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 say what you have to say, //diarmid's sorting -- gryffindor
| diarmid duram |
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Group: hogwarts graduates.
Posts: 10
Member No.: 59
Joined: 17-November 07
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Diarmid stood lounging against the wall in the hall with the other first years. The atmosphere was thick with anxiety; prospective students itching with excitement and trembling with nerves. Though his act was a front of nonchalance, though he was deep in thought. He did not care much as to what house he was placed in, nor was he unsure that he would be placed in a house. He felt an overwhelming sense of surety that he was going to be a total and complete success.
"Oh, but what if nothing happens and everyone just looks at me and says 'Bridgette, get out of here. You are ridiculous.' I'll simply die!"
He was roused out of his thoughts and glanced up to look at the girl named Bridgette. "Well now with that mentality it's sure to happen..." He grumbled, and sniffed stubbornly as she and her witch-friend turned and gave him a glare. As they turned away, he arched an eyebrow. To be thrown in amongst all these...children! He humphed.
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He settled himself upon the stool placed in front of him with a drooping gaze that said "as if I give a damn" and sighed, glancing up at the elder witch holding a positively ancient hat. Couldn't be a day under a hundred. The hat, that is, not the witch (just to clarify she seemed to be a few days shy perhaps) he grinned up at her at his own perceived wit and for a split second as the hat was being lowered to his brow, he suffered a nearly fatal wrack of nerves which passed as he tamed his racing thoughts and readied himself to be contemplated by the Sorting Hat.
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Diarmid lay sprawled across a plush chair in the Gryffindor Common Room, one leg over the arm of the chair and a book in his lap. He was snoring lightly, only to be rudely awoken by a short though unexpected stop to his air supply. Gasping, he sat up and into the hand that had been holding his nose shut. Glowering up at the young boy to whom the offending hand belonged to, he received an impertinent tweak on the nose by the seventh year Gryffindor, Peter. "Eff off." Diarmid grumbled, staring around wildly as if he didn't know who or where he was. "What the--what effing time is it?" He squinted through the bright sunlight at Peter.
" 'effing' well time to get up you stupid git. You'll miss the Sorting."
"Buzz off, at least I read."
"Puff."
"Take off! What time is it."
"Ten minutes to the ceremony."
"Oh SHIT!" Diarmid bolted up, glad he at least had his clothes on and grabbed up his pack and attempted to fix his clothing and hair. "Well, a bit shabby but the best I suppose I can do." Diarmid had only been here for two whole years and he couldn't wait to be done. It wasn't the actual school he disliked, but the whole student population, it would seem. He loved to learn (though was often too lazy to do it) and he hadn't made many friends. Not that he couldn't, he just didn't want to. There were a few he liked, and in the beginning of his third year he was looking forward to a bit of family. Today he would see his sister Caerlinn be sorted, and he rather hoped she'd be in Gryffindor. He was relatively certain she'd be in either Gryffindor or Huffplepuff; she wasn't much for academia nor would she last a moment in Slytherin.
Oh, he couldn't wait for it all to just be DONE.
This post has been edited by diarmid duram on Dec 18 2007, 05:41 AM
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