have to go find Gryffindor Tower.” I say while walking away.
“Wait,” he follows me, “I still don’t know you’re name.”
“I’m She-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Now please evacuate my field of vision.”
He actually did! I didn’t want him to leave. He’s really hot. He seems really snobby though, what with all those girls fawning over him. I think you’re aware of my abhorrence for aristocracy. Well, this isn’t too different.
I take out the map of Hogwarts I drew from the information given in Hogwarts, A History. I am really interested in Cartography, even though it makes me look like an idiot because I am a sixth year using a map that’s going to be my home for a while. This action was unnecessary because Hermione Granger caught up to me and led me to the dorms. She’s really nice; we talk about the muggle world and all the music she likes and all. She seems like a genius and homework actually interests her, which I like. I hate it when people do work only so they can parrot their knowledge and not learn from it. Cedric seems like that kind of person. Not that I know anything about what he studies for I’ve only known him for about a minute when he was actually functioning. He gets a lot of female attention, actually makes me feel a little sorry for him, only because male attention makes me feel uncomfortable.
Before I sleep I make a few friends, I mean acquaintances. I can’t stop thinking about Cedric though, I mean, what if he’s mentally challenged? Does he really talk to his dog in Mermish? What other languages does he speak? Dear God I hope he didn’t get Alzheimer’s or anything when I landed on him today.
I can’t sleep. It’s been a problem for a really long time. Usually listening to music or reading a book cures my insomnia, but it’s taking a while tonight. As sleep slowly comes over me, a stupid bird pecks me on the head.
“Piss off you avian terd. What did I ever do to you? Couldn’t you have informed me of the letter nicely? I hope you jump off a cliff or something,” I spoke. Yes, I like talking a lot. I like talking so much that I even talk to things that aren’t human. I creep myself out sometimes, but it’s all good. The letter is from Dumbledore; I will get Drixain and William by next week.
I walk down to the Common Room to read because I don’t want to turn on the light when other people are sleeping. I try to read my book but I can’t concentrate, even though the room is deserted and silent. I don’t have a particular thought in mind; I just can’t concentrate. I think that’s what my problem is. I think about way too many different things. Once I think about one thing, I become obsessed with it. I hope this school will help me balance my thoughts. While I stare at the fire, my eyes drift to sleep and my heart wakes up with hope of revival.