Chapter Text
I guess Gryffindor's too well-behaved for the likes of me. It's adolescent bravado, with a shrug and the promise of the years ahead gleaming in his crackling gray eyes.
Well, I guess if you got stuck in Slytherin they can't be all bad. Potters are always in Gryffindor.
Two dark-haired boys shake hands before they're pulled apart in the throng of the Great Hall.
They learn to talk about the world like it's an inside joke, one murmured just loud enough for others to realise they're missing something; like they have it all figured out, like it's a playground for them to conquer.