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OPENING STATEMENTS: An In-Depth Character Analysis of Myself and My Very Few Friends.
MYSELF: I can speak fluent Yiddish. It took the hat seventy-nine seconds to figure out if I would be a Ravenclaw or a Gryffindor, not like I was counting or anything. I may be a boy but I still have "that time of the month." I've always been a bit lanky and small, though I wish I was taller. My handwriting, as Potter so eloquently put it, is "gayer than a mime with good hair singing Cher on a rainbow unicycle," so that gives you a hint on my sexuality. Not that anyone knows. No one can know. I imagine myself growing old alone, with four dogs living alongside me, and everyone just spreading rumors that there was just "the one that got away." It's 1972- being gay is weird.
PETER PETTIGREW: is adorable. I believe that he will be forever be doomed to be short. His corkscrew curls are fashioned into a sad attempt of a mullet, and he seems disgusted by all things physical in a relationship. I feel that this will carry on into his adulthood, his aromanticness or asexuality, and he will only love someone platonically. He's tiny, with an unfitting pudgy waist to accentuate his mouselike features (puffy but angular cheeks, squinty and watery blue eyes, and a turned up button nose that is always pinkish in hue), which just makes me want to give him a major hug.
JAMES POTTER: He is a self-proclaimed pretty-boy, and though his popularity guarantees him multiple girls swooning in his presence, he firmly believes that Lilian Evans, an audaciously beautiful redhead with a personality as fiery as her long hair, is the girl for him. He may be attractive, but Lily is most certainly out of his league. Poor old chap. He's been hopelessly in love with her since he saw her from our train car's window ("Who is that?" He breathed dreamily, staring at the young girl who seemed to pointedly ignore him from the platform).
SIRIUS BLACK: Handsome, charming, cunning- you name a good quality (that isn't humble, relaxed, or abstinent) and Sirius can act that way with flying colors. Let's not forget that adjectives such as dramatic, vain, diva-like, and childish can also easily be expressed by the bloody lunatic. He reminds me of one of those show-poodles, endlessly primping his fantastic black hair and acting as aristocratic as his family when looking at a first glance. That's just an act though, I'm sure, because he acts like a lapdog around me, invading my personal space, chatting with me incessantly at a pace no one can understands except for yours truly, and with a bright energy that is only diminished in the morning. Inside of the purebreed, I see a mutt (which is kind of literal, because he refuses to act like his pureblooded family, for that lot acts appallingly snobbish and stuffy).
These idiots are my friends, believe it or not. I'm shocked we haven't ripped each other's hairs out yet. But we're like brothers, and I don't think anything will ever change that.