About Harry

James

History of magic is the most boring subject in history. Never pretended to be in the slightest interested. I used to get good grades only because I studied from books which paradoxically it's more interesting than listening to Professor Binns. Lately my grades dropped. I can't be arsed about studying anymore. No bloody point. Mum was the only person who really cared about it. Now I spend my time more pleasantly with babes or friends or experimenting with potions. It's amazing what you can achieve mixing ingredients in the right way. For example, if you get some cheering potion and you pour inside the right amount of the sleeping one, just a drop of a few other ingredients, you can get as high as anything, you feel great and all mighty but at the same time maintaining control and being perfectly cool. It's just proper lit! I made some spare and I take it when I feel particularly low, that is, very often. The trouble is, it seems to lose effect if you take too much of it and when it eventually fades you feel even worse than when you took it in the first place. I need to make some variation in the recipe as soon as I have the chance.

I anyway never miss History of magic. It's with Ravenclaw. And in Ravenclaw there is Ophelia. I get a full hour where I can fantasise about what my life would be with her in it.

All the time I had the chance to catch her chatting with friends she is always saying something witty or clever. One can easily see she is a cut above the rest.

It's years I'm getting every opportunity to talk to her, but she always looks at me up and down with contempt. It's the only girl in the whole school who won't fawn over me like a kitten and the only girl who I think I could seriously fall in love with. I've never been in love with any of the girls I hang out with, never I gave a kiss that was felt, that was more than a turn on. Patrick and Francis did. I envy them for it. They can attract a girl because of their personalities. I cannot. I'm doomed to be admired but never loved. And I cannot fall in love with a girl when the only reason she goes out with me is the lustre of popularity, when only futilities come out from her mouth.

Ophelia is different. She is above that rubbish; she doesn't see me as the son of somebody famous, she sees me as a person. She calls me by my name and not just "Potter" like all the other brats. She has something to say for herself and I'm sure she could like me if I'd manage to convince her that is worth to get to know me, the real me. I could drop my mask with her.

She is not what you would call a perfect beauty, like Mohini for example, but I find her charming, a person that make you want to look twice, she hasn't got the perfect body either, she is quite flat breast wise to be honest, no hips, no buttocks of any relevance but then I don't care.

She is sitting two rows in front of me taking notes. How can she survive the soporific effect of Professor Binns is beyond me. She pauses, scratches something on the parchment, and she sucks the end of her quill for a second listening to the utterly boring lesson. I feel my mouth going dry watching her sucking that quill and I have to concentrate my attention on something else for a few moments, not professor Binns though, or I may seriously risk falling in an irreversible coma. Francis, who tried unsuccessfully for the first quarter of an hour of engaging me in a game of battleship, is now staring emptily to the space in front of him, mouth half open, head rested on his hand propped up an elbow that threaten to slip any moment.

In a fit of mischievousness, I take my feathered quill and I tickle his ear. He jumps out of his skin making fall the ink bottle on the floor that smashes with a sound crush. I have to stifle a roar of laughter and almost choke myself.

The whole classroom turns to look, Ophelia included and seeing me as the origin of the prank, scowl disapprovingly and turn back the attention on the desk where Professor Binns halts for a moment his speech gazing blankly at us 'Podmore, Finnigan everything fine down there?' he says with his sepulchral monotone voice.