sine pater filius

ＡＭＹＣＵＳ ❝ i’ve been raised on great literature and table manners — but my father says i use my emotions too much to be successful. ❞

[firevvhiskey-archived-blog1]

    It’s not the first time she’s run into Amycus this late, and she’s sure it won’t be the last. Roughly four years have passed since they both started playing for the team and within each, there have been, at the very least, four run-ins of this nature. While she never minds it, that doesn’t mean she doesn’t hope quick pop-ins to the changing room will be solitary. Emmeline smirks as she walks past, her destination – a locker three spaces down, her surname pressed into a plate near the top – already set.

              ❝Don’t worry, I’m not here to purposely                 intrude on your alone time. I just left a                 set of Arithmancy notes in here.❞

                                                                    After a few moments pass, spent rummaging                                                                     through various items, there’s a small stack of                                                                     roughly seven sheets worth of notes in hand. 

 ❝Trying to get on Vanity’s good side again, are    you? Or do you just find the company of your    teammates to be that dreadful?❞

    Her tone’s light as the locker clicks shut once more, knowing full and well he enjoys his alone time. Merlin only knows how many times he’s done this. And Merlin only knows how many times she’s intruded, teasing him ever so much, if only to see how long it takes to ruffle his feathers.

[amyqus]

The voice that responds is familiar enough that Amycus doesn’t need to turn to recognise who it belongs to. He wouldn’t call them friends by any means -- ( Amycus has never been good with those. He was always too reserved growing up and the bonds never stuck. ) -- but they have enough history and past interactions that Emmeline isn’t just another housemate either. It’s a balance that seems to work well, at least as far as he’s concerned. Friendship comes with obligations that Amycus is keen to avoid where he can. He’s more than content with this kind of exchange, a mirage of closeness knitted from banter and vague details that mean he never has to share anything too personal.   ( Come this far, he’ll say, but no further. ) 

           “Neither. Testing drills.” comes his reply. It’s short, to the point, but not curt.             The shyness of his childhood is something he’s mostly grown out of, but he             still isn’t the most social of people. Amycus is in no rush stowing his bat into             his kit bag, alongside a well-worn pair of Quidditch gloves. Dinner is already             over, and he’s not in any hurry to get back to the common room yet. “I don’t             think this would put me on her good side anyway. Think she’s more likely to            accuse me of overtraining again.” 

It’s not until Amycus is shouldering his kit bag that he looks to Emmeline, and her notes. 

                                                                          “Why are those even in your                                                                             locker in the first place?”

[fabianthesage-blog]

It honestly hadn’t been where he’d meant to end up. Some nights, when he thought too many thoughts and tried to solve too many problems at once everything got tangled up and there was only one person who could untangle that particular Gordian Knot that was his brain; Gideon. But when his stumbling footsteps brought him to the Quidditch pitch it wasn’t his brother he found, but Amycus Carrow. 

“Uh no…. not after the pitch. Was after the other me…. well…. the much broader far more muscled and one minute fifteen seconds older me. Seen Gideon?”

[amyqus]

         “The other you?” Amycus frowns, a crease forming between his eyebrows.              ( Gideon. Gideon. ) He can’t say the name rings a bell, but when he looks               up from packing his broomstick polish, the face that greets him seems to               be familiar. He can’t say from where exactly -- ( a shared class, perhaps,               or just frequent passing in the hallways ) -- but he knows one thing for sure. 

      “If you mean someone who looks like you, no. And no one else has been here tonight.”

[toujoursleroi-blog]

Regulus was taken aback a bit when Amycus still hadn’t heard him properly- sure, Reg didn’t command attention from the general populace like his brother did, but he’d still been expecting the older boy to recognize his voice and notice. His mother would insist that he should feel insulted, but luckily his mother wasn’t here. 

“Yeah, I was,” Regulus nodded before letting out an awkward laugh, “Unless there’s someone else sitting here that’s invisible..” He tapped his fingers against the cover of his book for a moment before speaking again, “I asked about your summer, but it seems you’d prefer silence.”

[amyqus]

"Usually.” Amycus responds matter-of-factly. He’s charismatic when he needs to be, at dinners in the townhouse or social functions thrown by the Carrows, but outside of those situations, he’s generally a young man of few words. He sets his quill aside with a slight stretch. His shoulders are aching from so long bent over the parchment, and that’s the kind of thing that can wreak havoc in practice if he doesn’t loosen them up. 

             “I just work better that way. No distractions.” Amycus tacks on, honestly.               The library right  in the middle of exam season is his personal idea of hell.               “So, nothing personal, Black. Don’t worry so much.” 

At the mention of summer, he shrugs. Forcing smiles for family friends and contacts aren’t his idea of a holiday, but the languid leisure of the summer days proved a refreshing break from the cool walls of Hogwarts. “It was alright. Nice to get out of here, but nothing exceptional.” 

[amyqus]

The high that follows an intense practice always leaves Amycus feeling buzzed, a rush of endorphins that seem to burn through his veins. Tonight is no exception, even if he’s opted for a solitary practice without the rest of the team. Running through drills by himself is a habit he should probably break himself from, but Amycus knows he couldn’t have waited for the next team practice to trial a potential new play; it’s already been running through his head since that afternoon. The dim quiet he’s been enjoying up until that point doesn’t last as he expects, and Amycus is soon aware that he’s no longer alone in the fading evening. He doesn’t bother to look up, enjoying the faint ache in his muscles as he continues to gather his things instead.

                            “If you’re after the pitch, I’m done with it now. It’s all yours.”

[toujoursleroi-blog]

Regulus gave him a quizzical look before realizing he’d probably broken some train of thought, and suddenly he felt rude for interrupting. Regulus was already cautious around a lot of the Slytherins, and though he didn’t think Amycus the type to suddenly snap, he wasn’t going risk it. He shot him an apologetic smile as he sat down and set his book in front of him, deciding to try for some small talk with his housemate. “Thanks.. so, did you have a good summer?”

[amyqus]

Amycus’ concentration is already broken when he hears the voice again, but not enough that he can grasp the words as clearly as he should. His eyes lift at last from the parchment, his attention shifting to whomever seems to keep speaking at him. The quill remains tucked between nimble fingers, but the threat of the stray droplets of ink landing on his careful words isn’t heeded.

          “ -- Oh, Black. It’s you.” Recognition sets in once Amycus sets his full focus           on the figure across from him. In hindsight, the voice should have been all he           needed to know who it was. They’re housemates, at the very least. "Are you           talking to me?”

[amyqus]

                            EARLY YEARS AND BIOGRAPHY.

The old saying goes that blood is thicker than water, but it is one that has proved to not be the case for the Carrow family, since Amycus is a member in name only.

An illegitimate child, Amycus was born to a wealthy pure-blooded girl following a rather tumultuous affair with a muggle. The shame of the magical family for reasons he never understood, Amycus was quickly swept under the proverbial rug. For the first several years of his life, the half-blood was raised by a distant aunt in a country estate well away from the main house. Shortly after turning five, however, Amycus found a new home – amid the thorns and petals of the Carrow family tree. It was an adoption conducted  in utter secrecy, and one that was mutually beneficial. The Carrows gained an heir and his biological family were finally free of the shameful bastard child their daughter had borne. For all her protests, Amycus’ biological mother had little say in the matter and he was soon swept away to the Carrow household. His apparent absence was explained away by education abroad and a childhood sickness, lies that most were quick to swallow. ( Naturally, the fact that his father was a muggle was carefully shielded from the Carrows. Instead, the story was sold that his father had been a married man, unable to claim his son, but definitely one of magical descent. )

The novelty of his new life was jarring at first, especially given how quiet Amycus was in his youth. The longer he spent in the London townhouse, however, the more accustomed he grew to his new lifestyle. He soon lost track of the name he once answered to, soon forgot the facial details of the elderly woman who had cared for him up until then. He was always aware they were not blood relations, even as he called the Carrows ‘mother’ and ‘father’ and ‘sister’. Yet they’re still the only family he remembers, and Amycus has come to care for them as if they’re his own. The desire to find his biological family dims year by year -- there must have been a good reason, after all, that he ended up with the Carrows instead. He has no desire to poke around in that.

As the years have unwound, living as a Carrow has definitely drawn Amycus from the shell he’d retreated into when he first joined them. He’s still quiet -- the sort who would rather forgo a soirée in favour of the company of one or two, but there’s an undeniable confidence that oozes from him. He’s charming, but sometimes audacious. Witty, but often impertinent. Reasonably clever but utterly lazy. Slytherin was a comfortable place for him, right from the beginning. Amycus has never been the ambitious sort, nor particularly driven, but there is a shrewdness about him that easily allows him to fit within the house of snakes. He’s given freedom in Salazar’s house to grow and do as he pleases, and the same extends to his family life, for the most part. A number of his actions are easily written off by his adoptive family as boys will be boys, yet there’s the unspoken knowledge that if Amycus were to seriously displease them punishment would come -- and Amycus enjoys the monthly deposit into his Gringotts vault far too much to risk being cut off from it.

[toujoursleroi-blog]

Regulus walked up to a table, book in hand, prepared to just sit down and read for a while before he had to go to bed. He was happy to be back at hogwarts, but he still always forgot how loud the castle could be after being at home for a while. “Mind if I sit?” he asked absentmindedly, not really registering who he was talking to. 

[amyqus]

The townhouse in Kensington that Amycus spends his time in outside of Hogwarts seems a world away from the bustle of the castle this evening. The sounds of London are dulled by brick, and there’s certainly no sharp shouts of eleven-year old first years tearing down the hallways or librarians screeching like there are here. Years spent at Hogwarts have somewhat dulled the effect though, and for the most part, Amycus simply tunes the sounds out into background noise. The voice that addresses him is nothing more than an insistent hum at first, until his brain registers there was a question tacked in there somewhere. 

    “What?” comes the first response, so eloquent his mother would probably leap for joy.       He doesn’t bother to look up from the letter in front of him, half-composed. “I mean,       sure, knock yourself out.”