Finnegan sat with his back against the cold stone wall, his legs stretched out in front of him. The iron arch marking the entrance to house Modron loomed a few paces away, guarded as always by the black hound statue, sitting on its haunches.
Tap-tap-tap. Tap-tap-tap.
Finnegan drummed his wand impatiently against his thigh. After a week at Penwick, he'd yet to get past the statue by himself. The pattern had been established some days ago: sit in the corridor, wait for someone else to come along, slip in behind them while the archway was still rippling open. Simple. Easy. And really annoying.
He shifted against the wall, the stone pressing uncomfortably into his shoulder blade. Penwick was nice, but there had been a few unpleasant surprises too. The first was called Maggie Hawkins who he now shared a common room with, provided he could get in. Still, he didn't dislike her quite enough to prefer sleeping here in the corridors to his own, warm bed within the depths of house Modron.
Which reminded him of the other unpleasant thing: his dormmates. Well, one of them at least.
Already on his first day he'd heard loads of things being said about Kasimir Damon-Cowles and though it was hard to determine which of the rumours were true, there was at least a common theme in all of them. Kasimir was a troublemaker, a fire-hazard that was to be avoided if you valued your skin. Kasimir, it was said, had been expelled from his previous school, and the one before that, and the one before that, and so on and so forth. No one seemed able to agree exactly how many schools Kasimir had been expelled from though, but it was decidely more than one.
Rumours were one thing. Discovering you're supposed to share a dormitory with the root of all evil...
Tap-tap-tap. Tap-tap-tap.
Well he hasn't murdered anyone so far... Finnegan thought grimly. He'd been meaning to visit the library of all places someday soon, maybe pick up a defensive charm or two so he could ward his four-poster against the wickedness snoring in the bed next to his.
Tap... tap-tap... tap...
Finnegan shot a glance down the corridor, then sighed. He'd hoped someone would have come around the bend by now, but it looked like he was stuck here for a while longer. Maybe he ought to get his books out, do a bit of studying...
What makes you certain you belong here?
The voice of the hound came unbidden into his mind, as it always did.
"Oh we're doing this again, are we? Thought you were having a nap." Finnegan answered out loud, without so much as looking up. He rummaged through his bookbag and pulled out the one for Applied Magic. The hound, meanwhile, said nothing in reply.
"Wanker."
Finnegan tried to read the passage about an Obliteration Charm three times before he gave up. It wasn't sticking, not with that stupid canine breathing down his neck.
"I belong here because I got sorted here," he said through gritted teeth, still refusing to look up from his book. "There was this sorting ceremony and all, you might've heard of it."
What makes you certain you belong here? came the ghostly answer.
Finnegan slammed his book shut with one hand and jumped up.
"Shut it, you!" He wanted to pull out his wand, only to realize he was already holding it. "Do you really think there's anything stopping me from practicing the obliteration charm on you?"
The hound did not answer or move, did not even snarl or bark.
"You're rubbish," Finnegan said hotly. "I could just jinx you, you know. Turn you pink or... " he was back to drumming his wand against his thigh now while he paced back and forth near the statue. "... put some choice graffiti on you."
The torchlight flickered across the hound's face, and for a moment Finnegan could have sworn its expression changed. Just ever so slightly, like it was deeply unimpressed.
"Oh, you don't like that one, do you? Yeah, I thought not. Big scary hellhound covered in pink di-"
He stopped and spun around on his heel at the welcome sound of footsteps approaching.
"Ha!" Finn stuck out his tongue at the statue, picked his bag, and patiently waited for his saviour to arrive.
@Kasimir Damon-Cowles
[PV] You Don't Belong Here
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Finnegan Connor
6th Year Penwick student from Cardiff, Wales with a 25.00cm Chestnut and Phoenix Feather wand.
Encyclopedia
Student, Floranti, Modron, Sixth Year
Neutral
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Kasimir Damon-Cowles
6th Year Penwick student from Aberporth, Wales with a 27.50cm Beech and Unicorn Hair wand.
Encyclopedia
Student, Modron, Sixth Year
Neutral
Location : Penwick School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Wales
Interactions : @Finnegan Connor
Interactions : @Finnegan Connor
When Kasimir came to Penwick, he expected their houses to be reminiscent of Ilvermorny: distinct, but intermingled. Common rooms shared between students of different houses, exclusive halls and sports teams the only form of separation. Not a dog statue who tried giving students existential crises according to its whims.
Cowles. Ugh, he hated its stupid voice and how it got in his head and talked over all his other thoughts and he just hated it. Invasion of privacy or something. Maybe he should sue the school.
"Damon-Cowles, ya little shit," Kas practically spat as he walked down the hall. Why could no one at this school get it right? Was a double-barrel surname a foreign concept to the Welsh?
The hound did not respond to him with anything but its question: What do you seek?
This question. This question was his least favorite- meaning the most reprehensible, because all of them were awful and he favored none because, well, he'd yet to answer any to the hound's satisfaction- and one of the statue's most favored among the few it had asked the boy. An unfortunate deal for Kasimir, and probably a source of amusement for the enchanted statue.
"Your mom." He'd given up any semblance of a real answer on the first day, and proceeded to flip the hound off, as was routine.
So now Kasimir was to wait for someone to walk in with, since the night was still young. If it was later, he'd just go find a mostly suitable spot to knock out in, but that's besides the point. Tonight, he'd put on his charming little smile, say something like "Is the hound being all philosophical for you, too?", ensure he hadn't trailed behind this person yet and if he had just pretend to study in the corridor. A whole damn process just to get into a musty dungeon dorm with halls he'd get lost in while trying to find his room to sleep in a bed.
Why? Kasimir doesn't care about his reputation. He doesn't care for niceties, to be viewed as civil or unproblematic. While these statements were true, the hound had a way of making him think about how little he truly amounted to, how small he really was. Making him think about all the things he wanted to bury, all the things he wanted to forget. Making him think about that stupid, horrible, disgusting fear that settled in his chest once realized and-
Penwick sucked.
Kasimir looked at the other boy present here. He'd noticed the scrawny kid only after insulting the hound, so his little charade would be useless. Instead, he stepped back and gestured to the hound. "Sorry to keep you waiting." He wasn't.
In just a few moments, he'd be able to enter the dorm and sleep in his own bed for the first time in... a while. And stop thinking about the stupid hound and the stupid fear and what he really sought because if he kept on, that wouldn't be good for anybody. Least of all Kasimir.
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Finnegan Connor
6th Year Penwick student from Cardiff, Wales with a 25.00cm Chestnut and Phoenix Feather wand.
Encyclopedia
Student, Floranti, Modron, Sixth Year
Neutral
"What?"
Finnegan wheeled around and regretted it almost immediately. Standing there, tall and long-limbed, was none other than the serpent itself baring its fanged teeth. "Oh," said Finnegan, "hi Kas." Kas. How stupid was that? He'd said Kas as if they were best mates, as if they were on a first name basis, as if they hung out on the regular. A few more slips of the tongue like that and there was going to be some hanging to be sure, but more likely by the ankles or by the neck.
There was an expectant silence while Finnegan lowered his wand-arm and sized up Kasimir Damon-Cowles, the boogeyman of the fifth-years. It took a few seconds before he realized that they were expecting the same thing from each other. "You're stuck too, huh?" There was a kind of relief in knowing that the much-talked-about Kasimir got stumped by a statue that Finnegan had seen several first-years breeze past.
Useless though Kasimir was in this particular predicament, the teenager's arrival had at least served the purpose of interrupting Finnegan from attempting something foolish. Last time he'd tried jinxing the statue, the spell had glanced off and rebounded, almost hitting him instead. "Guess we'll have to wait."
Finnegan returned to his sitting spot and sagged down the wall like molasses. After a few more taps of his wand against his thigh, he stowed his wand and returned to his books. Imagine that, Finnegan Connor doing his coursework long before it was due. Something had changed in him even before he had come to Penwick, his restless energy had found some purpose and direction. Few of his classmates would know it, Kasimir certaintly wouldn't, but he'd tasted enough bitter mouthfuls of danger to become keen on knowing how to protect himself. He'd barely read a paragraph from his book when he was once again interrupted.
What makes you certain you belong here?
Finnegan closed his eyes, took a deep, steadying breath, then opened them again, glancing scornfully toward the statue.
You again?
Are you giving up? It was the first thing the hound had said which wasn't just a repetition of its question.
Finnegan flared his nostrils indignantly. No
Then what makes you certain you belong here?
A silent battle was waged in his skull-sized kingdom. One half considered that the best response would be to throw his book at the statue, whereas the other half urged calm. Fine... Finnegan sighed inwardly, just let me think...
For the first time since he'd arrived in the hall, he considered the question earnestly and the answer dawned on him almost instantly.
Nothing. He couldn't be certain at all that he belonged at Penwick anymore than he had at Hogwarts. I haven't been here long enough to be sure and I don't know if I'll ever be sure I belong anywhere.
His lips parted into a smile, then a grin, and then he jumped up. "That's it, isn't it? Nothing!" He must've looked a madman to leap up so suddenly and shout "Nothing!" out of nowhere, but it hardly mattered. The hound moved aside and the archway behind it rippled, revealing the winding staircase into the subterranium. Finnegan hastily threw his books into his bag and slung it over one shoulder. "You coming?" he called toward Kasimir. "That'll be a sickle then," he would add snarkily while holding out his hand, should Kasimir join him past the rippling archway.
@Kasimir Damon-Cowles
Finnegan wheeled around and regretted it almost immediately. Standing there, tall and long-limbed, was none other than the serpent itself baring its fanged teeth. "Oh," said Finnegan, "hi Kas." Kas. How stupid was that? He'd said Kas as if they were best mates, as if they were on a first name basis, as if they hung out on the regular. A few more slips of the tongue like that and there was going to be some hanging to be sure, but more likely by the ankles or by the neck.
There was an expectant silence while Finnegan lowered his wand-arm and sized up Kasimir Damon-Cowles, the boogeyman of the fifth-years. It took a few seconds before he realized that they were expecting the same thing from each other. "You're stuck too, huh?" There was a kind of relief in knowing that the much-talked-about Kasimir got stumped by a statue that Finnegan had seen several first-years breeze past.
Useless though Kasimir was in this particular predicament, the teenager's arrival had at least served the purpose of interrupting Finnegan from attempting something foolish. Last time he'd tried jinxing the statue, the spell had glanced off and rebounded, almost hitting him instead. "Guess we'll have to wait."
Finnegan returned to his sitting spot and sagged down the wall like molasses. After a few more taps of his wand against his thigh, he stowed his wand and returned to his books. Imagine that, Finnegan Connor doing his coursework long before it was due. Something had changed in him even before he had come to Penwick, his restless energy had found some purpose and direction. Few of his classmates would know it, Kasimir certaintly wouldn't, but he'd tasted enough bitter mouthfuls of danger to become keen on knowing how to protect himself. He'd barely read a paragraph from his book when he was once again interrupted.
What makes you certain you belong here?
Finnegan closed his eyes, took a deep, steadying breath, then opened them again, glancing scornfully toward the statue.
You again?
Are you giving up? It was the first thing the hound had said which wasn't just a repetition of its question.
Finnegan flared his nostrils indignantly. No
Then what makes you certain you belong here?
A silent battle was waged in his skull-sized kingdom. One half considered that the best response would be to throw his book at the statue, whereas the other half urged calm. Fine... Finnegan sighed inwardly, just let me think...
For the first time since he'd arrived in the hall, he considered the question earnestly and the answer dawned on him almost instantly.
Nothing. He couldn't be certain at all that he belonged at Penwick anymore than he had at Hogwarts. I haven't been here long enough to be sure and I don't know if I'll ever be sure I belong anywhere.
His lips parted into a smile, then a grin, and then he jumped up. "That's it, isn't it? Nothing!" He must've looked a madman to leap up so suddenly and shout "Nothing!" out of nowhere, but it hardly mattered. The hound moved aside and the archway behind it rippled, revealing the winding staircase into the subterranium. Finnegan hastily threw his books into his bag and slung it over one shoulder. "You coming?" he called toward Kasimir. "That'll be a sickle then," he would add snarkily while holding out his hand, should Kasimir join him past the rippling archway.
@Kasimir Damon-Cowles
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Kasimir Damon-Cowles
6th Year Penwick student from Aberporth, Wales with a 27.50cm Beech and Unicorn Hair wand.
Encyclopedia
Student, Modron, Sixth Year
Neutral
Location : Penwick School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Wales
Interactions : @Finnegan Connor
Interactions : @Finnegan Connor
His lip curled, disgust plain, as the other - Connor, wasn't it? He's new, too - greeted him with such familiarity. "Your powers of observation are astounding," Kasimir remarked in a flat voice once Finnegan spoke. Being "stuck, too" was a worse lot than just being stuck. It looked like Kas would have to make peace with the fact he'd be sleeping in an alcove again tonight. The prospect didn't thrill him, so he'd resign himself to the waiting game for a bit longer.
Connor used the time for productivity - Kasimir, on the other hand, leaned against the wall and stared at the hound. It looked back - or, well, it felt like the hound was looking back. Kas narrowed his eyes at the statue. You suck.
What do you seek?
Shut up.
What do you seek? Kas huffed and broke eye contact, sliding down to the ground and getting a book out of his satchel. It was a library book. His current project was defacing it.
The vagrant's pen struck a sharp line of ink across the page right in the middle of his very offensive caricature of Professor @Rafael Corvesso when Connor leapt up and shouted "Nothing!" Wow. How incredibly enlightening. Kasimir rolled his eyes, ready to dismiss the outburst, when the shimmer of stone fading away caught his eye.
He pushed himself to his feet, book snapping shut and pen stowed away as he moved. To Connor's snarky comment he lent a grin as he walked past the other Modron student. "I'm feeling generous. How about five knuckles instead?" He didn't intend to follow up on that remark, unless prompted. Kasimir was tired. The hound tended to drain his energy, already in precious little supply, and encouraged self-reflection, which dimmed Kasimir's sparkle even further. Connor was just annoying enough to earn an insult or two and maybe a fist fight if he really wanted one.
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Finnegan Connor
6th Year Penwick student from Cardiff, Wales with a 25.00cm Chestnut and Phoenix Feather wand.
Encyclopedia
Student, Floranti, Modron, Sixth Year
Neutral
Turn the other cheek, the good book said, but Finnegan wasn't much for reading good books. It wouldn't even be hard to cast the spell, he already had his wand out, and he was certain he could send Kasimir flying across the flagstones. The gate would shut before the teen would have a chance to jump back up, and it would be another peaceful night in their shared dormitory. Tongues had certainly wagged inside of house Modron, doubly so in the boy's dormitory where Damon-Scowls had his bed.
The consensus, if there was any to be found amid a bunch of rowdy boys, had landed somewhere between fear, awe and curiosity. At the center of that Venn diagram of disater was Kasimir Damon-Cowles: butthead, prick extraordinaire, and just a real alround cunt when it came down to it. Sure, Finnegan sometimes got annoyed too at tiny first-years getting in his way, but there was a difference between him grumbling "excuse me" and the effect Kasimir had on a sea of firsties. It was biblical, the way they parted like the red sea before a very pissed-off looking Moses almost made it seem like the Modron mong commanded respect. In truth it had a lot more to do with fear of getting squashed like bugs if they so much as breathed in his general direction. If you didn't, he'd torture you for fun.
That's what the more imaginative rumours said anyway. There probably wasn't all that much torturing going on, but Finnegan had no desire to get intimately acquainted with Kasimir's knuckles either. So he stayed his wand and kept his tongue behind the fence of his teeth. Those knuckles were attached to rather too much muscle and making any enemy out of Kasimir was even worse idea when you shared a dormitory with him.
Curiosity was harder to keep at bay though.
"Did you really get expelled twice?" Finnegan asked while he waited for Kasimir to join him in the winding, cavernous corridors behind the passage. "Who'd you kill?"
He managed to make the question sound airy, as if there was nothing to it, as if they were friends, or perhaps could be. Not that Finnegan desired to be friends with the boy, but he did not want to be enemies either. Something about not having to worry about getting strangled in your sleep.
"I'm serious. You probably could..." He glanced at Kasimir in a way that seemed to almost admire the boy. Nothing scrawny or awkward about him, there was a certain sharpness to him, like a well-balanced knife.
The consensus, if there was any to be found amid a bunch of rowdy boys, had landed somewhere between fear, awe and curiosity. At the center of that Venn diagram of disater was Kasimir Damon-Cowles: butthead, prick extraordinaire, and just a real alround cunt when it came down to it. Sure, Finnegan sometimes got annoyed too at tiny first-years getting in his way, but there was a difference between him grumbling "excuse me" and the effect Kasimir had on a sea of firsties. It was biblical, the way they parted like the red sea before a very pissed-off looking Moses almost made it seem like the Modron mong commanded respect. In truth it had a lot more to do with fear of getting squashed like bugs if they so much as breathed in his general direction. If you didn't, he'd torture you for fun.
That's what the more imaginative rumours said anyway. There probably wasn't all that much torturing going on, but Finnegan had no desire to get intimately acquainted with Kasimir's knuckles either. So he stayed his wand and kept his tongue behind the fence of his teeth. Those knuckles were attached to rather too much muscle and making any enemy out of Kasimir was even worse idea when you shared a dormitory with him.
Curiosity was harder to keep at bay though.
"Did you really get expelled twice?" Finnegan asked while he waited for Kasimir to join him in the winding, cavernous corridors behind the passage. "Who'd you kill?"
He managed to make the question sound airy, as if there was nothing to it, as if they were friends, or perhaps could be. Not that Finnegan desired to be friends with the boy, but he did not want to be enemies either. Something about not having to worry about getting strangled in your sleep.
"I'm serious. You probably could..." He glanced at Kasimir in a way that seemed to almost admire the boy. Nothing scrawny or awkward about him, there was a certain sharpness to him, like a well-balanced knife.