September 1st
Ishwarya pushed her thick black hair out of her face, appraising in the mirror her thin, long features, and full brown skin. Was she pretty? The question tended to bother her, more often than not.
All the other girls around her had begun their transition from small wily things into taller, more fully formed, teenagers. Ishwarya, on the other hand, remained thin, and gangly, and overall, what she viewed as boyish. She had often pulled her hair back as tight as possible, looking at her angled features, wondering what people saw when they viewed her sharp face and large eyes.
"Are you done in there? It's nearly past curfew."
A snobbish Hufflepuff prefect's brunette head peeked out from behind the bathroom doors. She looked exasperated, as if the other similarly subdued Hufflepuffs had been giving her the worst time of her young life. Ishwarya nodded giving an acquiescent smile to the disgruntled prefect, and the girl, with an unnecessarily exuberant sigh, disappeared back behind the heavy old oak doors that hinged on the entrance of the girl's bathroom.
Spot, her faithful companion, a speckled black, tan, and white crup would be waiting anxiously for her return to the Hufflepuff quarters. He hadn't taken the train ride well; whats more, he seemed insanely vexed the high content of Muggle-borns that seemed to permeate Hogwarts' ancient walls.
Coming from a family where more than a few cousins had married muggle borns, Ishwarya thought them to be alright. She had never been hurt by a muggle born of a muggle for that matter. She supposed crups had been bred to be discriminatory, but hadn't discrimination been one of the horrible motivating factors that had pushed Voldemort's tyranny on all those years ago?
The girl snapped back to reality as the irritated click claking of the prefect's shoes against the smooth tiled floor echoed throughout the bathroom. She rushed out, beaming a smile of compliance up at her escort, who pointedly rolled her dark, deeply set eyes.
Ishwarya's face flushed red. She was so used to being obedient that the prefect's blatant lack of care for her subservient show had been a jolting reminder of just how little other students could care about groveling obedience. It was a stark difference compared to her previous school, where all the scolding had been doled out by teachers or disgruntled parents.
Quietly, she, along with a few other girls, followed the dark figure of their towering prefect back down to the Hufflepuff basement. It was going to be a
long year.
The day had been long, and, exciting. Ishwarya still felt apprehension and intimidation when she viewed her schoolmates, some of whom were many heads higher than she was. The halls were a blur of black and multicolored stripes, a whirlwind of fluttering notebooks and swinging backpacks. Ishwarya, with her small, lean, frame, had managed to easily squirm her way through the crowds, weaving between small slits of spaces, occasionally stepping on somebody's toe, and looking back to provide an apologetic grimace.
She had been one of the earliest to each of her classes, alongside a few other prompt classmates. She had also been, as was usual, slow to make friends. Though she had spoken with a few other, equally shy, classmates, she had mostly stuck to a few people, all of which were her Hufflepuff comrades, choosing to shy away from the other, more boisterous looking houses. Of course, her mother's words of encouragement pricked at the back of her head. She was to, or should, make friends of all variations.
So therefore, it was in this break between classes, that Ishwarya hit a stroke of luck. She happened to stumble upon a small (or large...it seemed large to her), gathering of students. The words "study group" floated in the air, alongside a myriad of introductions. Ishwarya had clearly been late to the gathering of whatever this little posy was. The students already present were many, and most of them seemed far bolder than she was.
But 'study group' had pricked her interest. Slowly and quietly she ebbed into the crowded room, managing to squeeze herself into a small space between some of the students who were still standing. Most had seemed to have named themselves already, and quietly, with several stutters, she managed to put forth her name,
"I-i-Ishwarya Singh," she simpered quietly, face reddening under her own self-created pressure to conform. Taking a deep breath, she felt the red melt away from her face, and, finding herself becoming increasingly comfortable in the presence of students her own age, mustered up the courage to stand a little straighter and look a little less shier. Still, she waited in silence, trying to tune in to the conversation the students were holding.
Member
