Chapter 1 : A Wand is a Wizard's Best Friend.
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Everyone is unique in their own way. Everyone has different likes, dislikes, mannerisms and ideas. Not one person is the same as the next. You could describe me that way. Different from the rest. But other people would categorize me as just plain weird. Not even fitting into the basic human mold.
“Neville, would you please geroff my bed,” I groaned, nearly inaudibly.
The Gryffindor Boys Dorm was quite possibly the worst place to live. I barely get any sleep, and when I do get sleep, it’s because there’s Quidditch. I heard shuffling in the staircases. Must be that Harry Potter boy. Or his friend, Ron. Or both, if I’m extremely unfortunate today.
I don’t really talk to Harry; the occasional ‘hi’ is all we exchange. Then again, it isn’t different for anyone else. Luna, I think her name is, and Neville are the only ones that will ever talk to me. We’re known as the three weird people in the school.
“Sorry, mate,” Neville muttered as he walked down the way to the common area. Shuffling out of bed, I scratched my head. Where was my wand? Oh, there it was. On its tiny pillow situated next to mine. Just where it was every other night.
“It’s time to get up, Pookie,” I told it gently as I picked it up and ran my finger along the wood. “I know, I didn’t want to get up either.” Smirking a little, I placed it in my pocket and glanced around the dorm room, still deep in my own thoughts.
See, the thing is, I don’t talk to Harry Potter because he’s famous. And for what? Living? Anyone can do that. Everyone does it on a daily basis. I can’t complain much, though. I’m famous as well. Sort of. Harry potter is famous for living. My name is Dean Harvard and I’m famous for talking to my wand. Weird, right? Wrong.
Let’s face it; people might think I’m a little crazy. But wands are like pets, they need love and affection too. After all, they do things for us, why shouldn’t we return the favor? That’s what I always go by, anyway. My wand has a name, it’s called Pookie. It’s my trusty, trusty wand, and I don’t know what I’d ever do without it.
Walking down the corridor to the Great Hall, I noticed everyone’s eyes on me. Of course they stare. They always do. That’s because I’m famous. Grin planted on my face, I strolled with pride to the Gryffindor table and sat down.
“Excuse me, I’m actually saving this seat for a friend” a rude girl told me. I knew her as Hermione, or something. She was friends with the other famous boy.
“Sorry” I mumbled, like I did all the time. I quickly switched chairs and pulled out another seat. Now I was next to more people who thought I was off my rocker. It wasn’t anything I hadn’t been through before.
“Okay, breakfast is almost here, Pookie,” I told my wand with a smile.
“Look, he’s talking to his wand again,” I heard someone say across the table. I didn’t mind. Pookie was the best wand in the whole world, why wouldn’t I talk to it? It understood me unlike everyone else. I heard laughter erupt from the table, more signs that I was clearly famous.
More famous than that Harry Potter. Smiling over at him, I waved obnoxiously. More laughter. See, I really am more famous than this Potter kid. Everyone knows it. They should write novels on the witty adventures of me and my wand. Now that sounded like a book worth reading.
A/N: This was just supposed to be a simple funny one shot to get me out of my romance rut (: Hope you enjoyed!