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𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐃 𝐎𝐅 𝐌𝐘 𝐕𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐀 𝐁𝐋𝐀𝐂𝐊 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐄𝐒 𝐎𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐇𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐖𝐀𝐘𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐇𝐎𝐆𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐒. That sound was enough to make every student glance over their shoulder. I've become a sort of cautionary tale since becoming Head Boy. My presence alone is usually enough to restore order—straightened ties, adjusted posture, contraband sweets vanished into robe pockets.
I've become quite the terror ever since I was named Head Boy of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Not because I hex people if they don't follow the rules.
I don't shout. I don't slam doors. My natural intimidating look was enough for people to get their ties straightened, forbidden objects hidden, decibel levels drop. No need for threats. I'm efficient.
SWOOSH~
Someone dashed into my shoulders, not even bothering to apologise he continued his sprint. And of course it was Julius Rhode— A CASE OF HIT AND RUN—Disrespectful. But above all that, running in the school corridors was against the RULES.
I caught him halfway through the second-floor corridor, running full speed, scarf trailing behind him like a Gryffindor banner in a storm. He slid—actuallyslid—around a corner and nearly bowled over a third-year carrying a teetering stack of spell books.
"RHODE"
He froze. Mid-skid. Like a Niffler caught red-handed.
"Lysander!" he said brightly. "I wasn't running. I was urgency walking. My legs just interpreted the wrong vibe."
"You were sprinting."
"It's a cultural thing," he offered immediately. "In America, we believe in expressive locomotion."
"That's not real."
"Not here," he admitted. "But it could be. Vision starts with belief."
I stared at him with my voided eyes. It was stupid of him to think I would actually buy it.
"No running in the corridors. You'll get detention if you do it again." I shot deadpanned.
He pouted slightly. "Okay. What if I power-walk, but with emotionally intense music playing in my head?"
"No."
"Short hops?"
"No."
"Moonwalking? You know the Micheal Jackson. Hee-hee"
