Penwick

Kas had just slept through nearly his entire Non-Wizarding Perspectives Class. For once, he maintained it wasn't his fault, whoever made the schedule shouldn't have given him the most repetitive class on earth for his first on Monday of all days. Seriously, these schools needed some sort of streamlined curriculum, he'd already learned most of this crap at Ilvermorny. Even if he hadn't meant to, learning by osmosis was a mostly unconscious process.

After sticking around for as long as the professor droned about his brand new shiny detention for disrespecting academia and also not wearing his uniform and also being late in the first place, Kasimir set sail on the stormy Student Sea for his next class. In which he would likely resume his nap.

His vest was balled up in his hand from where the professor had summoned the article and threw it at him just minutes before. Unburdened by a bag or satchel, Kasimir waded through the crowd with a cockiness that irked, irritated, and enraged. The tails of his vest smacked someone on the back as he slung it over his shoulder. She demanded apology. Kas shrugged as he continued on. "Sorry, sweetheart, didn't see you there." The corner of his mouth lifted in an awfully self-satisfied smirk when he heard the huff of indignation in response.

There were a whole lot of brunets in the world. Kas saw a good collection of them here in the chaos of class changes. But only one of those brunets in the world was Thaddeus, and for a heart-stopping moment, Kas thought he saw Thad here, too.

"Thaddeus!" he nigh on shouted, now pushing past people to catch up to the unruly head. How the short little bastard had caught his eye, Kasimir knew not, only that Thaddeus was not supposed to be here, yet here he was. "Thad!"

He caught the boy on the shoulder, eyes alight with something like fervor that he could not hide until after he spun the boy around and found not the face of Thaddeus, but a complete stranger. "You-!"

How fucking embarrassing.

This kid was not his brother. He did not have the same face, even if he had the same figure and the same hair and the same slouch to his shoulders that Cassandre had never quite corrected. His skin was ghostly, almost like a corpse. The Damon-Cowles were a Caucasian family, but not that white.

This kid was not a complete stranger though. No, Kas could still save some of his dignity, if by dignity you meant soulless miscreant reputation, could still cover the idiotic assumption behind his mad dash. "Hey, been looking for you. That punch on the first day? What an impression! Shit was awesome. You're a freaking legend, you know that?" He slapped the kid's shoulder, that unreadable, unshakable expression back on his face. "And you got the tough guy house. Shoulda known. Red looks good on ya, kid. So, Thad, how's it go in, uh, Dragon? Bunch of you hero types all stuck in the same place must get rowdy." He was rambling, but it didn't matter. He had that sharp smile, that good-natured chuckle, the hand on the shoulder that tried to be more friendly than restraining. As long as he kept talking and left no room for questions, the kid would forget the desperation moments ago, the soft underbelly briefly revealed.

You pathetic wuss. Now why'd you have to rush off for a stupid thing like that?