Backstory:

Noah’s early years were happy, albeit unremarkable. He was a curious and imaginative child who enjoyed his father’s magical stories and looked up to his older brother, Zeke, with wide-eyed admiration. His younger sister, Azzy, was born when he was four, and Noah quickly took on the role of protective older brother, delighting in making her laugh and showing off small tricks that he learned from their father. Noah was a good kid. He always tried new things and liked everything. But he never truly excelled at, well, anything. He didn’t really mind though. As long as he had his family by his side, he felt like he could do anything. Well, that didn’t last for long.

In 2020, his brother died during an Auror mission. The following year, Noah witnessed his Father die perilously while attempting to bring back Zeke. A fruitless endeavour. The years following his father’s death were marked by grief and adjustment. Regardless of how hard his mother desperately tried to seal the cracks of the family, it was futile. Nevertheless, as the years passed, he eventually grew more out of his shell. He attended a basic magical school, where he formed friendships with other magical children. While he was naturally intelligent and quick to pick up concepts, he preferred solidarity compared to the noise and chaos.

First Instance Of Magic:

His eighth birthday was a week ago.

Noah awoke from his nightmarish slumber. After hearing a loud noise, he slowly walked towards the basement door, but not before looking outside at the scary storm brewing outside. He hated storms. He hoped it wouldn’t invade his homely abode. Rain pouring down in relentless sheets, the mud and sludge that it churns up, the vermin and pests that thrive in its damp and dreary crevices. The cacophony of sounds produced by the vast amount of insects and species always sent a chill down his spine. He hoped it was just the nightmare.

His Father was on the final steps, his long adventure was nearing its end. However his guilt caught up to him. He tried to bring back the dead. His dead son. His pride and joy. Until he was snapped back to reality. The spell backfired. Beside him stood his stationary son. His father wondered why Noah was so shocked, until he looked at himself. The mangled remains of his body laid in an unnatural, grotesque, tormented form. His once supple skin had been reduced to a parchment of misery, clinging to the abhorrent spectacle beneath. A contorted amalgamation. His limbs were twisted and broken, bones protruding from flesh, sculpted by a sadistic hand, mocking his futile attempts at salvation. Noah’s youthful heart was racing. He wanted to say something. Anything. But he was too stunned to speak. He just stared at his father's corpse which seemed to move past death. It slowly raised a hand, caressing Noah’s frozen cheek, before collapsing limp to the ground.

He tried to run away, but tripped and stumbled to the ground, tears in his eyes. What happened?! He was still dreaming, right? It was just the nightmare. It was just the nightmare. It was just the nightmare. Unable to contain his emotions, Noah used magic for the first time, creating a cloud of pitch black smoke in which he hid and cried. If he couldn't see it, that meant it didn't happen. It was just the nightmare.

By the time Clayton Lamont turned eight, he knew he wasn’t like most magical children.
His discovery was not in any way loud or dramatic. It instead came quietly, the way the fog folds over the hills of the Highlands. Soft, inevitable, and a little mysterious. His mother had always warned him and his brother that the world was a stage and that people like her played a dozen roles before breakfast. But it wasn’t until one particular morning, when the mirror blinked back with unfamiliar eyes, that Clayton began to understand what she meant.

It began in the drawing room, where heavy mulberry curtains muted the sound of rain tapping on old glass. The mirror there had never been magical in the traditional sense, but it had always made Clay feel uneasy. It was a long cheval mirror, framed in gilded ivy, a gift from his mother’s days as a celebrated witch of the magical dramatic arts. She had always been radiant. Isolde Lamont, better known by her stage name of Gloria Shine, star of The Sighing Veil and Mooncalf Sonata, the kind of woman who seemed born lit from within.

That day, she was brushing her hair in front of the mirror. Humming a tune Clay had heard their nanny sing to them when they were little. Clayton sat across from her, watching how the candlelight bent around her cheekbones. How her expression changed with each blink of his eyes. It seemed as if she was trying on… faces.

“You’ve been doing it again, haven’t you?” she said softly, not looking at him.

He blinked. “Doing what?”

She turned then, eyes bright as starlight, lips curved into a smile that was half stagecraft, half memory. “You changed your eyes yesterday. They were green for a moment… like mine.”

Clayton’s heart was a beating drum in his chest. He had chalked it up to trick lighting or maybe a dream.

“You see…” She said, rising to kneel in front of him. “Our family has never been ordinary. You come from a lineage of illusion and trickery and stories that never made it to script. My own grandfather knew how to blend into his surrounding environments. I… well.” She pinched his chin, and her own face shimmered, not drastically, just enough. Her hair darkened a shade. Her nose narrowed. The woman before him now was unfamiliar, and yet unmistakably her.

“I’m a Metamorphmagus, Clay.” she said. “And you, my darling, are one too.”
Clayton stared at the mirror. His face hadn’t changed. Not yet. But something inside him shifted, like a forgotten name being whispered again.

The first time Clay really changed, it was out of fear.

A neighbour boy had cornered him behind a stone garden wall at one of his mother’s parties and had pushed him into the mud. Something inside Clayton twisted then. Not angrily, but instinctively. When he stood, he looked straight into the boy's eyes as he hissed back with fangs sprouting from his mouth.

The bully fled.

He told his mother, half expecting scolding. But she only nodded, purposefully not looking him in the eye as she walked past him and spoke. “It always starts when you’re cornered. But one day, you’ll change because you choose to… and that’s when the real story begins.” Clay caught something of a bitter glare from her as she left the room in a hurry.

By eleven, Clayton had learned small tricks: altering his freckles, adjusting the length of his hair for an inch or two. He practiced in the mirror room after everyone was asleep, performing roles for an invisible audience. Sometimes hero, sometimes villain.

And when his Hogwarts letter came, he didn’t smile. He simply looked into the mirror and shifted his face to match the expression his mother wore the night she won her last magical acting award.

A wistful, perfect mask.

Clayton "Clay" Lamont and his twin brother: Gyle are the sons of their mother, Gloria Shine. A famed witch actress celebrated across the wizarding world for her beauty and talent. But not, however, for her maternal instincts. The boys were raised in near isolation at their mother's fancy estate. They grew up under the watchful eyes of the house staff, such as their nanny Peggy, rather than Gloria herself, who resented having to put her career on hold after their birth.

The twins therefore built a strong bond between them and their nanny: Peggy Patterson. She was a young witch that grew up on a magical farm but wanted to make something else of herself. She had travelled to the city and figured she would need to find important company in order to work herself up the ladder. While her job as a nanny was certainly not what she imagined for herself. She took a liking to the boys, and by now has cared for them their entire lives.

Growing up in wealth and surrounded by actors, Clay became fascinated by performance, not just on stage but in real life. How people wore masks, adopted personas, and controlled a room. While Gloria showed little interest in her sons beyond how they reflected on her reputation, Clay found companionship in Gyle and often spent time mimicking actors in front of a grand mirror.

One man neither of them tended to mimic, however, came in the form of their Chief Butler: Roy McDougal. A stern, direct man with a manner of speaking that would suggest he had served time in the military. Roy can be held responsible for instilling some sense of responsibility in the two boys. While their nanny takes care of them, Roy's gaze is directed towards their future. He spurs both boys on to become experts in their own fields. What this exactly means remains to be seen.

When the twins' invitations to Hogwarts came, it was Roy who managed to persuade their mother into letting them attend. Rather than locking them up even more and investing into a private tutor.

It had been unusually bright and sunny the day the Lamont twins came screaming into this world. An omen for what their arrival meant for their mother and the return to her career in the dramatic arts. With her being forced to put her big break on hold, resentment and frustration were built into the foundation of her and her sons’ relationship.

The boys lived at their mother’s estate. An isolated mansion surrounded by a large plot of land, held together by a handful of personnel. Clay and his brother were raised under the watchful eyes of their mother’s servants.
It should therefor not come as a surprise it was not their mother that bore witness to the twins’ first sign of magic. It was their nanny, Peggy. From a young age, Clay became invested in stories. Specifically, the characters in them. One day he’d play a knight fighting in great battles, another day he’d be studying a fearsome monster, crawling around the house on all fours. His twin did not appreciate these ‘roles’ that would divide them from one another. While Gyle was stuck in the mold that was their identical physical appearance, Clay did not mind to break out of it.

And so, one day when Clay felt a particular spark of creativity hit him in pretending to be the Nymean lion. His hair would unintentionally grow and change into a ginger-gold hue that would glitter like untarnished armour. As an instant effect to this cause, in a desperate attempt to look the same as his twin, Gyle managed to set his own hair on fire. Both magical instances coming as quite the shock for the stressed out nanny.

Skye was born a half-blood but both of her parents has magical powers in their blood; Her father was called; Daniel Miller and her mother; Alice Miller.
They were quite known in a nicely way in the magical community and beyond, and they were pretty good parents who cared about their child, showing their love in quality time and sharing experiences as a family. They traveled a lot, changed where they lived a few times as a part of Skye's fathers job ,which caused lack of inconsistent friendship groups for Skye. Her tutor was her parents most of the time and she was homeschooled, making friends in various neighborhoods and places.Her home life was quite inconsistent and unique because of all the traveling.. In her early school days she had a few friends and also acquaintances she mainly got along with pretty well besides a few mean girls that Skye didn't care that much about. Her grades were good enough despite not studying much, she knew she could do better but she wanted to work harder for her time at Hogwarts and its classes instead, as she cared more about proving herself in those areas of life. She was often found to be daydreaming inside her head about her future with magic, sometimes pretending she was making magic with original objects, her parents, especially his mom usually played along with her until it was time to play with some real magical tools. Ever since her father took her to see a quidditch match , she thought about being a quidditch player but is still not totally sure about what she wants to be when she grows up. Only time will tell..

Skye was almost 8 years old, only 2-3 months left. They were traveling yet again. It was a long road from where they have been before to London, England, they decided to camp somewhere in England before they settle in their new home. Sun was going down. Bored by watching her parents cook their dinner Skye decided to go outside the van and sit by the warm fireplace. Then she started singing softly to a song her mother teach her. Not so long after she noticed a surprising yet wonderful thing, the fireplace changed its color from orange red to violet, as if it was changed because of her singing and mood. She called her parents to show it,feeling very excited yet confused. After her parents talked about their opinions it became clear, it wasn't a weird coincidence, it was magic.

Malcolm McGregor (1 August 2014 -) is an Irish pureblood wizard, born the oldest of two twins to a family largely composed of herbologists who spend their days harvesting wand wood at the arboretum that has been in the hands of the family since the times of the druids. In addition to growing a wide variety of trees and vines which they sell to wandsmiths both domestically and internationally, the family also produces roses for a signature brand of wand oil. Despite the fact that at least some of the family retains pureblood status, they are relatively poor and in the working class. They also have no problem if members of the family wish to marry someone other than a pureblood, and Malcolm does indeed have a number of muggleborn and muggle relatives who married into the family, as well as several half-blood and wizardborn cousins who were produced through these unions. Add on the fact that they have an intense dislike for the practice of keeping House Elves as servants, and you get a cocktail of reasons why there are a number of upper crust pureblood families who consider the McGregors to be 'blood traitors'.

Seeing as the family tends to be a bit isolated from the larger wizarding world, Malcolm went to the small school on property where the family tutors their children prior to their induction into Hogwarts. The boy is confined to a wheelchair - the result of an unfortunate accident when he was 4 years old. Around this time, a particularly ravenous and persistent swarm of flobberworms took up residence in the family garden and ate most of his father's healing herbs. Then, when they ended up needing potions to cure a case of dragon pox that was going through the family, the healer did his best with what was left. Unfortunately, the resulting mixture was a bit volatile, and instead of the usual medicinal smell associated with the brew, the experimental ingredients caused a viscous black smoke to pour forth from the cauldron. The older McGregor dove to grab his son up from where he'd been playing nearby and cast a wandless protego as he did so, but unfortunately he wasn't quite fast enough. The cauldron exploded, and Malcolm was thrown across the room, drenched in the sludge and knocked unconscious, his spine broken. His father did his best to stabilize the boy before rushing him to the local wizarding infirmary. While the mediwizards did what they could to restore him to the state he'd been in prior to the accident, unfortunately whatever it is his father had managed to brew had left a curse in its wake, meaning it was impossible to repair the child's spine, leaving Malcolm paralyzed from the waist down.

Malcolm's grandfather serves the family wandmaker, but unfortunately none of the wands he tried fitting the boy with following the arrival of Malcolm's Hogwarts letter ended up choosing him. For now, he's borrowing his father's wand since he's rather handy with wandless magic. Malcolm isn't entirely sure how well it's going to work for him, but he's hopeful the wand won't entirely hate him.

Since he did end up growing up with at least some of his extended family members being muggles and muggleborns who married into the family, along with their children, Malcolm isn't entirely unfamiliar with technology as a concept. Even if he's never owned something along the lines of a phone, computer, or television himself, he's interacted with them occasionally, though generally only when hanging out with his cousins at their own cabins; that said, some aspects of muggle life and culture still causes the boy quite a bit of confusion - he would not typically understand references to muggle pop culture were someone to bring them up, for example.

James and Elizabeth King were ecstatic when they had their first child, a healthy baby boy who had a mischievous twinkle from the second he opened his eyes. They were relieved, however, when their second child only slowly blinked and stared at the world around him with caution. Othierinn and Emersillis were the two sides of the King sons coin, two strong, whirlwind polar personalities perfectly complementing each other in a picture perfect family.

Raised in one of the most well-established families in the manufacturing business across the globe, Emersillis grew up in a life of luxury, wanting for nothing and never knowing anything but finery. Pampered to death from the second he was born, the King family made sure to put their two excellent sons on display at every social gathering they attended or hosted, boasting of their academic achievements, sports supremacy, and excellent etiquette to ensure everyone knew just how much better they were.

But beyond the boring galas and dreadful dinner parties, the only saving grace of such a tediously expensive life was the Song family. James and Charles Song were roommates at Cambridge and gradually became best friends over the years, so naturally, their respective families remained quite close, and their children grew up together. Emersillis found a second brother in the Song son his age, Cassius, and they two were practically inseparable from the moment they met in diapers. Thick as thieves and attached at the hip by a metrestick, when Charles informed the Kings that Cassius would be attending school in America, Emersillis immediately begged his parents to let him attend as well. The two naturally weathered the hardships of international boarding school together, dodging cooties and strict teachers and lacrosse balls and American slang in their two-player game. Silly, as Emersillis was known back then (mostly to Cassius and Othierinn), was a happy, competitive, and whip-smart child, always eager to do his absolute best with whatever task was set before him, whether it was a particularly difficult exam or tryouts for the lacrosse team, and was more than happy to live in his own little oblivious bubble.

Theory was actually to blame for Mercy’s rather unfortunate nickname sticking, although he was not its originator. Their parents, with their more-creativity-than-necessary naming tendencies, certainly had not done their children any favors by hoisting upon them unwieldy, impossible-to-spell-in-kindergarten names, and Theory was quick to shorten his name to a much more pronounceable alternative of his own accord. Mercy’s name, on the other hand, was borne of an unforeseen consequence of his affinity for reading high fantasy novels. When confronted with an unrelenting bully in the form of Delaney Magindara, the daughter of one of his mother’s university friends, he foolishly begged for mercy, arms thrown in front of his face as he wailed. The nickname stuck, as Theory absolutely refused to let go of it, and Mercy’s moniker was born.

During a school holiday when Mercy was 6, he was in Theory’s room watching his brother play a video game. Cassius was visiting his mother (or something like that, Mercy didn’t really pay attention to the specifics) so it was a rare moment of just the two King sons spending time together. After begging and pleading for Theory to let him play as well, Theory reluctantly gave Mercy his spare controller. However, as many older siblings do, Theory left Mercy’s controller unplugged, which only went unnoticed for about five minutes. When he noticed, Mercy threw the tantrum of all tantrums, screaming and crying and yelling for their parents to do something about their “cow of an oldest child”, which quickly turned into the two boys wrestlings on the bed. At some point after Theory had elbowed Mercy in the face and his nose started to bleed, a shower of sparks erupted from behind the television and all the electronics connected to the outlet began to smoke. While the incident was chalked up to Theory overloading the outlet, Mercy knew that something didn’t add up.

Ada Mahony was born on the 22 of August and lives in a small town in London with her two muggle parents, her mom is a neuroscientest and her dad a veterinarian, and her formidable grandmother and her cat Tommy. Ada's life was quiet and relaxed for the most part but none's life is distend to be easy. One of Ada's best friends (Violate McStunfield) was recently diagnosed Type 2 Diabetes . Though they and Violate's twin sister Lila still go to grate extent to cause mischief even going so far as to belay themselves up a tree unsupervised! Ada is an out going person and she dose what she thinks is right regardless of what the rules tell her.

Ada dose not like school. It's just a fact. She never got to do anything fun! It was all work work work test test test (ect.) though she disliked school her grades were not bad and she still had fun though from time to time. Even though Ada didn't like school she loved books. Her life was full of them. That and her attempt at cello. Ada spent nearly all her free time with her friends making mischief or in the library with the beloved librarian.

As you might of guested, it came as a shock when a strange person appeared at her door step and told her that she was anything out of the ordinary. Her parents were also very reluctant to believe that they were just supposed to let their daughter just go to this so called school. "I mean a witch, a real witch!" they said disbelievingly the night the stranger came but as Ada is at Hogwarts school of witchcraft now they finally agreed to let her go.

Ada was defiantly a very unusual kid but magical, theirs no way.

Ada made something explode before, or at least she is pretty sure it was her. (She was only 7 at the time.) Ada and her dad were in the London museum of natural history. They were having a fight about going home. Ada did not want to go home. "I don't want to go home!" She said stubbornly, her voice quavering slightly anger building up inside her. "Ada, you know-" he broke of. Suddenly, the terrarium next to them exploded. Ada leaped back in surprise. So did her dad. Everyone was looking at them with a mixture of shock and suspicion written on their faces. Ada looked at her father with a quizzical expression. He looked just as confused as I felt. "What just happened?"

WC: 518
When your family lives sort of a solitary life on an isolated, rocky island and keeps its daily routines to fishing mostly, danger could be lurking anywhere. Like constantly living one step closer to a disaster. Falling off a cliff, falling when bending over the edge of a boat, getting lost in the wild landscape. Numerous opportunities to lose a life or two.

They were not very believing in supernatural. Okay, not ‘very’, but completely. When you are living in the nature itself, there should not be anything supernatural, because the whole life becomes superb and natural. But they were just regular. You need regular to be able to fish all day long, because otherwise you may turn crazy.

So, when the full wind gust hits suddenly, while you’re walking near a cliff’s edge — just a moment before that, Archibald gets a spark of intuition and jumps away from the cliff, as if something had to push him the other way. Intuition? No, coincidence.

Or when they are fishing in the middle of the stormy sea, and another wave hits the boat, while Archibald holds the edge of the boat with just one hand. Then he suddenly rolls over to the floor to avoid being thrown away into the savage wilderness of the sea. Intuition maybe? No, just serendipity.

All the times the boy had an unbearable urge to do something, or find something, or go somewhere — it was dismissed as mere chance. It was too difficult to understand, or even start pondering over why. His head was too full of reality to make mistakes of suspecting there was something else that could cause his apparent luck. Randomly guided his father’s boat into a massive school of fish… Coincidence and that’s it. Perhaps if the whole life sparks with coincidences, they aren’t considered coincidences any more, it’s life… you know… life.

Did he have dreams? Not until that moment, when he nearly drowned under the ice and was pulled up by some invisible force. The one they had marked as some random current. And why have dreams if you spend 200% of your energy on fishing? The point is, after that incident, the dreams appeared, to Archibald’s great surprise, because it was as if he didn’t know they exist. But the dreams were strange. They were just like reality, nothing supernatural, nothing extraordinary — whatever the boy’s rational and straightforward mind could afford to create. Were they dreams of a seer? Of course, not. But they became the starting point of the long path. The one that had to begin breaking his boundaries, his stalled imagination, his non-existent creativity.

He didn’t want it. He wanted the dreams to go away. Little Archibald wanted to sleep and actually rest. The boy rested better when the dreams did not exist. Little did he know what the fate had prepared for him. The world that will turn his beliefs upside down. The talent might change his life once and forever.

Mother told him her grandmother was weird. He never saw her, but it seemed she prepared a gene or two for him.

WC: 238
Born on new moon on the 1st of January 2014. The rare moment when the power of the new moon synchronized with the Sun and the Moon in Capricorn at the same time.

He's quite a compact but solid boy, with a sturdy stance — several years of helping his father on their fishery. Slight ruddiness comes from coastal Scottish weather. His ginger-closer-to-brown hair, always had a practical but slightly tousled haircut. Rather blue, bright eyes were always alert and filled with determination. His face was always serious, as if there was nothing to be joyful about, but it was not true. He was happy at what his life always had been: calm, filled with work and studying, playing with their dog and spending time with his family. Dearest mother and father, and their dog — they were his world, and he did not need anything else.

He’s blunt and not quite delicate, solitary life was not doing good to his social skills, but he was never afraid of people. There was no manipulation or trickery in his very simple life. He was honest and direct, pretty confident, collaborative only when it was really necessary (meaning non-relatives). Cannot say a lot about his manners, not a savage, but not an aristocrat. Very disciplined, but only in what matters to him dearly. Mostly unsympathetic, practical, grounded and calm. Magic is not something that exists in the world of a fisherman’s son.

When he was 9, he fell under ice during winter fishing, panicked and with an internal scream his body was pulled up onto the solid ice. His father dragged him to the ground and rushed home to get him to warmth. It's discussed once to understand what happened, but only to guess that it might have been an underwater current. They have never talked about it again.

The Hiranos, pureblood though they were, held a far more utilitarian approach to upholding their lineage than most. Despite a regretful acceptance towards all statuses provided their material benefit, grudges against wizards’ fellow non-humans were well-explained by a traditionalist adherence towards racial purity. Only certain conditions and traits remained divine exceptions, enriching rather than tainting the family’s talents. In fact, Cassius’s maternal great-grandfather had his seer trait to thank for his influential rise as a scholar and advisor. In tradition’s eyes, it was through him and several other elders that the clan’s longevity remained prophesied in magic’s continued permission. Faith in their skills far outranked its potential dangers.

As instrumental as her father’s father was to the family’s consul, however, Saori herself lacked a natural gift for divination. The Sight seemed to skip completely over the next two generations, passing over the main line and its branch families alike. Such recently lost potential was her generation’s greatest disappointment, but she had never liked the looming threat of lost control. This inconsistency often occurred to the Hiranos, who frequently looked back upon their courtly days with great esteem and mystique. More often than not, they combined a respect for magic with that of traditional religious practices. Only when fate desperately required intervention, their elders reasoned, would prophecy appoint their wisest members to great status. After graduating from Mahoutokoro, Saori turned towards astronomy in place of myth and, after marrying Charles, expected this recessive trait to bury itself further with her husband’s Muggle blood.

Unbeknownst to her, the Songs had their own superstitious history of good fortune. It had never been enough to be regarded as much more than canny investment and good leadership, but there was certainly rhyme to reason. Once scholarly officials of a forgotten era, they’d exploited South Korea’s rapid industrialisation and persevered through crises with flourishing success. If wizardry had somehow accessed their family coffers, neither record nor reason could excuse exclusion in dire times. They’d take aid when offered, tracking each new birth and marriage with a transactional grace, and only grew deeply exclusive as their efforts bore greater fruit. Of their sown crops they had reaped plenty, and it was only a matter of time before hidden talents grew into more than simple intuition.

The chances of one of Saori’s children becoming a seer seemed exceedingly low, but her own lineage’s history was proof enough of magical irrationality. She never approached the topic with her husband and privately reasoned that only definitive proof could prove a return to prophecy. Only then would she allow her clan elders to intervene further in her private matters. Yet Gabriel had never seemed entirely convinced by such superstitions. He’d grown into his role as a good, proper heir with all the polite acceptance of it as expected, but alchemy’s material nature had always fascinated him more. Evander was much the same way. Her proudest son by far, he was as cunningly invested in clan politics as his brother, but had always been considered too worldly for peering beyond the veil.

Cassius, for his part, knew little more than what his mother had told him of his family’s talents— which is to say, he knew nothing at all. He’d always been rather perceptive for his age, but such considerations were better explained by his introverted nature and a natural caution towards danger. He’d always meant to please, and silent observation necessitated picking up on cues. If he instinctively avoided the same minor scrapes and wounds of his sporty peers, he was just a good, sensible child who knew better than to stain the knees of his pants sliding on grass. His only mark of definite difference was his dreams, which often haunted him in quickly-forgotten flashes of lights and colours, and all the deja vu that came with them. Contrasts from his brothers’ experiences growing up were small but stark. Though Saori had always passed child-rearing to others, it was with Cassius that the Sight showed the most promise. If Hogwarts served him well in cultivating these shoots of difference, and if he truly was destined to grow into his eventual talents, only then would she allow him to mingle amongst a higher society than he’d been raised in.

Cassius’ existence may have been a mistake, but at least it was not a true scandal. His parents begrudgingly tolerated each other for duty’s sake, and, even considering their differences, there was nothing more humiliating to them than physical evidence of a failed marriage. It’d be a slight against both of their reputations and that of their families, who had orchestrated their marriage to secure long-term alliances across each other’s societal circles.

His mother, Hirano Saori, proudly hailed from a respected pureblood clan whose Meiji-era courtly roots still left them highly influential in wizarding Japan. Privilege, politics and long-forgotten traditions dominated the Hirano family. An ambitious socialite and astronomer of many talents, Saori already had two fine heirs in her eldest sons and often left her youngest to her husband’s influence. Truthfully, Song Hyun-woo—Charles Song to his fellow Cambridge alumni— preferred her grand lack of interest. As executive vice president of his family’s own company, it was not difficult to compensate for his wife’s disregard by doing the same to his middle child and declaring Cassius his new heir.

Once part of the Yangban gentry under the former Joseon dynasty, the Song family have since established itself as undoubtedly chaebol with multiple specialisations in the manufacturing sector. From military ventures to fine textiles, South Korea’s rapid industrialisation worked directly in their favour. Their flourishing success extended beyond the country’s borders. Though muggle to a fault, they excelled at making connections with different companies and families, distinguishing themselves as one of the closest things South Korea had to old money. These very connections led to Charles and Saori’s arranged marriage two decades ago and drove Cassius’s chairman grandfather to introduce an English branch in Windsor.

Tainted by technicality alone, Charles’ Muggle blood meant relatively little considering their children’s evident talent. Half-blood though they were, the Hirano children enjoyed exceptional privilege from their “purer” lineage in the overseas wizarding world. As the product of double-dosed generational wealth, there were advantages to be had despite blood mixing. Even a page could pass as princely with enough grit, gilt and mannerly ambition, after all. Gabriel and Evander, Cassius’ estranged brothers, were raised in Japan alongside their mother’s family. As the spare son to the spare heir, Cassius’s role within the greater sphere of attention was comparably unenviable. Five and six years his brothers’ junior, both siblings had been well-established within Mahoutokoro’s educational structure long before he was born. Between the three, his overseas brothers had long dominated their mother’s attention and usurping Evander’s title as Song heir did him little favours in their familial Cold War. Never exactly as favoured and offered the responsibilities of neither brother, Cassius looked towards his father for guidance.

Between attending galas, dinner parties, and other social events, the King family became the obvious solution to their issues. Close since their Cambridge days, Charles and James King had grown from roommates to business partners to best friends, and it was natural that their respective families did the same. Charles encouraged his son’s participation in the same way he expected respect and, without a great need to compete for attention, Cassius grew up in the King's household as much as his own. He shared nearly every accomplishment with their two sons. In Mercy King, he found his very own best friend, and in Theory, the terribly cool older brother he’d never had.

Balancing the silver plate of privilege proved to be a harder task than expected, however. Cassius’ grandfather still operated most of the company in South Korea as the Song patriarch and often demanded great results from his children stationed overseas. Cassius was a sweet but often underfoot child, and so Charles believed it best to board his youngest in America at his former alma mater, The Blackbourne Academy. There, Cassius would be well-educated and taken care of without being needlessly dragged to board meetings and business appointments. Of course, Cassius hated the idea of leaving his father’s side, and it was only after frequent assurances that he acquiesced. His only saving grace was Mercy, who remained ever hand-in-hand on this several-year-long international adventure. Together, they experienced all the first-world struggles of a childhood spent at a private boys' school, including the horrors of times tables, overpitched lacrosse balls and international postage.

It was with his Hogwarts acceptance letter that his future days at Blackbourne Academy came to an end. Though Mercy surely didn’t realise exactly why Cassius needed to return his mother’s attention, the two were accompanied back to Windsor. With Hogwarts on the horizon, it was evident that some things needed to change. His father’s reputation served him well in Muggle circles. Yet, considering a shrinking high society of restrictive, traditional purism, only the notoriety of his mother’s surname guaranteed the same privileges elsewhere. Song Cassius—introducing himself in English as Cassius Hirano— aims only to succeed where he’d always been disregarded, using the tools and talents of his upbringing to strive closer not towards harmonious coexistence, but the acknowledgement that had never been offered to him.

For as long as he had been capable of doing so, Cassius had always displayed a strong desire to help others, even at the expense of being unnecessarily underfoot. He was nearly 7 years old, accompanied by an indulgent nanny and pure child-like determination when he’d first taken it upon himself to assist with his mother’s afternoon tea. Even while visiting her husband’s estate in Windsor, Saori Hirano often hosted guests in her private drawing room. Complete with sweet fruits and prettily stamped higashi, such social calls were, according to his mother, a staple of polite interaction.

It was more dangerous, but also far more impressive for him to be carrying the tea rather than the deliberately placed snacks. The kitchen staff had fussed greatly at the intrusion, but it was ultimately easier to attend to dinner plans while coordinating the matter with his mother’s servants. They, at the very least, were very familiar with their lady’s routine. Supervised by his nanny, he’d been fitted with a silver tray, a lighter china set than usual and a destination to reach. Unfortunately, despite his careful navigation, the tray proved too unwieldy without practised handling. Turned slightly too quickly around a corner, the ceramic pot slid to burn his hand and, startled by the sudden pain, he dropped the entire vessel and its tray. Down came beautifully glazed porcelain and, with it, a childish pride in his own ability. That should have been the end of it, yet the crashing aftermath revealed that the hot water meant to scald his front and feet had inexplicably frozen into ice mid-fall, shattering over the floor instead. 6 years old amid a glittering mess of dropped silver and newfound potential, it was no surprise that he’d immediately turned towards hysterics. His nanny had swiftly repaired the pot with a single spell, and with his burn tended to, the matter seemed smoothed over before it could be further revealed. Saori, of course, was informed later that night, but even a quick, flawless cover-up still couldn't prevent this frozen display of magic from being recorded in the Book of Admissions.

Born to Hugo and Erika Günther on the 8th of September 2013 made Rain the youngest of the three siblings. Felix being the eldest and most serious, then Otto─ the middle problem child. Unlike her brothers, Rain was born in Kensington, England rather than Germany, though she was taught and brought up to use both English and German. During the majority of her earlier childhood years, her time was spent alongside Erika, whilst her brothers had attended Durmstrang to complete their studies. Her father was often absent from their home life during her earlier years due to his work, that of which he never spoke of for obvious reasons.
Rain was taught of her family heritage, their success, their wealth and power. And how she was one day to follow in her family's footsteps and make them proud- the pressure no child should be given.
Although it may seem that this family was built purely to keep the family name afloat and talked about, the günther family was very close and had a bond that was unbreakable. The family's work ethics didn't stop them travelling the world, of which Rain had already seen more than most, and ultimately preparing her for her future.

Rain has moved further north of the UK now, and lives in Kendal─ one of the many family residences─ with her elder brother whilst she attends Hogwarts. As Felix is an auror, he has taken some personal time off to look after Rain and prepare her for her schooling years while her mother focus more on her job. [261]

It had taken place at an odd time. Around the dinner table in fact. The whole family together, feasting and chattering about their recent drama or gossip. Like always, Rain and Otto was bickering. Almost every night would Otto joke with her, poke at her and get her riled up for his amusement.

''Komm schon!'' Otto groaned as he pulled back the plate of chicken, now out of her reach. Rain eyed him, then the plate quickly, but she didn't bite. Not yet. Instead, her eyes shifted around the table. First to her mother, who was occupied in a deep conversation with her father that she knew better than to intervene with, and then to Felix. He was heads down, focusing on his food and likely avoiding eye contact with his younger siblings knowing this was just another petty fight.

Otto jerked the plate forward, within Rain's reach, but she wasn't quick enough. ''Es ist genau da. Hol es dir! Get it!'' he called out, holding back his laughter while wearing a smug smile. ''Just give it to me! Stop being annoying!'' Rain called out, her English bettering her German when under pressure. ''Felix! Tell him!'' She called out again, but silence was all that came from him. He had had his years dealing with Otto, and he was grateful to not have to deal with the torture anymore.

Before she had time to process what was to have happened next, there was a wet slap to her face and then a thud in her lap. Otto had throw a slice of chicken at her face. He had not intended for the aim to be so accurate, but then again, he wasn't a quidditch player for nothing.

''OTTO! Otto you didn't just-'' Rain stood from her chair and clenched her fists together. The piece of chicken flopped out of her lap and landed by her feet. By this point, Felix had lifted his head and looked in the pair's direction when noticing Rain's tone. He was about to scold Otto since their parents were still to busy to notice the chaos that was brewing, but Rain had beat him to it.

She had heard her brothers argue, use light magic around the house and always been so jealous of them. It wasn't fair that she had to wait. She couldn't join in. Yet right now, even when she wasn't able to form any type of magic, the anger that was bubbling away in that Günther's blood of hers, the blood that was wounded and insulted by her brothers actions. She stared at the chicken and then at Otto. She wanted nothing more than to reach over there and throw a piece right back in his face! If only she could reach it in time, if onl-

Then it happened. She was staring at the chicken, her anger far from simmering. A slice began to raise, shakily from the plate. And then. Slap. The same piece had flew across and into Otto's face. The room had fallen silent, but only for a moment. Rain would burst into laughter, but her mothers scream of happiness would drown it.

''My little flower! Meine Blume!!'' Erika cheered and hurried over to cup Rain's cheeks in happiness. Otto was screaming in annoyance but was soon quietened when greeted with another piece of chicken to his mouth, this time from the contribution from Felix.

While it may not have been a present Otto was wanting to receive, it was surely the best early birthday present Rain could have asked for for her 11th birthday that was coming up in the following month. [606]
Translations:
Komm schon! — Come on!
Es ist genau da. Hol es dir! — It’s right there. Get it!
Meine Blume!! — My flower!!