Kit decided it was best to ignore the growing pile of books on both his trunk and his night table, books long overdue from the library and the root cause of all the passive aggressive comments Madam Pince threw his way as he left each night. Though it made the concealment of his more frowned upon goods easier, he disappointed himself by letting the mess get so apparent. As he threw a few of the lighter volumes on his bed, he heard the door open behind him. Darcy, Atticus, or Grey - each a different kind of poison to swallow - but when he turned to see Grey, Kit sighed in relief. Bringing up his hand in a mock salute, Kit greeted his roommate with a sarcastic, “Oh Captain, my captain!” Though Kit had no interest in quidditch, even at a house rivalry level, he wanted to hear about the misadventures of the Slytherin team. At the very least, he wanted to know of the crashes and burns. “Did you make any of our younger snakes cry today? A bludger knock someone’s head off?”
Kit typically hated spending time by the greenhouses - too many do-gooders with bright green thumbs often dressed in an offending shade of yellow. Only the day was dreary and downcast, meaning the little plant lovers either took shelter from the oncoming storm inside the greenhouses or steered clear of the location altogether. “Off baking, no doubt,” Kit mumbled under his breath, lazily flipping to the next page of his potions textbook, mind drifting the wolfsbane essay Whitmore had mentioned in passing, an interesting challenge to be sure, but one Kit found to be a waste of time. Even reading the textbook he already finished, cover to cover, felt like a waste of time. It was a distraction, a way to quell his need for a cigarette, just like this location and the lack of people prevented him from asking anyone for one. However, Merlin either sent him a blessing or a curse when a person entered the courtyard.
Nic Shaw - a Hufflepuff, but a bearable Hufflepuff, at least one who would not run to Longbottom at the mere sight of him. “If I promise not to set the precious plants on fire, can I bum a cig?” Kit asked, placing his book to the side and leaning forward, arms resting on his knees. “Tell me you have one, please, or this conversation is already worthless.”
🎬 for me to use a line from the last movie I watched as a starter
📹 for me to use a line from my favorite movie as a starter
📚 for me to grab the book nearest to me, flip to a random page, and use the first line of dialogue I see as a starter
🎧 for me to shuffle my playlist and use the first line of the next song as a starter
🎶 for me to use my favorite line of the last song I listened to as a starter
📺 for me to use a line from the last TV show I watched as a starter
💻 for me to use a line from my favorite TV show as a starter
🎵for me to shuffle my playlist and use my favorite line of the next song as a starter
😊 for me to make a starter based off the first thing in your wanted plots tag
😉 for me to make a starter based off the first thing in my wanted plots tag
💋 for a shippy starter
😡 for an angsty starter
👊 for an argument/fight starter
🌈 for a random encounter starter
🏩 for a nsfw starter
📫 for a text message starter
💀 for a dark starter
🍬 for a fluffy starter
A few more hours now, Kit continually reminded himself. The sun had peeked out over the trees, flooding the Great Hall with a blistering amount of light. The tables had been set for breakfast, a number of younger years already on the benches and anxiously awaiting the morning meal. Most of the older students clung to the walls, talking in small groups or standing solitary, through with tedious conversation and conspiracy theories. Kit was a member of the latter, head against the wall, fingers tapping against his bent knee, his remaining self-control willing him not to check his watch when only disappointment could be found there.
His eyes wandered over the heads of his younger Slytherin peers, eyeing the closed doors. Not closed for long as the heavy door creaked open and a small wave of students reentered the hall, a group returning from a morning walk on the grounds, those lucky few. Kit had tried his luck last night at a trip, but was passed over one too many times before he gave up for good and he had not bothered to put his name in this morning. He cared little for Professor Longbottom’s talk of plants anyhow. Yet, it was not Professor Longbottom who caught his eye, slipping through the door before it shut behind him. No, it was Professor Whitmore, looking more tired than Kit had ever seen him with his dark circles and eschewed hair.
Before Kit could think a plan through, he pushed off the wall and made his way toward the doors, hoping Whitmore would remain there long enough to catch his attention. He stayed close to the exit, eyes scanning the crowd. Kit pushed his way through the larger groups that also gravitated toward the exit until he was at the potion master’s side.
“Professor?”
Whitmore’s eyes snapped away from his scanning and landed on Kit. He was not sure what he had expected - a cheerful smile, an acknowledging nod, anything that encouraged Kit to speak further. Instead, he received a disgruntled frown, an impatient foot tapping against the ground. “What do you need, Kit?”
That hardly sounded like the professor Kit spent many afternoons talking potions with, the man who so rarely showed signs of stress or anxiety. Unaccustomed to the snapping, Kit took a moment to step back and choose his next words more carefully. The stress of the past day had gotten to everyone, Kit reminded himself. Professors were not immune.
“I came to say good morning,” Kit said slowly, cautiously. Such a simple response held the risk of being dismissed if Whitmore did not feel like sharing in small talk. Since that seemed likely, Kit added, “Did the aurors try to confiscate any ingredients they couldn’t pronounced if asked?”
He meant the question as a joke, but Kit noticed the way Whitmore’s jaw tightened, the humor unappreciated. Kit took another step back, happy to return to the Slytherin table and forget the unpleasant exchange. However, Whitmore looked back at him, a newly sparked interest evident in his eyes. “That actually reminds me, have you and the Potions Club made any headway on the project I assigned you?”
Kit’s brow furrowed in confusion at the new topic. “You mean the medical potions for the Hospital Wing?” He realized Whitmore could be evading talk of the aurors and Kit would not blame him for that, but why not just let Kit slink away and leave the small talk for another day?
“Yes, yes – are they coming out as expected? Do I need to pull any of our younger club members off the assignment?” Whitmore looked more engaged now, yet the nervous energy had not faded. It seemed to color every word he spoke from the rushed “yes” to the way he emphasized “our” as though it was as much Kit’s project as it was his own. On another day, Kit would have been proud to hold that leadership role. Today, it felt like a stranger title to bear, given away to easily and for little reason. After all, the project was little medical potions, nothing more, nothing so very challenging to cause concern.
“Everyone seems to have gotten the gist, but…” Kit trailed off, unsure of how to voice his thoughts without inciting more strange reactions from Whitmore. “The potions are only busy work, right? No need to worry about pulling kids off the project for accidentally melting one cauldron.”
Whitmore’s jaw tightened again, but in an instant, he straightened his spine and adopted the calm and collected look Kit saw nearly every day as the man lectured in front of his classes. He clapped a hand on Kit’s shoulder, startling Kit. “Nothing that poses a challenge should ever be considered busy work, Kit. Even a budding potions master like you can learn from having to repeat a potion again in an attempt to get the same results each time.” Whitmore removed the hand from his shoulder and now he was the one to step back. “You are right though – I would not wish to take a learning opportunity away from a younger student, even one who has melted more than one cauldron.” Whitmore winked at him then and Kit tried to smile back, no teeth and a little forced.
“And the potions are for a good cause,” Kit added.
Whitmore did not immediately reply, appearing to be sorting through his thoughts, before animatedly responding, “Yes of course, for the Hospital Wing. So you will keep toiling with it?”
“As though I were a Hufflepuff.”
Whitmore laughed at that as he moved toward the door, pulling it open and giving Kit a look at freedom. “Then I will see you at our next meeting with at least three vials full.”
Kit had no time to respond – Whitmore disappeared through the door and shut it behind him. With no power to follow and no real reason to want to, Kit moved back toward his old spot on the wall. Smells of breakfast hit his nose and his stomach growled, thoughts of fresh rolls and eggs (despite Flora’s past gross objections) swimming in his mind. He could think on Whitmore’s stressed demeanor later, perhaps making a passing comment to Deanna about it. Though, he believed if he considered it too long, he’d place more significance on the conversation than it deserved. Aurors visiting the grounds should act as a stressor to anyone involved.
Who was he to hold Whitmore to higher expectations?
“All I want,” Flora said, smiling as politely as she could at the Prefect in front of her, blocking her exit, “is a little fresh air. Being inside for so long makes me like. Claustrophobic. Or whatever.” Really, she had a pack of cigarettes in her pocket, and she was itching for a smoke, but she couldn’t exactly say that, unless she wanted them confiscated. “You won’t even know I’m gone.” She batted her lashes, lips curving into a small pout, and, thinking on her feet, she grabbed the person nearest to her who just happened to be walking by, and added, “I’ll even bring a buddy. You lot love the buddy system, don’t you?”
It felt annoyingly fitting that the day he had no hidden packages in his pocket was the day everyone was dragged into the Great Hall for the night. The words “routine check” gave Kit more anxiety than he wished to let on. Though he knew questioning what rooms they’d be checking would only draw attention, he feared no amount of protection spells would stop well-trained aurors from finding the contraband hidden in the depths of his trunk in the dungeons. The anxiety made it impossible to sit still. He was approaching his third lap around the hall when he was hauled towards the door. And of course it would be Flora. “Don’t listen to her. We’re not buddies, never have been buddies, but in the spirit of lockdown togetherness, I’ll gladly try to befriend her in another corner of the room.” Kit put a hand on Flora’s back and did his best to steer them away from the prefect, looking out for far higher powers as he did. “Sometimes I think you want to incite the wrath of Vector. We’d never hear the end of it if the Slytherins started getting out of line before the lions,” Kit whispered, eyes still searching for signs of their head of house. A distant, more neutral voice in the back of his mind observed how on edge he appeared, but it seemed worthless to listen when searches and possible seizures could be happening all around them.
The raven she had been having a quiet, pleasant conversation with squawked from the branch beside her, warning of someone approaching from her rear, and spread it’s wings in discomfort. Human, it cried, causing Ainsley to look up in annoyance at being disturbed, “What? Never seen a girl in a tree before?”
Kit’s eyes snapped up from his Ancient Studies textbook at the continuous squawking of a bird somewhere close to the trees. He stopped walking, eyes scanning the branches for the offending bird. His eyes fell on a much larger figure in the trees. As Kit took a few steps closer, he is unsurprised by who he finds. Ainsley Morse and a feathered friend. Kit makes it to the trunk of the tree, grin pulling at the corners of his mouth when he sees her annoyance. “And that’s all you’re doing? Sitting in a tree, enjoying the weather?” Kit glanced over at the raven. “Does he know the answer to how a raven’s like a writing desk?”
Static, nothing but static. Kit mused that he should take it as a good sign – the walkie-talkie had previously refused to give him even a hum a few days prior. Still, whenever he tried to speak through it and get the radio’s sibling to emit his voice, Kit came up with nothing. Kit tossed the useless black box to the side and leaned his head against the wall, suddenly overcome with the need for a cigarette – a weakness he was desperately trying to kick. Perhaps getting rid of the stash in the bottom of his trunk in the depths of the dungeon would be a fine start. He scoffed to himself, almost missing the sound of footsteps entering the secluded courtyard. Though a professor could easily confiscate the two pieces of muggle technology lying beside him, Kit made no move to conceal the objects. “I’ll give them to you for twenty galleons,” Kit said without turning his head to say who he was making an offer to, more assured they’d take his second option. “And if you’re not interested, kindly find another courtyard. I made my reservation months in advance and besides, you’d get the detention too if you’re here loitering and looking suspicious.”
It ought to have been a welcoming sight, his own bed and the privacy of not having a matron peer down at him hourly to poke and prod. Only as he passed through the threshold of the dormitory he stiffened, the tension was nearly always dreadful, and it was all aimed with a vicious intensity at him—he had no-one to play for it but himself. Still didn’t mean it couldn’t unnerve him. He slinked to his corner of the room, closest to the windows that looked out into the lake, a pale greenish tint cast across his hands as he worked to pull the moss green sweater over his head. Impulsively he folded it up neatly, placed it back at the bottom of his trunk where Rowan had found it, fingers knocked against the box, he bit back the wealth of memories now tangibly etched into the grain. He forbade himself to think because he could not hold his composure, not tonight.
Certainly not with the others lingering in the dorm like flies, in truth he had very little issue with any of them, perhaps Grey but that was another matter entirely. Again, the years of bigotry had been ground into him, dripped like poison down his throat until his lungs were full of it and it was all he knew. Reversing years of damage was, as he’d learnt recently, not an easy task. Somehow Darcy doubted that Kit cared all that much. The temptation to stalk back out and find himself a corner of the common room to curl up in seemed awfully inviting, it took a great deal of strength not to turn back the way he’d came. Darcy all but jumped out of his skin as Grey in the opposite bed snored, two of the beds had the curtains drawn across, one he was certain would still be awake.
❝I’m not in the mood for whatever nonsense is dying to spew from your lips.❞ Directed with an exhausted intensity towards Kit, the shadows beneath Darcy’s eyes seemed to have deepened in the duration of his stint in the wing. Somehow he’d come out looking worse than he’d gone in, not that he recalled the arrival. ❝Whatever you have to say, save it for tomorrow.❞ His eyes narrowed, a reflex more than anything, he wondered with a frightful despondency how long it would take for the dorm to become the stage of destruction. It had been all too easy when he wasn’t aware, when keeping face hadn’t been a chore and he’d believed the malice that spilled from his lips—now it made him hollow. Every new name of the tormented pressing with a furious intensity against his chest until he caved and added their name to his box of repentance.
Kit had lost track of the time, not an uncommon occurrence when the hour grew later and he found himself absorbed in a book. Tonight’s poison was his Ancient Studies textbook, words on the lore of Merlin swirling around in his head. Somewhere in the background, Kit heard the faint sound of Gray’s snoring. The sound used to irritate him to the point of casting silencing charms around his own bed frame, but Kit found as he grew older that he missed the sound when he spent the long summers at Diagon Alley and his family shop in silence. It made him feel less isolate, a little more connected to another person even when he and Gray had their turbulent days. Kit casted a glance over at the boy in question’s closed curtains and smiled lightly, unseen and something he would not have to talk about in the morning.
The smile vanished as quickly as it came and his mood soured as another presence entered the room. Kit had allowed himself some measure of cruelty when Darcy had wound up in the hospital wing, enough to admit to himself and to their other dormmates that he enjoyed the absence. It certainly did not make his heart grow fonder. If Kit had his way, Pomfrey would have detained him indefinitely. Yet, here he was back again and Kit returned to his book, refusing so much as to look over at his corner of the room. He adjusted the glasses that had slipped down his noses and refocused his attention on Merlin, even as the darker part of his mind itched to make a snide comment on brooms, on falling, on letting the house down.
He did not have to break the silence - Darcy managed to do so without any prompting from Kit. Though it was only to instruct Kit to keep quiet, it gave Kit an opening to let one quip out. “You’ll find I never have much trouble ignoring you, your majesty.” A half lie - in the corridors, in the classroom, in the Great Hall Kit ignored him with diligence. Here, alone, the only other companion Gray’s periodic snoring, Kit struggled and too often in vain. Face to face, it was harder to pretend he had no trouble keeping his tongue at bay. Defensive turned to offensive too quickly and it only ever did where Darcy Oldridge was concerned.
His fingers tapped at the cover of his book, self-control waning as the words on the page began running together. His eyes snapped back up to that corner of the room, no longer content to save his nonsense for tomorrow. “You are a king dethroned now though, aren’t you? I suppose Slytherin has to settle for half-rate keeper. The likes of Camden Norwood and Eliza Li must be cheering. That is, if they were ever scared of you to begin with.” The needle pointed toward “no” but Kit did not keep up with quidditch enough to know or truly care. It was simply a shot to take at Darcy, an effort to dig in and get under his skin.
Astoria got completely enthralled with the music when she was dancing, the world around her disappeared, all she focused on was the music and the way that her body moved to the song. She was right in the middle of extending her body to the fullest, arm outstretched, toes pointing in the other direction when she heard the knocking on the door. She stumbled, and only just managed to land safely on her feet. A frown appeared on her face then and she put her hands to her hips. “I’m not practicing for a Yule Ball… And I do actually have what it takes to be a ballerina. But this wasn’t ballet, this was a contemporary routine.” It was easier to go straight into the defensive mode rather than admit that she was embarrassed to have been caught. Astoria was all about facts, she was all about serious stuff, and dancing was such an artistic thing to do. It shouldn’t have been her, but she enjoyed it very much. “What makes you such an expert on what it takes to be a ballerina, exactly?”
Kit watched, a hint amused, when Astoria nearly fell to the ground at the sound of his voice. He noted the defensive stance she adopted, but it did not take the fun out the of situation, not for him. At her question of what he knew of ballet and the underlying accusation there, Kit merely rolled his eyes. “Oh you know, common sense, some light reading on the world of a ballet company, my secret underlying desire to be in Swan Lake. But let’s just go with common sense.” Kit moved a bit farther into the room, books still tucked under his arm but a little more committed to stay now. Anyone would have drawn out some amusement from him in this situation, but something about it being Astoria dancing the night away in abandoned classroom had him a little more intrigued. “Do this often, Dahl? I mean, it seems you have a routine and everything. Secret past time or are you really practicing for something?” Kit moved to one of the desk, dropping his books down on one and hopping up on the other, looking at her expectantly, wanting to know this little secret.
With classes done for the day - not that Hux attended all of them anyway - he shoved his wand in his pocket, hitched his backpack on his shoulder, and head down to the dungeons. The warmth from the upper floors faded as he entered, the chill of the dungeon now feeling more like home than the suffocating heat of the divination rooms. He had plans to meet Kit after class - he’d needed a few items that he relied on the other boy to retrieve for him, so there was supposed to be an exchange going down. They never did it in the Slytherin common room - too many eyes - nor was it wise to do it in a classroom or in the halls. Instead, there was a room that they had set aside - something abandoned but still pretty - that they went to, though the business always usually turned to pleasure before long. They were, after all, friends first.
The heavy door squealed as Hux pushed it open, and after glancing inside, he saw that he was the first to arrive. He settled on a window seat which looked out into the dark waters of the Black Lake, and visibility today was minimal. Sometimes you could see the merpeople out there; other times, you could catch a glimpse of the Giant Squid’s tentacle before it disappeared into the depths. Today there was just the endless flow of water past the window, soothing Hux’s mind as he waited, though he was roused from his reverie by the squeal of the door and Kit appearing. “About time - thought you might’ve gotten the shake down by Vauxhall or something,” he said, though they both knew that Kit was too cunning to be caught by the Headmaster.
Kit capped his ink well and tucked his books under his arm, bidding a farewell to Dawkins as he slipped out of the Ancient Studies classroom, the last of his peers to do so. The few questions he had for the professor proved helpful for his upcoming essay, but the delay meant he was late meeting Hux for their first business exchange of the year. He had the parcel, tucked away for most of the day under chairs and desks and far from prying eyes. An unassuming brown package never felt unassuming enough when he carried. Professors didn’t question it, but his fellow students did, eyeing him, the bolder of the lot asking what treasure he had today and who was the lucky buyer. He had waved them off, but it left him itching to dropping the parcel with its rightful owner.
Moving quickly, Kit made it down the dungeons in record time, unafraid of pushing a few slow moving fourth years in his journey down. He knew the path to their room by heart, a place out of the way, utterly abandoned, but Kit still glanced by his shoulder to make sure no one had followed him before heaving the door open and ducking inside. He pushed the door closed and turned to find Hux at a window seat, the Great Lake making a pretty backdrop. Even as Hux brought up his lateness, Kit did not feel it necessary to apologize. Instead, he dropped his books on one of the old wooden tables pushed against the wall, though he kept the parcel in hand. “Not quite - though Vauxhall did stop me to pat me on the back, invite me over for tea, and name me the new headmaster starting immediately.” Kit moved further into the room, nearing the large window and holding out the package. “As requested - almost. My guy promised the mushrooms were sliced, but I took a peek and the old git lied.”
Astoria always came across as such a serious person, she was either studying, or she was writing her articles, but she did have something that she did for fun, something that she genuinely loved doing. Something that not a lot of people knew that she enjoyed doing. Having found an abandoned classroom, she magically moved each and every desk and chair against the walls, clearing space for her to practice her dancing. An old record player was put in the corner, and with a simple spell, the music filled the room, a calm song that immediately had her feeling the movement in her body. She had danced loads during the summer, and a week or so back at Hogwarts, she already missed it. Without any hesitation, she started dancing, her arms extending as she set out to do one of her favourite choreography routines. It was a slow and careful dance, one she had perfected over the years. Little did she know that someone was watching her while she danced.
The beginning of term always meant one too many students taking up space in the library, the ones who promised themselves they would stay on top of their homework this year, not yet aware people never change and they would be back to their old partners within the week. It still meant close quarters among the stacks and Kit had to resign himself to an empty classroom, one as far from Hogwarts civilization as possible. Normally, he would have retreated to the dungeons and the Potions classroom, but Whitmore was busy with a group of young students. That’s how he found himself wandering a fourth floor corridor, books tucked under one arm. As he prepared to open one door, the faint sound of music hit his ears. He tried to force himself to ignore it, open the door, and move on, but the sound was alluring and peaked his curiosity all to well. Kit followed the sound to another closed door and twisted the door knob. Peering in, he spied Astoria Dahl of all people dancing to the flow melody. Stranger things had happened, but Kit still stifled a laugh before rapping the door once to get her attention. “I hate to inform you we will not be having a Yule Ball this winter.” Kit moved to lean against the doorframe. “And I’m not sure you have quite what it takes to be a prima ballerina.”
“Okay, but can we get ice cream afterwards?” Flora asked, slouching back in her seat, her expression already puckering into a disgruntled sort of frown. She’d only made the suggestion because she and Hux gave Kit enough heart attacks and aneurisms to have knocked off at least seven years of his life, and she wanted to make up for at least some of that, but that didn’t mean she had to like it. “Or…” Her eyes lit up, mischief glinting in their hazel depths. “I live like you for a week – s’only fair if you live like me for a week. We can trade off. Reckless and sensible. What do you say?” She nudged his shin gently under the table with the toe of her boot, egging him on. “Please, Kit. It’s my last year with you at Hogwarts. I want it to be fun.” Sentimentality creeped into her voice before she could tamper it down, and she glanced away, swallowing thickly and taking a large bite out of an apple to distract herself.
Kit watched amused as Flora began sulking at the idea of Magical Theory study sessions and little else in her week of the Baudelaire lifestyle, but his amusement did not last for long. He saw the light flashing in her eyes, a new idea taking hold that already had Kit shifting, anxiety bubbling in the pit of his stomach. A week of living recklessly. Not just living recklessly, a week of living like Flora. The anxiety only grew, but the reminder that this was his last year at Hogwarts, his last year to worry as he tailed Flora and Hux on their adventures, brought on a wave of guilt. A week of sensibility for a week of reckless living did sound like a fair sacrifice. “I guess I can sell my soul a little early and try my best to act like you. Just promise not to hate me when my grandpa body and old timer mind can’t always keep up.”
“You love me,” Flora trilled, reveling in the havoc she’d caused – and only with a mildly off color fisting joke. This morning was already on a roll. She glanced down at his shirt, stained brown right in the middle from where he’d spilled his drink, and smiled in spite of herself. Kit was her friend, and she probably shouldn’t be terrorizing him. Especially before lessons. “Fine,” she said definitively, as though Kit was already privy to what she’d decided. “For the rest of the week, I’ll be good. No more food to the face, no more fisting jokes at breakfast, no maiming. Nothing. I’ll go a whole week living on the Kit Baudelaire diet – self-loathing, boredom, and intellectual stimulation.” It sounded boring as all hell to her, if she was being honest, but never let it be said that Flora Fraser didn’t care about her friends.
Kit glanced at the shirt again, figuring in the time he had before class to stop by a lavatory and do his best to wash away the damage Flora had caused. It truly did feel like the start to a new term now, though Kit had the good sense to know this would be the most minor mess he had to clean. Kit looked back up when Flora made the promise to be good, but the dark clouds rolled in just a hint more when she mentioned self-loathing. He could harp on it or he could let it pass. Letting it pass felt easier. “Boredom and intellectual stimulation cannot possibly exist side by side, you’ll see. I think we’ll start with a Magical Theory study session. I’ll make you Kettlebin’s favorite by the end of the week. Perhaps this will be the year Flora Fraser turns over a new leaf.”
NAME: Christopher Monroe Baudelaire
NICKNAMES: Kit (by everyone)
AGE: Seventeen
BIRTHDAY: January 13th, 2008 (Capricorn)
SEXUALITY: TBD
GENDER: Male
PRONOUNS: He/Him/His
[ FAMILY ]
PARENTS: Martin Baudelaire (father – conman/shop owner), Celia Baudelaire Church (mother – unknown)
SIBLINGS: None known.
EXTENDED FAMILY: Fitzwilliam Church (maternal grandfather – deceased).
CLOSE FRIENDS: Avett Huxley, Flora Fraser, others interested look elsewhere.
SIGNIFICANT OTHER: None.
[ PHYSICAL ]
HAIR COLOR: Brunette
EYE COLOR: Blue
HEIGHT: 5’11
BUILD: Medium build, average height
DOMINANT HAND: Right
[ PSYCHOLOGICAL ]
POSITIVES: (+) Intelligent, (+) Resourceful, (+) Hard-Working, (+) Shrewd
NEGATIVES: (-) Manipulative, (-) Cynical, (-) Aloof, (-) Morally-Ambiguous
LIKES: chess, muggle rock bands, black coffee, history, libraries, potions
DISLIKES: flying, overt displays of house pride, messy work spaces, cars, his father
[ HOGWARTS ]
HOUSE: Slytherin
YEAR: Seventh year
POSITIONS: None
N.E.W.T. COURSES: Charms, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Herbology, Potions, Transfiguration, Ancient Studies, Magical Theory, Wizarding Politics
EXTRACURRICULARS: Wizarding Chess, Slug Club, Potions Club, DADA Club
[ MORE INFO ]
BLOOD STATUS: Half-Blood
WAND: 12 ½ inches, maple, phoenix feather, unyielding
BOGGART: His mother
PATRONUS: A tiger
PETS: Dickens (barn owl)
ALIGNMENT: Chaotic neutral
[ FAVORITES ]
FOOD: Pumpkin pasties
DRINK: Black coffee
COLOR: Blue
BAND: Artic Monkeys
SONG: “Just What I Needed” by The Cars
BOOK: Oliver Twist by Charles Dickens
MOVIE: The Manchurian Candidate
ANIMAL: Owl
FLOWER: Lilies
“I mean, if you want in on my palace, you’ve got to pay up now. I’m talking Magical Theory essays for the rest of the year and a cupcake every Sunday.” She chewed on her bottom lip – a tell – before swiping her hand out and stealing some more berries, grinning cheekily over at him. Almost absentmindedly, she threw one at his head. “I hope I’m Thing One,” Flo said loftily. “I’m taller than Hux. I should get to be Thing One.” At Kit’s conditions, however, she frowned, disgruntled. Logically, she knew that Kit’s pragmatism was best for both herself and Hux, but still. Always and forever the stick in the mud. “I mean, I’m sure it would be easier to fist someone with a stump than with a hand,” she mused, half to herself. “But fine. If that what it takes for you to come with us. Fine. No maiming or bodily harm. Check. Done.”
The blueberry hit him square in the forehead and Kit’s hand flew to his head, finding a bit of purple juice there. He reached into the bowl and pulled out one of the last blueberries, tempted to fire back. He thought against it, not prepared to enter into a food fight with Flora so early in the morning. He popped the berry into his mouth and then went for his coffee. The now lukewarm liquid barely past his lips when he choked on it at her fisting comment, coffee dribbling down his chin and on to his white shirt. “Holy mother of fuck, Flora.” Kit reached for a napkin quickly, but the damage was done, a long streak of dull brown on his perfectly nice shirt. “I woke up thinking this maybe could be a good day and now I remember I’m friends with you and stuff like this happens and I’ll probably still be maimed at some point this year.”
“I’d like to say that we have a mutually beneficial relationship. After all, he needs someone to spread his message on Earth. Think of me as Jesus. But like. For Satan.” She grinned, taking a loud, crunching bite out of her toast. “All work and no play makes Kit a dull boy,” she huffed under her breath. “Are you going to spend all term entrepreneuring or are you going to actually make time for me and Hux?” She pouted, stealing a blueberry from Kit’s bowl. “I bet seven year old Kit would be more fun than Mr. Grouchy Serious Pants over here.”
Kit snorted, almost a reflex. Flora and Jesus were two names that did not belong in the same sentence even if Satan was thrown in there for good measure. “I didn’t know I had been friends with the daughter of Satan for these last five years. I’d have been asking you to put more good words in for me with daddy. After all, I want a good room down there,” Kit said with a grin, pulling away his bowl after Flora snatched her blueberry. He popped one of his own in his mouth as he rolled his eyes at her pout. “All work and no play makes Kit a rich boy, but it doesn’t mean I can’t put aside a little time for Thing One and Thing Two.” Kit paused, thinking through what he was signing up for and knowing he’d have to add a clause or two before he sold his soul. “Seven year old Kit wouldn’t have known hanging around you and Hux for too long could get him killed. I’m taking no part in anything that’s going to end with a hand or foot missing - or a trip to Vauxhall’s office.”
