Hufflepuffs are the ones who love. Who find beauty in fallen petals and drifting leaves. They are the ones who pull books from their shelves in a burst of nostalgia, only to to hold them in their hands and flip without thought through the pages. They smile as the rain falls down and laugh as their hair lifts in the breeze. They hang photos above their fireplaces and keep letters from their friends in battered boxes. They are the ones who know all of the words to their favorite songs. Who know what it takes to make another smile. They watch out their windows as sunsets turn over to dusk and wear sweaters so many times that the sleeves begin to fray. They cling to laughter and point to the stars as they peek out from behind the clouds. They are the ones who find beauty in life.
Ravenclaws are the ones who question. Who point at birds and ask why they can fly and humans can’t. They are the ones who pull up flowers to study the roots. Who would follow lines of ants when they were children. They are the ones who strike up conversation and point to the cobwebs on the ceiling. They listen to music for the instruments, not the words, and when they write, they end only because they have run out of parchment, not because they are short on things to say. They are the ones who try to teach themselves to knit. Who leave notes in the margins of books that drive librarians mad. They listen to conversation with rapt attention, gratefully jumping in whenever pause allows. They are the ones who lie awake at night, wondering about the universe and the depths of the ocean. They are the ones who find wonder in life.
Gryffindors are the ones who discover. Who plunge into the woods with nothing but the clothes on their backs. They are the ones who explore dust-ridden attics. Who fall into streams, only to find that the water is perfect temperature for swimming. They live for the sun beating against their cheeks and an untrodden path before them. They travel to places others have never heard of and return with thrilling tales and exciting stories. They are the ones who try new foods. Who watch foreign movies and dance alone in the early morning. They’ll pick a direction and drive for miles, stopping only when sleep decides to claim them. They push past flowers without fear of the thorns, cupping the small blossoms in their hands as they pass. They are the ones who find excitement in life.
Slytherins are the ones who dream. Who paint even though they never learned how. They are the ones who keep journals and write poetry. Who ask others to tell them a story. They stare at the clouds and watch them form shapes, unmindful of the grass prickling against their elbows. They are the ones who stay awake long after everyone else has fallen asleep. Who read books, and newspapers, and anything they can get their hands on. They wish on stars, eyelashes, and birthday candles, and their eyes gleam whenever someone mentions one of their passions. They are the ones who like to watch trees grow: from saplings to guardians of the forest. Who will study maps for hours on end. They close their eyes when they listen to music, and their thoughts are full of color. They are the ones who find hope in life.
