#hstart

     In all honesty, Harley’s just glad the school year has officially started up again, because there’s no home like Hogwarts. Even though he’s primarily ignored by his peers due to his inability to form a single sentence without his voice jumping and croaking, he’s still happy to be back in his home and away from the smiling faces of people he knows wonder why they didn’t drop him off a bridge at birth. That thought he instantly scolds himself for thinking, his family loves him, despite the fact that he’s a magical, not interested in reproducing, vocally challenged boy that he is. He reminds himself that just because they don’t understand doesn’t mean they don’t love him any less, which deep down he knows is a lie, but he’s happy with the result of his thoughts.

     It’s comfortable to be away from the small house with four other people in it, anyway. It’s much nicer to be sitting at a table far too large with no one talking to him and forcing him to talk back with as much food as he can digest without causing physical pain. The only friend he’s made through his six years at this school has already taken their seat at the Hufflepuff table too far away for comfort, the bright yellows mixed with blacks being a large contrast between the cool blues and grays he’s surrounded with. The new first years haven’t entered the hall yet, and Harley finds it rude to start eating before everyone is at the table, so he’s just waiting patiently, elbows on the table and his head resting on his upturned hands. Boredom, even though he’s delighted to be back, it’s always just so boring waiting for the first years to pour in and all get sorted while he politely claps for each and every one of them, whether they get put in Ravenclaw or Slytherin, whether they have sweets smeared all over their face from the train ride here or not.

     And boredom leaves room for imagination to kick in, for he’s not stressed enough for boredom to turn into morbid thoughts about what will happen if he doesn’t study often enough and how awful having a muggle job when he’s aware of the world of magic right outside his doorstep. Now, he can just think of what McGonagall would look like if she wore a crown made of petunias, or if Flitwick was five foot seven. Just small thoughts to keep him amused while he waits, and waits, too polite to tuck in without the children being filtered in. His eyes roam the halls with his thoughts, pursed lips and a mind full of amusing thoughts. When his eyes roamed the Hufflepuff table he just though of how amusing a Hufflepuff Death Eater would be, and he continues to make quick quips in his head about all the different house tables and what a funny anti-trope would be for them.

     He quickly stopped when he accidentally looked someone directly in the eye during his thoughts. His face didn’t flush and he didn’t lower his head in shame or anything, he just quickly looks away toward the entrance of the hall, sighing out quiet relief when he sees the first years stalking in with determination and fear, all believing some story of how one has to be sorted into a house. He remembers that he thought he would have to dance to an Irish folksong while the professors rated his skills. He was imaginative, even as a troubled kid who knew nothing but that he was wrong. He remembers actually being excited to show off his Irish dancing skills, the disappointment that came with being wrong.

     He sits himself back up, showing his attention to the sorting ceremony instead of the thoughts he liked to pettily amuse himself with. Best to be respectful of these kids who are probably scared for their lives, right?

"When I say 'Scrabble', you have to swear that you'll help me out of whatever awkward situation I'm in, got that? You leave no woman behind!"