I think it would’ve been way better if in Harry Potter, Hogwarts hadn’t been a wizard school but a massage school. So instead of putting on that rumpled, windbaggy hat to figure out what class or whatever it was you were in you put on these funky fresh talking gloves and it oh so carefully analysed your hands.
‘Cause then it be all, “These fingers are creepy and lecherous and sweaty as dong’s ballz. SLYTHERIN!” or “No one will feel relaxed being touched by these warty nose pix. RAVENCLAW!” and “It’ll feel like being rubbed on by half-wit nervous tater-tots. HUFFLEPUFF!” and “Damn, I be cummin’ hard in these gloves like a baby dove slipping from its pearly egg. GRIFFINDOR!”