"Potter, you have to be the most oblivious person I have ever met."
"What do you mean?"
"How could you not see that the love of your life is standing right in front of you?"
In which a student is too infatuated by potions to realize that a charming...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
prologue
The first years stood in a neat, single file line in the Great Hall of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, as they waited to be called on for their chance at the sorting. The batty old professor croaked out the names of the incoming students, and Fleamont Potter was so nervous that he could barely hear anything around him. He was scared that he would miss his name.
Listening hard, Fleamont focused on nothing but the professor's croak-like words. "Constantine, Euphemia!" He called, and a hat was placed on a little girl's head. Nearly a three minutes later, after what seemed to be lots of contemplation, the hat shouted "GRYFFINDOR!"
Nearly ten minutes later, the professor had reached the near-end of the list. After 'Opal, Tobias!' was placed in Slytherin, Fleamont was finally called upon.
The Great Hall filled with laughter as Fleamont's name was announced, as to be expected. The name 'Fleamont' was not common, especially in the wizarding world, however, Fleamont Potter wore his name with pride. His namesake, who, though deceased since before he was born, had a great impact on his life. His grandmother, Margaret Fleamont, had left him with a thirst for knowledge (which he knew he had not gotten from his mother or father), which lead him to have already finished reading all of his school textbooks, and many others that he had boughten from Diagon Alley over the years.
Fleamont stepped out of line and marched his way up to the rickety old stool which the battered hat lay upon. He thrust the hat onto his head and waited, and waited. Nearly a minute went by, but nothing happened. Just as Fleamont was about to take the hat off, claiming that it was a cruel joke, the hat spoke inside his head.
Ah, I've seen very few like you in my days, the hat said. You've got a love of reading, loads of wisdom, and a thirst for knowledge, a nearly perfect candidate for Ravenclaw. Yet there's something else. Perseverance and ambition. Courage like none I've seen before. You're trickier than that other girl. But there's more, you feel you must prove yourself, that you must live up to your namesake, build name for yourself. But alas, there's only one right spot for you. Better be...
Fleamont waited, but the hat didn't speak. For a moment, he opened his eyes and saw that the rest of the Great Hall was becoming either impatient or bored. He watched as a piece of parchment went flying across the hall, and finally he felt the hat budge on top of his head, as though it opened it's mouth. Fleamont closed his eyes in anticipation and the silent buzzing of the hall diminished.
"GRYFFINDOR!" The hat shouted. Fleamont let out a sigh of relief and took the hat off and placed it back on the stool before he rushed off towards the table cheering the loudest. He sat between two other first years who had moved to make room for him.
"Hello, I'm Fleamont Potter," he introduced to the boy on his right as the crowd quieted down.
"I'm Charlus Rowle, but you can call me Charlie," the blond boy sitting next to him said.
"Looks like we've both got names that could get us into duels," Fleamont laughed.
"That we do," Charlie agreed, raising his empty goblet to his new best friend.
