#gavin travers

[viconfessions]

“Gavin Travers sure changes his hair and clothing styles a lot! He must be searching for his true self.”

[fragmented-psyche-blog]

Sorting

Hispalms were sweaty, and the air in his lungs was starting to burn, but he couldn’tseem to make himself expel it. Whispers of excitement and dread rolled aroundhim, but all Gavin could hear was his father’s booming voice, stern anddetermined: You’re a Travers, and we’reSlytherin, so that’s the house you’ll be in. There’d been no mention ofa hat! He’d just assumed. He watched a skinny little girl in pig tails hop up onthe seat, a brilliant snaggle-toothed smile bursting across her face as the hatroared ‘Hufflepuff’. He’d known there were other houses of course, but hisparents had simply told him that they were ‘irrelevant’.

“Travers! Gavin Travers!”

He jumped. Curious eyes roved the group looking for the owner of the name andwith a reluctance that would have infuriated his father, he finally steppedforward. That was all the crowd of children needed to have little hands urginghim up. Right. He could do this. Sit on the stool, wait for the Slytherin name,and be on his way. He glanced at the growing huddle of Slytherin children.There was something… greasy aboutthem. He was sure it was just his imagination, but they seemed sharp featuredand he’d swear that a malicious delight lit their eyes.

Ashe turned, he took in the other groups, wondering about them. He knew he wouldn’tfit in with the ones that were grouped into Ravenclaw. There was a kind of superiorityin their expressions and Gavin knew he wasn’t smart. Not that he was stupid,but he’d met a girl at one of his parent’s parties once. She’d had that samesnooty ‘I know everything’ expression—and most of the time she had.

Therewasn’t room in his lungs for more air and he still tried to breathe in a littlemore as he perched on that wooden stool. The had was plopped on his head and hejumped as it tightened, wiggling slightly. It wobbled his head around,muttering for only a moment before it shouted, “GRYFFINDOR!”

Hewas three steps away from the stool when he realized the hat had said the wronghouse. He started to stumble even as eager hands and smiling faces urged himinto their midst. But I’m supposed to bein Slytherin. Father said. A hand was thrust in his face and he followed itup to an open, boisterous countenance, and as he looked around, he realizedthey were all like that. It was like standing in a pool of vigor. It swept himup, rushing through him until he was smiling too. His father would be angry,but another glance at the Slytherin house and he couldn’t be disappointed. Adimple flashing in his own cheek, he took the hand, “Hi!”

“Welcome ta’ Gryffindor mate!”

[exabundanticautela]

Send me a ⊗ for my thoughts OOC on your character ((Gavin))

[So I remember, when I joined APV a long long time ago, reading Gavin's bio and going "oh boy, DID!"

And then going "oh no, DID!"

DID or MPD or whatever the name for it now is that one disorder you see crop up in awful, awful characters so often because people love having ~crazy and unique characters sans any and all research~. So I was terrified that's what would happen with Gavin.

And then Crux  took him and that's not what happened with him at all. His personalities are unique, persons in their own right that are still all inter-connected, and in the case of Red, utterly terrifying. Yet overall, Gavin is a well developed, well written character who manages to have relationships and plots despite the absolute chaos that is his life without even getting close to that "lol he's crazy" trap. And I really, really want to know what trauma he's endured that made him this way and the fact that I don't know makes me a little madder by the day.

Also: Mallory.]

[temporarilydistracted]

To Skin a Cat || Gavin and Alice

July 9th, 1978 5:00 pm Tonks Residence

Screaming names and slamming doors were not the way Alice had envisioned the day Andromeda and Edgar returned.

Frank had thought her too concerned altogether regarding the matter. She was an Auror. Witches and wizards were going missing every day, especially those who were considered blood traitors like Andromeda. It was Alice’s job to help find them. It was not Alice’s job to sob inconsolably into her pillow every night, wallowing in her own helplessness and disgusted with herself. But Andromeda and Edgar were different than her normal cases – they were solid, breathing, laughing presences in Alice’s life that had disappeared, not just headshots with “MISSING” scrawled across the bottom and posted around the Ministry. And then they were gone, and Alice felt their void far too deeply than she should rightly have.

Alice had felt Frank hadn’t understood. Alice herself hadn’t understood, but that was beside the point.

Either way, they had arrived at the Tonks house with only minutes to spare before the meeting began. Alice hated being late. There were precious few seats unfilled, and none were together. There was an air of relief, of happiness, of hope that she hadn’t felt in an Order meeting in months. It hung in the air like a thick cloud. It was… disconcerting.

One of the empty seats was next to Alastor Moody. Alice cast a sidelong, almost apologetic look at her husband before slipping across the room and settling next to her boss. She knew the reason the spot last to his was often the last to be taken – he was fucking terrifying. The man radiated nervous energy and aggressive suspicion. Most of her friends felt automatic guilt when he glared at them, and he glared at everyone, regardless of whether or not they’d done anything wrong. Alice, however, was one of precious few who had seen him uncomfortable, seen him at a loss for words, seen him acting human for once. And this meant Alice wasn’t afraid of him. She flashed him a small smile as she got comfortable, but was a bit grateful Dumbledore began to speak and they weren’t forced to small talk with each other. They saw enough of each other at work, seeing as they were more or less attached at the hip. Moody didn’t small talk with Alice, Moody barked orders like a rabid dog.

A toast to Edgar and Andromeda’s safe return. Automatically, Alice’s blue eyes flickered to the distracting presence at her left elbow. As much as she loved to hate Moody, she trusted his judgment. If Moody thought the drink in his hand was safe for consumption, Alice had no doubt that he was correct. He was always much more cautious than she.

But he was wrong.

Alice had been piss drunk enough times with Marlene to know how it felt to be losing consciousness. But the beverage she’d sipped hadn’t contained nearly enough whiskey to warrant the way Alice’s vision was blurring, regardless of how little she’d eaten that day and how small she was. Confused and disorientated, she reached for Moody’s hand, seeking some sort of guidance, some sort of indication that she was going to be all right, and falling short by more than a few inches. There was a muffled thump somewhere behind her, and it didn’t register that someone had hit the table. Alice, being small and having finished her cup, was long gone before Amelia’s cup shattered against the floorboards.

July 9th, 1978 5:15 pm Dreamland

The floor was soft, and Alice’s hands and knees sunk into it as she opened her eyes and struggled to stand. The last thing she remembered, wringing her brain for every drop of information, was sliding out of her chair in Andromeda’s kitchen and trying to grab onto Alastor’s hand. She cringed. Never going to hear the end of that one. But the direness of the situation she was in hit her like a bag of bricks. Alice, the Auror, had been knocked out cold, and had no idea where she was.

Her eyes darted around the room. It was sterile, and everything was dingy white. The floor was padded. The walls were padded. Her heart nearly stopped. Had she finally cracked? This is what Muggle insane asylums looked like. Had she done something? Had she been under the Imperious curse? Why would she be here and not in Azkaban?Did they think she was crazy? Was she crazy? Blood was pounding in her ears. Did Frank think she was crazy? She couldn’t remember a damn thing, and it was making her sick to her stomach.

“Frank?” she called, trying not to let the panic seep into her voice. There were no windows, and only one locked door that didn’t budge as she jiggled the handle. She reached into the pocket of her robes for her wand, but her fingers closed on air. Her wand was gone. This time, the panic arose and overtook her, breathless, as if someone was squeezing her lungs. “Frank! Frank!”