Same time next year? [open] - Hogwarts Express

29 Nov 2024, 06:12

SAUNDERS NAPIER
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"gladly pray we for thy rapid passage,
gladly for thy happy voyage; fortune
in the distant world is waiting for thee"

"The peonies are fading, dear. Don't forget to pick up some Shrivelfig on the way home after you drop our son off at the train."

The woman who spoke these words to the man standing before her like a sleepy Sphinx in a very Scandinavian accent was none other than Saunders's beloved and caring mother, Freja. We said beloved, but that was quite open to debate. Well, to be fair, Freja undoubtedly loved her son, for sure - but in her own unique or, if that's the right way to put it, fjord-like way. No wonder when he was six or seven, Saunders preferred to call his Welsh nanny 'mum', rather than Freja, the woman who gave birth to him, until the family chose to terminate poor lady's employment because she was deemed too "provincial" for the Napiers' standards. Saunders, like the well-behaved boy he was, walked over to the woman tending her plants and kissed her on the cheek. Here is a passionate family farewell. His mother's last sentence to him, which would remain with the boy as a keepsake until the next holiday when he had the opportunity to return home again, was none other than this: "Don't spill food on yourself and get your clothes dirty. The last thing I want to hear is people whispering that you have no table manners." A perfect example of motherly affection, that was.

With the end of this scene, the lazy Sphinx, Saunders' father, came to his senses, as if waking idly from a long, uninterrupted sleep. This man, who was very little different from a grown child, had a notorious habit of becoming deaf when anything outside of his already stereotyped interests was discussed. If it was a matter that you were sure he wouldn't be interested in, you could easily make your most embarrassing confessions to Saunders' father. Your most vile secrets, which you kept from your vicar in your church and even from your god, would go in one ear of this man and out the other - as long as it didn't attract his attention.

When the two arrived at the platform, which was hidden from view by a magic that Muggle technology had not yet overcome, Saunders was already looking forward to the moment when he would be free from his father, whose mind was probably on one of the evening's duels. His father must have said a sentence or two to him, between mumbling and stuttering. The boy could not be sure whether these were farewell sentences or some advice. The truth was that his ears were trained not to hear most of what his father said. Because his words were usually like a bunch of unarticulated verbiage, as if he were synthesising all the arguments in the mind of an excited child who was about to take an oral exam. "Of course, dad," Saunders replied, "see you soon." This was, at all times and in all places, and under all circumstances without exception, the most logical answer that could be given to anything Elijah Napier said.

Saunders' farewell to his family, as he prepared to join Hogwarts' freshest students, was such a warm, loving, chivalrous and magnificent story (and if our meaning is not clear, we intend to express that none of these adjectives can be attributed to the above story). And please excuse us for not using some clichéd descriptive phrases about how excited Saunders was, how his heart was pounding or how he was sweating out of incitement. For Merlin's beard's sake, the boy was a member of the Napier family. He probably had a relative among the first graduates of Hogwarts, and as a umpteenth descendant of the most ancient Hogwarts alumni, there was nothing eccentric about that castle for Saunders. To tell the truth, the only thing that was on Saunders' mind was an introductory ceremony where he would have to say his name. His parents, who managed to be more eccentric than Hogwarts, had seen fit to give him a name with a word that was frequently used as a surname throughout Britain.

As he moved between the train compartments, he chose to ignore those from whom there were loud noises. The joyful voices rising from a train compartment seal the beginning of the friendship of those inside (a proper aphorism, huh?). Saunders needed a quieter place. He didn't want to watch a Muggle-born being surprised by everything like an overexcited tourist. Of course, he couldn't choose what kind of person he would meet in the compartment he would finally enter. The Hogwarts Express, after all, despite all the amenities it offered, did not offer a seat reservation service. If there was a first-class carriage that only families like his could afford, then he would have less to worry about the differences between the people he'd meet on the train.

After a while, he slowly opened the door of a compartment. He found a blond-haired, blue-eyed boy in front of him, and from the looks of it, he must have been 11 or 12 years old, like himself. "I hope he's not my relative," he thought mischievously. Raising one eyebrow, "May I?" he asked in a distant manner (because he had been very well taught that it was bad manners to be too friendly with people he had just met), while gesturing to the seat opposite the boy.

Reducio

@Oliver Armani

Brian Gaffey

First year, Gryffindor

28 26

30 Nov 2024, 21:11

Brian: #572700
WC: 942 words

Whereas the other children all had their families around them to say their goodbyes, Brian had already parted with his in his native Liverpool. His parents simply didn’t have the time to hold Brian’s hand throughout all of this - having to run affairs at home and take care of their other five children. He was sent off to his maternal uncle Rodney instead, taking two run-down trains across England to Rodney’s cramped one-bedroom flat in East London, where he would stay a day or two, do his school shopping, and then he’d be off on the Hogwarts Express.

Brian had dark circles about his eyes. It was more than clear that he hadn’t got much sleep. After his school shopping at Diagon Alley, Brian had simply been thrown into the deep end of a shockingly different world to the one he’d known. It made him quite anxious, and he’d found it hard to get a good night’s sleep. His uncle Rodney was also a terrible snore, keeping Brian up when his nerves didn’t.

Speaking of, Rodney hadn’t been able to see him off at King’s Cross either. He was at work, laying bricks with the same construction firm he’d been with for over three decades. Brian had come to platform 9 ¾ all by himself, carrying his heavy sports duffle over his right shoulder.

Speaking of, both Brian and his duffle had got some serious stares along the way. The flashy, fake-looking sports bag and torn-down leisurewear made him look more like a lost muggle than a Hogwarts student. Many students looked their best, wearing dress shirts and polos cut from luxurious fabrics. Some others had even proudly donned their robes already. Brian wore a pair of raunchy old trainers, whose original white colour had given out for a shade of dark beige, as well as grey joggers and an old white t-shirt that coloured slightly pink because of an old wash-gone-awry, and which had been mended so many times that a trained eye could see loose threads running free at the seams. Still, he tried to march around with pride. He had never let himself be looked down upon by others, and he certainly wasn’t going to start now. If anything, who were these strange people to disapprove of Brian’s way of life? Millions of ordinary people in Britain lived lives similar to his, whereas the wizarding community was small and isolated. They were the outliers, not him, Brian reminded himself as the looks made him feel more and more embarrassed and uncomfortable.

His eyes wandered around, tiredly looking at the other kids on the platform. The vast majority of them didn’t have to carry their own luggage. Their parents carried everything for them, some going so far as to bring carts. Brian couldn’t help but feel some jealousy at how fortune they were, but he wouldn’t dwell on it: Sometimes, you had to accept that things were the way they were, even if they weren’t particularly fair or comfortable.

Brian threw himself and his duffle bag through one of the train’s open doors, and starting navigating the corridors, trying to find a neat little spot to settle down. He could hear loud chatter from just about every compartment, and though he would be up for a laugh most of the time, His lack of energy now forced him to wander about in search of a quiet little coach where he could catch up on some much-needed sleep for the upcoming days. He would take as much as he could get.

As he awkwardly shifted himself and his cumbersome bag through the train, he heard the noise of the other cabins and commotion outside slowly die down, bringing about unexpected calm and serenity. Before he could savour the quiet, however, he felt the weight of his sling pull at his shoulder, beckoning him to finally dump the bag somewhere and get the rest he subconsciously yearned for. As Brian marched on, he saw a boy his age, with brown-blonde hair and a stubby button nose, stand in the doorway of another cabin.

At first, he took some cautious steps along the corridor, but when his gaze curiously meandered into the cabin, he found that it was nearly completely empty. With a quick peer over the lad's shoulder, Brian could make out the figure of another passenger. With their long blond(e) hair and androgynous school robes, it was difficult to tell whether they were a boy or a girl at first glance.

Unwilling to put himself through any more tedious bag-carrying, he stood at an angle where he could clearly see both of his peers, and now discovered that the one sat in the cabin ought to have been a boy. Standing at about a yard's distance from the brown-blondish one, he announced himself, saying:

--“Youse wouldn’t mind if I joined youse now, would you? Rest of the train’s bloody brimming.”

His thick Scouse accent and rather imaginative choice of words betrayed much about Brian's background. Whereas others might choose their words very carefully, or be polite to a fault, Gaffey's upbringing had made him a fairly direct, if sometimes rude and uncouth, young man. Without another word, he marched in, passing the other boy and flinging his heavy sports bag in the overhead storage bin with a loud grunt. He then eased himself into one of the spacious and comfortable-looking seats, shocked at how much nicer these seats were to those he found in non-magical public transport. Innocently, he wondered whether these seats had somehow been bewitched to be extra comfortable.

He closed his eyes for a short second and pressed himself back into the backrest, letting out a quiet "much better".

1 Dec 2024, 00:39

SAUNDERS NAPIER
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Before Saunders had a chance to receive an answer from the boy inside the cabin, another one, apparently a more practical and result-oriented one than himself, made quite a peculiar entrance. Having heard his accent, and the outlandish words he extracted from his apparently colourful arsenal of vocabulary, Saunders was slightly taken aback. “Splendid,” he thought, however, “a ‘provincial’ seatmate we have.” The newcomer’s distinct brogue reminded him a figure who was once very dear to his heart – his old nanny, Ffion. She was Welsh, but Saunders’ ears almost identical to his ‘too posh to push’ mother’s were not properly trained to hear even the obvious differences, let alone the minor ones, when it comes to regional accents. That was precisely why, instead of being irritated by the new boy’s presence, as one would expect from someone with his background, he felt at ease.

Then, as if he was observing a rare species in awe and in dismay simultaneously, kept a keen eye on the boy’s rather noisy actions. When Saunders took a quick gander on the boy's clothes, it was hard for him to decide whether they were the product of some kind of new fashion or evidence of his family’s poverty-stricken conditions. In other words, he was deprived of every sort of clues that could potentially enable him to determine what should he felt towards him – despise because of following such a farcical fashion or compassion considering the woeful life he had to endure? Maybe both? Humans, after all, were known for their absurdly wide emotional spectrum.

Once the child was fully settled into his seat, Saunders, whose last words were still "May I?", smiled brightly, and his frozen posture suddenly thawed. "Apparently, I may,” he said in a frivolous way. Slowly, he ensconced himself in the seat right next to the long-haired boy. Because it was quite clear that the other boy was an enigmatic figure to him, first and foremost, classwise. Therefore, Saunders preferred to keep his distance – yet, ironically, in order to accomplish his desire to keep him within sight of his seat.

Without obsessing too much about the sadly undeniable fact that his neatly ironed trousers would eventually wrinkle from sitting throughout the train journey, Saunders tried to engage in a small talk with his travel companions in order to alchemically turn them into, at least, acquaintances. Besides, the etiquette deeply ingrained in his bones obliged him to introduce himself, as it, faute de mieux, was the best he could offer.

Having cleared his throat restrainedly, he told his name. “Nice to meet you,” he added, “How was your journey to the station? Luckily, I live in London – so mine wasn’t much of an adventure.” That was a subtle way of asking where exactly they were from. The upper classes everywhere, but especially in England, had a great allergy to asking anything in a direct manner. Among them, a sentence articulated indirectly, without the aid of allusions and implications, was almost devastating as a massacre. That would be a sheer criminal act.

He focused his forcedly sympathetic yet effortlessly intrigued glance on the boy with the accent, “You look exhausted,” he said, “would you fancy a Sugar Quill? I have some in my bag.” He reached into his small lizard-skin travel bag, which contained some snacks. Then he took out a few Sugar Quills with the word "Deluxe" written on them. “Please, take one.” he exclaimed as he passed the candies to the fellow travellers. Well, that also was a hospitality-cloaked performance of Saunders’ strategy to raise the tired-looking boy's energy with a little sugar supplement. But still...

Reducio

@Oliver Armani
@Brian Gaffey

Oliver Armani

Third year, Slytherin

752 85

1 Dec 2024, 02:11

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Date : September 1st, 2024 -----------#873e23-----------
740 : Word Count

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It might have been a little to much to ask for him to keep himself and his cat as company, wanted to be alone with his thoughts. Something he found common pleasure in. At home he liked to spend time in the library reading up on some things, or in the forest around the estate. The few times he didn't mind getting a little dirty. However, it was also fun to spend time with others, around the time he spent with the fellow pure bloods his age at gatherings. And his siblings.

That was the main reason why he was ready to answer 'no' to the boy that appeared in the door way replacing the space Aaron had taken up not to long ago. Yet before he could reject the boys asking, another one. Dressed rather- interestingly didn't even ask, well he did. But it would have been pointless to ask him, as he just walked right in not long after asking. Throwing his duffle up into the shelving and taking a seat across from him.

This boys clothing was, well worn. If he had to put it nicely. Nothing at all like Oliver's own robes, or the first one's casual, yet nice, dress pants. If he had to guess, the first boy may have been from a similar Social standing as him. Based on appearance alone. The other boy was clearly tired, with the eyebags, and how he slumped down in the chair and seamed to want to doze off. Oliver couldn't help but give him a small distasteful look. He rolled his eyes when the first boy made another comment.

First impressions were not something Oliver took lightly at all. They could easily hold someone to a stander by how he first felt about them, "I suppose It's fine if you two sit here." Oliver commented himself, holding back a sigh. If he was lucky, he would not need to see any of them past this trip. The first one next to him, and the sleepy one across from him. Otis in his lap. It could be worse. Aaron could be there to embarrass him. Or yet another person could be in the compartment.

Oliver soon learned the first boys name to be Saunders. "Nice to meet you both as well." It wasn't but he was raised to be polite until given a reason not to be. So far, the only reason he had to not be nice, was the barging in. And the sleepy boys appearance. If he would be stuck with them until they got to the castle he should be nice. Less it become a tense journey.

"Mine was just about the same," Nothing eventful really. "We live not to far from Hogsmeade, so we used the floo network to get here." He said with a nod. The really had no reason to leave early, no reason except to get an empty compartment. What a waste that had been. His answer would prove to him if the two were muggle-born or not. With words such as Hogsmeade and Floo. "No hassle at all, really the only thing was mine and my brother's trunk. My parents used magic for his though. So." He shrugged. Using his shoulders to again say, 'no hassle at all.'

Again his attention was drawn to the sleepy boy across from him. Saunders seamed to notice it as well, because he pointed it out. Oliver gave a small nod in agreement. He looked dead on his feet. He het out a small hum at the 'deluxe' on the Sugar quills packaging, Not one of disapproval, but approval. Only the best. He didn't have a strong liking for them, a bit to sweet for his tastes. But could applaud getting deluxe. He shook his head when offered one of them. "No, but thank you." He said with a very, small hint of a smile. Out of pure politeness.

He pet Otis on his lap, who had started to lightly purr at the attention. "I'm Oliver, Oliver Armani." He introduced himself the way he learned from his father. First name, then again First name along with the Last name. "This is my cat, Otis." As Otis couldn't talk to introduce himself, it was left to Oliver to do it for the feline. "Normally he's quite high energy, I suppose he's just as tired as you." He said with a nod at the sleepy boy.

OUTFIT & INVENTORY
Reducio
School robes.

wand, rest of belongings in trunk.

OOC NOTE & STATS/ABILITIES
Reducio
Don't take anything Oliver says IC to heart </3 He's a bit of a jerk at times.

Fearless - Oliver does not scare easily, not effected by terrible presence or unsettling aura
{ Stamina: 7 }{ Evasion: 5 }{ Strength: 10 }{ Wisdom: 3 }{ Arcane Power: 2 }{ Accuracy: 8 }

Interacting : @Saunders Napier, @Brian Gaffey |||| @Yağmur Harrow, @Jack Burnett
: Mentioning

Ban AI --> here
Sunday Crestmont

Brian Gaffey

First year, Gryffindor

28 26

1 Dec 2024, 06:17

Brian: #572700
WC: 931 words

Now that he had settled down and taken a breather, Brian realised that the boys opposite him might have been more posh than he had anticipated. Some of the non-vocal communication felt stiff and antiquated, elitist even, and Gaffey didn’t feel as welcome as he may have otherwise.

He had hoped that his entry into the ‘new’ wizarding world to be just that: a new beginning, a fresh start. One where he wouldn’t have to be ashamed of his family’s lineage (or lack thereof), where hunger and illness were solved by magic, and where he could express himself freely without fear of being seen as inferior.

His time at Diagon Alley had already made him feel a tad doubtful about those hopes. The empty desire to buy whatever products were up on sale felt the same as the desire he’d felt at shopping centres and retail strips in his own world. His regret at not being able to afford them had felt the same, if not worse. The fact that Gringotts, a grotesque monument dedicated to the supposed opulence of social inequality, occupied such a prominent position in the Alley had given Brian plenty to think about as well.

-- “I’m Brian, from Liverpool.”

He didn’t feel the need to mention his surname, and didn’t see why the boys would either.

-- “The train ride to King’s Cross took me about four hour.”

- The scouser responded, putting a throaty, guttural emphasis on the ‘CR’ and omitting the plural in ‘hours’, as was common in his part of the country. If the boys paid close attention to what he said, they may have recognised him as muggle-born on account of him using muggle transportation. Then still, his choice of clothes and bag spoke for itself as well.

-- “Still beats living in stinkin’ London though” he joked, quietly laughing along his joke to make the conversation feel a bit more casual and less stiff. Poking fun at London town was something just about every Briton north of Luton did every so often. Hell, even some Londoners poked fun at themselves now and again. It was a way to cope with the city’s success, to convince yourself that your Northern, post-industrial slum is superior to the financial capital of Europe. The same might have been true for this very conversation - Brian was poking fun at Saunders’s home, even though Brian lives on a cramped council estate and Saunders likely lives in a comfortable city villa.

Brian listened to Oliver as he talked about his travels to London. He wasn’t very shocked by the idea that wizards and witches could use magic to make their baggage levitate - he might have been new to the wizarding world, but one gets the gist rather quickly, and he’d already seen all kinds of wizardry at Diagon Alley.

That being said, Brian was completely caught off guard by the boy’s next sentence. He had no clue what Hogsmeade might have been and thought the “flu network” might as well be a kind of Facebook for bacteria. However, if watching football with his younger sister had taught him anything, it’d be that asking incessant, annoying questions about obvious concepts would undermine what could be a productive conversation. Content to just leave those titbits as they were and focus on a different subject instead, Brian suddenly asked:

-- “How come you'ad to carry your trunk and your brother didn’t?”

Asking about his family in this way could have been construed as rudely forward, but then again, Brian was only a boy of eleven, entirely untrained in social etiquette, and didn’t see a reason why this question could raise controversy.

Then, Saunders offered some sweets. “Sugar quills”, he called them.

-- “I’ll 'ave some.”

Brian reached his hand out for one of the boy’s quills. In fairness, it would have been more polite to decline, but Brian could use some sugar, and he was quite intent on trying a new sweet. He had neither seen or had them before, as a trip to Honeydukes hadn’t been on his Diagon Alley priority list.

As he examined the sweet, he listened to Oliver introduce himself and his pet cat Otis. He read the word ‘deluxe’ plastered over the sweet, and it occurred to Brian that he might soon be gnawing on what was essentially wizard’s caviar. Then again, it might not have been wizard’s caviar, but how would he know? Brian was taken aback by Oliver's surname as well. Surely he wasn't a relation of the Italian designer?

--“Haha, yeah I’m knackered, me. Didn’t get too much sleep.”

He pondered mentioning his uncle Rodney, and quickly decided against it.

--”Nerves 'n that.” he looked down at Otis, and watched as the little bugger struggled to keep his eyes open. It made him feel a tad sleepy himself. “Otis is a handsome name. How’d ye come up with it? Also, whilst we're talking 'bout names... I don't suppose you 'ave anything to do with the Armani brand, 'ave you?”

As he spoke, he gnawed down on a piece of sugar quill, which must have been less than appetising to those who saw. However, after a less-than-enjoyable journey to King’s Cross Station, the headache of figuring out how to get to Platform 9 ¾ and, of course, the heavy duffle bag, it felt nice to have something good for once. He gave the boy with the darker hair an appreciative smile, and let out a quiet yet heartfelt “They’re wonderful. Thanks”, his eyes offering a glimmer of genuine gratitude.

-- “What’s so special about them deluxe ones?” the Scouser asked as he cautiously tried sucking at the quill, seemingly forgetting that old idiom about the gift horse and its mouth in a manner that might have been seen as a great faux-pas by the lads opposite him.

1 Dec 2024, 23:00

SAUNDERS NAPIER
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Although Saunders was perfectly aware of the subtle tension inside the cabin, he enjoyed and savoured the moment immensely. The idea of going to Hogwarts had no real appeal to him, in and of itself. But being around other people his own age, regardless of how different or not they were from himself, was an experience that Saunders was terribly unfamiliar with. He was an only child, and he rarely had the chance to spend time with his peers, discounting the fact that he had to bear with some extremely dull children of Napiers’ family friends every once in a while. The incontestable dullness of these children tended to become even more unbearable when it manifested itself under the custody of two parental pairs.

Besides, Saunders had a native, one would daresay divinely given, curiosity. He was a natural observer who had no certain desire to be pleased by what he observed, enjoying the deed itself merely for its own sake. Things would change, of course, when the boy came into direct and personal contact with his object of observation. Saunders then easily resembled an uncompromising steward determined to sulk unless everything was arranged exactly to his liking. But here, at this very moment, the bells heralding a dramatic change in Saunders’ biography or personal fortunes had not yet begun to ring. This fact alone was enough to encourage the child to be less judgmental, and to act more freely. After all, the three were just passengers sharing the same cabin, and not chosen ones chained together by fate to create a camaraderie between them. This meant Saunders had all the facilities available in order to bask in the moment. Gather ye rosebuds while ye may.

As Saunders listened to the other two boys, a panorama of their lives slowly began to form in his mind. The first boy, already inside the cabin in his school robes when Saunders arrived, was clearly part of the wizarding world - just like himself. A true Hogsmeadean. Having learned that, Saunders could not help but think that the Hogwarts Express was a most impractical means of transport for this boy. What was the point of bringing him all the way to London and then putting him back on a train that went straight to Hogsmeade, if he already lived in Hogsmeade? This boy, whose name Saunders later learned was Oliver, evidently had at least one brother and a cute cat. Judging by the expression on his face as he refused the Sugar Quill, he was not squarely against luxurious sweets.

As a natural consequence of all this, Saunders resembled Oliver himself, but he was far from being definitive about the extent of this resemblance. He didn’t think that he had heard the surname Armani before. He speculated that this family, living in a town in Scotland, did not have the kind of reputation that made it necessary for them to be known in London. This gave Saunders some thought about where to place Armanis in his grandfather’s categorisation of families. According to his grandpa, there were two types of families that were considered important. The first were the truly important ones, and the others were the families that were undeservedly considered important simply because they had become rich through the help of fortune.

The other boy’s name was Brian, and Saunders was pleased that, unlike Oliver, he preferred to say his name in his first sentence. It did not strike Saunders as particularly odd that Brian did not mention his surname. Everything about Brian was screaming out that his surname would not be among those Saunders had ever heard of. Actually, Saunders would rather not learn it for now, fearing that Brian’s surname might be something like the words he used. It could be Brian Bizzies, Brian G’wed, or Brian Plonky… Ignorance was bliss.

But Brian’s mention that he took a four-hour train to London was unquestionably more important and more informative than such imaginary surnames. Aha! This was something, a big moment for Saunders. Brian was the first Muggle-born he had ever seen. That sudden realisation made Saunders’ eyes bug out. So this boy, Saunders concluded, was not different from him simply because his dad was not loaded enough – Brian was existentially a monument of difference. The countless sentences he had heard about Muggles ran through his mind like a storm.

Saunders, of course, knew that Muggles and the wizards and witches born to them were not a separate race. It was simple biology. Still, he was of the expectation that the Muggle-born boys and girls he’d see at Hogwarts would at least have some more distinguishable appearances. There was little way to tell Brian apart from a broke half-blood wizard, however. “Merlin’s majestical Matagot, no one asked you to look like a unicorn, but…”

Trying to quiet the thoughts going around in his head, Saunders concentrated on not acting strange. He had been taught not to ask questions that might possibly make people uncomfortable. Now, this principle in his mind and the curiosity in his heart were engaged in a ruthless duel. Still, maintaining his posture, Saunders responded to the northerner boy’s comment regarding London. “Oh,” he smiled, “I am sure that the Muggle part of London is really stinking. Who could you convince to sweep the streets without using magic?” He paused for a moment. “Well, maybe except house elves… But you know, they are ‘house’ elves, not ‘street’ elves… It’d be a bit weird.”

Saunders was satisfied when Brian took the Sugar Quill, and upon witnessing the boy’s heartfelt gratitude settle in his eyes, that satisfaction doubled. Contrary to popular belief regarding time-honoured pure-blood families such as the Napiers, a considerable portion of them were not driven solely by a groundless hatred toward people of Muggle parentage. On the contrary, these families placed so much importance on the hereditary value of magic that they could not help but feel some pity for those who lacked it. As Saunders watched Brian try to suck at the Quill, an ancestral feeling forged over centuries welled up inside his soul, and he felt like a magnanimous seignior.

“Oh, are these deluxe ones?” Saunders asked, pretending ignorance. To flaunt wealth and luxury was, he was strictly told, a commonness, a misdemeanour befitting only the new money families. “Nothing very special, to be honest, Brian, they just last longer.”

It was clear that Brian, unlike Oliver, was not the type of person who would be bothered by direct questions, so Saunders, momentarily ignoring his mother’s admonitions, asked: “You don't seem particularly excited about going to Hogwarts?” Clearly, the subtext was “Shouldn't someone like you be more excited about this trip and, I don't know, ask us five hundred questions?” He turned his head to Otis, trying to seem uninterested in Brian's answer. "Well, aren't you a cutie!"

Reducio

@Oliver Armani
@Brian Gaffey

Oliver Armani

Third year, Slytherin

752 85

3 Dec 2024, 18:28

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Date : September 1st, 2024 -----------#873e23-----------
699 : Word Count

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He nodded, Brian from Liverpool. Oliver could admit, geography wasn't his best. He knew his home was in Scotland, Diagon Ally was in London, and that was about it. He didn't focus to much on Muggle places, but knew some wizards for whatever reason choose to live there. He didn't know why, living among wizards was just so much better, could freely talk about quidditch, or unicorns with out questions from anyone. Or a sideways glance because 'unicorns were myths'.

He did take notice of the accents in the cart, but didn't make any comments on them. After all, he'd grown up with just about everyone in town having a different accent. Hogsmeade was a very interesting place after all. And lots of interesting people, Oliver did find the lack of plural for hours annoying, yet held his tongue. He let a small chuff at a laugh for the dig at London, He didn't know Brian's reasons for not liking the city, but found it amusing. Saunders's really took the words out of his mouth.

"I almost feel pity for Muggles, no magic must really suck. I could only imagine." He said with a light nod. No magic to sweep the streets, lack of house elves if that was what a family needed. The Armani's didn't have any, didn't have a reason to. Sure there home was big and that extra help wouldn't be bad. They managed to keep the lot clean on there own. His family was a very proud one, and if they had a house elf it would almost be admitting they weren't good enough to clean there home on there own.

He nodded in understanding at the mention of lack of sleep, he suspected it of course, but was nice to have that confirmation. Oliver was blissfully unaware of Brian's and Saunders's blood status. He didn't have much reason to assume anything about them so far, Saunders seamed to at least be wizard born, with the sugar quills, and what not of those reasons. "No reason really," He said with a shrug, talking about Otis's name. "In a way I let him choose it, tried plenty of names before he responded to Otis."

The cat raised his head at the sound of his name but nothing for him, just conversation about the cat. With no treats in site he put his head back down, Oliver kept absently petting him. A look of confusion soon took his face, An Armani brand? What was that? "What in merlin's beard are you talking about?" He asked his own question with real and genuine confusion. He shook his head, never having heard of this 'Armani brand' "No, I don't." He concluded if that wasn't clear already.

He held back from rolling his eyes about Saunders trying to play it cool about the 'deluxe' any respect he may have had about bringing the best went out the window, if one had money Oliver saw no reason to not flaunt it. "Please, don't act modest." Oliver told him, rather then asked. Only adding 'please' for formality's. "They taste better to, better then the 'regular' ones, there not called deluxe for any old reasons." He grew up eating them, getting them frequently from Honeydukes. His father took him and his siblings there quite often as a reward for good marks in there tutoring.

Oliver unlike Saunders was mostly unaware of the varying blood status in the shared compartment, currently he didn't care. He looked over at the boy next to him, and raised a slight eyebrow. He didn't know why he would bring attention to it if he himself didn't seem existed, he was sure Oliver didn't looked super existed to go as well, even though he was. Oliver had just been a low hyper activity kid. But brushed it off with the complement to his cat. "Yes, yes. A gift from my brother. He bought him for me, a 'welcome to Hogwarts' pet he called him." No one had asked, but Oliver had a bit of an ego, and a complement to what was his fueled it, so he had to share about him. Otis was like his child after all.

OUTFIT & INVENTORY
Reducio
School robes.

wand, rest of belongings in trunk.

OOC NOTE & STATS/ABILITIES
Reducio
Don't take anything Oliver says IC to heart </3 He's a bit of a jerk at times.

Fearless - Oliver does not scare easily, not effected by terrible presence or unsettling aura
{ Stamina: 7 }{ Evasion: 5 }{ Strength: 10 }{ Wisdom: 3 }{ Arcane Power: 2 }{ Accuracy: 8 }

Interacting : @Saunders Napier, @Brian Gaffey |||| @Yağmur Harrow, @Jack Burnett
: Mentioning

Ban AI --> here
Sunday Crestmont

Brian Gaffey

First year, Gryffindor

28 26

3 Dec 2024, 20:11

Brian: #572700
Saunders: #84774d
WC: ca. 600-620 words
Mentioning @Oliver Armani, @Saunders Napier

-- "You're not 'aving a go at binmen, are ya?" Brian asked Saunders in a tone that betrayed some upset and offence at the implication that keeping the streets clean was a disgraceful affair that no sane man would ever be content to do. "One of me best mate's da is a binman."

Brian thought back to Trinity, to the school courtyard and ugly uniforms. He thought of Scotland Road, or Scottie Road as they used to call her, and the Throstle's Nest, the last public house that stood where over two hundred once did, a testament to north Liverpool's rich history and stifling poverty. He thought back to the rotten smells of dockland, of seagulls' squawks, and he thought back to the friends he had got to experience all of it with. Friends he would have to leave behind during his time at Hogwarts.

Perhaps his reaction was a bit hostile, especially because neither of the boys supposedly knew what waste management in muggle society even looked like. Still, Brian had been conditioned to be on his toes at all times, especially amongst the likes of Saunders and Oliver. He'd been made to feel insignificant by other posh lads like them a thousand times over, and the fact that this very conversation left a lot of things unspoken, a lot of things that implied plenty about Brian's background and blood status, weighed heavily on the boy's mind.

Then, Oliver answered his question about his name. To Brian's shock, Oliver didn't know that he shared his surname with a famous Italian designer.

--"Ya don't know Armani?"

Brian laughed, as though the boy was just joking with him.

--"You're 'aving a laugh. That brand with the eagle? All them chavs wear it? Think they started making Napoli's kits three year' ago."

If floo networks and Hogsmeade were impossibly strange concepts to Brian, this sentence must've been the same to the two other lads in the cabin. Gaffey, who had had little to no interaction with the wizarding world, didn't understand that muggle brands weren't really on the market here, particularly not to full-blooded wizards, who wouldn't ever buy their clothes off the rack. The existence of SSC Napoli, a muggle football team from Southern Italy, wouldn't have been very common knowledge either. Brian would surely be in for a shock.

Displeased with Oliver's lack of humility about the quills, Brian answered: "Th' way I see it, ya can call a sweet anything, doesn't mean they taste any better." he said, sucking at the quill as he did. It didn't occur to him that such a sentence could be seen as a tad rude, insinuating that a deluxe quill was no better than a regular one, and that Brian wasn't particularly grateful for what he had been given. The fact that all three boys had such different responses to deluxe sugar quills said a lot too - perhaps Brian had been too quick to brandish both lads as posh and upper-class, when one of them was possibly middle-class.

--“You don't seem particularly excited about going to Hogwarts?”

Brian, who had never been the sharpest tool in the shed, and hadn't been taught to pay very close attention to whatever was left unsaid, couldn't quite understand what Saunders meant by that. He started to mull it over in his mind, but it didn't seem to do him any good.

--"Wha' are you gettin' at?" Brian asked, in a tone that wasn't so much one of irritation, but rather of genuine confusion at Saunders's question. If he was going to throw about the implication that Brian was somehow different, he might as well do it openly now.