It wasn’t uncommon for roommates to disagree. Time spent in your room is typically when one is their most authentic, so it’s natural for discrepancies to arise. Benjy and Corwin, however, took this to a different level. He wouldn’t say things got off on the wrong foot, or they had a rocky start, or any other cliches there were on the subject. Those were all too light of a way to put it. Their relationship was more like….being trapped in the middle of the ocean on a little dingey in the middle of a treacherous storm. The little boat (Benjy) is just trying to make it to shore, but giant waves (Corwin) keep threatening to take it under.
That’s how he liked to think of it, anyway. The high pitched squeak of his luggage wheel took the place of waves as he sailed through hall towards the oncoming storm, lost in ideas of how to miraculously convince the powers that be for a room change. Please, you don’t understand. I think he has a bit of a smoking prob-
He heard Corwin before he saw him. Benjy didn’t try hiding the grimace before giving his roomate a sickly sweet smile. “Ah, Corey! I thought I smelt something rank!” Letting the door close behind him, he took a leisurely stroll to what he assumed was his bed and put his jacket on the bedpost. “I don’t think it’s been long enough. Distance makes the heart grow fonder, my dear pal.” He turned back to his night paralysis demon with his head cocked, his voice taking on a quality that could easily be mistaken as concern, “Have you gotten that snore checked out yet?”
Corey. Anger was an emotion that ran deep in Corwin, one that snaked its way through his veins and burrowed itself a hole in his chest, even if he kept it tucked away from sight. Strangely, though, anger was not the sole sentiment that Benjy evoked in Corwin: he was annoying, pestering, the very personification of everything that he hated, but somehow... not entirely detestable.
It was frustrating, to want to hate someone and not finding oneself able to do so. He was certain he’d gotten Benjy to hate him long ago, yet he couldn’t bring himself to return the same feeling. It was something akin to weakness, but he was quite convinced he didn’t have any weaknesses. Call it a minor and one time slip up.
“Oh, you don’t like my new cologne? Pity, I’ve just gotten it and I do have plans to wear it until its all out. These are trying times, you know - can’t go around wasting money,” he said, as if he was being sarcastic and, in reality, had all the money he would ever need. Benjy didn’t have to know that he was only half joking. “Aw, you’re fond of me? You’re a real sweetheart, Benjillimungus. I’m afraid you’ll have to put up with the snore, for now. All the nurses at St. Mungo’s can’t seem to cure me - don’t worry, you’ll get used to it.”
Gilbert sat in one of the arches of the open colonnade at the far end of the Viaduct Courtyard; his position at the corner allowing him to view all the courtyard’s entrances. There was some sort of ‘casual mixer’ for the first years going on in the Great Hall, so the Ravenclaw prefect had decided to avoid the noisy crowds and grab a smoke outside.
The autumn air was surprisingly warm as the breeze carried a pleasant earthy smell from the forbidden forest into the courtyard. Gil pulled his trusty battered box of Bertie Bott’s Every Flavor Beans from his robes and pulled out one of the joints he had hidden there. The formula was one of his own devising which he’d perfected over the summer, and they’d recently become a favorite. Lighting it with a snap of his fingers, he took a long drag as he replaced the box in one of his inner-robe pockets.
Exhaling slowly, he let the drugs wash over him, lifting his brain up and away from the headache his body felt. The sweet honey smell filled the air around him and as he looked up to verify no professors were near, he saw a couple students milling nearby as well as a few walking along the paved pathways. He very much doubted any of them would be smart enough to realize what he smoking wasn’t a cigarette and be dumb enough to alert an employee to his perceived wrong-doing. So he continued to smoke, a carefree expression of contentment on his face.
Fresher’s week. As a second year, with a good year separating him and the first years, he felt rather above most of the activities (bullshit) that were happening, and in fact he felt quite annoyed by them. This was his own personal hell, and he’d spent most of the week staying as far away from the ‘welcome to Hogwarts, Hoggy Warty Hogwarts, we all have a good time here and everything is jolly!’ as possible.
The Viaduct Courtyard was one place, today, that seemed quiet enough. Quiet, and vacant, save for one Gilbert Selwyn. Thank merlin, because out of everyone at Hogwarts, Gil was easily one of Corwin’s favorite people. One of the only people, actually, that he enjoyed being around - it didn’t hurt that he looked to be having exactly what Corwin needed on a day like today.
“Gil,” he said, smiling. The world, he thought, needed more of Gil’s sort of people. “Just the person I wanted to see! Even if you’re shirking your first-year welcoming duties, which, by the way - if another first year asks me about the stairwells moving, we may have a murder on our hands.”
He’d peaked her interest. Friends - that was pushing it, but it wouldn’t hurt having Corwin on her side. He could be useful. “That certainly sounds like you want something.”
“Well, then, maybe I do want something,” he said, smiling. “It’s just - I think we could be of use to one another. Don’t worry, I’ve not inherited my family’s idiocy.”
Pandora was now arriving at the ravenclaw common room after having been to The Students Organizations Fair to sign up for the clubs she wanted to join in her second year. She wasn’t exactly tired but decided to stop by just to see if any of her friends wanted to do something, it was a beautiful day outside so she didn’t feel like being locked inside of Hogwarts.
After solving the riddle with some ease - which contributed even more to her good mood - the blonde entered the common room and was received almost immediately in a very unimpressive manner. She rolled her eyes as soon as she identified who that voice belonged to, it was extremely rare and out of character the way Pandora acted whenever she was close to Corwin, she was always friendly and cheerful with everyone, but for some reason she had never gotten along with the other ravenclaw.
“Hello to you too, Travers” she answered in a dull tone, she tried never to be rude even if often Corwin didn’t deserve such treatment.
“I won’t be here long so don’t bother talking to me”
Sometimes, it was difficult to see why Corwin bothered to pretend to be nice to his housemates. They all knew, or at least the vast majority of them knew, that underneath that smile was a certain viciousness that couldn’t be entirely masked by a candy-sweet compliment or a welcoming greeting. With Pandora, the effort had stopped long ago - it was simply much more fun to mess with her.
“Oh, come on,” he said, grinning, “Let’s not break out the T word, okay? It’s Corwin. I’d tell you my middle name, but then we’d have to have an unbreakable vow, and... well, I’m not sure w’re there yet.”
“No, do stay a while, we haven’t caught up in ages,” he said. “My heart aches in your absence.”
Generally, being in Ravenclaw was of no particular bother to Corwin. It had its moments, in fact, where it was of some advantage to be there instead of Slytherin - Ravenclaws weren’t, of course, the first house that came to mind when one thought supporters of the Dark Lord and having some intentions that are, when you think about them, really quite horrid. It also, however, had its problems, one of whom was named Pandora. They’d gotten on poorly ever since they met, and with time, things had just gotten worse. Naturally, the moment he tried to relax in the common room, she had to be there too.
“Pandora,” he said, not bothering to smile. She didn’t deserve that much of his energy. “Look what the sea monster dragged in.”
It was the end of orientation, finally. Rosalind was having her morning tea, preparing for a day of listening to the drivel of her orientation group, when someone interupted her. Corwin Travers. She pitied him, she really did. If her own father had done what Torquill had done, well - he would probably have found some poison in his tea. But still, the apple never strayed far from the tree, and Corwin was still an apple in her eyes. “Only to the likes of you.”
“What do you want?”
Corwin fought the immediate urge to scowl at her, because mixed with his anger was an unusal twinge of excitement. Yes, she was being rude, but that was her, and it felt better to be treated harshly by a harsh person than by a generally kind one. “I’m flattered,” he said, “I don’t want anything. It’s only, I’ve been thinking, lately, I should expand my palette of friends a bit. It never hurts to know a few like-minded people, especially with Hogwarts overflowing with... individuals that shouldn’t be here, shall we say. No?”
A shiver ran down Marlene’s spine as the echo of a familiar voice pierced her ears to their core. This was the last place she wanted to be seen, boots in hand and shirt crooked on her shoulders as she slunk away into the shadows that lit the path to the Hufflepuff dormitories. In a way, it was a relief that it was Corwin Travers, who had seen her sneak out of Ravenclaw Tower countless times before, much to Marlene’s dismay. On the other hand, it was Corwin Travers, laden with underlying shame in the knowing glances that followed him on a daily basis as he walked through the halls. Maybe that was how people who knew where she was coming from looked at Marlene, too, but that did not, in any circumstance, mean that they were in the same league.
Merlin, did she hope he knew that. Hell, did she hope that everyone else knew that, too. She turned around to meet his waxen grin with a suspicious smile of her own.
“Fine.” With some people, she might have made an effort to make conversation. With Corwin, the urge was lacking. She stared for a moment before she looked him up and down, shifting her boots from one hand to the other. “Did you have something to tell me?”
No matter how long it had been since his father’s incident, it seemed nobody was willing to accept the fact that he wasn’t like him. Corwin felt like he might be one of the only people in the world that knew that, in fact, he was barely of the same fabric as Torquill: where his father was idiotic, he was discerning; where his father was weak, he had no plans on faltering. He felt the stares, felt their pity, and he resented them as much as he resented his family. He resented Marlene.
“Nothing to tell you,” he said, letting the smile drop from his face. Cad, he thought, feeling the familiar bubble of anger settle into his chest, you absolute, idiotic cad. Being polite, perhaps, wasn’t the best plan of action. “Though, I did expect more from you, Mckinnon. Has nobody ever taught you to greet your peers with a touch more enthusiasm? It’s really quite a bad look on you, you know.”
One of the worst parts of coming back to Hogwarts, undoubtedly, was having to see Benjy again. They’d had nothing short of a rocky relationship, throughout the years, and Benjy had seen some of the less than savory parts of Corwin’s personality more than once. The fact that they were roommates didn’t ease any of his issues with the other Ravenclaw, and though they had learned to coexist, going back to trying to find compromises with Benjy was not a prospect Corwin looked forward to. Please, Merlin, be with me.
He’d been settled in for a solid five seconds before his roommate made his entrance, and without looking up Corwin knew it was him. Damn it all, Benjy hadn’t mysteriously died or disappeared as he’d halfway hoped - this was his reality, now.
“Benjikins! Darling,” he said, giving a pinched smile that said really, this may be one of the worst moments of my life, and I hate you terribly, and remind me why you’re here again? “It has been far too long, my sweet, sweet roommate! I’ve missed you so.”
Marlene McKinnon was, if nothing else (and Corwin didn’t think of her as terribly much else), a useful girl. Not useful in the sense that she was in the slightest bit cooperative, but in the sense that she came from a family that he simply needed to know. Her father, after all, knew his father, probably hated his father, probably told all his children how the Travers name had fallen from grace. Corwin resented this - one day, the world would be rid of such people, though he wasn’t yet sure what his method of persuasion would be.
He didn’t seek her out; he valued his peace of mind at least that much, but sometimes, life found ways. That is to say, sometimes, life sent you face to face with Marlene on your way back to the dorms one evening.
“Marlene!” he said, smiling. It was always best, he thought, to be kind to useful people, even if the sting of I couldn’t care less what your chittering mouth has to say remained in his words. “I feel like it’s been ages. How’ve you been?”
Perhaps there were better places to avoid being around the new kids wandering around than the Three Broomsticks, but Mari had a routine damnit, and she planned to keep to it as much as she possibly could. Sit in the corner booth, drink a butterbeer, read over anything she could to prepare herself for the upcoming class load. As the year progressed it would turn into ‘writing essays’ or ‘catching up on some light reading’, but it was too early in the year for that yet.
She wasn’t expecting company, she rarely ever was, so when she felt a shift in the air and a squeak in the seat across from her, Mari glanced up with an eyebrow lifted, small smirk on her face. “I wouldn’t sit there if I was you. I hear that seat is haunted.” She held the most serious expression she could for as long as she could before she cracked and started laughing, head shaking just a bit.
The Three Broomsticks had been a place, to Corwin’s surprise, he’d found himself quite frequently last year. It got loud, and it was always a bit musty for his taste, sure, but if you caught it at the right time, it was quiet enough. This was decidedly not one such occasion. It was packed to the very brim, to the point that the only open seat he could see was across from Mari Roe, of all people. They’d shared a few classes last year, being under the same degree, and it was safe to say they weren’t on the best of terms. She was a halfblood, and even worse, she was a halfblood with nerve. Despite his better judgement, he sat across from her. She was annoying, and out of her place, but dammit, she was entertaining, and he didn’t have to pretend to be nice around her.
“Mm, color me horrified,” he said, giving her a discerning look. “Tell me, Roe, have you ever been haunted before? If you want, we could surely have it arranged.”
Returning to Hogwarts before all his classes began had not been Corwin’s original plan (a delayed entry had seemed the most him), but after staying at the Hog’s Head Inn for longer than he wanted to admit, he was running out of money and options. Even if his pride had allowed him to write home and beg they give him just enough for a few more days’ stay, his mother would’ve said something like, Corwin, dearest, why don’t you come stay with us for a spell? He wouldn’t have to bother with that, though, because he was quite certain he’d rather die on the streets than return to them. He could’ve gotten a job, but then he would’ve been seen doing common work, which, again: rather be dead. Internships weren’t an option, not with a last name like his, so he had only one thing to do: go back to Hogwarts.
It was orientation, which made things even worse. Thankfully, he hadn’t tried to become a prefect and wasn’t responsible for mingling with any of the first years - he applauded himself for dodging a major bludger there - but that didn’t mean he couldn’t extend a polite, well-meaning hand to a familiar face, even if she was a new student. Besides, a witch the likes of Rosalind Nott didn’t simply waltz into the place and not hit his radar. She could be useful, and while he was stuck here, he might as well make use of his time and find her.
He finally found her in the Great Hall, the morning of the last day of orientation. “Rosalind Nott,” he said, sitting decidedly across from her. “You certainly know how to make yourself scarce.”
primary wizarding school & graduation year: Cambridge Academy ‘77
degree & cohort: Social Sciences, World Politics and International Law
house & year: 2nd year Ravenclaw
sleeping arrangements: Ravenclaw Suite 2B
clubs: Wizard’s Chess & Transfiguration
history.
- Corwin was raised just as every other member of his family had been: lacking in gentleness and made to grow up quicker than he should’ve. The Travers were a ministry family with a long history of doing whatever they needed to climb the social ladder, and despite yielding a fantastic manor in which Corwin grew up, this didn’t lend itself to a happy or nurturing environment for children. His father, Torquill, was quite a nasty man - one Corwin came to resent, the longer he stayed away from home - who took a wife much younger than him and had a suspiciously full Gringotts account. He was a high official, sure, but a man so reckless with his spending couldn’t possibly afford as much as he did. His father, ultimately, was a bad liar that had grown too comfortable with his position. During his fourth year at Cambridge, Corwin asked his mother how exactly their money never ran low. She was kinder than Torquill, more conceding, and, as Corwin would come to realize, a weak link in their family - almost as bad as his father. She told him everything she knew, and she didn’t quite know the depths of it, but he’d been funneling in money from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement for years. It wasn’t that his father had lied that bothered the boy. No, that was perfectly alright: it was the nature of the beast, what he was doing. One had to look out for oneself, and that was just what his father was doing. It was the messiness of his facade that angered Corwin. He had his eyes set high in the Ministry, higher than his father would ever be. As far as he was concerned, he was destined to be the next Minister of Magic, and if his father was caught, that would all be put at risk.
- The year before he graduated at Cambridge, one morning at breakfast, one of Corwin’s mates passed him a paper. The headline read Travers Revealed Embezzling, Let Go from Ministry. The article revealed every piece of his family’s dishonor, of their incompetencies and complete inability to simply be smart about those they laid their trust in. He knew this was coming. The Ministry had gone too long without noticing how poor the Department of Magical Law Enforcement was coming, and his father had too large a house for suspicions to remain dormant. Like that, Corwin’s life began to fall apart at the seams. The manor was sold, and the family resettled his mother’s parents’ home, which, while large enough, was nowhere Corwin wanted to be. He stopped going home on holidays, cut all contact with his father, and only wrote his mother enough that she didn’t worry (though part of him resented her, he still pitied her enough to let her know he was alive). From then on, he knew he’d have to fight to recover the shame that’d been brought upon his name. Unlike his father, he was a good liar: he could project the image that he was a calm, trustworthy person, when underneath him sat a viper, coiled, hissing, and hungry. Corwin Travers was not going to become another casualty in his father’s timeline.
- At Cambridge, he got tied up with the sort of people that encouraged his crueller tendencies. His friends there were the only ones that knew his true nature, that knew his anger. He’d always been proud of his blood status, if not his family, and as he grew his stance on blood purity only harshened. After all, some people were simply born to be on top, and he was one of them. There were those that deserved to be shown their place, those that were at current unaware of their place. He was only doing what was right, reminding them of how the world worked. His friend group, among other things, ended with a tattoo on his left forearm, marking his status on the matter, in case anyone had any doubts about how he felt about it.
- As a child, the only thing of value his mother ever did, as far as he was concerned, was teach him wizard’s chess. Like everything else, Corwin took it seriously. Wizard’s chess was far from just a game - when he played, he was out for blood. All his cunning and plotting (as well as his poker face) are at their best in the middle of a good game of Wizard’s Chess, and his role as president of the Wizard’s Chess club is something he takes very seriously. Trust me, you don’t want to see him on the losing end of a game. He’s good with revenge.
extra.
Just to give an idea of where I want to take Corwin, I’m here to give some insight to where he’s headed. So, obviously, he never becomes minister of magic, but he tries his damndest! Over time, he becomes more and more cruel and wrapped up in the Death Eaters, so I want to explore him getting more awful. Exact plots TBD, message me on Discord if you want to connect with him!
Wand: Cherry with Dragon Heartstring Core, 12”, rigid flexibility
Patronus: A snow Leopard
Boggart: A future Clara on the side of a road, decrepit and begging for a few knuts to get by
2087
stormborns
yousharknotpass
annaxmalina
discoholicmusic
