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The ‘really’ took Bowie aback for a second although he tried his best to disguise any surprise that might have touched his expression. Was there a particular type of look that screamed musician? Bowie’s long hair and beard often meant others assumed he was into rock but his fashion choices, bright and bold and not always in the best condition probably gave the hippy impression. “I like a bit of everything, whatever blends well with my voice and skills.” Like everything else in life, the thirty-year-old didn’t squeeze himself into a singular box. “I don’t think I have the showmanship to be a frontman, hence why I prefer to do the behind the scenes stuff.” Being on a radio show, talking highly about himself, it was just not his style. “I envy anyone who has the confidence to do so though, I think I’d get all tongue tied.”
Bowie had never bought into the whole stereotyping of the different houses. He’d been one of those teens who didn’t assign himself to a particular group of friends, a floater, a ‘true’ Hufflepuff he supposed. “I’ve never met a bad Slytherin” he chuckled. Perhaps it was just because he saw the best in everyone that he didn’t subscribe to someone being truly ‘bad’ without reason.
There was a brief flicker of confusion across Bowie’s face as Denzel commented about Beauxbatons. It might’ve only been a decade or so ago but it felt like a lifetime across his twenties. “Oh the mist! Yes it was.. interesting.” Strangely he had both the looks and the whimsy to fit into the students at Beauxbatons but his heart firmly remained at Hogwarts.
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