Augustus "Gus" Graves
Basic Information:
- Date of birth: 17 March, 2010
- Nationality: English
- Residence: Harrogate, England
- Blood status: Pureblood
- Year: 5th Year
- Origin: Seer
Aptitudes:
- Physique - 5
- Agility - 7
- Intelligence - 11
- Charisma - 5
- Spirit - 10
- Sorcery - 8
Physical Description:
Gus, by all accounts, would seem rather average in stature and physique. He sits only just taller than the median of other boys. The fifteen-year-old boy, whose long arms hang stiffly at his sides, had alabaster skin that would seem pristine if it wasn't muddled by the sun's rays, which dappled his nose and cheeks with a pink and rosy glow. That being said, his skin showed no signs of blemishes. His thick black hair had been coiffed with care; it acted as a statement piece, the contrast between it and his skin only sinking him further into the color palette of a vintage film. The boy's eyes gleamed with a deep green, with flecks of smoky grey across the outer edges of his iris. For some reason, Gus's eyes had the oddest quality of flashing the oddest colors in the right light, making his already perpetual far-off-looks seem infinite.
Personality Description:
Augustus Graves is a serious boy who always seems to be losing himself in the dysphoric void that is daydreaming. But when he isn't letting his mind wander to universes beyond, he isn't the type to actively voice his opinions, rather letting himself fall into the background rather than be the center of attention. When he does speak, Gus speaks with a tone of cocksureness. Though oddly enough, he believes himself to be extremely lucky, which only emboldens the already substantial conviction Gus has in himself. One of Augustus' favorite pastimes is people watching and listening in on idle gossip, and every so often the boy will even participate in 'spilling the tea' as he once heard a Muggle say. Generally his is polite and kind, but Gus doesn't exactly take others into regard once his mind is set on something.
Backstory:
The Graves family isn't one of great renown, but rather one of whims. The youngest son of seven brothers was Arcturus Graves; the father of Augustus Graves. Once Arcturus had grown from boy to man, he found himself in courtship with one Adeline Prestwick. She too had given birth to seven sons, and the seventh son of the seventh son was boldly named Augustus after his grandfather.
Life with seven brothers, seven uncles, and countless cousins was like a tornado had hit the Graves Manor every single night. Although he loved his family, he couldn't admit that he liked most of them. Smelly, messy, brutish, and obscene are only a few ways Gus could describe the majority of his brothers. The ones he actually liked were his eldest brother, Averett, his cousin Ari, who was only a year younger than him, and his aunt, Prudence, who was a Muggle with the distinct misfortune of marrying to the Graves family. Every dinner was like a family reunion, and never was it quiet.
It was at the age of 6 that he had first noticed it, the transparent filament lazily drifting through the air. It only extended maybe six feet before the end faded into nothing. However, the string of silvery light anchored firmly in his sternum, like a ripcord on a parachute. The flitting and gliding of the thread reminded him of a river snake following through a river's current. Yet, the lazily drifting filament was gone as quickly as it had come. He had blinked; it was gone.
Over the years, he had begun to keep an eye out for the gossamer string, and after time practising, he could find it about half of the time. Not only with the one that had anchored itself into his chest, but with other people too. It would pull from a stranger's heel, the tip of their index finger, or - once the thread attached itself to the upturned nose of a pudgy old man who worked at the local grocer. The poor sod couldn't understand why young Augustus always tried to stifle laughter while talking to him.
The delicate wires only strayed about 6 feet in length away from their owners before they faded from view. At seemingly random intervals, the twine would snap rigid as if it was a pointer dog indicating where a fox had hidden. After a random amount of time, it would release, flowing back into its lazy drifting.
Gus did not understand that these were visualizations of his innate Seer intuition, nor did he understand why he was apparently the only one who could see them. He had brought it up once at family dinner, only to be ridiculed by his elder brothers and cousins. Lesson Learned.
When the time for wizardly and witchy schooling had arrived for young Gus, his brothers had been spread to the wind, like seeds from a dandelion. It would not be far off to say that there was a Graves son at every Wizarding and Witchcraft institution on the face of the planet. But now that it was Gus's turn to decide, he could only feel the gentle tug of his thread against his sternum pointing towards Penwick.
In all honesty, in his first few years at Penwick, Gus had played the role of a silent observer. He was content with being overlooked; he'd preferred to watch anyway. Maybe his upcoming years will become more interesting.
Life with seven brothers, seven uncles, and countless cousins was like a tornado had hit the Graves Manor every single night. Although he loved his family, he couldn't admit that he liked most of them. Smelly, messy, brutish, and obscene are only a few ways Gus could describe the majority of his brothers. The ones he actually liked were his eldest brother, Averett, his cousin Ari, who was only a year younger than him, and his aunt, Prudence, who was a Muggle with the distinct misfortune of marrying to the Graves family. Every dinner was like a family reunion, and never was it quiet.
It was at the age of 6 that he had first noticed it, the transparent filament lazily drifting through the air. It only extended maybe six feet before the end faded into nothing. However, the string of silvery light anchored firmly in his sternum, like a ripcord on a parachute. The flitting and gliding of the thread reminded him of a river snake following through a river's current. Yet, the lazily drifting filament was gone as quickly as it had come. He had blinked; it was gone.
Over the years, he had begun to keep an eye out for the gossamer string, and after time practising, he could find it about half of the time. Not only with the one that had anchored itself into his chest, but with other people too. It would pull from a stranger's heel, the tip of their index finger, or - once the thread attached itself to the upturned nose of a pudgy old man who worked at the local grocer. The poor sod couldn't understand why young Augustus always tried to stifle laughter while talking to him.
The delicate wires only strayed about 6 feet in length away from their owners before they faded from view. At seemingly random intervals, the twine would snap rigid as if it was a pointer dog indicating where a fox had hidden. After a random amount of time, it would release, flowing back into its lazy drifting.
Gus did not understand that these were visualizations of his innate Seer intuition, nor did he understand why he was apparently the only one who could see them. He had brought it up once at family dinner, only to be ridiculed by his elder brothers and cousins. Lesson Learned.
When the time for wizardly and witchy schooling had arrived for young Gus, his brothers had been spread to the wind, like seeds from a dandelion. It would not be far off to say that there was a Graves son at every Wizarding and Witchcraft institution on the face of the planet. But now that it was Gus's turn to decide, he could only feel the gentle tug of his thread against his sternum pointing towards Penwick.
In all honesty, in his first few years at Penwick, Gus had played the role of a silent observer. He was content with being overlooked; he'd preferred to watch anyway. Maybe his upcoming years will become more interesting.
First Instance of Magic:
Augustus' first instance of magic was something rather simple, but perhaps not elegant. The boy could only have been five years old. Gus and a few of his brothers went outside to pass around a ball. Once again, because Gus was the youngest, his brothers left him out. Again and again, they passed the ball around and over Gus' head. As he protested and asked for the ball, his brothers only laughed. Tantrum time, baby. The boy stomped his foot and glared daggers at his brother, Atticus. In an instant, the ball was cemented to his hand. The grounding was worth the memory of Atticus’s panicked shouts.