B is for...? pv Jack Burnett Closed

@Persephone Barret

As the 'B' names were run through like water, the muggle-born first year tried to tell himself that whatever this weird, talking hat thing did was no big deal. There was no test he had to take, no pop quiz he had been meant to study for, so he couldn't fail, right? But in spite of all that, the usually well-composed boy was wringing his robes as each student's name and donning of the proclaimed 'Sorting Hat' was shortly followed by one of four houses.

He had heard from the students on the train a little bit of the Hogwarts Houses and what being sorted into each of them meant. However, there were a number of things that still didn't sit quite right with Jack. Why did the hat talk? Why was the hat the one deciding where they would be put in for the rest of their time at the boarding school? And who could have possibly have been okay with the notion that the old, sentient, misshapen piece of patched-up cloth was peering into their minds to find but where to place them?

As far as he could see, though, there was no alternative; no way out. He would have to go through with this like everyone else had so far and he would have to pretend as if it were the most natural thing in the world. As if floating candles and carriages pulled by invisible creatures hadn't been enough to ask of him to accept! Didn't people ever worry about the hazards such things could pose?

Then again, he was about to join a number of 11-year-olds who had already been given wands and were about to be taught magic that could be used for who-knew-what. Anything that could have gone wrong in this school probably had decades ago. The staff had to be prepared for the most outlandish of occurrences, right?

Unless, of course, said occurrence was the Hat discovering there was some sort of mistake and there wasn't a single cell of magic in Jack's entire body. What would they do with him then? Imprison him? Torture and interrogate him? Murder him? Poof him out of existence?

Shut up, he snapped at his inner fears. From the sounds of it, the worst they'll probably do is wipe your memory. Not that he was much looking forward to that idea, either. Jack had very much begun to feel like he wasn't understood among the other kids in his muggle school. None of them seemed clever or intelligent enough to want to discuss the things he did, much less at the intensity or depth he would have liked.

Receiving the letter to Hogwarts had been like being given validation that he was, indeed, better than those ignorant fools who were his peers in nothing more than age. Here there was so much to learn and discover to the point that he felt like the ignorant fool, and though he loved it, it was still hard to believe he was allowed to be here. Almost everyone seemed to know more than he did, so what right did he have to think he had a place among them?

And then his name was being called.

Without another thought, Jack Burnett marched right up to the stool and focused every fiber of his being on not flinching when the hat was placed atop his head. His mind must have been chaotic at that moment, or else blank, and he couldn't help but feel a sort of spiteful triumph toward the sentient headgear.

Try sorting this, you creepy, worn-out pile of rags, he thought fiercely, forgetting for a moment that the hat could probably hear.

You're not the first to fret so; far from it, it answered, almost sounding amused even as Jack stiffened in his seat. Hmm...claiming to be honest to everyone, and yet not honest with yourself. How positively contradictory.

What?! the redhead wondered, his curiosity and indignance overtaking his anxiety and fear. What's that supposed to mean?!

I'm sure you'll find out with time, even if you refuse to see the truth now. You wish to be recognized for cunning and intelligence. Between Ravenclaw and Slytherin, then. Ah, but if you seek power, then it must be the latter.

Power? I don't seek power, Jack insisted, thinking of the dark wizards he'd heard the other students talking about. It was also said that not a dark wizard nor witch had come from any house other than Slytherin. He found that rumored statistic very difficult to believe. But if it were true, did that mean he was likely to become 'dark'?

There are many kinds of power. The kind you seek is the sort your parents impressed upon you - knowledge. But unlike Ravenclaws, who seek it for the sake of merely knowing, you wish to use it.

Jack's brows furrowed in puzzlement. For what? he challenged, doubting the hat knew him better than he knew himself.

You were just thinking about how Slytherins are associated with dark wizards and evil. But if that's the wide-spread belief, isn't it your desire to subvert it, as tricksters do?

The boy thought about that and realized it was absolutely true. He had always enjoyed playing the devil's advocate and attempting to transcend dualities such as 'right' and 'wrong' as his favorite character archetype did. He liked to believe that there was more to the world than just black and white. Just because that world had expanded to include the wizarding one, it didn't mean he couldn't still show them all the shades in between.

That's it, the hat agreed, seeming to decide Jack was finally comprehending what it was getting at. There's your ambition. Already, they won't be expecting you - a muggle-born. Show them you're more than they think you are.

"SLYTHERIN!"

What had seemed to take an eternity in Jack's head had only been a few seconds in reality. Almost before the boy knew what was happening, the hat was removed from his head and he was walking over to join the cheering table of the house he had been assigned. Curious as to whether all the other 11-year-olds had had their brains scoured and reasoned with like that, he seated himself beside another new Slytherin who he recalled had been sorted just a few students before he had.

"Wow," he muttered, shaking his head as if to clear it. "They only make us do that once...right?"

@Jack Burnett

Persephone remained zoned out for the next few victims, her pointer figure tracing a pattern onto the tabletop with disinterest. Her pale face dragged down, boredom being the only readable emotion conveyed. When the strange, pointy hat would call out her house with such enthusiasm, she found it only polite to tap her palm against the tabletop, creating a slightly stronger noise than the gentle clapping around her. This remained unnoticed, but that didn’t faze her at all; she did it not for the glances, but simply because she felt obligated to.

After a first year was sorted, they would walk stiffly to their table, seemingly filled with anxiety. Persy only felt pride, or that was all she would ever admit to. She pitied these children, uneasy and cautious, but she knew that they were going where they belonged, at least to her. Slytherin wouldn’t have weaklings, worried, pathetic little souls. Do not fret, Persephone held no grudge, and didn’t particularly dislike these other kids, she simply felt sorry for them. Thinking more deeply about it, she concluded that Ravenclaw wasn’t for complete wimps. They were just… ignorant. Gaining all this knowledge just to… have it? The whole idea sounded quite strange to her, of course she didn’t think about how all she was doing was stereotyping. The great Persephone Barret was never really wrong.

Soundlessly, she admitted to herself that she would make quite a good sorting hat.

And this was the state of mind she kept: the strong to Slytherin, the weak to the other, more irrelevant houses. However, it was proven meaningless to her when a ginger boy sat beside her, speaking in what she could only presume was a concerned tone. Without a second thought, she spoke: “Did you sit at the right table?”

She asked this with an eyeroll, thinking to herself about how all redheads were the exact same. Well, Persy had never really met a ginger, but she knew well enough what they were like. Quirky was the first word that came to mind, followed by other synonyms that she felt redundant even pondering over. For a few moments, she studied the boy who had been brave enough to take a seat with her (when, it shall be mentioned, there were indeed more seats around.)

His hair, which somehow reminded her of the igniting appearance of the setting sun, fell over his forehead slightly in an untidy way. When paired with his eyes and angled face, he appeared to her mischievous, cunning. A Slytherin. And, in her own, completely professional and unbiased opinion, Persy was quite the people reader. But the way he spoke now upset her; was it possible that this was how she appeared to people? Nervous? Unsure? Persephone was everything but.

She felt her light eyebrows furrow looking at the boy and darted her eyes away upon realizing she’d been looking for half a moment too long, judging him, investigating exactly what kind of person dared talk to her. In her own twisted mind, she was much more intimidating than she truly looked. Nevertheless, this would not force her to stop enforcing to people that she was indeed a danger to them, a threat, a person not to be messed with. Her slightly chubby face projected otherwise.

Persy would never back down, though. The sorting had become background noise, the hum of a refrigerator, when she spoke once more, this time with more force, confidence. “What do you want? Can’t you see I’m busy not caring?” She was quite talented at insults. Or whatever it was she was saying, it was quite obvious she would look back upon that years from now and smack her forehead in disbelief.

@Persephone Barret

"Did you sit at the right table?"

When the sorting hat had told him that the House of Slytherin wouldn’t have been expecting him, this was not exactly what he had in mind. This girl, the first-year who couldn’t have been sorted more than an hour before him, was already questioning his validity as one of her housemates. Jack might have had his own doubts, but he certainly didn’t think some other 11-year-old who hardly had any seniority over him was any sort of authority on the matter. Her accompanying eye-roll only solidified his notions.

Snickering softly, the boy was struck by just how similar her behavior was to the girls at his old muggle school. And here I thought children from this school might have somehow been better than the ones back home. Or more clever, at least. If the mentality and attitudes of his peers were the same as those of muggle children, then establishing himself at this school would be a piece of cake. He already liked to think he knew how the majority of their minds worked.

Like Persy, Jack could be strongly judgemental, but he tended to form his opinions based on a person's words and actions rather than their appearances. Her pretty, emerald eyes - the sort of emerald green that was known in Wales to be a sign of strong magic - and those lovely locks of sunshine meant little to him. Futhermore, he was more particular about not letting those he looked down on realize that he believed them to be beneath him. It was easier to get people to underestimate him that way and more entertaining when they did so.

Once he realized the sort of person he was dealing with, the boy immediately changed tactics to adjust the impression he meant to give off. "Did I sit at the right table?" he laughed, his amusement genuine, though perhaps not for the reason implied. "Did you? Seeing as we were both just sorted, I'm not sure how you can be any more certain than I am."

Her following questions only caused the redhead to laugh harder. "What - What?" he gasped between chuckles. "If - if you don't care, why are you even bothering to ask what I want?" He couldn't have written her better lines if he'd tried. "Or do you only care now because I disrupted your state of indifference?"

@Jack Burnett

Persephone was habitually counting in her head and had confidently concluded that this annoying boy had broken a very difficult record, only taking 134 seconds to make her furious, her chest sparking with red-hot anger. Words, mostly those she was to abstain from, flew through her mind at such an alarming rate she didn’t know which one’s to pick. Ignorant, chav, git….

Then, the most perfect word for this situation appeared, and God knew that Persy would not wait a second to show this boy what he was in for.

“I don’t know,” She said, her words smooth and calm, a smirk playing on her lips, “Maybe it’s because you’re a mudblood. Cowardly, inferior mudbloods don’t belong in the house of the complete elite.” Persy’s voice became more condescending with each word, mischief dripping from her lips as she grinned.

To others, this idea may have come across as a guess. However, it wasn’t at all really, simply deduced from the information he had so willingly given her. His lack of knowledge on the point and process of the sorting hat obviously proved he had no clue what to expect here, but his welsh accent proved he wasn’t foreign. So, chances were, when this information was brought into consideration, his parents would’ve gone to Hogwarts. If they hadn’t it could only mean the obvious.

She couldn’t bite back the scowl that came next; how dare he question her validity as a Slytherin? Persy was everything a Slytherin was meant to be and it was apparent just from looking at her. Although this may have seemed like a simple reply to this, for Persephone it was different. She felt he might as well have stuck a blade in her chest and twisted, watching the life drain from her eyes. Not being Slytherin, not standing for ambition and success, meant being like her parents. Failures, bums, useless wizards that walked this Earth for no reason except to run away, escape the responsibility they themselves had asked for. This young, clueless boy had dug into her, found exactly where to punch.

But dear Merlin, strike her down now if she ever showed that to him.

Her composure returned, but the Great Hall suddenly felt darker, compact. The tables that once stretched for miles, swimming with hungry students abruptly felt empty, all that was left being Persy and the coward. At best, this boy was a Ravenclaw. Inside, she took her arms and pushed against these newfound restraints, reminding herself that she had always been a Slytherin. The hat didn’t have to tell her that.

“I think you need to learn how to respect your superiors, git.”

@Persephone Barret

The girl's transformation in attitude piqued Jack's curiosity, but he couldn't figure out for the life of him what she was talking about. He continued to uphold his smile, if a tad more awkwardly than before and laced with confusion, when he asked, "Did...you just make that up just now? Because it sounds like an insult a two-year-old would think of." From context clues, she obviously considered him beneath her, but why? And what did she mean, 'elite'? Did this have something to do with what the Sorting Hat had said regarding his being muggle-born?

"Alright, princess," he said, resting an elbow on the table so he could face her with his cheek propped up against his palm. "Please enlighten this 'inferior mudblood' as to just what criteria I fail to meet in order to be counted as one of the 'complete elite'." His boyish grin broadened. "From what I gathered, Gryffindors are the brave ones, so surely any house seems cowardly compared to them. But you know what?"

Jack up a hand up against the side of his mouth conspiratorily, leaning forward as if to let the blonde young lady in on a little secret. "'Brave' is just another term for 'stupid'. And 'cowardly' is another term for 'self-preserving', which I'd say shows a great deal more intelligence than most people would care to admit."

At the girl's next words to him, the redhead's thick brows shot up and his foolhardy grin promptly ceased. Though she may have believed she had maintained her composure, the delivery of her new sentence - a command - suggested to Jack that he might have struck a blow he hadn't intended. Then again, wasn't it always the proudest who had the farthest to fall from their perches on high?

Unable to help himself, the boy adopted a mockery of a pleading countenance, clasping his hands together while his hazel eyes continued to laugh.

"Oh, dear, whoever shall teach me? Wait, maybe there's no need for me to learn after all. There doesn't seem to be anyone around meeting that description for the moment."

@Jack Burnett

Persephone bit her tongue in scarlet fury and choked back a few inappropriate words, but her throat was itching with all the things she had to say. The unanswered questions, the assumptions, the things it was very important for her to know. For example, her most prominent question for the ginger.


Who in the world does he think he is?

The answer certainly couldn’t lie in who Persy thought he was: a coward, just like every other person to exist in the world of the sorry and pathetic. A true coward would’ve given up at this point, turned away or moved seats, but this boy stood his ground. Persephone, as much as his determination was driving her insane, was still impressed. Determination meant ambition; self-preservation meant wit. Perhaps he was a Slytherin. Perhaps that filthy, creepy sorting hat knew something that the brilliant Persephone did not.

Her eyes wandered back to the boy; his demeanor and posture had barely changed. He appeared relaxed, enjoying the fight. Of course, she hadn’t cut as deep as he had, even if he hadn’t meant to. Even Persy, through the blindness of rage, knew that he couldn’t possibly had known how she associated Slytherin with the opposite of her parents. He couldn’t have deduced any of that from anything. Maybe she did appear weak sometimes, see through, but she would throw herself upon her knees before permitting herself to truly become exposed to him.

Her own voice, before she realized she had spoken, cut into the deafening silence.

“The Gryffindors are materially brave, facing challenges that are purely physical in nature. To face, say, anxiety, they are just a human as a Hufflepuff. The only thing that makes them different is their willingness to die.” She spit the words as if talking to a disobedient dog. Perhaps this boy was similar to one.

The words fell out, her eyes never leaving his with a look of distaste, disappointment even. Did this boy who had just now proved himself worthy finally drop down below a mudblood by not even being able to speak the obvious? But who was he, to be owed an explanation by her? Persy was still above him in every way possible, maybe that wasn’t obvious to anyone else, but she knew it deep within her.

And, of course, no one could deny a DNA test.

The question could hold itself back no longer.

“Who, exactly, do you think you are?”

@Persephone Barret

It was a terrible shame that the cheeky boy hadn't understood the true meaning of the insult 'mudblood', because if he had, he most certainly would have been impressed by his housemate's clever powers of deduction. Furthermore, he probably would have derived great amusement from the fact that there was an idiot out there who had been moronic enough to come up with a slur for a group of people who were almost guaranteed not to understand it.

It was difficult for such a term to truly maintain its power when those it was meant to demean and offend weren't even aware they were supposed to be demeaned and offended by it. Obviously, the word's originator hadn't considered the history of the song 'Yankee Doodle', which had been meant as an insult to the Americans, but had quickly become adopted as a favored patriotic song by them instead. These were the sort of facts that made Jack adore history so. These were the sort of trickster subversions that he believed could make anyone unstoppable if they only knew how to do them.

People gave words and other people power over them by how they chose to react to them. The redhead guessed that might have been why the blonde girl hadn't allowed herself to succumb to a furious rage yet; at least not outwardly. He had to hand it to her; her mental fortitude was beyond most others he knew. Usually, by the time he had finished his first sentence to a person, he could already have them ready to spend their next breath screaming profanities and cursing his name. Perhaps there were more like-minded individuals in this house than he realized.

The girl's comment on Gryffindor made him blink. "Uh...yeah. Willingness to die equals lack of self-preservation, which equals stupidity. Isn't that what I said?" Maybe he had been getting ahead of himself in assuming they were like-minded. In truth, Jack was probably much worse than a disobedient dog because at least a dog had the sense to back off after it was kicked multiple times. The redhead, however, only seemed more curious than ever, and he wasn't likely to back off any time soon.

His lips parted slightly at her inquiry, but he hesitated in responding. By now, it was probably clear that the boy loved to hear himself talk, but her question was so vague in its nature, the myriad of responses that crowded his mind made it difficult for him to select just one to use. Did she want a serious answer? A sarcastic one? Another obnoxious, smart-ass response? And anyway, who was she to ask who he thought he was when she hadn't yet stated her side of things? Clearly, she believed herself to be someone important, but how could she expect him to know if she hadn't even said who she was?

Regardless, he didn't feel inclined to reveal his true name to her if she hadn't paid attention enough to have picked it up from before. "Aww, you're already so eager to get to know more about me?" he said, acting bashful as he beamed brightly. "I'm just another first-year Slytherin like you. Wasn't that much obvious?"

Persephone was sure that this strange boy, who’s name she was still unaware, was giving her an attitude. What exactly, she wondered wordlessly, was the benefit of that? What exactly did he aspire to accomplish by pissing her off? It only meant a few things: their relationship would never go beyond the point of strangers (which she was very much hoping it wouldn’t anyway), and that Persy would always remember that this redhead was a… well… there were words for it but she would continue to refrain from their usage. 

Regardless of the feeling of the stress building up in her stomach, like a million pins and needles coming from the inside out, Persy swallowed hard, bringing down all this anger and frustration. Instead of being out of control, like possibly he was expecting, she simply released a held breath and turned to face the person across from her, who was considerately watching the sorting.

Wait, that’s still going on?

A quick moment of attention told her that they had just reached the ‘P’s. Another cold breath from her lips; Persephone would be stuck next to this git for another ten minutes minimum. Her eyes glazed over again, boredom returning as she rested her head on her chin, mumbling under her breath.

“Mudblood.” Her voice was husky from exhaustion from this somewhat entertaining argument, but she was willing to admit she was getting nowhere. It would simply be a waste of her time to continue trying to convince this idiot to shut up. Ignoring things made them go away. Sometimes.

Persephone very rarely used that word anyway, as she didn't particularly care about blood purity. To remind her of this, she constantly kept in the back of her mind that is was possible she could've been a half-blood, or even perhaps a muggle born, and no matter what she would still come to Hogwarts ready to succeed. But the word was her last crutch, her weapon, and she decided to convince herself that his pure idiocy was because of his blood status. 

Didn’t he see she was simply attempting to say they agreed on something? Her head shook lightly as she took the loss, realizing quickly that kindness or consideration got you nowhere in life. She knew that, and had for a long time, but every once in a while that guard would fall down, as if the power of a thousand wrecking balls had smashed into her beautifully constructed emotional walls.

It couldn’t happen anymore, and she now knew that. All that friendship attempts gave you were sarcastic remarks. She had enough of those in her own mind and didn’t need the opinions of some dumb ginger. Irrelevant, she decided, is what he was.
 
Her voice was still gruff when she said, without turning back to him, “Just wanted to know who to avoid in the future. Just leave it.” Persephone’s voice, hopefully, was laced with disinterest. She was disbelieving that for a second she could expose who she was, Persy had spent too long trying to hide that from people, and this inane boy would not be the death of hollow Persephone. He was, in fact, just the beginning.

@Persephone Barret

As it so happened, Jack had several very intentional reasons for attempting to piss people off upon meeting them. Sometimes it was easier to do than others and other times he seemed able to accomplish the feat without any effort at all. He doubted most people would have been able to discern that he had reasons at all, however, much less discern, understand, or agree with them, so he didn't usually bother explaining.

The redhead's brows rose as he noticed the blonde's eyes start to glaze over. Was she just going to ignore him, then? That was unusual. Though he was aware it was probably the most effective tactic for dealing with people like him, most couldn't bring themselves to accomplish it. As he listened, though, he thought he heard the girl mention that funny word again and he doubted she meant to refer to anyone but himself.

"Um...right. I don't see what the point of calling me a 'mudblood' is if I don't even know how it's supposed to be insulting," he told her, sounding a bit disappointed, as if he'd expected more from his new acquaintance. "But hey, if it makes you feel better, be my guest."

If she truly meant to ignore him, though, Jack could respect that. That ability in itself combined with the intentional decision and willpower to do so was, to him, proof of high intelligence. He just felt sorry that she seemed to prefer being bored as opposed to engaging in what he had begun to think was an intriguing battle of wits.

As sad as some might have believed it to be, the Slytherin boy had not recognized the girl's attempt at kindness, particularly because he hadn't been expecting it at all from her. That, and he had probably been too busy attempting to prove his cleverness to her to realize she had been attempting to do anything positive whatsoever for their tentative relationship. Perhaps it was best he hadn't, though. The notion of friendship and extended kindness would have made him turn and run like the true coward he knew deep down that he was.

Hazel eyes regarded the weary-seeming young woman as she voiced her last remark, their seriousness more evident while the subject they observed wasn't looking. If she had chosen to completely and utterly ignore him, to behave as if he absolutely wasn't there, he would have let her be. However, her two sentences, brief and dismissive though they were, were enough to suggest to Jack that his housemate was simply putting on a facade. He believed this because he, too, behaved in such a way when attempting to deny the fact that he wanted company, and he suspected it took one to know one.

Moving as though hypnotized, the Slytherin boy reached for a lock of the girl's blonde hair, segmented it into three sections, and made an effort to practice a braid.