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12th December, 1888 — Inside A Warm Sock Bed, Slytherin Boys' Dormitory
Sometimes Aubrey wondered what the point of counting the days was, any more. Precisely nothing to him: he didn't work any more, didn't have half-days off, didn't get to go home and see his family. He'd go home and see the Urquart family over the holidays. He supposed. Master Urquart didn't run his plans past his hedgehog.
Strange twist of fate, it was, that he'd always wished to have had more schooling than his lowly year - he'd wanted more for his sisters too, Henry most of all - and here he was, imprisoned in that very same castle, doomed to be here for another long four years.
But Christmas was coming, one of the few signs of the passage of time. Aubrey could pass for a pine cone, sometimes, if he curled up in the decorative piles of them on the hearth or hung himself from the Christmas trees in the Great Hall. (Huh. Hang himself. Best never rule that out, lest Master Urquart was made more of a monster by his puberty.) He remembered his last Christmas, though, more desperately than ever, his last as a human, the only ones that counted - and the last real occasion his family had been together.
He wondered how the Davis family spent Christmas now. As they'd used to, probably, though which of his siblings would still be how he remembered them? Henrietta had only been a kid, eleven years old and eleven years ago: she'd been a sweet kid, even then.
Aubrey had lost the lion charm she'd given him. He'd used to wear it on its string, but he didn't know what had happened to everything he owned after the transformation - only knew he had nothing with him, any more, save... his own skin, he'd say. IF HE STILL HAD HIS OWN SKIN, BLOODY HELL.
So, maybe he was down to his distant memories of his former life, down to stubby legs and tiny paws and a useless fucking wet snout. But he had a bottle of ink he'd been hoarding, some scraps of parchment he had squirrelled away over the months, and even a little Gryffindor lion pin that had reminded him of the charm he'd once worn, which he had discovered when he'd gotten stuck down the back of an armchair in the Gryffindor common room one day last week.
And Christmas was coming.
He had a present to send.
Strange twist of fate, it was, that he'd always wished to have had more schooling than his lowly year - he'd wanted more for his sisters too, Henry most of all - and here he was, imprisoned in that very same castle, doomed to be here for another long four years.
But Christmas was coming, one of the few signs of the passage of time. Aubrey could pass for a pine cone, sometimes, if he curled up in the decorative piles of them on the hearth or hung himself from the Christmas trees in the Great Hall. (Huh. Hang himself. Best never rule that out, lest Master Urquart was made more of a monster by his puberty.) He remembered his last Christmas, though, more desperately than ever, his last as a human, the only ones that counted - and the last real occasion his family had been together.
He wondered how the Davis family spent Christmas now. As they'd used to, probably, though which of his siblings would still be how he remembered them? Henrietta had only been a kid, eleven years old and eleven years ago: she'd been a sweet kid, even then.
Aubrey had lost the lion charm she'd given him. He'd used to wear it on its string, but he didn't know what had happened to everything he owned after the transformation - only knew he had nothing with him, any more, save... his own skin, he'd say. IF HE STILL HAD HIS OWN SKIN, BLOODY HELL.
So, maybe he was down to his distant memories of his former life, down to stubby legs and tiny paws and a useless fucking wet snout. But he had a bottle of ink he'd been hoarding, some scraps of parchment he had squirrelled away over the months, and even a little Gryffindor lion pin that had reminded him of the charm he'd once worn, which he had discovered when he'd gotten stuck down the back of an armchair in the Gryffindor common room one day last week.
And Christmas was coming.
He had a present to send.
15th December, 1888 — Irvingly Market
Inevitably - and irritatingly - Temperance had felt guilty all week.
It was rare that she doubted herself, rarer still that her niece was the cause of the doubt and yet something in Blythe’s manner lately had given her pause. True, she had wilfully ignored that her niece’s wish had been to remain on at Hogwarts, gladly making herself the villain of the piece rather than admit that their means would scarcely allow for it, but her excuse was convenient rather than truly heartfelt. Blythe didn’t need to know that she was missed in the household everyday and she certainly didn’t need to know that Temperance had scrupulously saved whatever she could spare and now housed a not-insignificant amount under her mattress.
No, their situation was not so dire that she couldn’t have managed a few more years. They were not rich, but they were more comfortable than most and she had taken pains to make her charges respectable, even if it had been by force. She took pride in her family, or at least those that were left. Blythe had never been anything other than neatly turned out, despite their limited means, and even Davinder was not the embarrassment he might have been. (It took her a moment to realise she had instinctively included him on her mental list and she immediately scowled at the nearest shop window.)
They ought to be grateful for the gifts the Lord had bestowed upon them in his bountiful generosity. She would not tolerate anything less.
And yet… would it really be so awful to indulge Blythe with even a small gift that came from a more earthly source? Temperance had never wavered before in her absolute belief that such things were frivolous, but then again it had been several years since her niece’s face had swam before her eyes every night of December.
She cast her eyes imperiously over ribbons and buttons, allowing no one before the stalls to so much as offer to help her, and decided against them. They would not suit Blythe and were ugly anyway, an utter waste of money. Books? They had books; a few of Mayfield’s treatise, her annotated herbology textbooks and the only book that really mattered.
The market was an utter waste of time and she apparated the short distance home, too irritated to even face the short walk home and, in the same moment she quite literally popped into her house she realised what she ought to do.
She was going to teach Blythe to apparate.
December 13th, 1888
As it comes upon the holidays, I thoughtfully look back on ones I have celebrated before. Especially with fondness, I remember the first one I had with my sister Penelope. It was the first time I had celebrated with a sister, and I did not know it at the time. But also with my whole family which is very nice.
It was Christmas 1855. My sister was a very small baby and my young brother Timothy was just getting to be that age where one could actually play with him. I had high hopes that my mother would invite my friends over, but she had just wanted family Christmas. Maybe she did not want to be alone with my sister, baby, for so long? I have yet to meet a baby that has an enjoyable disposition, or who seems anything less than mortified by the lights at the Christmas. It always seemed like Penelope would need to be protected by my brother and I, I admit that at the time I rather have play outside.
Presents were wrapped under the Christmas tree. My mother, she is one who loves muggle traditions at Christmas. She has many decorations on the tree, they are nice, instead my brother and I, we want to open presents. We did not have a lot. But we did not pay for school so we had more money than when we were. I do despise the way my mother would work much because she wished to pay. The times my sister would be alone.
But Christmas was happy. My brother got training broom. Used, but it was paint red. He liked it. I was given a toy train. It was supposed to move by itself but enchantment had worn off long time. It was a very very happy time. Later I would play with my friends. I have not spoken to them for a long time. Maybe I will send something for Christmas.
13th December, 1888 — Fairchild Household
Blythe Fairchild
The time of year was no excuse for shirking one's duties and yet Temperance had spent the vast majority of her day scowling at the early festivities that were beginning to pop up as she went about her daily rounds. Cards bearing images of red-breasted robins appeared on patient’s bedsides and she had to force herself not to remove them to the nearest wastepaper basket. She had seen healers she otherwise considered sensible wizards speaking to each other in panicked whispers about what they were getting their respective wives. Inevitably there was an excessively ostentatious spruce in the Infirmary foyer that she did not object to as much on principle but did think was a terrible fire risk given the abundance of candles some fool had seen fit to bedeck the branches with. She could only hope they were properly enchanted.
The whole experience turned shifts that one month ago she would have been able to run like a Swiss clock into days that drained her body and soul.
It wasn’t even that she disliked the season. Quite the contrary. But it was a time for solemn reflection, for dignified celebration but not for this utter...display. Unfortunately it seemed that this was the way of the world, the way of their thoughtless, blasphemous world and she was forced to live with it. At least she was in her professional life where she was obliged to hold her tongue and keep her peace - in her own home, where she was matriarch rather than matron, she permitted herself to be far freer with her speech and thanked the Lord for the opportunity to be rid of the bile that rose within her.
Her family would likely not be so thankful. Indeed the boy had already excused himself to bed, leaving her alone with Blythe, seething over her knitting.
“It’s sickening the way these people carry on," she repeated, for approximately the fourth time that evening. "No true believer would celebrate the birth of our lord and saviour with foolish parlour games."
In-Character
Full Name: King LukesonNicknames: n/a
Birthdate: May 15th 1873
Current Age: 15
Occupation: Student
Reputation: 9
Residence: London, England
Hogwarts House: Hufflepuff
Wand: Alder, 11", Unicorn hair, supple
Blood Status: Pure
Social Class: Upper
Family:
Mother Guinevere Lukeson née Rey (1848-1888)
Father: Ryder Lukeson (1842-1888)
Brother: Ace Lukeson (1869)
Sister: Avril Lukeson (1871)
Brother: Leroy Lukeson (1872-1887)
Sister: Jolie Lukeson (1875)
Sister: Sybille Lukeson (1877)
Sister: Roselle Lukeson (1888)
Grandfather: Edgar Rey (1816)
Grandmother: Lacy Rey née ____ (1827)
Aunt: Jade ____ née Rey (1846)
Uncle: Alex ____ (1840)
Uncle: Charles Rey (1850-1887)
Uncle: Hubert Rey (1850)
Aunt: Brenda Rey née ____ (1851)
Cousin: Edgar Rey II (1873)
Cousin: Bellerose Rey (1875)
Cousin: Fleur Rey (1877)
Appearance: King has light brown almost reddish hair and brown eyes. He's currently 5'7" but he might still have some growing to do, so perhaps he'll grow taller yet. Like most teenage boys in the middle of a growth spurt he's quite lanky, with long arms and legs, making him look a bit like an awkward scarecrow. His right hand is his wand arm.
Since he is a Hogwarts student he's usually seen wearing his uniform in Hufflepuff colours, but even when he isn't in uniform he gravitates towards his house colours. He prefers casual clothing, choosing comfort over style most days unless he has to dress up for some event.
History:
1873 - King is born
1875 - Jolie is born, not that King really remembers this, he was only 2.
1877 - Sybille is born, he's a bit older now and is very excited to get another younger sister.
1880 - Ace goes away to Hogwarts, King mopes about it for a good while. He already misses his eldest brother. King also does his best to hide the fact that he struggles with reading, making Jolie, who is younger but already can do something he can't, read things out loud to him so he can memorize it to hide it from his parents.
1882 - Avril goes away to Hogwarts too, but King doesn't have much time to mope about it inbetween mother pampering them, and trying to escape her smothering attention. His parents also finds out about his reading troubles, and assigns him a tutor. Progress is slow.
1883 - Father is a werewolf, and King doesn't know how to feel about it. He gets very clingy for a while, alternatively hovering around his father and avoiding him. Things eventually smooth out. Leroy goes to Hogwarts, and King is already sort of dreading next year. His reading and writing lessons are going better, he knows the alphabet now.
1884 - He finally shows his first signs of magic, much to king's relief. He'd started worrying he was a squib, and had been dreading not getting his letter. He can now read and write to a certain degree, long and complicated words frustrates him and he can't seem to quite grasp them and his spelling is not the best, but it's something. He's both nervous and excited to go to Hogwarts, and is disappointed when he's not sorted into any of his siblings' houses.
1885 - Cousin Edgar comes to Hogwarts this year. He feels a bit sorry for Edgar, it doesn't make sense that he had to be held back a year just because his birthday was after September 1st.
1886 - Jolie starts Hogwarts as well. It's nice to have so many of his siblings here, it means he always has someone he can seek out when his anxieties get too much.
1887 -Leroy and uncle Charles are dead. King feels like he's in shock, he starts getting nightmares, reliving them dying in front of him. He rarely sleeps through the night anymore, and he starts withdrawing into himself. When he goes back to Hogwarts it only gets worse. Ace has graduated, Avril was pulled out of school, and Leroy is dead. He doesn't want to bother his younger sisters with his nightmares, so he keeps quiet about it. Some days he feels like a ghost, maybe he'll just disappear one day?
1888 - Father is dead, then mother dies giving birth to Roselle. King doesn't know what to do, he feels numb, like this is all a terrible nightmare that he can't wake up from. He doesn't know how to act around Ace anymore either, and he moves through the house like a silent ghost. Then Avril runs away to join the expedition, and he's sure she'll die, just like everyone else in their family. Once she gets back he hovers awkwardly, and when it's time to go to Hogwarts he's not sure if he's sad or relieved.
Personality:
Shy - Kind - Hesitant - Trusting - Self-Conscious - Anxious - Curious
King is a bit shy, but also a people pleaser. He always desperately needs people to like him, and so will put up with uncomfortable social situations if it means making other people happy. King has always been a rather awkward boy, sensitive and easily flustered, but after witnessing his uncle and brother die in front of him he's become even more quiet, practically drawing into himself. The recent death of his parents did not help, and he seems to have retreated back into his shell after for a while he'd seemed to get better.
Still, he does have a curious streak. While research and reading will never be something he takes any joy in, he likes to explore. He's at his happiest when he can hike through woods, discovering all the plants and animals that lives there. If given the chance he will surely slip away to explore whatever place he's at.
Other:
King is dyslexic and struggles greatly with reading and writing.
He's good at more practical subjects rather than the one involving a lot of theory. He takes music as an elective, and is quite skilled at the piano.
OWL courses: Care of Magical Creatures, Earth Magic.
His boggart is flying tigers.
Out-of-Character
Name: FreyaAge: 21
Contact: PM/discord/skype
Other Characters: Everett Griffiths
How did you hear about us?: rpg-d
December 24, 1884 - North Household
This year was certainly different than the rest. A new person had entered their lives, a chaotic person at that. He still did not know how he was going to manage trying to take care of such a wild child. One who kept running away. Today the most Victor could hope for is that she wouldn't run today. It would be quite a disappointment for him to have to go find her during Christmas. After all, the whole point was to celebrate together. Sadly she hadn't seemed to care about such things so far. And this was what Victor thought about during his morning as he stood outside and gazed out into the forest. He could see as the sky was turning pink as the day approached.
He didn't know if Angharad would like any of the presents given. How were they to get to know her if she refused to acknowledge them most days. It was likely that the wild child might not like most things that were bought for her. Did she even like anything besides running off? It was easier to think as he gazed at the forest. Even easier to think when he was in the forest. … Well, that could certainly be a gift. As he thought over his idea more, the more he began to smile. If she didn't run off, it would be a perfect idea. She seemed to like the woods, and it was a rabbit that she had that that dragon had seemed to be after. Perhaps she would enjoy joining him on his hunts.
Of course his wife would never approve, and the children would possibly be jealous. But Victor had been raised to hunt, and he was sure that he could convince his wife to let the children join when they were older. It was a valuable skill, especially for where they lived. If they were ever to lead a life like his, they would have to know how to hunt. While it was settled in his mind, he was sure he was going to have a battle of wits with his wife over this.
He didn't know if Angharad would like any of the presents given. How were they to get to know her if she refused to acknowledge them most days. It was likely that the wild child might not like most things that were bought for her. Did she even like anything besides running off? It was easier to think as he gazed at the forest. Even easier to think when he was in the forest. … Well, that could certainly be a gift. As he thought over his idea more, the more he began to smile. If she didn't run off, it would be a perfect idea. She seemed to like the woods, and it was a rabbit that she had that that dragon had seemed to be after. Perhaps she would enjoy joining him on his hunts.
Of course his wife would never approve, and the children would possibly be jealous. But Victor had been raised to hunt, and he was sure that he could convince his wife to let the children join when they were older. It was a valuable skill, especially for where they lived. If they were ever to lead a life like his, they would have to know how to hunt. While it was settled in his mind, he was sure he was going to have a battle of wits with his wife over this.
[word count: 356]
December 10th, 1888 — High Street
Everett hated shopping, and he usually limited his time doing so by as much as he could. Unfortunately some thing could not be avoided, and Christmas shopping was one of those things. While he had refused Ives' many, many invitations to come spend the Christmas with him and his family, he still needed to buy presents for them. No-one could say Everett wasn't a doting uncle, and he'd saved up a bit just so he could get his niece a nice present. Of course he'd also gotten something for his brother and his wife, and something for his mother.
Figuring out what an 11 year old girl would want for Christmas had been a bit more challenging, but he'd settled on a new dress that he hoped she would like and a book of useful hexes. Erika had a vicious streak to match her uncle, and maybe he should feel bad about encouraging it but he saw it as revenge on his little brother. He was absolutely sure Ives was not done pestering him about visiting for Christmas.
At least he was done for the day, and the weather hadn't been too terrible. It was bitingly cold, but at least the skies were clear, and the sun was making the snow and ice shimmer in a way that could almost convince him to dislike winter less. He'd been walking down the High Street, several bags in his hands when he felt his foot slip on the treacherous ice underneath. For a moment he was airborne before crashing down heavily, bags and their contents spilling out, as he let out a surprised yelp. The yelp soon became a pained grown as the back of his head met the cobbled stones with a painful crack. For a moment he laid there, head spinning as he could nothing but blink up at the sky in bewilderment.
December 13th, 1888 — Jamie's Shack, the Hebrides
James MacFusty
James MacFusty
It was still autumn according to the calendar, but nothing said could have convinced her it wasn't winter. Snowfall was periodic, but the stinging chill of the wind against her skin was constant. With every passing December day, her sleeves grew longer, and her petticoats multiplied; her bed, covered in a mountain of blankets and quilt, could attest to her dislike of the cold, but less so than the permanent tight-lipped frown she wore.
Staying at Jamie's was not even an option some nights; with a masculine pride like his, it was not uncommon for him to be wandering around with a weightless shirt on in his igloo of a house. Getting him to admit he was cold was even more difficult, though she'd seen him with goosebumps—(even his body was crying out for warmth!)—during meals.
He'd not spoken once of Christmas since December began, leaving Bella in a precarious situation. She could assume it was on his mind, or she could assume it wasn't. Bella decided she'd be spending Christmas Day with him either way; they'd either be at the MacFusty mansion with the others, or she'd be nagging him here about blowing off yet another family gathering.
"I heard Immie's getting her children a pig for Christmas," she offered, a gateway into the subject. Straightforward may have been Jamie's way, but Bella preferred to skirt around issues until someone called her bluff. "I told her I never might be able to read Izzy the story of the Three Little Pigs in the same way, not with us having wolf pups here." The two pups, who spent most chilly afternoons seeking the warmest spot in the house, were now under her feet—and much larger than they'd been when she and Jamie had first picked them up.
December 3rd, 1888 - Podmore Zoological Gardens, Irvingly
Una wasn't entirely sure what had come over her in the past month or so. Life had been going well or, at least, well enough. She'd been happy and content, finally found herself again. But as the holidays had begun to draw nearer, well, her mood had started turning more and more sour. Which, unsurprisingly, wasn't at all like that fiery haired magizoologist healer. The holidays had always been her thing. She'd always been the one bouncing about happily decorating and seeing to it that everyone else got a little bit of holiday cheer from her. Even since moving to Irvingly she'd done what she could even though it had always just been the small group of cousins living together. But now.. well something felt off.
Perhaps it was the fact that Tierney had left for an expedition of sorts and would be away until after the new year. Or maybe it was Eavan's near brush of death and newfound life and presence of mind with Mr. Langley. Or maybe, just maybe, it was because she'd just turned twenty-six that very day and she had little to say for her life.
With a bit of a harrumph, she shouldered her way into Oscar's enclosure. The little erumpent that she'd saved nearly a year and a half ago had come along way since coming to Podmore Zoological Gardens. He'd certainly grown in size and didn't show any signs of slowing. He seemed to be the one main bright spot in Una's life but even he hardly managed to get a smile from the woman as she meandered toward him and he nuzzled his head against her belly. If anything, she felt the sharp sting of tears at the corner of her eyes.
"Did you know you were a fraction of this size last Christmas?" she asked to the beast who surely didn't understand a thing she was saying. A small smile graced her features then but not without a tear breaking free and sliding down her cheek. "I tried knitting you the most ludicrous little sweater to wear," she reminisced a bit sadly, "I got it on you but it lasted a mere moment before it had been shredded." A small laugh left her then as she knelt to the ground with Oscar following and nuzzling against her some more. He pushed at the pockets of her dress, obviously in search of some sort of treat or another, bringing another light bit of laughter from her. "And these," she said with a more sincere smile slowly giving way as she pulled out little bits of a fruit cake Mrs. Sweeney made every year around the holidays, "Were your favorite then. Looks as though that hasn't changed much." With a snort of his own, the erumpent was quick to gobble up the chunks offered to him. Una simply watched in silence then, content to spend time with what she was beginning to assume would be the only male to permanently be in her own life.
Perhaps it was the fact that Tierney had left for an expedition of sorts and would be away until after the new year. Or maybe it was Eavan's near brush of death and newfound life and presence of mind with Mr. Langley. Or maybe, just maybe, it was because she'd just turned twenty-six that very day and she had little to say for her life.
With a bit of a harrumph, she shouldered her way into Oscar's enclosure. The little erumpent that she'd saved nearly a year and a half ago had come along way since coming to Podmore Zoological Gardens. He'd certainly grown in size and didn't show any signs of slowing. He seemed to be the one main bright spot in Una's life but even he hardly managed to get a smile from the woman as she meandered toward him and he nuzzled his head against her belly. If anything, she felt the sharp sting of tears at the corner of her eyes.
"Did you know you were a fraction of this size last Christmas?" she asked to the beast who surely didn't understand a thing she was saying. A small smile graced her features then but not without a tear breaking free and sliding down her cheek. "I tried knitting you the most ludicrous little sweater to wear," she reminisced a bit sadly, "I got it on you but it lasted a mere moment before it had been shredded." A small laugh left her then as she knelt to the ground with Oscar following and nuzzling against her some more. He pushed at the pockets of her dress, obviously in search of some sort of treat or another, bringing another light bit of laughter from her. "And these," she said with a more sincere smile slowly giving way as she pulled out little bits of a fruit cake Mrs. Sweeney made every year around the holidays, "Were your favorite then. Looks as though that hasn't changed much." With a snort of his own, the erumpent was quick to gobble up the chunks offered to him. Una simply watched in silence then, content to spend time with what she was beginning to assume would be the only male to permanently be in her own life.
December 12th, 1888 — The Hebrides
Christmases with the Drapers had been a religious celebration. Homemade gifts—ones with little monetary value—had been exchanged, but only after the morning was spent praying at church. Those were the days when tradition had not been questions; the days when she trusted the people she called mother and father, and she could find glee in even the most idle of things.
Christmases with the Scrimgeours had been different. Definitely more festive, she thought, but not happier. Christmas Day was spent surrounded by her mother, father, brother, sister.... and a few uncles, aunts, and cousins who always made a point to give her the stink eye when she opened her mouth. Gifts were stacked under the tree in an artificial manner, almost as if they were part of the decorations. No mind was given to what was purchased—and it was purchased, and although the Scrimgeours had enough money to buy what everyone wanted, they usually settled for stock gifts: perfumes, tobacco, sketching sets, books. She'd only ever received the latter—books—though the topics were often far than she desired. There was never a year where she didn't receive an etiquette manual, and only one where she received one that could be read for genuine enjoyment.
Christmases with the MacFustys were... uncertain. Surely a family who swore loyalty to one another would value the holiday that preached the importance of family. She'd had even walked into Immie's kitchen one morning to hear her mumbling about presents. Bella decided after minutes of pondering that it wasn't a question of whether the MacFustys celebrated Christmas, but whether or not she'd be spending it with them.
Of course they would let her, she reasoned, but... well, a Christmas where she felt like an intruder was no Christmas at all. Despite being welcomed into the MacFustys' homes, called "Auntie Bella" by little Isobel, and being constantly reassured by Jamie of her place there, it would be the first Christmas where she didn't have a family—at least not a natal one.
No matter which angle she looked at it, only was thing was certain: Christmas would be different. It could be exciting, it could be awkward, and it could be accompanied by feelings of bitterness and loss, but it would certainly be different. There was only one logical question left: What in Merlin's name did you get a dragon-keeper for Christmas?
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