scared, potter?

You know Gryffindors by their breaths. The breath of sheer excitement. The breath of knowing that we’re alive every time we fill our lungs with wind smelling of pines, clouds and adventure. The slow breaths next to a campfire at a southern beach at night, cuddling your loved ones and nuzzling your head in their necks, leaving no room between their heartbeat and yours. The rapid breaths of running into the wilderness with madness in their eyes and a euphoric sensation of belonging in their hearts. The breath of Viking adventurers, the revolutionaries, the withheld, the rebels. The breath that you hear on your side whenever you try to run from the terrors of your darkness. The breath of those who are ready to hold your hand and take the leap of faith with you. The breath when you curse in between lips slightly ajar. The breath that laughs the loudest in a group of friends walking together. The breath that pushes away a lock of fallen hair from their eyes before a match. The breath of relief you feel on your lips after a first kiss. The breaths you take to convince yourself you’re okay, you’re capable, you’re brave. The breath of a Gryffindor is the first one you take, and the last one you let out.

You know Hufflepuffs by their smile. The smile of nostalgia in the smell of old photos and movie tickets in a memory box. The smile of feeling the waves on your feet and the sun on your skin as you walk with your toes in the sand. The smile of mutual happiness when no one is sad and people only cry of laughter. The smile of Christmas, of Easter, the smile of a family that will always be together. The smile of a young child starting kindergarten for a first time and the smile of a grandmother cooking for her grandchildren. The smile when you are the only one to understand a joke. The smile after the first peck on the cheek and the first bare touch on your skin. The smile that can only be seen behind closed eyes, a smile that knows it all works out in the end. The smile when you feel the peace coming with the sensation of being complete after all this time, knowing you did your best and left a mark in this world like you wanted. The smile of Mother Rhea, the innocents, the mentors, the knights. The smile after wrapping yourself in a cozy blanket at a cold December night and cupping your hot chocolate in your hands. The smile after you help your friend with their homework and they get an A. The smile of a baby seeing the rain for the first time in her life. The joyful smile of knowing your lover is the one and the painful smile after you decide to let go of an unrequited love. The smile of a Hufflepuff is the one on your face looking at the sunrise and waiting for possibilities.

You know Ravenclaws by their eyes. The eyes with black shadows underneath. The eyes you can stare at for hours and see more stars than you can see in a galaxy. Eyes glowing with illumination and tears from happiness. Eyes sunken deep inside from the reading all through the night and not realizing the morning has awoken. The eyes of an archer in the fields, arrow ready, bow drawn. Eyes of a small child watching the first snowflake fall onto her nose. The eyes that reflect moonlight and unveil the foggy mysteries behind our own souls. Eyes staring at you, expecting lies, in need of truths and aching for more questions. Eyes of your lover painting you with brighter colors in their mind and being in awe of your perfected creation. Eyes the color of gemstones, flowers, the sky, chocolate. Eyes staring at the world from atop a mountain and admiring every single brush stroke that brought this marvel together. Eyes watering after reciting a familiar poem by heart after a long time. Eyes getting bigger behind glasses. Eyes that never really leave your soul. Eyes falling in love with dreams and eyes that show you everything is connected and everything is beautiful. Eyes of Greek philosophers, the muses, the wanderers, the inventors. Eyes inspecting the world and wandering around a kaleidoscope of butterflies. Eyes that know too much and eyes that saw the world burn and rise from its own ashes. Eyes dead on their tracks and eyes burning from a stream of tears cried into pillows silently. The eyes of a Ravenclaw are your eyes when you finally realize that questions can be answered any day and sometimes, we just need to feel capable of understanding ourselves in mundane feelings.

You know Slytherins by their hands. The hands that grab yours tighter than anyone else’s. Hands brushing against your cheek as you tremble all over and let your eyelids fall down. Hands over the shoulders of a friend, grabbing on the wrist of a child, on your lover’s chest as you understand you are the reason their pulse came alive after years of death. Hands raised in classrooms that belong to the heirs of our universe, hands wondering who can reach the highest star. Hands pointing at the sky, hands of children who never look at the finger. Hands holding onto their pen and waiting for the first word to pour out of their mind, hands who aim to share their creations with others who are willing to hold onto it. Hands calloused and bruised, hands working hard and sweating, hands trembling under the weight of dreams and ideals. Hands of a soldier at alert to pull their sword out of its sheath, hands ready to rip their nemesis’s throat apart. Hands of kings, thieves, priests and sinners. Hands of Hercules after fighting Cerberus. Hands dusty and covered in the dirt of the crowds in the streets, hands grabbing half-full beer bottles, hands sharing the last sip with your gang. Hands petting a Siamese that peacefully crawls on your lap. Hands lifting your goblet and drinking with your allies and enemies all the same. Hands on the strings of a violin and on the keys of a piano, playing a strange tune that infiltrates your mind and makes anything seem easier to deal with. The hands of a Slytherin are those of death, the coldest, the most out-worldly, yet the most appealing in the end.

Slytherin is the mumble of a “Thank you” that you’re too anxious to say any louder.

Slytherin is the little smile you do when you see your best friend.

Slytherin is the content sigh you make when you watch the moon through raindrops on a windshield.

Slytherin is the hum when you’re too happy to express it in any way other than humming and dancing around your kitchen.

Slytherin is the jokes that you make up, but no one hears them because you’re a quiet being and people don’t expect you to want to say anything.

Slytherin is the silent fuming under deep set, glaring eyes.

Slytherin is the feeling you get when an animal falls asleep on you.

Slytherin is the paint you somehow got in your hair after painting at midnight with your music blaring.

Slytherin is the tug on your heart when your so grateful for someone and can’t put it into words.

Slytherin is the quiver of your bottom lip when frustration bites you.

Slytherin is the groan when your friend makes a pun, but you secretly love those puns.

Slytherin is brushing you leg against your friend’s, letting them know “I’m here if you need to talk… Or need me to bury a body.”

Slytherin is sneaking into the kitchen with your friend at 2 am and trying not to hysterically laugh.

Slytherin is the friend who will watch over you and your stuff while you nap on a bench, and the friend who lets you doze off on their shoulder in the middle of a movie.

Slytherin is the absurd romantic who brings a bouquet with your favorite flowers, who arrives at your door groomed to perfection and with hearts in their eyes when they see you.

Slytherin is homesickness and a relieved shout when they see friends they’ve missed.

Slytherin is a forced-out “I’m scared” between gritted teeth, because admitting it is just as terrifying as whatever it is they’re afraid of.

Slytherin is the friend who takes your side and reassures you when the friend group starts criticizing you.

Slytherin is the touch on your shoulder when you ask a question that everyone laughs at or make a joke that no one laughs at.

Slytherin is the slow to come but painfully earnest “I love you” whispered shyly into your shoulder as you embrace.

Slytherin is trust and assurance and “I knew you’d come through”.

Slytherin is perhaps the House that will put the most faith in other people; certainly it takes time, but once you have earned a Slytherin’s trust they are consumed by it. A Hufflepuff believes in fairness; a Ravenclaw believes in facts; a Gryffindor believes in ideals. A Huff will play Devil’s Advocate and speak of compromise; a Raven will point out empirical evidence and the accuracy of criticism; a Gryff will challenge anyone who questions the ideal. A Slytherin is the one who most believes in the individuals they prize, and it is nigh unshakeable. A Slytherin doesn’t care if you’re wrong; you’re theirs, so they’re on your side.

Slytherin is latching onto their person and never letting them go 

Slytherin is biting back tears because you will not let anyone see you cry, but pulling anyone you see crying close and holding on tightly 

Slytherin is being with a friend and not needing to say anything, just being there is enough 

Slytherin is noticing when something is bothering your friend and giving them an extra hug, an extra blanket, an extra chocolate frog 

Slytherin is grit teeth and white knuckles instead of a fight 

Slytherin is spontaneous chocolates for no other reason than to see the other person smile 

Slytherin is struggling to hold back laughter at inside jokes with your friend

Slytherin is communicating without words because you don’t need them for what you’re trying to say

Slytherin is fidgeting fingers and a quick heartbeat before your first kiss

Slytherin is gentle touch on your back when you’re losing your nerve, saying it’s okay, I’m here, you’re not alone 

Slytherin is a patient smile and a small nod when you need it 

Slytherin is a steel stare and iron will

Slytherin is never ending encouragement, mixed in with honesty and motivational speeches 

Slytherin is listening to your two am rambles and never once judging you for any of it 

Slytherin is the insecurity that no one will ever understand you, listen to you, take the time to actually know you 

Slytherin is a choked “help me,” because if we’re asking, then we really have hit rock bottom and need you more than anything 

Slytherin is walking around the entire house in a blanket wrapped around you like a cloak 

Slytherin is goodmorning and goodnight messages every day 

Slytherin is so much more than snark and sarcasm 

Slytherin is music blaring until three am, even if they’re alone, and singing at the top of their lungs

Slytherin is flowers slowly dying in vases, leaving their scent and petals behind as they depart

Slytherin is the tears in your eyes from laughing too hard with friends

Slytherin is the tears in your eyes when you have to leave something that you don’t want to just be a memory. You want it to stay, but gosh, you’re oh so tired

Slytherin is a child carefully tasting a meal on the stove, and darting away with laughter when their parents see

Slytherin is walking along a beach, gathering shells for a mobile to give to a friend

Slytherin is drawing on the margins in your notebook, but paying attention to what the lecturer is saying because you want to do your best in the exam

Slytherin is a sticky note in the corner of your mirror, a positive message in all caps

Slytherin is coffee rings left on every surface

Slytherin is making friends you’ll keep forever at a masked dance, and doing a ‘big reveal’ at the very end, and spoiling it because you can’t stop laughing

Slytherin is tearing yourself apart when you’ve given yourself expectations that are far too high

Slytherin is feeling like you’ll never quite be enough, but standing tall anyway, never letting that tear fall

Slytherin is that burst of inspiration, a head spinning with words, and writing them down slower than you’re thinking, so much slower