[𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗨𝗟𝗧𝗜𝗠𝗔𝗧𝗘 𝗧𝗥𝗨𝗧𝗛] throughout her years at hogwarts, sylvia fawley has known exactly what she has wanted - to be the best, and she is far from being the best, she knows that. so why is it that whenever she is around neville longbot...
اوووه! هذه الصورة لا تتبع إرشادات المحتوى الخاصة بنا. لمتابعة النشر، يرجى إزالتها أو تحميل صورة أخرى.
اوووه! هذه الصورة لا تتبع إرشادات المحتوى الخاصة بنا. لمتابعة النشر، يرجى إزالتها أو تحميل صورة أخرى.
I feel a pang of sadness hit me as I realize that this year, Jacob will not be going to Hogwarts along with me. I'd known that, I'd even prepared for it—but there's something different when a specific thing is years away, it feels like it's in a completely different universe, and there's something so heart-wrenching when that thing comes alive. I mull that thought over. After a few minutes, I realize that I make no sense. Eleanor would probably laugh at me and call me silly, like she does whenever I say that muggle books do give actual life lessons.
Speaking of which, during this vacation, I have read a few books—three, to be specific. They've all been muggle books, and yet, I have been able to identify their concepts. So I don't think that muggles and wizarding folk are that different, or I might just be wrong, because they are relatively old books, ones I found in Dad's library. I suppose they were his favorites, because Mum told that he would never be seen without them when he was a student at Hogwarts, and they were friends, even though he was a pureblood and they were muggle books—but it's not really much of a surprise because most wizarding books are about spells. The only book which contains stories (at least as far as I know) is The Beedle, which contains age old myths, and even though the stories are very interesting and I find myself easily getting immersed into them but after reading them over and over again—concepts and names repeating over and over again, I get easily bored. So I decided to pick the three books Dad was so fond of, allegedly.
There are, unfortunately, more than a few things that I fail to understand in these books—And for Hamlet*, I fail to understand the entirety of it. Perhaps there was something special that Dad had seen in it, but I simply cannot, regardless of how many times I read it. I mentioned this to Mum the other day, and she'd shaken her head and told me that I was too young and naïve to understand such things. And I really hated that. It's very much funny, because, if you'd asked me a few months ago, I'd be ecstatic that I was young and naïve and pure—some of the things missing in the world, according to Mum and Jacob and even Eleanor! But recently, I've found myself getting easily agitated whenever someone references to my youth. I agree that I might not be as well-versed in matters as Mum is, or Jacob is, or Eleanor is but I do have some information—and it's not fair, at all, that my worth is determined by my age! Not at all.
