Harry Who?
By Felicity Stormborn
Birthdays; An annual event that can either have you screaming for joy, or seeking comfort in the pure fact that you have lasted through another year unscathed. Odd, isn't it? How you can begin to dread the very day that was once the epitome of happiness in your youth. It's all about the visual elements these days; the fear of growing older. Concoct as many ageing potions as you like but the truth will always eventually catch up to you. My advice is to embrace your new age and the memories that have been forged over the past year. Or you can get ridiculously drunk and try to forget the whole ordeal... It's up to you, really.
This month we celebrate a most famed wizarding birthday. You know his face, you know his story and don't we just love his cardigan? I'm talking about the one, the only... Neville Longbottom! I did hear whispers of another boy celebrating the turning of a new age but he has seven muggle books devoted in his honour. Who wants to hear any more about him anyway?
Clutching my purse and extra lipgloss, I took off to Diagon Alley, where I had heard rumours of Neville's shindig lighting up the dank rooms that lay beneath Gringotts Bank. It was an extremely exclusive event, with all the most important figures of the Wizarding World holding the invaluable invitations. Unfortunately, I somehow mislaid my own invite and spent most of the evening bargaining with the trolls that fiercely guarded the entrance. A rather silly decision, if you ask me. If it weren't for their stupidity and partial lack of sight, they would have recognised me for the World renowned celebrity that I am.
Nevertheless, I was determined to attain a few spoken words from the birthday boy himself. So, being the cunning Slytherin that you all know me to be, I sidestepped the 'guards', pulled out my wand and naturally blasted a large Felicity sized hole in a nearby wall. How was I to know they would have those odd little goblin creatures manning the hallways? The whole mess would surely have been avoided if they took a second to locate my face beneath the make up I was adorning that night. I am a beloved public figure, for goodness sake!
Anyhow, the evening soon took a decidedly big turn for the worst when I found myself bound to a magically enhanced lamppost. It was rather humiliating to say the least though I did get a good spotting of Neville as he retired for the night around four am the following morning. With none other than Romilda Vane clutched to his hand (I suspect a love potion), he seemed rather happy as he stumbled down the cobbled streets singing along to rather old Celestina Warbeck melodies. Although, I'm sure he was rather disappointed at my absence. The restraining order I received last week was an obvious sign that he was taking this as a 'date' opportunity.
Oh, well. I guess I learned my lesson; Always follow the assignments that the SOUP editors have bestowed. So, Happy Birthday Barry Snotter!.. Or whatever his name is.
Signing off,
Lissie.