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 itchy collars and increased discomfort., september 3rd, rosemarie stanley
Riley Rothchild
 Posted: May 31 2016, 11:06 PM
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16 years old

Hufflepuff

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Hufflepuff





i tried to hold these secrets inside me
my mind's like a deadly disease
TAP TAP TAP

TAP TAP tap tap

Another quill broken, another multitude of hours, and all he can focus on is the increasingly overwhelming urge to get up and leave the classroom. Knock over a chair, wave a the professor, dump a cauldron and skip his merry little arse around the grounds. All the way down the rolling hills and into Hogsmeade.

Like that would happen.

As rebellious and falsely stubborn as he is, his altercation would go more like this: Riley would trip on the chair he tried so hard to cast aside, go skittering clumsily towards the floor, bang his chin on that bruised-up Gryffindor boy's desk, and be rushed to the Infirmary. He has no sense of bravado and little to no grace as well.

However, Riley is satisfied with daydreaming - his right hand plays distractedly at his wrist, almost tracing markings seen in a dream, and his eyes stare dazedly out the window. His hair is a mess. His mind is even messier.

He can be forgiven, then, for missing the rather lengthy delivery of instructions; the only thing that jolts him from his reverie is the scuffle of movement and squeaking chairs, flurries of papers slipping to the ground in his peers' excitement. He's late to the punch, late to the realization, and as soon as he stands up everyone else has already been seated.

The taps to his shoulder and jostles at his side, the glances during the sermon that he missed - all would have been invitations to raucous groups of Gryffindor friends, hands under tables and minds in the gutter with no focus on the task at hand. Unfortunately, he's missed them all, and he's paying for it right now.

Rolling his shoulders and welcoming the pop of his neck, Riley moves to sit, wincing at the squeak of a chair to his side. Bracing himself, he steals a glance,brows furrowing in slight distaste and exasperation.

His own house, of course. A girl. Muggleborn. Not his crowd and unlikely to become a part of it, though he has seen her in the occasionally well-refurbished Hufflepuff-hosted 'get together' he'd thrown. He knows her name. Doesn't particularly care.

".. Did you happen to catch the bloody lecture he just gave? Wasn't listenin'. Sure as hell hope you know what's going on." He's still staring at the desk, off to his right, at the wall, up towards the ceiling; even with as much bravado as he gives off, he is still inherently awkward in foreign situations.

Prejudice doesn't quite know how to manifest itself in the boy.
PMAIM
^
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