Harry Potter and the Lost Half-Bloods. *1*

Jason

I'm forced to converse with Percy Jackass

JASON:
As the train came to a stop, I had a bit of a different routine than the other students. While others were joining their friends, following each other out of their compartments to the feast, I took my time gathering my belongings from my empty compartment and made my way down the path to the carriages

My strategy was to always wait and see which carriage was empty. An occupied carriage meant I would have to interact with others; that's something I didn't particularly enjoy.

Unfortunately, every carriage was occupied. Great, just my luck. I had a limited number of options. There was a carriage that had one seat left. It was full of other Gryffindors, and a Ravenclaw girl. The second carriage had a group of seemingly sociable Slytherins, big no.

The third had only one student. I recognized him, he was in the same house after all, and the same year. He was currently struggling to figure out his tie. He struggled in defeat, setting it down in knots.

"Oh, hey Jason!" He greeted.

Well, I didn't have much of a choice. Every year I'd gone to and from Hogwarts alone. Maybe I could branch out this year? Make some friends, surround myself with my loving classmates, and find myself overflowing in new friendships and amazing school memories!

Ha, ha. That was a joke.

Percy Jackson, or Jackass, as I liked to refer to him as if my head, was by far the most annoying, egotistical Gryffindor in my year. He'd been trying to force a friendship between us for years.

"Percy," I mumbled. "Brilliant." I sat across from him in the carriage and stared down at my lap into this today's daily prophet. It's not like I really had any concern as to what the prophet had to say, it's more the fact that if you're reading there's less of a chance that somebody will bother you.

That is unless that person is as thick-minded as Percy Jackson.

"Prophet? Ah, good story today. Am I right?"

Why is it that people feel the need to start small talk? We both would have survived just fine without meaningless conversation. Of course, Percy was one of the many people who didn't catch on to this point.

"There was an attack this week. A muggle-born's parents were killed. I think you and I must have read different stories."

"Oh," Percy mumbled. "Must've been a different prophet I read then. Um, sorry."

Please stop talking, please stop talking, please stop talking...

"So, thinking of trying out for the Quidditch team this year, Grace? I've seen you out there on the weekends after our practices. I know you can fly, man!"

"Nope," I replied, flipping through the pages of the prophet story I'd already read this morning. He had been trying to get me to join the team for years.

"Oh, huh." Percy wasn't really surprised. This is the same answer I'd given to him every year.

The carriage wheels began turning, and we were finally off to the school. That is until Percy made a comment that actually caught my attention.

"Strange, isn't it? The school's got horses to pull these now! Wait, are those horses?"

Curious at his stupidity--sorry, that was rude. Let me rephrase: curious at his...unique individuality, I looked up from my paper. Nothing was pulling the carriages.

I raised a brow in concern.

"Don't you see?" Percy gestured towards them.

"Ha. Funny." I turned my head back to my paper.