The roommates PV Marcus Crawford

The morning sun is starting to find its way through the tower windows in the boys´ dormitory, and a boy lay fully awake in his four-poster bed. By pulling a rope, the ancient crimson curtains sprang aside, and Marcus could see most of the dormitory. He looked around and saw that some of his roommates were also awake and sitting like himself on the edge of the bed, others and the majority were still sleeping behind the bed curtains. He didn’t know any of those faces looking back at him, but then again, there’s probably no one who knows all the names and faces yet.
With that reassurance, Marcus got up from the bed and walked silently over to the pile of freshly pressed uniform and wizard robes. A little smile grew on Marcus's lips – it reminded him of home, and how the housekeeper Bristlewick always provided freshly pressed and neatly folded cloths on his armchair next to the dresser. He gets dressed in the proper manner, makes sure his tie was tied in the proper way and was centered, and tugs his shirt into his pants. Marcus could see that this was in stark contrast to the other Gryffindor boys; some were barely dressed.
Before picking up his schoolbag and leaving the dormitory, he takes a good, long look in the mirror. His smile grew even wider. His Mamma would be proud, and Marcus was now properly dressed and ready to make a good first impression on this special first day.

After leaving the dormitories, the first thing that met him was the common room. You could almost still feel the electric energy from last night; it was a night Marcus would always treasure. He was, by no surprise, sorted into the house of valour and bravery, Gryffindor. Just like most of his forebears and, more recently, his older brother Enzo. He closed his eyes for a moment, and he was brought back to the common room the night before. Some smiling faces were passing by. New students frantically and excitedly chatting about being sorted into Gryffindor and what it may entail. Some students, mostly older students, would welcome him to the scarlet house and would say something like: - ‘Finally, it’s not a Crawford-free school anymore’ and pat him on the shoulder.
- ‘Are you coming?’ A gentle girlish voice brings him back to reality. He looked around and spotted a friendly face standing at the exit, right at the backside of the portrait of “the Fat Lady”. His stomach rumbled loudly in the almost empty common room. Marcus smiled and thought to himself: - “breakfast”.

The morning spirit was starting to wake – the smell of freshly baked pastries and bread was captivating and guided the drowsy and half-asleep student to the Great Hall. Marcus was stunned by the view; everything was so magical. From the famous enchanted ceiling, which reflects the outside sky, which was now showing a beautiful morning red sky, to the lavishly filled table with all sorts of breakfasts. It was simply marvellous and breathtaking.
Students started to arrive for breakfast – there were still only a handful of students from each house sitting along the tables. So, without difficulties, Marcus finds a spot right beside some other Gryffindors. Marcus picked different things and thought that Enzo was right about the cooking, which was really something amazing and special. Almost as good as Tutter’s cooking. He was happy that he decided to come down early, so he could really partake in this breakfast feast and almost forget everything around him.
Now and again, Marcus looks up when a new student appears, just like himself, stunned by the magical view. A steady stream of students starts to pour into the Great Hall, and the tables likewise were getting filled, and by that, a tousled brown-haired boy, with a uniform screaming of carelessness sat down right beside Marcus, and he automatically respond with a: - ‘buongiorno’, but the boy didn´t react – he was simply too occupied with lavish breakfast-table. Marcus tries to focus on his own pasties and pumpkin juice, but somehow his eyes keep wandering back to this energetic boy beside him. He was shovelling all the lovely breakfast goodies inside him, like a wild animal. Sometimes, swallowing food without even chewing it. He was fascinating; it was something Marcus wasn´t used to and really far from his own character or upbringing. Mamma would discipline him or us if we ever acted like that.

Suddenly, he was talking to Marcus, - “What was he saying?” The boy was looking at him and flashed him a mischievous smile while asking: - ‘So…. Have you thought about what you´re going to write in your first letter home?’
Marcus was taken aback, - “did he just speak to me? – what? – letter home?”, he looked quickly down and took a deep breath, giving him some extra seconds to answer: - ‘Hmmm… Well… First, I´m going to tell them that I lived up to the legacy – a proud Gryffindor. Surely making my old papá so very proud. Otherwise, I´ll tell them about the trip here, especially about the very kind people I met and drove with.’ It was funny and strange; normally, Marcus wouldn´t spill his beans like that. Usually, he was more guarded and selected… - ‘Anyway, that’s a bit about me. What about you? What are you going to write home about? Maybe a little mention about the food?’ chuckled Marcus and tried to mimic the boy's cocky smile….

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| Date: 02/09/25 | Word count: 339 |
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Frederick nearly choked on his pumpkin juice when Marcus tried to mimic his grin. He pressed a fist lightly to his mouth, swallowing fast, then burst into a laugh that echoed faintly among the clatter of plates and chatter growing in the Hall. Tilting his head and squinting at the boy, Fred said between chuckles, “Blimey, you do that pretty well. Careful, or I’ll start thinking you’ve been practicing in front of the mirror.”

The remark wasn’t meant to sting; in fact, Fred’s eyes sparkled with open amusement and something like admiration. Marcus looked as though he’d stepped straight out of one of his mother’s wizarding magazines: tie centered, robes sitting exactly right, hair behaving in a way Fred’s never did. By contrast, Fred’s own uniform looked as if it had been thrown on in a hurry, his tie already slipping sideways, his hair sticking up in stubborn tufts no matter how many times he raked a hand through it.

He speared another piece of honey cake with his fork, speaking around the mouthful with the eagerness of someone who could barely keep his thoughts contained. “What I’ll write home? Oh, everything. The train ride, the boats, the Sorting Hat.” His grin widened as he leaned forward slightly. “Being sorted into Gryffindor was brilliant. My dad was in Gryffindor too, just like most of your family, right? He’ll be over the moon when he reads it.” The words tumbled out in a rush, colored with pride and the thrill of belonging.

For a moment he grew quieter, drumming his fingers absently against the table. Then, as if remembering his manners all at once, he turned toward Marcus with a sheepish smile. “Listen, I’m sorry… we all said our names last night, but I honestly can’t remember yours. Too much excitement, I guess. I’m Frederick. Fred, if you like.” He extended his hand across the table in an almost formal gesture, the warmth in his eyes softening the apology. “I’m glad you sat here. First mornings are better with company.”

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| Interacting with: @Marcus Contarini Crawford |

“Wow” was the first word that came to Marcus’ mind. This energetic boy was sitting on the opposite side of the table, full of energy and self-confidence, something that surely was lacking in him. It was invigorating, almost intoxicating.
He just sat there, stuffing his face with all these lovely treats and speaking with his mouth full; it was so far from his own table manners and way of behaving, but somehow Marcus didn´t mind. This was a broom ride that he didn´t want to miss out on.

Marcus was all caught in his own train of thought when the boy once again spoke to him, - ‘Blimey, you do that pretty well. Careful, or I’ll start thinking you’ve been practicing in front of the mirror.’ Marcus quickly looked down, breaking eye contact; warmth was spreading on his cheeks. He was taken aback slightly by the statement; his thoughts were scattered and disorganized. His inside voice kept repeating, “What now, what now!! Don´t panic, don´t panic!!” After what felt like a century, Marcus finally looked up again, and straight away, met once more with his; they were warm, sparkling with amusement and openness, there was no evil or malice behind those bright blue eyes. And the most important thing, they weren´t judgmental.

Suddenly, the boy leaned forward and in a fraction of a second, Marcus mimicked him, leaning over plates and food, almost messing up his neatly assembled school outfit from earlier. As a measure, he gently moved the tableware aside and leaned towards the boy. He started to talk very quickly, almost like he couldn´t contain his eagerness or excitement, but he talked about all the things he wanted to write in his first letter home. Marcus nodded in agreement. It was extraordinary, all of it; the boat ride over the dark crystal lake with the moon reflecting in the still waters, and to the warm Great Hall with its bewitching ceiling with floating candles. All was so magical, and even though Enzo had told him all about it, it really didn´t compare to the real experience. It was truly magical.

- ‘Yep – you’re so right, being sorted into Gryffindor was so brilliant. My parents will be so very proud of me, especially my papá’s side of the family, most of whom have been Gryffindors, all the way back to the beginning. So, no press at all…’ said Marcus with a bit of irony in the last sentence. When the boy mentioned his father and that he also was a Gryffindor, Marcus couldn’t hold back a sincere smile – ‘I think you’re right, he will be ecstatic, and he is waiting patiently on your owl to hear the news’
The boy sat back down on the bench, quickly and strangely became very quiet, drumming his fingers against the table. It was like he was in a whole other place, but before Marcus could say “fiddlesticks”, he had returned and once more the sheepish smile adorning his face. - ‘Listen, I’m sorry… we all said our names last night, but I honestly can’t remember yours. Too much excitement, I guess. I’m Frederick. Fred, if you like.’ So, his name was Frederick, finally a name or somewhat an introduction. Marcus’s heart was racing; this was so exciting. Getting to know someone who sincerely wanted to get to know him. He smiled, maybe a bit too eagerly, and replied: - ‘Oh, Hello Frederick.. I mean, Fred. So very nice to meet you.’ Fred didn´t need to apologize; so many new names, faces, and stuff happened last night, so it's no wonder he couldn’t recall Marcus’s name. For a split second, Marcus wondered if they even had spoken to each other, but anyway. - ‘My name is Marcus Cortarini Crawford.’ Now that was a proper introduction, like mamma always said, “remember to give your full name, be proud of it!”
- ‘You can call me Marcus, I really don’t have a nickname, besides the one my brother Enzo gave me; half-pint, so I’m more than open for one…’ Once again, the feeling of being honest comes over, Marucs quickly covers his mouth with his hands, trying to prevent more “spilling of the beans”.

Frederick extended his hand across the table and, in a formal and friendly gesture, ready for a handshake, Marcus slowly found a napkin and cleaned his hands before going straight in for it. - ‘I’m glad you sat here. First mornings are better with company.’ Marcus looked at Frederick and, while shaking his hand, - ‘The pleasure is all mine.’ – a silent moment passes by, and Marcus straightened up and looked down the table; - ‘So Fred – what are you looking most forward to? My brother told me that Hogwarts holds a lot of secrets.’ A quiet laugh escapes a mischievous smile…

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

| Date: 02/09/25 | Word count: 533 |
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Fred’s smile lingered as he leaned forward, clearly still caught up in the memory of the night before. “Truth is, I was secretly hoping I’d end up in Gryffindor all along,” he admitted, his voice warm with pride. “Guess the Hat didn’t think twice about it.” He tilted his head curiously at Marcus, his blue eyes sparkling with interest. “Is your family very big? Where do you all come from?” He didn’t wait long for an answer before barreling on, his excitement carrying him forward. “I thought the common room was brilliant, didn’t you? And the dormitory, those four-poster beds are something else. Makes me wonder, though…” He tapped his fork against the table absentmindedly. “What are the other common rooms like?”

He couldn’t help the grin tugging at his mouth when Marcus shook his hand so formally, napkin and all, before giving that crisp answer: “The pleasure is all mine.” It was such a contrast to the chaos that usually followed Fred around that he found himself liking Marcus instantly. There was something refreshing in how proper he was, like a boy straight out of a storybook, but at the same time, Fred could sense the eagerness bubbling underneath, the kind that slipped out when Marcus blurted things he hadn’t meant to. Fred recognized that feeling. He did that all the time.

When Marcus mentioned the nickname his brother had given him, Fred let out a short laugh. “Half-pint, huh? Let me guess, older brother?” His grin widened knowingly, and he tapped the handle of his fork against the table. “I don’t have any siblings, so no one’s ever given me a funny nickname like that. I’ll stick to calling you Marcus… for now,” he added with a playful lilt, as though promising that a nickname might come sooner or later.

When Marcus asked his question, Fred leaned back slightly, balancing his fork between two fingers as if it were a wand. His blue eyes danced toward the enchanted ceiling above them, where the morning sky glowed with streaks of rose and gold. “What I’m looking forward to?” he repeated, letting the words hang for a moment as he thought. “Honestly? Everything.” He let out a small laugh, shaking his head at himself. “But if I had to pick…” He leaned in again, excitement clearly in his voice. “Quidditch. Definitely Quidditch. My dad works in the Department of Magical Games and Sports and I grew up hearing stories about the league and famous players. I’ve been practicing with a broom since I was ten, even though Mum said I’d break my neck.” His grin widened. “Haven’t yet, though.”

Fred continued his breakfast with unabated appetite, piling eggs and toast onto his plate and washing them down with long gulps of pumpkin juice, all the while keeping the conversation alive. His bright eyes flicked between Marcus and the food as he spoke, his words tumbling out in quick bursts between mouthfuls. There was nothing stiff or uncertain in his posture; even though everything around him was new and dazzling, he carried himself with the ease of someone who belonged, chatting with a boy he’d only just met as if they were already friends.

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| Interacting with: @Marcus Contarini Crawford |

Marcus couldn’t tell if he was smiling because of his last remark, or if it was Fred’s very infectious smile, but a comfort was already spreading inside him; it was just what Fred said, - ‘… better with company’, it was truly true, it was better with company. It was like the surroundings were blurred or muffled, except for the conversation with this very interesting new roommate.
- ‘Truth is, I was secretly hoping I’d end up in Gryffindor all along. Guess the Hat didn’t think twice about it.’ Marcus pondered upon this sentence; surely he was glad to be in Gryffindor. The people and the family back home had hoped that he would turn out like the rest, and maybe that’s why the hat had taken an eternity to decide where to place him. - ‘Yeah, I guess…’ Marcus answered quietly. Before he could open his mouth to ask Fred a question, but before a single word could take form, Fred had already asked about him and his family. He was ready to give a long-winded lecture about both his family, but with the tension in the air and with Fred’s excitement, he could quickly deduce that such a thing was best saved for another time. – ‘Well…’ Marcus chuckled, - ‘I have a rather large family, if you count everybody, but otherwise, I’m the youngest of three. Enzo is my older brother, and Aurora is my older sister.’ It was strange, nobody had ever been so direct and forthcoming like Fred, - ‘We or I mean I, is kind of a mix. One-half Scottish and one-half Italian. What about you? What is your story?’ There was an eagerness behind his dark-brown eyes; he really wanted to know where this strange, energetic boy came from.

-‘Yes, my wonderful older brother Enzo..’ The sarcasm and annoyance tone in Marcus’s voice was not to be mistaken; he was pausing for a bit, all the while he was biting his lip. He continued; - ‘Buuuut I call him meatball, because he is all brawn and almost no brain.’ He was still biting his lip, and his body language showed that he wasn’t proud of that statement; it gave him a bad conscience. The tapping on the table caught his attention for a moment, it was in a soothing rhythm and only got interrupted by Fred's suddenly saying, - ‘I don’t have any siblings, so no one’s ever given me a funny nickname like that. I’ll stick to calling you Marcus… for now.’ Marcus laughed and once more had this cheeky grin on his face. “The game is on, Fred – I’ll surely find a suitable nickname for you.” Marcus thought to himself.

You could see the thought flying around in Fred’s head when Marcus asked about what he was looking forward to. Fred leaned back, and that well-known cheeky smile was spreading across his lips, and his mesmerizing blue eyes bathed in the rose and gold skylight from the enchanted ceiling. – ‘Quidditch. Definitely Quidditch.’ All the while Fred was talking, Marcus was sitting casually at the table, or maybe not as casually as other students. He was sitting with a straight back and with an expression that would come across as focused and would catch every detail coming from Fred. But he was relaxed in his own way, his hands placed in his lap. All of the sudden automatically shot forward and leaned over the table, Marcus smiled and nodded and thought, “Well, he has almost the same build as Enzo, so that makes sense” and while Marcus was thinking, Fred continued: - ‘My dad works in the Department of Magical Games and Sports, and I grew up hearing stories about the league and famous players. I’ve been practicing with a broom since I was ten, even though Mum said I’d break my neck.' Marcus lighted up – even though he wasn’t a big Quidditch guy, he still knew a bit, the words came very quickly to him; ‘So you like Quidditch. Are you going to try to get picked for our team? Maybe you already know my brother Enzo. He plays for the Montros Magpies; he is better known as C-Rini…’

Before Fred could answer, Marcus once more sat back and took a good, long sip of juice; his mouth was so dry because he was constantly talking. The boy across from him was full of energy and projected or carried himself as if he belonged here or always had been part of this magical place. This easiness aura about him blew almost every concern away, and Marcus could feel that this was something special and a friendship had just sprung forth…

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| Date: 02/09/25 | Word count: 532 |
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Fred noticed, with a small flicker of surprise, that Marcus didn’t seem quite as thrilled about being placed in Gryffindor as he himself had been. The boy’s “Yeah, I guess…” had come out quieter than expected, almost thoughtful. Fred didn’t comment on it, though; he simply kept chewing, letting the moment breathe. Maybe, he thought, not everyone felt the same way he did about House placements. Some people just needed time to find their place. That was fine.

He nodded along while Marcus spoke, grinning when he mentioned having a big family. “That’s brilliant,” Fred said earnestly. “I suppose mine’s kind of big too, if you count all the uncles and cousins. We’re all English, though, none of those fancy international roots like yours.” He laughed softly, the sound bright and quick. “Never been to Italy, actually. My mum always says we should take a trip there someday, but Dad says he’s too busy. Figures.”

He leaned forward again, curiosity flickering across his expression. “Do your brother and sister go here too? To Hogwarts?” he asked, tilting his head. Marcus’s reply came with a noticeable edge, some mix of affection and exasperation when he mentioned “my wonderful older brother Enzo.” Fred caught the tone immediately, but instead of taking it as bitterness, his grin widened. “Meatball?” he repeated, laughing out loud. “That’s actually pretty good!” There wasn’t the faintest trace of judgment in his voice; if anything, he sounded like he admired the honesty.

When the talk shifted to Quidditch, Fred’s face lit up. “Oh, I’m definitely trying out for the team,” he said without hesitation, his tone full of conviction. He spoke as though the decision were already set in stone, though somewhere, deep inside, a small nervous twist reminded him that wanting something didn’t always make you good enough for it. Still, he refused to let that thought linger. “It’s sort of the thing I’ve been waiting for.”

Then Marcus dropped the bomb. Enzo, his brother, was C-Rini. Fred froze for half a second, a bit of bacon halfway to his mouth, before nearly shouting, “You’re joking! Enzo Contarini? The C-Rini?” His voice came out louder than intended, drawing a few curious glances from nearby students, but he didn’t care. His eyes were wide, glowing with excitement. “That’s so cool! You’ve got to get me his autograph, please, Marcus, you can’t say something like that and not promise me that!”

He laughed again, giddy and almost childlike in his enthusiasm. “My dad’s going to flip when he hears I met someone who knows a professional player.” Then, almost offhandedly, he added, “There’s one on his side of the family too, actually, my uncle Rupert. Used to play for the Ballycastle Bats ages ago, before he retired. Too many accidents, you know how it goes.” Fred said it casually.

Breakfast, Fred’s first at Hogwarts, was still in full swing across the long tables. The clinking of forks against plates, bits of conversation, and the occasional yawn filled the Great Hall. Fred’s eating pace gradually slowed as he began to feel full, but his conversation with Marcus stayed lively, with no awkward silences or any sign that Frederick would let it fade easily.

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| Interacting with: @Marcus Contarini Crawford |