A thought just occurred to me.
“You’ll soon find out some wizarding families are much better than others, Potter. You don’t want to go making friends with the wrong sort. I can help you there.”
He held out his hand to shake Harry’s, but Harry didn’t take it.
“I think I can tell who the wrong sort are for myself, thanks,” he said coolly.
You know where Harry gets this from? His father. His father who, despite being a member of one of the oldest Pureblood families, who would have been regarded highly throughout the wizarding world, didn’t give a shit about all that “blood purity” nonsense. He befriended a “half-breed” who was regarded as dirt by the majority of the wizarding community, and a boy who was almost disowned by his family for not following the bloodline. James fucking Potter doesn’t give a shit about prejudices and the “right sort” - he cared about what was right, and focused on personality and real attributes instead of where someone’s blood came from. And here, when Harry refuses to strike up a relationship with a Pureblood-through-and-through boy, when he sticks to his guns and tosses social standings to the wind, this is where he is like James. Exactly like James Potter.
When you’ve planned out a whole story idea in your head and you’re so excited to write it but then you open up a blank word document to begin and realize that you actually know absolutely nothing about it and you’re completely lost in a sea of vague plot details and random dialogue.
