The [temp] Lions Sleep Tonight

[Cameron Gillenwater]

Being a muggleborn, Cammie had little knowledge of how the beginning of the school years usually worked, but he had anticipated the sorting that had never came. Gryffindor—founded by Godric Gryffindor, it was the home of the brave, the strong, and chivalrous. Th young, temporary lion had never thought of himself as brave, but perhaps he would discover the courage within himself in the days he would be engulfed in the atmosphere of the house.

There was one other boy that had been sorted into Gryffindor as a temporary arrangement, and his name was an odd one. "Mr. Whitledge, correct? Mr. Knight in Shining Armour Whitledge?" he asked, his feet hanging off the bed he'd claimed for himself for the time being.

"Aren't you excited for our first year? Gryffindor doesn't seem that bad, even if we're only here temporarily," he said, trying to offer some sort of conversation that might eventually lead to friendship.

154 words
@'Odira Potter' / @'Knight Whitledge'

  

[Knight Whitledge]

The only thing worse, Knight thought, would have been joining Sweetie in Slytherin. Not even to be reunited with Honey would the boy have willingly signed up for that. He loved his elder sister and idolized his older brother, but Knight had long believed that he would truly be able to shine—like his name demanded of him—unless he was given the opportunity to escape the shadow of his large, foolishly-named family. Optimism was not at all in his nature, and so it was rather glumly that he retreated early from the common room, wishing that the devious poltergeist who had ruined his chances at a proper sorting would get his comeuppance.

Even the dormitory was not a safe retreat—one of the other boys, it seemed, had retained his mouthful of a name from the sham of a sorting ceremony.

“It’s just Knight, if you please,” he corrected his roommate (hopefully only temporary!) quickly. He would not wish for any of the other boys to get ~ideas into their heads about calling him anything but that or Mr. Whitledge. As he spoke, Knight moved to perch on a bed of his own, falling backwards so that his head lay on the coverlet but his legs dangled over the edge of the mattress.

As to whether he was excited…this year seemed to be one roadblock after another where the boy’s happiness was concerned. This other boy, though, seemed eager, and Knight didn’t want to let his own misery spoil that.

“I’ll be very happy to start classes on Monday. I’m particularly looking forward to transfiguration,” the first year allowed after a moment’s consideration, for all that his tone did not carry much enthusiasm with it.

  

[Cameron Gillenwater]

Cammie quickly picked up on the fact that the other boy didn't like to be called by his own name, so he nodded his head in agreement. He couldn't imagine being forced to live up to the expectations that such a name placed upon one, but at the same time he had no judgments on the other boy's character.

Cammie had retreated from the large group in the common room due to the fact that so many children had overwhelmed the young blond, who was only used to being surrounded by a dozen or so children around his size. He assumed that Mr. Whitledge had too been overwhelmed by the noise of the common room.

"What's Transfiguration again?" he asked, trying to recall what his book has said about the subject. He'd only read so much, only scanned through a select number of pages in the textbooks. "I'm excited for flying class. I'd never thought that wizards and witches rode real brooms," he explained with a wide smile. "But then again, I didn't know wizards existed either."

177 words
@'Knight Whitledge'

  

[Knight Whitledge]

The boy didn’t know what transfiguration was? At the next comment, however, Knight realized he must be a muggleborn, and the first year rearranged himself to rest much of his weight on his elbows to survey the blonde a bit better, interest ever-so-slightly piqued. He was familiar; Knight was embarrassed to realize they had shared the same boat, when Knight had been decidedly indisposed, but that was it as far as he could judge. He looked perfectly normal, and was far better dressed than many of the muggles in Irvingly. It was almost a let-down.

“Turning things into other things,” he offered sensibly, the most straightforward definition he could muster. “Toads into teacups, pocket watches into dinner plates, the usual sort of thing.” Or as usual as one could get when magic was the topic of discussion.