Obliviate: The untold story of JK Rowling

Chapter 2: Albus Dumbledore

Jo's POV:

The Hufflepuff common room is a large, low-ceilinged, round basement packed with overstuffed armchairs and plants. Hundreds of plants. Some that sing, some that snap and some that tickle you if you get too close. The sun always shines through curved windows with views of rippling grass and dandelions. The room is furnished in our house colours, yellow and black, with copper objects all around and circular, wooden doors leading to the dormitories. I share a room with Hannah Abbott, Susan Bones and Matilda Harrigan, and have made friends with them all. We eat together in the Great Hall and walk to our classes with each other, but time and time again being ignored. That is the trouble with being a Hufflepuff. No matter how nice you are, how friendly, how caring, people stare right through you.

I hate it.

I sometimes wonder whether I was meant to be in Hufflepuff; some of their traits don't match mine. They're not dimwitted, but they don't value intelligence as much as I do. They're not selfish, but they don't have as much self awareness as I do. I guess the trick to being in Hufflepuff is not to mind. It's to tolerate what other people do, what they think and what they choose to look like.

That's what makes us unnoticeable.

The other houses have a central quality which makes them, them. Brave, cunning, clever, but being a Hufflepuff is to be whatever you like, regardless of what you're meant to be.

It matters not what someone is born, but what they grow up to be.

I love it.

It's a typical thursday morning, and Charms class is well underway.

'Swish and flick!' squeaks the Charms teacher, Professor Flitwick, as the first years hopelessly attempt to make a feather float. His mood can't be dampened, but when Hermione, amid the grumblings of Ron, manages to guide her feather into the air, Flitwick cheeps: 'Oh, well done Miss Granger!', and follows by toppling off of his pile of books.

This results in sniggers and a tiny voice from behind the desk squealing: 'I'm alright! I'm alright!'.

During the havoc, I whisper 'Wingardium Leviosa,' and watch as my feather soars above the shaking shoulders of my classmates. Being the Hufflepuff I am, my achievement goes unseen, and just as Flitwick's head appears, my feather drops to the desk in front of me.

'Now!' He chirps, 'I'd like to see you lot try that! 10 points to Gryffindor for Miss Granger over here!'

I sigh and scratch the back of my neck with my wand as I steal another glance at Harry. I can only see the back of his head, which is topped with his usual scruffy hair, as he waves his right hand and fails to raise his feather more than an inch. Charms isn't his greatest subject.

I haven't spoken to Harry yet. I see him in the corridors and in the Great Hall, and he's in some of my classes. I've tried to hide my knowledge from my friends, which is turning out to be surprisingly easy. The whole of Hogwarts is captivated by Harry Potter, his presence still inviting whispers and excitement. He's been brought up in a few of our conversations whereby I've tried to act nonchalant. I can't tell other people what I know, they'll hate me. I'll be seen as a misfit, an oddity, I'll be laughed at, talked about. I think that's worse than not being noticed at all.

And so, I turn my eyes away from his unkempt black hair, and back to my feather just as the bell rings, signalling the end of class. I stuff my books into my bag and walk hurriedly to the door, not waiting for my friends. I need to be on my own; they'll understand.