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Over it all, I kept hearing people shouting out words I couldn’t quite make out. I cornered a woman, young, cornrowed hair that turned into ponytails with blue tips, wearing a bulky old leather jacket and leggings over runners’ legs. “Are you shouting out ‘Hufflepuff’?” As she nodded, I heard an answering call, “Hufflepuff,” and another girl, Latina, sparkly Chuck Taylors and a Ramones/Bernie Sanders mashup tee, emerged out of the crowd and gave the first girl a hug. I realized I could hear others calling “Slytherin” and “Gryffindor” and “Ravenclaw,” and other answering calls, groups self-assembling, hugging, showing their phones to each other, ignoring me. “Excuse me? What is this Harry Potter thing?” The girl grinned at me. “Dumbledore’s Army! It’s how we organize our affinity groups. That way you can always find people to get your back—the houses let us find the kind of people who share our tactics and style.” She tapped an enamel pin on her lapel, yellow and black diagonal stripes. “Don’t worry, we’re trans-inclusive. JKR won’t have a thing to do with us—we keep waiting for her to sue. You want to join? (less)
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