Lurid of Ravenclaw House �“ Challenge One �“ Autobiography.








Well, you’re certainly a pretty diary, aren’t you?





You’re covered in blue paper, bound with some Spellotape I found in my drawers. You’re not all that fancy, but you’re perfect to me, and you’ve got a great new book smell.





It was suggested to me I get stuff out of my head, and put it on paper. I guess so that perhaps when I look back after the problems are solved, I can laugh to myself about how silly my worries were, eh?





Well, for posterity (Although, between you and me, no one shall ever read this.) I suppose, my name is Halle Weasley. Original, I suppose. Not. Did you know that Halle was one of the most popular names the year I was born? Thanks Mum, Dad. You’ve picked a winner there. I wish my name was more exotic. I made sure to choose an exotic name for my brother, though. His name will be Janus. I’ve already decided. I knew that it’d be a boy. I decided, if I can’t have a nice name, at least a relative of mine will, won’t they. Mum’s name’s fairly exotic. Grampa Granger once told me he thought he was the smartest man in England for calling her ‘Hermione’. Well done, Grampa. I guess you didn’t pass that characteristic onto your daughter.





Anyway, I’m fifteen. I’m sitting in my makeshift bed in Ravenclaw tower. The fire in Gryffindor Tower has done a fair amount of damage, but nothing I suppose my Uncle Harry and Dumbledore couldn’t fix, could they? They’re ‘supremely’ talented, my lovely mother once reminded me. I grunted, and said perhaps his talent hadn’t quite transferred onto my cousin, Giselle. I wish I had an interesting family like Giselle. She’s so… beautiful, and I’m so plain. Millie’s so pretty, too, with her father’s eyes and mother’s hair. She’s has these amazing eyes, diary. I wish I inherited Daddy’s eyes. But I got mother’s plain brown ones. So much excitement to look at, I am. Brown hair, brown eyes, brown hair, freckles and a plain nose, plain lips. I wish for once someone could look at me like the way they look at Millie and Giselle.





Although, I suppose, one boy already has. Miles Spinnet has. Oh, he’s wonderful. Creamy skin and chocolate eyes �“ he’s wonderful. Tonight I couldn’t help myself. For weeks; months, I’ve been gearing myself up for it, and tonight of all nights, I go and peck the blasted boy on the cheek! Oh, why, why did I do that? My cheeks burn with the shame of it! In front of all those people! Why couldn’t it have waited until we were alone? Until we … As if he’d be alone with me!





Well, I suppose I must start recording my innermost thoughts, deepest pent up desires and longings within your pages now. I’ve rambled for too long.





Too long indeed. Four of your wonderfully crisp pages are gone already!





Well, when I was four, I stole something. I remember it clear as day. I punished myself for it afterwards, though. I hear your gasps now, diary. Halle Weasley, plain and tall, steal something?





Yes. I stole a biscuit. But you see, this was an important step into my life. I thought once again, for posterity (How I love that word!) I should record it. Because, by some improbable chance that someone does manage to find you, they’d get to know me, the real me.





The me that steals biscuits, anyway.





Well, I stole the biscuit. And guilt always makes things taste better. I knew my parents wouldn’t punish me �“ I was their golden child. My Aunts and Uncles were all grumbling about the pressure on handling two, or three children at that stage �“ but my parents were in bliss. Their only daughter, me, was a prodigy. A genius. I didn’t like it. I didn’t like the way Aunt Ginny would always come up to me and pat me on the head and coo about my perfectly straight brown hair, or my ‘darling’ brown eyes, or my ‘adorable’ ribbon. I didn’t want to be darling, adorable or wonderful, or any of those things. I wanted to be a little dirty miscreant, like Giselle, or a trouble maker like Millie.





So I took the biscuit.





I, the perfect four-year-old my parents had brought me up to be, took the biscuit, stuffed it in my mouth, and revelled in my glory for a moment. I was proud of myself for stealing that oatmeal choc-chip biscuit, I really was. But it only lasted a minute. I threw myself into the corner, and sat there stony still. I was still punishing myself for eating that biscuit when Daddy came in.





‘Halle?’ he had asked curiously, ‘Why are you in the corner?’





I remember choking back tears as I replied, ‘Because I stoled a biscuit.’





Daddy knelt down beside me. Crocodile tears were coursing down my cheeks silently, and I was aware of the warmth of his hands on my bare shoulders. My skin tingled with guilt as he turned me to look him in the eyes.





‘Why did you steal the biscuit, Halle?’ He had regarded me seriously. His blue eyes had just bored into mine until I had cracked.





‘Don’t tell Mummy. They were her biscuits.’





‘I won’t tell Mummy, Halle. But why did you take the biscuit?’





I had considered my answer. I had considered saying Mother had let me have one, but after Daddy had gotten that last line out of me, that was out. All that was left to tell was the truth.





‘I tooks it because I wanted to be different,’ I had said, my small four-year-old voice wobbling.





Daddy just pulled me into a hug. That was when, while I was wrapped in his arms, I had realised that although I wanted to be different, staling or doing something I knew was bad wasn’t the way to change.





I still look back on that now, every time I want to change who I am. I still think about stealing that biscuit, and speaking to my Daddy.





Excuse the tear drop. I didn’t mean to ruin your beautiful page. But, you see, that memory always came back to me when I was at school.





I went to school alone. I didn’t have Giselle, or Millie. Millie was in France and Giselle… I don’t know where Giselle was. All I know is, she wasn’t with me. Giselle didn’t like school, my parents would tell me as they kissed me on the head, and Mum walked me around the corner to my school. They were happy that I was happy at school, and doing well.





As I walked in that school gate, and Mum told me to behave myself, not let my emotions get out of control as she did everyday, I fought back tears. She didn’t know how hard it was to control myself. It was even harder as she walked around the corner, and I heard a faint pop. As soon as Mum left, hell had begun for me.





You must understand, diary, I’m not whinging, or trying to be dramatic. This event in my life, at ten years of age, truly made me who I am today. I was a lively child until I started school. After the biscuit incident, that is.





But what happened as soon as I stepped inside the school gate impacted upon my life so harshly I don’t think my ten-year-old mind even had enough time to process it.





The kids weren’t mean, as such. They didn’t push me around, or poke me, or take my things. It was what the said.





‘Freak,’ one kid would sneer at me. ‘You’re too smart. You talk funny. And you dress funny.’





I’d look down at my clothes and start to cry. What was wrong with the way I dressed? What was wrong with my clothes? It wasn’t until later I discovered they were tattier. I hadn’t cared back then. They kept me warm, and my Mummy bought them for me. They were just clothes.





As soon as I started to cry, the boys and girls would taunt me worse, and worse, to the point where I would run into my room and hide in the cloakroom. The jackets and lunchboxes wouldn’t taunt me. They wouldn’t tease me. They wouldn’t hurt me.





But everyday I would venture out into that playground for break after I’d stayed in the cloakroom. Everyday, the taunts would get worse.





‘You’re so boring looking. Why don’t you ever do your hair?’





‘What’s with the spots on your face? Is it dirt? Can’t you wash it off?’





‘I’ve seen your house. You’re poor. You can’t come to this school, if you’re poor.’





That was the worse one, looking back. Even then I knew what poor was. I knew my mother and father weren’t exactly rich like Uncle Harry and Aunt Ginny, but I never thought that the kids at school had even seen the Burrow. I never knew that they knew where it was.





I’m done now �“ With that incident, anyway. It changed me as a person, and pushed me into reclusion. I remember Mum cuddling me, hugging me fiercely and telling me that everything would be fine, and their taunts had hurt her too. I remember her stroking my hair as my tears fell into hr lap, and my long gangly legs stuck awkwardly off the chair.





The thing that had the best and biggest impact upon my life, though, was getting out of Muggle School, and receiving my letter to Hogwarts.





I remember the day it arrived. That was the worst day for teasing, but still, it was the most joyful day of my life.





We were struggling through maths. It was terrible �“ I kept messing up my words, and the letters, and everyone was looking at me as I tried to recite formula. All of a sudden, the bird crashed into the window.





‘Calm down, children,’ my teacher had commanded sternly. I was glad for the hysteria �“ all the children were no longer focusing on me, but rather the poor bird that had flown into the window. The poor bird was so disorientated, it had flopped right off the window onto the ground below.





‘It’s only a bird; it’s only a bird children. Come on now, step away from the window. There’s nothing to see, really, return to your seats �“ what have we here?’





The interest in the teacher’s voice was what had made my blood run cold. All of the student’s heads had swivelled back to me, the only student still seated.





‘It’s an owl,’ murmured one child wondrously, reaching out to stroke the glass.





‘It’s her,’ said one boy. ‘She’s made the bird fly into the window.’





‘She’s a witch,’ accused another, ‘She made the birdie fly into the window; she hates birds, I know she does.’





I’d never said anything about birds to anyone in that class. Come to think of it, I’d never said much of anything to anyone in that class. I was about to cry. I sat there, in my chair, until the teacher softly came over to my desk and handed me an envelope.





‘It’s for you, Halle. It’s addressed to this very classroom.’





I remember choking a little on my tears and turning my head to her. ‘Is the bird alright?’





She nodded kindly. ‘Would you like to take your letter out into the corridor with you, and then go to the bathroom?’





I gulped back tears, and clenched my hand around the letter. I nodded, and flew out into the corridor.





I heard the students inside the classroom tittering, and discussing what had just happened. I had slid to the floor, and with trembling fingers, had opened the letter.





The first lines almost made me cry out in relief and excitement.





“Dear Miss Weasley,





We are pleased to inform you that you have a place at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry…”





I remember running home, and telling Mum and Daddy. They were so pleased; they invited Uncle Harry, Aunt Ginny, Sirius and Giselle over. It’s the clearest memory I have of my oldest cousin, Sirius. It had turned out that Giselle had received her letter too.





‘They’re a bit early this year,’ my mother had remarked in undertones, to Harry.


‘Well, I suppose Dumbledore caught wind of Halle’s circumstances,’ he said quietly, noticing me and turning away.





I had walked away quietly, to join Giselle and Sirius. They had been talking animatedly about Giselle’s letter.





But Sirius focused on me that night. It seemed he was all over all of the fuss that was going on at the Potter household. At least, that’s what he told me.





‘Halle,’ he said, staring at me with his green eyes. ‘Firstly, well done. You’re officially a Weasley.’





I was confused. ‘I wasn’t already a Weasley?’





He chuckled. ‘No, you’ve misunderstood me. Now, at Hogwarts, the four of us �“ we can wreck havoc, just like our Uncles.’





My face spilt into a true grin. It felt so, so good to smile for the first time in… god knows how long. I’ll always remember Sirius making my smile on that night. That night… helped me produce my first Patronus, diary, did you know that? Me smiling and laughing was obviously a happy memory, powerful enough for a Patronus.





Well, me sitting here, recounting this to you is evidence enough that I’m happy now. Hogwarts made me happy. Seeing Millie and Giselle everyday makes me happy. Being able to see them every day is a blessing I hadn’t really considered all that wonderful until the fire. It’s really made me realise how important they were to me, being separated like this. I know I fit in in Ravenclaw, but it doesn’t make me forget that I fit better into Gryffindor.





They say a square can’t fit in a round hole. A square smaller than the diameter of the hole can, though. A circle just fits better all the time.





I still remember the Sorting. I still remember sitting there, on that rickety stool. I was the last to be sorted of the three of us. Millie went before me, and the Hat barely touched her head before she had leapt off gleefully and joined Giselle on the Gryffindor table. With parents like Ginny Weasley and Harry Potter, there was no doubt in anyone’s mind that she’d be in Gryffindor.





It was different, for me. All my life I’d been smart, perfect. I’d never been told I was brave, never in all that time when I was teased did I stand up for myself. I was brave, I wasn’t strong, I wasn’t… a Gryffindor. I wasn’t a true Weasley.





I sat there, my legs visibly shaking. I can’t honestly think why I didn’t get up and run down to the Ravenclaw table immediately. I knew I’d be in Ravenclaw, I just knew I would be.





“Too much thinking stresses the brain, Halle Weasley. You’ve got a good head on your shoulders. You could be a Gryffindor.”





‘But I’m not brave,’ I murmured miserably to the hat.





“Do you think you have to be brave to be a Gryffindor, Halle Weasley?”





I had nodded, not noticing that the whole of Hogwarts was staring at me. Old McGonagall was looking at me strangely, but I didn’t care at the time. There had just been me, at the hat that would decide my future.





“Gryffindors are brave, yes, but that's not the only quality that possess. They possess great strength of heart, passion and thirst for success. You, Halle Weasley would fit in just fine there.”





‘GRYFFINDOR!’





As it turned out, I was a circle after all. I fit into the circle hole just fine, I think. It makes me sad, sitting here in the Ravenclaw Dormitory, thinking about how persistent I was to believe I belonged in Ravenclaw, when all along I was a Gryffindor.





Well, diary, you’re almost full now. I should probably have bought a larger one, but you �“ you seemed perfect, sitting on the shelf all by your lonesome.





I’ve recorded my innermost thoughts in you, and you can’t breathe a word to anyone. You must promise, diary, never to spill your secrets �“ my secrets.





You must never tell of when I stole the biscuit.





You must never tell about my years at Muggle School.





And you can never breathe to a living soul that I ever thought for a second I was a square trying to fit into a circle hole. Never, diary, shall anyone know but you and me.





Because that’s something that I keep to myself, at all times. I haven’t doubted myself so much since then. That decision has truly made me who I am today.





So, until we meet again, my friend, in some other ink and paper adventure, I bid you goodnight.





Finite.