PotterInk (Writing Contest) REVAMPED

Round 1: Entries

Emma Frey

Very minimal swearing (considering the language most of the internet utilizes)

The new fifth year could remember the precise moment she first entered Hogwart’s School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. And yet every year again, she seemed to relive it. Every detail, every thought that ran through her mind—it was her first day of school repeatedly. She hadn’t even departed the train yet and the questions were as if she had just entered the Great Hall.

Is that the sky?

What spell makes the candles float?

Does magical pudding taste better than Muggle?

The train now came to a stop and having sat close to the door, Emma stood fast to leave. She had forgotten money to buy any candy on the train and was absolutely starving.

As she hurried, out her foot caught on a loose board and she found herself too soon hurtling towards her death. Emma closed her eyes tight as the ground of the train station came closer, thinking that she was in fact too young to die. She hoped it wouldn’t leave too much of a bruise, although with a gap between her teeth so big that it could fit a third, she didn’t suppose anything could make her look more revolting. Maybe it could even improver her look. A distraction of sorts.

The ground came up sooner than she expected, and she opened her eyes to see that she was being held up. Of course, in a world of wizards, it was a magical force-field.

“Please watch your step, Ms. Frey.” A drone voice vibrated close to her side. Professor Snape stood with his wand upright, showing off his usual stare of hatred for everything. He slowly lifted his wand and Emma stood back on her own feet beside the train. She had just stepped, or rather fallen, from the Hogwarts Express.

“Thank you, Professor.” She nodded and readjusted her robe from the almost fall. Professor Snape offered no response, but he rarely did. “I’m quite eager for Potions this year, Professor.”

He raised an eyebrow, unimpressed with Emma’s eagerness. Without a reply he turned, his robes flowing behind him as he began the way with the rest of the students to the school, where it stood in all its glory.

As she marveled at the school, Emma thought of the fifth year to come. It was true that she was excited for Potions, and for Professor Snape. Although everyone else seemed to despise him, she didn’t exactly want to cut his throat. Yes, his homework was brutish and sometime took hours, but he challenged her, as he did everyone. And he was the only teacher who really punished those who deserved it.

She got in a carriage with a few other Hufflepuffs and avoided eye contact as much as she could. House mates, yes. Class mates, some. But Emma could count the amount of people she trusted with less than one hand. Three. And all were Mudbloods.

Emma was somewhat of a traitor to her own kind. A Mudblood, as they had called her in her first year. She hadn’t taken it offensively at the time…But perhaps she should have. It was a rather derogatory term. She’d come to hate the word so much that she’d come to hate all Mudbloods and Muggles more. Her parents. Yes, they were Muggles. And she, yes, was Muggle-born. And she despised every blood cell in her body because of it.

The carriage stopped and she hopped off, following the crowd because it was easy, staying quiet because it was best. Inside the Great Hall, the Sorting Process was about to begin. A group of her fellow fifth years were singing an obnoxious (and incredibly off-key) parody of sorts to the song of the hat.

“Oh you may not think I’m sexy,     

But don’t judge on what you see,

I’d suck a cock and if you can find,