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Accepted: Jasper Flint.

Name: Jasper Markus Adolphus Percival Flint, he never actually legally adopted his stepfather’s name. Nevertheless, it’s an awful and long-winded name, which is naturally why he prefers ‘Jasper’.

Gender: Male.

Blood Status: Pure blooded.

Age: Seventeen.

Birthday: January 8.

Background: His mother is Welsh and Dutch, and his father is English.

Home Town: Born in London, but raised in the Warrington manor house in Kent.

Orientation: Straight.

Relationship Status: Single for the time being, considering the situation.

Wand: Mahogany wood wand, fourteen inches. Phoenix feather core.

Mahogany is a good all-around wood, not particularly powerful in any one situation, but a good solid overall wood.

This wood is in touch with the elements of fire and earth. Well balanced, this wood seeks a partner with strength and energy. Excellent for protection spells.

Phoenix tail feather is a popular wand core due to its versatility and power. Its main strength lies in Defense Against the Dark Arts, although its adaptability can wrench it to hexes and jinxes if need be. As with the dragon heartstring core, the phoenix core is common amongst Light Wizards, but its users are not necessarily Light Wizards. This core may specifically impede Dark spells, so it is not common amongst Slytherins. However, it is by far the most common Gryffindor wand core, and is not unusual amongst Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs.

The phoenix is a sacred creature born of earth and fire. Perhaps one of the most ancient of firebirds, the phoenix is also one of the most magical creatures, also thought to possess healing powers through its tears. The tail feather of a phoenix would be a wise choice for one who wishes to cast protection spells or lasting charms. It would make an excellent companion to woods that draw from the element of fire and water.

Former House: Slytherin House.

Occupation: Teaching assistant for the Transfiguration Professor at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, having taken the job to be near to his friends and the mother of his child. Volunteer coach for the Slytherin Quidditch team, having captained it in his student days. This isn’t permanent, however. He fully intends on going into business with his stepfather within the next couple of years once his personal life is more settled.

Pets: A hawk owl named Albert.

Biography:

The announcement of a pregnancy ought to be looked back upon with joy. It should be a time of gifts and celebration, the coming together of two families over the marriage that united them, invading said couple’s house armed with casseroles and well wishes, questions of whether it’s a boy or a girl although it’s still too early to tell but you might as well ask because the parents would be lying if they said they didn’t prefer a gender. That’s how it works, finding out that you’re finally pregnant. You’ve been trying for three years and that’s how it’s supposed to work when you finally go to the doctor and she says in that nasally, heavily accented voice of hers that it’s a baby that’s making you nauseous, not the shrimp cocktail you’re sure was bad that you had two days ago at a dinner party. So you’re happy for a little while at least, before reality sinks in.

A life on the run is no life to raise a child in. That’s what you’ve been doing, hasn’t it? All that travelling, married straight out of school and he always seemed to be in a rush to go some place new, like someone was watching or following but the travelling was exciting so you didn’t care. You were young, barely twenty; you always said you wanted to see more of the world than what was in your backyard or out the window of the school train, and that was your chance, but now you’re pregnant and that life is over. There’s an apartment that needs baby proofing and a nursery that needs setting up but at least that can wait until you know the gender – neither of you ever really liked surprises. The point is, you can’t run anymore. There is a child in the picture now…sort of, who needs stability and a crib to sleep in at night that’s always in the same place.

Marcus Flint builds a crib. It takes one week, one and one half cases of beer, a lot of frustrated yelling, ripping up the instructions because they might as well have been written in Swedish, and taking the crib apart when he’s left with eight extra screws and putting it back together again until no screws are left. It takes one week to set up two trust funds: one for his wife, one for their unborn child, to divide up the money that he had inherited when he buried his father – that’s where years of allegiance to the will of the Dark Lord had landed Percival Flint. A misfired curse had caught him off guard in the dungeons, and at the end of the night all Marcus could do was to take his father’s body and line it up with the rest of the dead in the Great Hall of the school, then flee. Fortune divide, all manner of relations provided for, he kissed his wife goodbye, kissed her stomach, then still quite flat, and turned himself in.

Provided for or not, they were divorced within three years. Her competencies as a mother aside, a father in prison wasn’t a life for a child either. Jasper –that’s what she called him: Jasper after her grandfather, Marcus for his father, Adolphus for her father, and Percival for his father’s father– needed a father there, or a father figure at least. You can’t toss a baseball to your child all the way from Azkaban Prison, and you definitely can’t ask him to stand outside the cell just so you can have a relationship with your son. Lydia wouldn’t stand for it, wouldn’t allow it. A family lawyer delivered the papers, she’d retreated to her mother’s house by then, bouncing baby boy who had fortunately aesthetically taken after his mother in tow. For everything else there were potions and braces, just in case Lydia said, when he was twelve and the orthodontist seemed concerned, hmmed and hummed a little too long over her son’s mouth.

Somewhere in all that time Lydia met Caleb Warrington, a little jaded following her divorce but the fact he was a ‘the third’ of something certainly helped snap her out of her funk. Jasper was five. All he really understood about mommy’s friend was that one day they were going to Diagon Alley to buy him his first broom, and two months later mommy wouldn’t stop smiling like a lunatic, dancing around their apartment. That year was his first real memory of her singing. He was the ring boy at their wedding eight months later, because she wasn’t getting younger and he made her happy, genuinely happy.

For Jasper it was always a question of father versus dad. Marcus was certainly his father. But he was also the toothy man in the photograph beside the television in his mother’s bedroom, and someone his grandmother went to visit every holiday – the older he got, the more he understood why his mother got upset the closer they got to every holiday, especially after getting off the phone with his grandmother. He wasn’t allowed to visit, under any circumstances, and honestly the older he grew the less he really wanted to visit. Caleb came into his life at a time when Jasper wanted for a father if nothing else, and in all respects his mother was right. Caleb taught him how to fly, how to play Quidditch, spoiled him by letting him be the first to test all his broom prototypes. Hell, he taught him how to whittle. Who even whittled anymore? That’s not the point. The point was that at the end of the day, Marcus was his father but Caleb, stepfather or not, was his dad.

That’s the way life began at the beginning of his memories and that’s the way that life continued, little different from any average wizard child’s childhood. From his mother’s marriage he inherited a stepfather and a stepsister, a giant house in the English countryside designed for getting lost and playing hide and seek, one temperamental Chihuahua and a pair of English Setters, and a cook who took a shining to him and developed in him a love of grilled cheese sandwiches and experimenting with food, even if she liked to swat at his hands with a wooden spoon when he snuck in to steal a taste of the meal she was cooking, to make sure it wasn’t poisonous Jasper would always say. The habit stuck, he still sneaks into the kitchens at school and leans over his friends’ plates to pick at their meals.

Whatever his natural predisposition for magic, and gifted he was in Transfiguration as well as Potions, Jasper was always acutely aware that his future lay not in academia but in Quidditch. Well. The business side of Quidditch anyway. His stepfather had inherited a Quidditch brand from his own father but he had made of it something better, brought it into this century, and Jasper had set his sights on going into business together. He actually played Quidditch, had for five years, ever since he’d made it onto the Slytherin house team in his second year, and captained the team for three of those five years. He had plenty to say on what players needed, what improvements could be made to the padding equipment and how broom designs could improve. He was enterprising and hard working and he had ideas and something to say, but a series of unfortunate events put a wedge in those plans, put those plans on hold.

Miscalculation number one: making friends with Kalypso Malfoy. Sweet kid, maybe a little needy, but she was a First Year when he was graduating and she was crying and asking him not to leave and the next thing he knew he was applying for a job as a teaching assistant because he was above retail and he’d spent the last few years tutoring anyway, may as well get paid for it. Miscalculation number two: an evening spent at a welcome back party organized by a friend in the Slytherin dormitories. A lot of really good scotch was involved, and it was raining, and she wouldn’t stop complaining about a less than perfect essay in his class. He kissed her to shut her up, and things went from bad to worse because a freak chance left them alone and unsupervised in a corner of the Common Room before slinking up the boys’ dormitories and borrowing a friend’s bed. Once is all it takes, right?

Nine months later he got a call from a sobbing Maggie asking why he wasn’t at the hospital. He’d never – no, he honestly, well, he’d asked on the off chance, maybe, but she had vehemently denied the possibility and acquitted him of any responsibility for the pregnancy and she’d never lied to him so who was he to say otherwise? He couldn’t demand a paternity test, he actually quite liked being alive, and a close friendship with her older brother had led to many conversations on what they would do as a family to the boy who got their baby sister pregnant: parental discretion is advised. Radio silence followed after that. A lot of denying, a lot of late night phone calls to Maggie demanding status reports and explanations and a string of questions she couldn’t answer and he didn’t really want to hear the answer to. But this is a new school year, and as yet employed by Hogwarts, he had every intention of using this proximity to Katerina to win and work and worm his way into his daughter’s life.

The last thing he wanted was to bring a child into this world that would be stuck in his position, with a separate father and a separate dad. He’d missed enough firsts already, and she’d frozen him out long enough. Dad…he could do it. He could definitely do it if he was given a legitimate chance.

Likes: — The smell of freshly cut grass when you first step on the Quidditch pitch right after it’s been mown. — His grandmother’s butterscotch bread pudding, which his mother’s never been able to recreate. — His little leather-bound black notebook, devoted to Quidditch plays. He never lets it out of his sight. — Watching thunderstorms and stargazing out on the estate. You don’t get stars like that in the city. — Being the first to try his stepfather’s broom prototypes. He wants to design his own model someday. — Pancake breakfasts, especially with blueberries. He could eat his weight in pancakes, and then some. — Days when he doesn’t have to clean the classroom because a hapless second year made a bird explode. — Weekends. Hard worker or not, he likes to relax, to not look at essays and tests and rip his hair out. — The smell of fresh baked bread but especially vanilla. There’s only one person to blame. — Competition, because it pushes him to work harder and he likes feeling accomplished when he wins.

Dislikes: — Two-a-day practices. He hates waking up early, but they’re practically law during play off season — Uptight people, completely devoid of a sense of humour and who can’t take a good-natured joke. — Having his plans changed or ruined at the very last minute without any courtesy warning. — Weak, watery coffee and the smell of burned toast, because that’s what breakfast smells like at home. — Being barred from having a relationship with his daughter, he doesn’t want to miss her firsts. — People who put too much stock into family names. He is not his father’s son, he never knew his father. — Maggie and Vivian stealing his sweaters. Between the two of them it’s a wonder he has any clothes left. — Politics. He doesn’t like discussing history, especially not the war or addressing his family’s reputation. — When people don’t treat their brooms right and then complain that they don’t function correctly. — Migraines. They’re usually bad enough that he has to visit the hospital wing just to be functional.

Strengths: — Surprisingly perceptive, likely the result of being raised chiefly by and around a lot of very opinionated, very strong-willed women. — Very strong, very dedicated work ethic. His mother raised him to work for everything he has, regardless of their comfortable situation. — Patient and determined, which makes him a good coach and an excellent teacher. He likes helping other people succeed. — Responsible and principled. He has very set ideas about what is right and wrong, but he doesn’t really buy into ‘the grey area’ idea. — Tactful and strategic. He very rarely, if ever, does something just because or without some sort of purpose.

Weaknesses: — A perfectionist and his own worst critic. He sets a very high standard for himself and lashes out at others when he can’t meet it. — Very much one track minded, perhaps definitely overly competitive, especially when it comes to Quidditch and training his team. — Quick to jump to conclusions, and stubborn like a pit bull. Once he latches onto an idea or an argument, he won’t let go. — Overprotective of his female friends, but especially of his mother and his step-sister, with whom he’s close despite the age difference. — Cocky, despite being raised to be humble. He’s not obnoxiously arrogant though, he knows when to tone it down or stop.

One quirk: He’s very superstitious when it comes to Quidditch, even more so now that he’s coach. He’ll wear his favourite team’s jersey for three days straight before every one of their matches, and before every one of his matches for good luck. He also refuses to do any maintenance on his broom for two weeks prior to every game: no broom handle polish or clipping the twigs until after the match.

One pet peeve: His mother seems to have developed an obsession with cooking shows, even if she doesn’t actually cook for herself – and hasn’t since her marriage to Caleb fifteen years ago. It doesn’t matter, she always has a cooking show on or a cook book lying around and it makes him frustrated and hungry having to sit there and watch food being prepared that he’ll never actually get to eat.

One goal: Being allowed to have a relationship with his daughter. Now that he’s kind of acclimated to the idea and allowed himself to fully absorb the news that he’s a father, he’d like to be involved in the lives of both the mother and the little girl. The situation however, is messy at best, and a compromise with the mother seems to be very far off – it'll be a miracle if it ever happens at all.

One fear: Seeing his father whilst still in prison, which has been the chief reason why he’s refused to accompany his grandmother on any visits. Azkaban breaks and destroys people, and he’d rather remember Marcus Flint as the toothy man in the photograph than some sickly, emaciated and mentally broken creature with an overbite. His fear may be realized this year however. After twenty years, there’s a chance his father will be released from Azkaban – good behaviour having shaved some years off of his sentence. Jasper’s never met his father, Marcus having been arrested soon after Lydia found she was pregnant, and Jasper dreads his father’s release only because he’s not sure what this will mean for his family.

Face Claim: Ian Somerhalder.

#Accepted #Jasper Flint #submission