Ravenclaw

You have always loved the library.

The smell of dry parchment and leather, the silence that is only broken by hushed whispers, the dust motes which are dancing in the golden rays of sunlight filtering through the large windows - and the thousands and thousands of books on the shelves.

You come here every day. You could study in your common room, but you prefer this quiet sanctuary of knowledge where nothing comes between you and the tome you've chosen.

It's an almost sensual pleasure to run your fingers over smooth parchment, yellow from age, or thin, well-worn paper that is rough under your touch. Every book you open is a door into another world, alluring and fascinating and so new even if it is filled with the wisdom of a millennium. And after each book, there's another, reassuring you that the journey they're taking you on will never end because a human life just isn't long enough to see it through. That, you think, is the best part of it all.

You know that it's different for others. You glance over to the table where the bushy-haired Gryffindor girl almost disappears behind huge stacks of books. You respect her intelligence, but you don't think she really understands the true nature of learning. She's always frantic in her attempts to know everything, find every explanation, a solution to every problem whenever it may be asked of her. Unlike you, she never takes the time to simply admire the beauty; she's always chasing after a goal that is not for humans to achieve. While you feel humbled by the vastness of the knowledge that surrounds you, she is humiliated by the impossibility of grasping it all. Where you're floating, she's drowning.

To your left, you notice a smile on the blond boy's face who is immersed in an enormous, ancient-looking tome. He seems closer to understanding you; you have seen him gaze in wonder at the magical texts before him, eyes shining with awe when he encountered an especially ingenuous spell, a particularly magnificent potion, an extraordinarily powerful incantation. Yet, as befits the serpent's children, he will always first and foremost love knowledge for the power it brings, not for its beauty, forever asking what he can achieve by the things he has learned and how they will allow him to best others. You are no stranger to competitiveness yourself, but it has never been the main motivation in your quest for knowledge. You don't need a reason for wanting to learn.

It's all there in front of you, waiting for you to discover it. The only limitations are those of your own mind and sometimes those of your body when your eyes grow tired and your back aches after hours of studying. You don't discern between good and evil, light and dark; unlike the Gryffindors who are appalled and the Slytherins who are fascinated by the idea of dark magic, you have always understood that darkness is a matter of use, not of the nature of knowledge itself - just like a powerful poison can heal, a strong medicine can kill if used accordingly.

Because you understand all this, you're back at your table in the library every day, inhaling the smell of dust and parchment, enjoying the quickening of your heartbeat when you open another book. You can't think of any place you'd rather be in these precious hours when your world consists of nothing but the written words in front of you and the endless possibilities they offer.

It's where your heart is, where you belong.

It's who you are.