my eyes

Airey felt like stabbing his fork into the table in the Great Hall. He would have actually done so if his best friend's hand had not been in the way. The popular kids. The ones that represent the hubris that can accompany physical strength and public support. The ones that everyone said were the real Gryffindors when any dolt with half a brain could see they were as fake as a pair of muggle denchers.

But then he looked at his best friend sitting next to him and things fell into perspective. They'd make their own respectable sort of Gryffindor.