CROMWELL, JASON L.

JASON WILLIAM CROMWELL
I’VE NEVER BEEN THE KIND TO EVER LET MY FEELINGS SHOW
AND I THOUGHT THAT BEING STRONG MEANT NEVER LOSING YOUR SELF-CONTROL

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NAME:

" I'm Jason. Jason Liam Cromwell. From time to time, I wish my name as less common and more sophisticated, but the etymology fits me perfect. Jason comes from the word 'Iason' in greek, meaning to heal. And Liam is the pet name of William, coming from the words 'wil' meaning desire, and 'helm', meaning protect. So throw it all together, and you've got the will to heal and protect. Though the name was completely unintentional - as my dear mother has said that she simply loves the names so many times before - the name suits be better than all else could. Of course, Cromwell had to mess it up. It means winding stream, which has nothing to do with anything... Clearly of no relevance what-so-ever. I suppose its better than my mother's maiden name, Beaumont, which literally translates to beautiful mountain in French. Its quite tragic, actually."

NICKNAMES:

”I suppose you can't really get great nicknames for 'Jason', apart from Jase and J-Bear. Most people just call me Jason cause its easiest. When I was younger though, I used to get chubs and porky from both family and neighbours cause I was kind of massive, but how could I blame them? Just call me Jason, cause Melinda's the only person that calls me any different anymore."

AGE:

"I'm regrettably only eighteen years old, and barely considered a person, I mean, of age."

DATE OF BIRTH:

"I was born on September 1st 1959. That puts me down as a Virgo. Extraordinary, I know."

GENDER:

"Male, obviously. Well, I hope it is obvious, at the very least."

BLOODLINE:

”... Well. Muggleborn. I know. Possibly the worst point in history for that, eh?”

OCCUPATION:

”Full-time student.”

WAND:

"Eleven and a half inches of pure ash wood, with a unicorn hair core. All sex-jokes aside, its a pretty stiff wand - no swishing, no bending, just plain old stiff; like a plank of wood... Crap this is really starting to sound like... Sound like something else... Umm... Yes. Wand. It's decent with charms and protective spells, particularly repulsion and shields. Otherwise, it makes a great back scratcher, and apart from needing a good polish, there is nothing interesting to report. No bumps, no dents. Its in decent condition."

PET:

”No.”

SCHOOL:

”Hogwarts, of course.”

HOUSE:

"Surprisingly, the sorting hat had quite the predicament when I sat upon the stool. It took a near five minutes deciding between Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff, eventually deciding on Ravenclaw. After seven years, however, I am yet to understand why I was placed into the house of the intelligent. I'm not wise, I do not seek to learn new spells and facts, nor do I come up with witty comebacks. I merely seek to understand... Perhaps I was placed into Ravenclaw not for wit or knowledge, but because I just didn't fit anywhere else. I'm neither courageous, nor witty, not manipulative, and definitely not honest. I do not believe I belong in Ravenclaw, but then again, I don't belong anywhere."

GRADES:

"I suppose I do alright in school, all depending on the class. After I got the opportunity to drop classes of little relevance to me, my average increased considerably. Anyways, all of my marks are exceeding expectations, with the occasional outstanding. I guess that's good, yes? I mean, I'm not failing, but I'm far from being a Ravenclaw protegee. Probably the dumbest one in Ravenclaw, I am."

CHARACTER TYPE:

CANON

HAIR:

"I'd prefer not to talk about my physical self if you don't mind... No? Fine. Keep in mind, however, this isn't a comfortable subject. Umm. Hair. Nearly every Cromwell is born with nasty, snow white hair with the ability to put unicorns to shame. I was no different. Nasty pure white head, pale death-like skin, just bleh. Can't say its gotten much better as the years have gone by. My hair has darkened quite a bit though, now falling into a dirty blonde sort of colour with hints of auburn, dependent on the light. That's alright, but for the life of me I can't make it do anything interesting. It's thin and straight blonde hair. Can't hold a curl, or wave, or even a floppy mess without jars of gel, but then it just looks nasty. Of course that influences the way I must get it cut. It's on the longer side, mainly cause its really thin, and if I had shorter hair, I'd need to take a shower every hour or so. It gets really greasy by the end of the school day. It grows to just past my ears, almost in a pixie sort of cut. Nothing too amazing, really."

EYES:

"My eyes aren't interesting either. I mean, they're blue, but nothing too far out of the ordinary. However, they do have a peculiar shape, especially for England. They look almost Russian or Asian. My eyes are of average size, a bit wide-set, and not at all round. They're angular and perched up in the outer-most corners. I guess they are a bit neat, if you have the chance to look at them. Unusual, more like, but they suit me fine I think. My grandmother used to tell me they're my best asset, so of course, they must be flawed. Because of the weird shape, the corneas are too steep, causing what I see from a distance as blurry. Also known as nearsightedness. I do have to wear glasses to see the board, especially chalkboards. White on black is especially difficult to read, so my eyes have gotten far more worse over my years at school than the rest of my life altogether. And I'm not overly fond of the colour either. Yes, most people like blue eyes, but they're quite dull. Nothing you wouldn't expect from a blonde kid."

FACE:

"My face looks like a face? What the hell did you expect me to say? I like to think my face is pretty normal. Eyes, ears, nose, mouth. You know, human. Well, I have rather pronounced features - strong jawbone, sharp cheekbones. Typically french. Umm. I actually have a rather round face, completely contrasting against sharper features. Round yet sharp? Square? I don't really give a fuck anymore? Umm. Dad's always telling us that we don't have hugeass noses, but I beg to differ. I mean, have you seen my face? Well, its not that big, but big enough to be concerned. I dunno. I don't stare at my face long enough when I wash my face, nor do I study my pictures. I do have a nice mouth, though. Thick lips, from mum, and a wide mouth from dad. I wasn't as fortunate with the smile. Big mouth and small teeth is always a recipe for disaster. I don't like my smile in the slightest. Umm. If someone was to describe my face right now, they'd probably say I look tired. I guess I don't get enough sleep, but whatever."

BUILD:

"Ummm... Well... Ummm. I'm not exactly thin? I've always been on the heavy-side, being as uncoordinated as I am. I mean, its not as if I can't walk proper, or have to get my mother to make my clothing because Malkin's doesn't provide robes large enough. I'm simply... soft. I haven't the time to pump iron, I am petrified of heights, and don't engage myself in sex to keep fit. I was rather massive as a child cause us Cromwell's are notoriously known for being able to pack it down. I just wasn't as lucy as Mel to acquire a fast metabolism, so pretty much everything I eat sticks. The fact I reside in a tower and have to walk up and down at least 100 flights of stairs in the day is all that keeps me from weighing 400 lbs... Yeah. My one and true love is sugar, get over it. So, um, yes. I'm a bit soft and I have no muscles to speak of. I think I can lift maybe sixty, seventy pounds real easy, but not much more than that? Yes, I'm weak. Oh yes. I'm about 5'11", and weigh approximately 170lbs. Mind you, I haven't checked in a few months, so that might have changed drastically and I haven't noticed. According to my muggle doctor, that puts me on the higher end of good, but as long as I can still walk the stairs without being entirely out of breath, and don't have my ass hanging off both sides of our classroom chairs, then what does it matter? Nobody would care to check me out anyways."

HEIGHT/WEIGHT:

5’11”, 172 lbs.

CLOTHING STYLE:

"I prefer muggle clothing to wizarding robes. Completely understandable, seeing as I'm Muggle-born after all, yes. As per a style, I'm guessing whatever my mother happens to buy me doesn't count? Well. It's kind of true. I don't think I've ever boughten my own clothes, my mom knows what I like. I guess I like casual? I don't really know, actually. Comfort, definitely. I'd go for loose clothing over tight any day, but thats a self-esteem issue, not style. Nothing bright either. I like wearing navy and grays and blacks. "

VOICE:

"I couldn't ever be a DJ on the WWN, thats for sure. I sort of have a little boy's voice. Kind of daunting if you've never heard my voice before. I'm not short; you'd expect an average sort of voice. Or at least, not a prepubescent 12-year-old boy voice. Perhaps its because I'm soft-spoken? Oh, I don't have anymore excuses. I just don't understand how I ended up with a voice like this. My father has a deep heart-melting voice, my grandfather rough as a mule, hell even my mother sounds manly... I simply sound young. No rogue, hard, masculine voice here. Sorry ladies. Just a soft, quiet, unsure kid voice."

DISTINGUISHING FEATURES:

"I always look tired, and in truth, I don't really get much sleep. Maybe three, four hours a night if I'm lucky? Stats show if you don't sleep for eleven days in a row, you die, but I've managed to avoid demise by lack of sleep. So dark circles around the eyes, constantly with a cup of coffee, sluggish motions, you get the drift, aye? Apart from that, I have a few moles here and there, one predominant one on my left cheek. I guess what’s most distinguishing now about my appearance a few scars on my wrists... But I cover those up; they’re not important. I'm not a distinguishing person, appearance-wise. I'm dull. I'm boring. I'm nothing special."

SKIN TONE:

Fucking Pale

FACE CLAIM:

Moritz Meyer

LIKES:

SUMMER! WARM WEATHER! THE SUN! HIS GRANDFATHER'S HOUSE! HIS GRANDFATHER'S LIBRARY! BOOKS! NOVELS! PHILOSOPHICAL NOVELS! PSYCHIATRY! PLATO! QUOTING FROM PLATO! CHILDREN! CARING FOR CHILDREN! PLAYING WITH CHILDREN! THE FACT CHILDREN EXPECT SO LITTLE OF A PERSON APART FROM LOVE, FOOD AND CLOTHES! LOVE IN GENERAL! CUDDLING! HUGS! FAMILY! BIG FAMILY OCCASIONS! BIG FAMILY DINNERS! FOOD! FUCKING FANTASTIC FOOD! BREAKFAST! LUNCH! DINNER! SNACKS! FRENCH FOOD! ITALIAN FOOD! SUGARY FOOD! CAKES! PASTRIES! CHOCOLATE! COOKIES! STRAWBERRIES! CHARMS! HERBOLOGY! CARE OF MAGICAL CREATURES! POTIONS! SHAKESPEARE'S HAMLET! PUZZLES! WHEN PEOPLE NEAR HIM ARE HAPPY! THE LAKE! SITTING UNDER TREES! WALKING AROUND BAREFOOTED! HEAT! NICE PEOPLE! HONESTY! LOYALTY! UNDERSTANDING! DAYDREAMING!

DISLIKES:

WINTER! COLD! SNOW! DARKNESS! RAIN! DARK CLOUDS! OVERCAST DAYS! DEPRESSION! CRYING! STEREOTYPES! BEING MUGGLE-BORN! BEING PART OF THE WIZARDING WORLD! HOGWARTS! PREDICTING THE FUTURE! UNJUST SITUATIONS! USING MAGIC TO SOLVE EMOTIONAL PROBLEMS! WHEN HAPPINESS EQUATES WITH TANGIBLE GOODS! PREJUDICE! DISCRIMINATION! ABORTION! CRUELTY! CORRUPTION! WAR! SLAVERY! ASSHOLES! JERKS! LIARS! CHEATERS! FAKES! MANIPULATING PEOPLE! SIGMUND FEUD'S VIEWS! PSYCHOSEXUAL DEVELOPMENT STAGES CAUSE THEY'RE FUCKING DISGUSTING! THE SCHOOL SYSTEM! THE GOVERNMENT! TELEVISION! MOVIES! BAD ACTING! FLYING! HEIGHTS! WATER! DROWNING! THINGS BIGGER THAN HE IS! THE IDEA OF NOT BEING! IGNORANCE! BEING LONELY! BEING ON THE OUTSIDE LOOKING IN! BEING AN OUTSIDER! HEARTBREAK! DEATH! LACK OF COMPASSION!

STRENGTHS:

DRAWING! UNDERSTANDING! COMPASSION! SWEET! AMBITIOUS! ANALYTICAL! PATIENT! CALM! DESIRES TO HELP! PUNCTUAL! HARD-WORKING! CREATIVE! BAKING! LOW EXPECTATIONS OF EVERYONE ELSE! EXCELLENT AT HERBOLOGY, POTIONS, AND CARE OF MAGICAL CREATURES!

WEAKNESSES:

AWKWARD! HIS FAMILY! SUCKS AT HISTORY, ASTRONOMY, DIVINATIONS, AND MUGGLE-STUDIES! NO SELF-ESTEEM! SELF-NEGLECTING! PESSIMISTIC! A PUSHOVER! BELIEVES THAT HE IS HOPELESS! HIGH EXPECTATIONS OF HIMSELF! HIDES HIS EMOTIONS! BOTTLES UP HIS PROBLEMS! NO EXPERIENCE IN LOVE! UNORGANIZED!

HABITS/QUIRKS:

CUTS HIS TOAST INTO SQUARES! COLLECTS FOREIGN COINS! LOOKS LEFT WHEN PEOPLE LIE! SINGS BEATLES SONGS IN THE SHOWER! DRAWS WHEN SOMETHING IS BOTHERING HIM! HOARDS LITTLE OBJECTS OF NO VALUE! IS LEFT-HANDED! MOUTHWASH BEFORE TOOTHPASTE! PUTS HIS RIGHT LEG INTO PANTS BEFORE THE LEFT! JUMPS THE FAKE STAIRS! PASTES ON A FAKE SMILE WHEN PEOPLE TALK TO HIM! LAUGHS WHEN OTHER PEOPLE ARE LAUGHING, JUST TO MAKE IT LOOK LIKE HE'S PAYING ATTENTION! NEVER REALLY PAYS ATTENTION! DAYDREAMS A LOT! SENDS OWLS TO HIS SISTERS IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT TO STEAL FOOD FROM THE KITCHENS FOR HIM CAUSE HE'S HUNGRY!

SECRETS:

CUTS HIMSELF WHEN HE’S UNDER EMOTIONAL STRESS! HATES LIFE! POURED HALF A CONTAINER OF SALT INTO AUBREY’S MILK WHEN SHE TURNED AROUND AND MOM WAS TENDING THE TURKEY! WISHES HE NEVER BECAME A WIZARD!

RANDOM FACTS:

FAVOURITE COLOUR IS RED! HASN’T WORN A T-SHIRT IN FOUR YEARS!

SEXUALITY:

”Straight. Boobs and hour-glass figures, please.”

RELATIONSHIP STATUS:

”Single - we’ll put it this way. I’ve never been in a relationship. Never had a kiss, never brought anyone to bed, hell, I don’t think I’ve held a girl’s hand before. I’ve always been alone, and ultimately, will always be alone.”

TURN ONS:

SHORT! CURVY BODIES! EXTRA WINTERCOAT (AKA ON THE CHUBBYSIDE)! BIG EYES, COLOUR DOESN'T MATTER! QUIRKY HABITS! UNDERSTANDING! LOYALTY! HONESTY! KINDNESS! SERENE! PHILOSOPHICAL! CUDDLING! HUGS! SMALL HANDS! TRUSTWORTHY! CURIOUS!

TURN OFFS:

THIN! MUSCULAR BODIES! LOUD VOICES! OBNOXIOUS LAUGHS! SELF-CENTERED BITCHES! LIARS! JUDGERS! BAD PEOPLE! CHEATERS! NOT LOYAL! IGNORANT! CRUELTY! MEN! TOO MUCH MAKEUP! BAD HYGIENE! BLOOD PURISTS! SMOKERS! DRINKERS!

AMORTENIA:

LAVENDER! COCONUT! BABY POWDER! EUCALYPTUS! HAZELNUT! CUCUMBER! HUCKLEBERRY! THAI BASIL! CRANBERRIES!

PATRONUS:

A WISE TURTLE ! REPRESENTING SOLITUDE, INTELLIGENCE, A HIGHER STATE OF CONSCIOUSNESS, AND HEALING QUALITIES.

CAMPING

They were lost. Completely, undeniably lost. Why they went on this blasted camping trip, Jason had no idea. Why him and Melinda begged for weeks and weeks he had no understanding. Why they were still on the trip, he was still questioning. But what perplexed Jason most of all was why dad actually agreed to come. The truth of the matter was that their father had no experience what so ever with camping, yet still agreed to take them out. Needless to say, he should have ignored their constant whining, and begging. Jason could be at home, reading, eating, doing laundry, getting his limbs detached from his body. Anything but camping. Jason kicked at a root bitterly, nearly falling over. This wasn't camping... This was being thrust into the middle of nowhere with no food (dad had conveniently forgot that necessity... perhaps he thought it was more of an asset or want?), no shelter, and no protection, while his mother and sister laughed at home. There were fucking bears out here for Christ-sake. No. Jason's idea of camping was taking a car to the edge of a forest, packing sandwiches, making a small campfire and melting marshmallows, and then going back home before midnight.

Jason puffed along behind Mel and his father. It must have been hours since they began trudging through the forest, with dad saying enthusiastically every ten minutes or so, "Just around that bend!" or "We're almost there kids!" They were probably walking in circles. Jason tripped over another root and fell face-flat on the ground. This went unnoticed by both his sister and father, and so he got up swiftly and jogged ahead to catch up. The pace they were going at was far too quick for him. He couldn't keep going on like this! He couldn't remember the last time he ate, and their last break must have been hours ago. He was sweaty and out of breath. He might have only been about seven years old, but that didn't mean he was in shape, let alone the fucking energizer bunny. In fact, he was probably the fattest, most out of shape person of the three. Even dad in his thirties, maybe forties, wasn't completely out of breath. Jason felt as if his lungs were about to explode, the soles of his feet were on fire, and his back was about to break from his over-packed knapsack. To top it all off, he was craving a twinkie, or cake, or pie, or something sweet and sugary. When they got back home, assuming they didn't die in the process, he was going on a diet. And taking up running... or jogging... hell walking was fine. Damn them all. Mel got dad's ability to not put on a single pound, yet eat like a horse, and Jason got his mother's ability to put on everything he ate. 'A moment of sugar on the lips, forever on the hips.' Yes. It fucking sucked. And now he couldn't breathe. At all. Not even gasp at his father to slow down.

"We're almost there, kids!" His father exclaimed while Jason cursed under his breath. If mum was here, he'd be washing his mouth out with soap for the words he was using. Even so, Jason couldn't help but notice the change in surroundings. If possible, his heart was beating even faster. The forests around him thinned considerably, and though there wasn't visible light ahead of them, there was a clearing. Fifty meters. Twenty meters. Ten. Five.

The three met the clearing, and Jason gave a sigh of relief as dad took of his bag. It was night. Very dark. Though Jason was afraid of the dark most of the time, he felt at peace here. That was when he noticed the sky. Jason's mouth dropped as he searched the sky. Stars. More than he had ever seen. Just millions, maybe billions, all twinkling high above. They lived in London, and the lights dimmed the stars, but out here, all he could see were stars for miles.

It was the most beautiful thing he ever saw.

DEMENTOR:

IN HIS GRANDFATHER'S LIBRARY

Why his mother had insisted in coming over to grandfather's house, especially on a school night, nine-year-old Jason had no idea. He did know, however, that he loved his grandfather's house and everything he could possibly do. Ride down the staircase with a mattress, read books on Erik Erikson's theory on the stages of life, play hide and go seek in the dark with Mel, try to understand Aristotle's encyclopedia on the human mind, head out to the magnificent gardens, go to his grandfather's library and seek something that he had not already read. So, when his mother asked who wanted to go to grandfather's, Jason did not need to be asked twice. Him and his mother packed up the car and drove out.

Now residing his his grandfather's library, Jason had The Republic open upon his lap and was sitting on his favourite armchair near the open window over-looking the gardens. It was a night. Unseasonably warm for mid-spring, but with a fresh, soft breeze. Jason hadn't ever been actually to read past the introduction of The Republic by Plato, but the forty pages kept his mind on overdrive, and each time he read the pages, he picked up something remarkable. Something he hadn't been able to grasp before. It was maybe his eleventh time through the same pages, and it was only the last time he had read through them that he grasped the concept of oligarchy. How stupid he had been! That was entirely relevant, and ten times he had read the pages, passing over the word with ignorance His blue eyes poured over the pages again, and again. The soft early-spring breeze carried through the window, ruffling his blonde hair and carrying the soft, monotone tune. At first, he didn't bother to look through the window, but the tune gradually grew louder until he was forced to look out the window. Odd. It was his mother in the garden on her hands and knees pulling weeds. Was that why she had come here? To pull weeds? He shook his head gingerly, and resumed his former task.

"Treasure these few words till we're together. Keep all my love forever..."

Slightly frustrated, Jason yanked his attention from the book and out the window. He... he had heard that song before. He bit his bottom lip in deep thought. Where had he - oh yes. His mother had sang it when tucking him into bed... But... That was such a long time ago, he could scarcely remember. He furrowed his brow helplessly, his mind whirling upon his memory. He recalled colours, and his mother's smile. But was it her smile? He closed his eyes. That smile was different than the one that he saw all the time... Her smile was now... sad. empty. different? He didn't know. He leaned out the open window. Yes. Her smile. It was sad. But why?

His attention sharply switched to his grandfather, currently wearing spectacles and flipping through papers upon his desk. Again, he bit his bottom lip and stood from his chair. He didn't realize why he was even bothering to move, and even less how his feet managed to bring him to directly beside his grandfather. Jason peered up nervously, suddenly compelled to ask. "Grandpa.", he said indignantly, tugging at his grandfather's sleeve. "Do you remember... When... When my mom used to be happy?"

His grandfather hadn't bothered to look at Jason, though he did sit up straight and pull off his spectacles. A few moments silence. Jason suddenly felt aware of his beating heart, and the cold sweat building up. James studied his grandson for a moment, and then his aged face broke out into a grin. Odd. Jason tilted his head. How could he grin that stupid grin when a topic like this arouse? Wasn't he supposed to look grim, like he always did.

"Sad?" He asked simply.

Jason narrowed his eyes. He might be young, but he knew when he was being tested. He licked his lips and explained, "I just remembered, when I was younger... her smile... its changed... and... ummm...?"

James nodded in encouragement, but Jason didn't know what else to say. He felt immediately felt ashamed and stupid, and hung his head in defeat. His felt colour rise to his cheeks. Humiliation. How could he have been so stupid?

James turned to the open window for a second, and nodded. It was as if he completely and entirely understood. Again, he said simply, "Yes... Yes I do. What has changed?" The interest his grandfather suddenly succumbed to frightened him.

Jason shook his head, and murmured a quiet, "I don't know."

James studied his grandson a second, in that quiet thought-provoking way he had mastered. He stood from his seat and sauntered to the largest space within the library. He beckoned Jason over, and Jason obliged.

"I want you..." James started, "To kick me..."

Jason just stood, gap-mouthed.

James continued, "Kick me. Smack me. Punch me. However you see fit... Now now. I'm not as old as I look." He smiled in encouragement, but Jason's astounded expression continued.

He also noted, however, that his grandfather was being entirely serious. He gave his grandfather a light punch on the arm. His grandfather shook his head and mouthed 'harder'. Jason just didn't understand, but hit his grandfather a bit harder. His grandfather shook his head again and again mouthed 'harder'. Jason too shook his head. How could his grandfather ask him to do something so absurd? He did oblige. And again. And again. Until he got frustrated enough to hit his grandfather with anger.

And then he saw it. In his grandfather's eyes, if for even half a second. It was a look of loathing. Jason turned to his mouth. It was taunt, and forced into a grimace. For a moment, he stood in shock. How could he have hurt his grandfather in that way?

James nodded once in understanding, and limped back behind his desk. He waited a few seconds before saying, "You saw it?" Jason didn't even have to respond, "Of course you did." His grandfather poured himself a shot of brandy and continued, "You thought, for even a second, that I loathed you. You saw the pain in my eyes..." Jason still did not understand, but James continued after a sip from his crystal decanter, "That is the pain of your mother... If you look into her eyes, you can see the pain. Indeed, you can see pain in everyone's eyes. But not just physical pain. Emotional too... If you observe a person, you can learn everything of their lives. You can tell from the way a person walks into a room whether or not they are sad. If you observe a person long enough, you can tell when they are lying, when they understand, everything they have ever done, and even exactly what they are thinking..."

James paused for a second, and shook his head. Jason studied his grandfather carefully, and looked into his deep blue eyes. There! He saw it. Regret. His grandfather regretted telling him this, he was sure of it. James continued softly, "Indeed, Jason. I do regret what I have just done." He drained his shot glass and poured himself another, "Because now I have planted a seed. Now, as I have, it will become an obsession. Understanding people. You'll begin to see if I am right, and from there, you'll grow obsessed. You'll want to know everything about everyone. You'll study every person, and try to find out who they are, their motives, and their intentions. Even when you are not thinking about it, you will sub-consciously see a person's pain. You will simply... know."

Indeed, his grandfather was right. From that day forth, not a day has gone by since he began to find pain in another person's eyes.

MIRROR OF ERISED:

If Jason were to look into the Mirror of Erised, he’d see someone entirely different. He wouldn’t see himself - he’d see a handsome, physically fit man, with biceps to die for, and visible abs. He sees himself with two young children by his side, one girl with curly hair, and a little boy with dimples. And he sees the shadow of a women - no particular face, mainly because to him, appearance doesn’t really matter.

BOGGART:

His biggest fear at the moment are the Death Eaters - mainly because he’s petrified that Muggleborns will be treated more like shit.

OVERALL PERSONALITY:

CREATIVITY
Jason prevails with creativity. Creativity is one of Rowena's less common and famous traits, but still a trait none-the-less. Because he looks at everything through a different perception than everyone else, his creativity comes across strong. He isn't fond of word cliches all too common among young witches and wizards, and he prefers coming up with short stories to exemplify his opinion. He's also very creative in the form of drawing cartoons. He wasn't ever the smartest, most attentive student in his class, so most of his class time consisted of drawing pictures and fictional characters to match short stories he'd also write up. His stories may be a bit outrageous, and his characters may defy all natural laws, but this only further illustrates his originality.

AMBITIOUS
This is actually siding up with his creativity. Because he's creative, he comes up with new ways to help the world. His compassion is over-whelming, and so he has great ambitious to help save the world. He knows what's right and what's wrong, and so he has great dreams of doing what is right. He's a great dreamer, and because he loves to tell everyone about how he wants to save the world from hunger, and monsters in his stories that have a 'high chance' of coming to life, and somehow start destroying the world. His ambition is also strong because in no way does he want to end up anything like his parents. Don't get me wrong, he loves the both of them because he hates to judge, but he doesn't want to end up a drunk and have his first-born become the head-huncho in the family. Thats his job.


COMPASSIONATE:

"Sad things make me cry, and I really do feel deep for anyone who's gone through something bad... That's why I like to help. Empathetic, sympathetic, worrisome, all the fun stuff. And it doesn't stop at compassion. When someone is in pain, whether it be physical or emotional, I feel their pain. I put myself into their situation and think about how I'd feel. Honestly, I wish I didn't, but I do."

INDEPENDENT:
"I've never been one to rely on everyone else, except in the middle of the night and I'm starving. Then I'll get Mel to send me food. I just... Don't really trust anyone. People are bad. People corrupt, people destroy, people bully. How can I put trust in anyone like that? Someone that'll destroy me? So. I do everything on my own.

INNOCENT:

Jason is so damned innocent its daunting. First, he's incredibly naive. He's honestly a toddler in his 18-year-old body. He'll whirl around on a spinning chair for the most of the day, and if you catch him particularly high on sugar, he'll add a KAPOW to all his ninja chuck moves. Honestly, give him two rooms, one with hot chicks and the other a spinning chair and a cape, and he'll evidently leap towards the spinning chair, a malicious grin across his face. Also like a toddler, he's very curious about everything and asks why only about 500 times a day. He soaks in all the information and probably already knows it, yes, but he'll happily chide 'why' every two minutes none the less. Mind you, this curiosity is selective. Drag him into History or the library, hear him snore after two minutes and you'll catch it too. The subject has to have a hands-on approach for him to be curious. Reading does not stimulate curiosity rather than an instant nap, but watching a caterpillar climb up a tree may. Generally, it does not take much to keep Jason content; give him a box of chocolate frogs and place him in front of something shiny – he'll sit gap-mouthed, cheering for hours.

MOTIVATOR:

Yeah, Jason's possibly the most innocent guy in his year, and sure he may be as naive and vulnerable as a kitten, but he's not that oblivious to the world around him. He's not going to be skipping around a battle field collecting fucking butterflies in nets, and picking petals from daisies with dreaming coos of, 'loves me, loves me not'. That extent of vulnerability would get him murdered almost instantaneously. If he lived to that level of naive innocence, he'd be inviting in rather malicious looking death eaters into his run-down apartment for tea and crumpets. No one with the exception of Mary Poppins is that unbelievingly - and for lack of better word- stupid. Instead, Jason's got a different perception. Why fight or hide when you can live over the rainbow? Well, yet again, not entirely to that extent. He just likes seeing everyone happy. Whether they be the rich, the poor, the bad, the ugly, the outcasts. The easiest way to make a person feel better about themselves is to help them see the bright side, and say its going to get better, or that they're doing great even if they're doing the shittiest job on the face of the planet. Yeah. He'll be the one playing Guitar Hero with a bunch of friends, and after messing up two notes on expert, he'll tell a friend he's doing great even if he messed up every other note on beginner. Studies show that 60% of workers quit because they're not getting recognized for their work, and he's the one who will turn around and show them everything spectacular they've ever done for the company. He's the nice guy that won't ever say anything bad about anyone, whether they be around or not.

SELF-NEGLECTING:

Let me tell you of a quick story before correlating this to Jason. There was once a very famous clown named Quamauldi, and he had the acute ability to make everyone forget what was wrong with their lives and bring joy and smiles to everyone's faces. No matter how depressed they were, when they came to the circus to see the clown act, everyone would be broken down to tears of laughter, for he was simply amazing. He was legend, he was history, he was everything everyone was hoping to see when they went to the circus and more. One day, a man named Davis left the circus and had laughed for that first time in over a year, for his wife whom he most dearly loved passed away. Davis was walking along the street, felling as if he had accomplished something great even though he'd only been watching a childish circus act, and passed another man. This man drained all of Davis' happiness away, from the frown lines, to the slump of his shoulders, to his dreary expression which read 'kill me now'. This man looked so depressed that Davis just had to speak to him. He shoved a spare circus ticket into his hand, and with a wild grin commented on how great Quamauldi was, and how much he needed to see him. Quamauldi would take away all the troubles in his mind, and would make him so damned happy that ecstasy would probably fill his life forever. The man turned around and commented, 'Sir. I am Quamauldi.'

Surely, Jason too has the ability to motivate people and take away their mindless problems, but he neglects to follow this himself. He's simply been raised to never complain and to always try to make everyone happy, but in doing so, neglects himself completely. He finds his joy in helping others, but when their problems don't work out, he feels as if it is completely his own fault, and degrades himself further from there. He's not fond of depression though. Instead of trying his own advice, he keeps on helping everyone else out so he forgets about what he wants, and what he needs, and leaves himself with dreams he can't finish, and everyone else's problems. He's like a psychiatrist who isn't getting paid to listen to everyone's fucked up problems. The only problem is he's not trained to listen to everyone else's problems and takes them with him. He worries so damned much about everyone else's problems that he can't sleep at night. So damned much that he overeats trying to think of solutions, and while relentlessly recalling tears down some girl he tried to help's face, he forgets that he hasn't seen daylight all weekend. He's somehow succumbed down to the guy you talk to so you feel so much better about you're life, and he can't reverse it.


OVERLY ANALYTICAL

And that it isn't it when it comes to self-neglect and compassion. He searches for these people. He feels as if his life is worth nothing, and he tries to make up for it by helping them. Silently, the crying shoulder, anything and everything. He's just so fucking unhappy and hates his life so much that he thinks his life is pointless and unremarkable in every way. He's given all the chances in the world, and he doesn't do a thing with them. He thinks he doesn't deserve anything; he doesn't deserve life. But he's petrified of death, and dying, and anything that could kill him. So, he tries to add value to his life. To become a person's shoulder to cry on. To make him worth something to someone else. When he fails, he eats.

You see. James thinks that there is no such thing as happiness. That it is only ignorance that keeps people content. He's read far too many books, and he's observed far too much. He sees people when they're hurt. He sees their ambitions. All he wants to do is bring out the potential in everyone. To sit and be the shoulder to cry on. But it kills him inside when nobody notices him. He may just be the quiet kid who reads and does okay in school, but he's so unbelievingly cynical about the world, and so self-hating. But nobody notices. That's all he wants. For someone to not want his help, but to help him. And he's afraid to ask for that.

And now, he sees how he has set himself up for failure. In order for him to not be controlled by his emotions, and to surpass this bad point in his life, he needs to find someone who can succumb to his level, or someone who is already there. But how can he expect for someone to drop everything they've ever worked for? He feels as if he is hopeless in every way, and that he will always be miserable.

WORKING HIMSELF DOWN

He sleeps three or four hours a day. He lives off of six cups of coffee. He takes on far too much, and leaves far too little time for himself. This is because he has a mind constantly in thought. He thinks himself as the lowliest dirt on the ground, not fit to lick the scum off of a person's shoes. He helps everyone who needs help. He hates himself. He hates the world. He hates corruption. Thus, his mind is constantly turning. And when he thinks, he gets upset. When he gets upset, he cries. Jason doesn't want to appear weak to anyone, and most of all to himself. So, his band-aid solution is to find things to do constantly, so that his mind is always occupied.

TIME-BOMB WAITING TO EXPLODE:

Like every other sane being, Jason can only take so much before he explodes. I mean, how long would it take you to blow up after listening to all the bad stuff in people's lives, and knowing perfectly well there isn't anything bad. This tolerance level is unfortunately a bit higher than most. Instead of a 'You Suck.' before walking off, some things will just blast him out of the roof, and he'll just blurt out everything dumb about the person, exactly what he hates, yell for a bit, and then storm off. Not as horrible as some that let it out hourly, but still it strikes hard. This coming from the guy who you thought was the cutest, little innocent good-natured lad you've ever had the fortune to lay trust on. It's hard to know for most that almost everything that Jason has ever said had been a lie, and he never really felt anything for any of your so-called accomplishments. Its hard to know that the person you laid upmost trust in was just a liar who would take your insides and twist them when you learn the truth. He's not an honest guy, even if he was just trying to make everyone happy. He just can't do it all the time.

OTHER THINGS I'M JUST TOO FUCKING LAZY TO WRITE ABOUT

smart.
observant.
intuitive

Rest on next post...

FATHER:

"Andrew Cromwell? Yes, I know him. He's my dad, or pops. That sounds dreadfully American, pops. Anyways, what is there to say, really? He's my dad, he's an artist? He specializes in sculptures - and you'd be able to pick that up too, if you saw our home's front foyer -. I suppose my drawing talents come directly from him? I mean, not the same thing, but look at Mel. She specializes in photography, which in my opinion, is even further from sculpturing than drawing. Umm. I'm not going to lie... I never was as close to either of my parents as I am my grandfather. I've never taken the opportunity to cry on my father's shoulder, never felt compelled to please him, never bothered to discover what Andrew Cromwell is exactly about. He's simply my dad; not a confident or emotional supporter."

MOTHER:

"Mom is dad's artistic inspiration. If you've ever seen his earlier work, its all rather bland and dead. When he met my mother, his artistic abilities began to shine, and people began to take note of his work. She's really an astonishing woman, I assure you. As simple as a plank of wood, really, but almost intriguing. Motherhood has really changed her, from what I've picked out of dad. She used to be that beautiful French woman with ambition, charm, and with a knack of understanding a person. Becoming a mother has obviously led her to a body still in shock from carrying three different children in her womb, but that is irrelevant. I do not remember past a few childhood memories on how happy she was when I was young, but when I was about six, and her father died, she became empty. Soulless. I don't remember her much before that day, but I do remember that she could no longer look at her children and break into a smile. The relationship she had with her father was magnificent and worthy of envy, and when he died, she died emotionally as well... And so now, she promotes to us that we should worry what people think of us, to worry about society and unimportant things. In a way, she's hoping that we won't grow as close to her as her to her father, so when she passes away, it won't destroy us as it has destroyed her. And a weird, twisted sort of way, I respect her for that."

SIBLINGS:

MELINDA ACADIA CROMWELL
MELINDA IS THE BIGGEST, MOST PRETENTIOUS SLUT I HAVE EVER HAD THE MISFORTUNE OF MEETING! Haha. Kidding, Mel, kidding... I seriously love you. Melinda's my little sister, and though there was a point in my life where I would have liked nothing more than bash her snow-white head onto pavement and leave her for the cockroaches - dreamed of it, more like - I do love her... Not in incest, you fucking pervert. We're not Pureblooded. OKAY, BACK TO THE RELATIONSHIP. Mhrmm. I'm not going to say that we're carbon-copies, and the best of friends, and never fight, cause I don't like lying. But we do get along for the most part, and thats gotta be worth something. I love her, she loves me... I just wish she didn't have so much of a thing against Audrey. Not saying that Audrey is perfect, but she is far from the Wicked Witch of the West, not to be taken as a pun. And I wish she wasn't so god-damned stubborn in thinking Audrey's the big, bad wolf. Yes, I've attempted to bring them both to terms with one another, and clearly have failed. But whatever. Mel's set her mind on hating Audrey for preferring mom to dad, and unless Mel gets hit in the head with a hammer, or Audrey's memory is swiped clean, I can't really do much. But yes. We do get along, but I have the feeling that if I was in Hufflepuff too, we wouldn't be as close."

AUDREY CROMWELL
"Honest to God, Audrey is not as bad as Mel perceives her as. She does not eat children for breakfast, she does not secretly curse people, and she's far from wanting to become a death eater. She is simply another girl trying to fit into Hogwarts. I mean, put yourself into her position. First year of Hogwarts, Muggle-born, not knowing anyone apart from your siblings. The first class you step into, the teacher makes a comment on how smart your older brother is, and how... entertaining your older sister is. Melinda may have the confidence to be able to step into an unknown situation and concur it, but that is a rare gift. Audrey is trying to find out who she is, and make her mark on the school. I'll admit, not very big shoes to fill especially with me as her older brother, but enough to desire to fit in. To not be berated into submission... Now, I'm not saying that we're as close as Melinda and I, but that does not mean I purposely dislike her because Mel can't fully understand, accept, and empathize her position. We're not close, though. Apart from maybe a conversation here and there, a good laugh from time to time, and the occasional piece of advice, and shoulder to cry on, we're just... siblings. I love her like I would a sister, but nothing more."

OTHER FAMILY:

JAMES CROMWELL - GRANDFATHER

"There is not much to say about grandpa apart from saying he is my idol. Yes. Quite particular that one takes their grandparent as their number one role model, especially from as young of an age that I decided I wanted to be exactly like him. I believe I was seven when I decided that I would uphold his business, should and when he pass away. Anyways, by no means do I believe he is a perfect man; no one is. But I believe he is good, and that is enough for me. He's a psychiatrist, and runs his own firm downtown London. As a general rule, I admire anyone who would help a person, and even though it is his job I commend him for it. For a lot of people, simply listening to their troubles helps them in some psychiatric way. And the fact he can still remain positive with everyone else's baggage to carry... astonishing! So yes. We're very close and have similar mind-sets, apart from Sigmund Freud... I did not think my dad was going to chop my dick off as a child, sorry... Haha yes. I have full intentions of joining him in his field after graduation, regardless of my magical education."

OTHER INFLUENCES:

N/A

OVERALL HISTORY:

"Lets start with my parents yes? The story of my parents meeting is the story I heard most as a child. More than all of the fairy tales and nursery rhymes combined. Not the most interesting story, I assure you, and definitely one not worth fantasizing about and hoping to relive it, but interesting enough to not be put to sleep. Or at least, for me. I think it bores Mel, but hell. Why does every love story have to start and end so perfectly? Some variety would be nice. And how my parents met is in fact, very strange. Very peculiar. So unromantic that it is painful.

"It all started when Richard Black died.

"Amazing beginning. yes? Anyways. Richard Black had a best friend, and his name was Mike Beaumont. When Richard got into a car accident and when his windshield broke and decapitated him without identification, Mike Beaumont was brought to the LPS (that's the London Police Service for all you Purebloods) morgue to identify his best friend's head. Obviously, after an encounter like that, Mike was bound to be a little screwed up. Forget a little. Mike Beaumont was traumatized, and starting suffering from dystopia, schizophrenia, ADHD, ADD, bipolar disease. You name it, he had it. It wasn't until after he was making reports to the police saying that a man of brown hair and a medium build, just like himself, kept breaking into his house did anyone realize how the morgue traumatized him. All the mirrors in his house were broken, as were all things reflective. Mike saw himself, believing it was someone else, and went on a destroying rampage. So yes. Obviously had a mucked up mind. Enter James Cromwell. He was well-known to the public as a very good shrink. From time to time, he specialized in strange cases. Mike Beaumont was definitely a strange case. It took some time, but after awhile, Mike started becoming himself again. Well, you see, Mike's dad was unbelieving that his son could be patched up after all of that, and when Mike was able to come to, he invited the entire Cromwell family to a good old style family dinner.

"Mike had a sister. Her name was Sophia. And James had a son. His name was Andrew. And so, Andrew met Sophia, and alleluia, thanks be to God, Andrew and Sophia met, dated, got engaged, got married, and had three kids. Badabing. Badaboom. Fantastic. Anyways. At that dinner, when mom and dad first met... It was quite dull. Dad was blinded by the beautiful French woman before him. Mom wasn't as intrigued by his looks. It was his artistic talents that awed her. She had always admired his work, and when she unexpectedly got to meet him, she was speechless. After dinner, after an hour and a half of passionate staring, it was mom that got dad's number. Not the other way around.

"Uh yeah. I'll be the first to admit it, the next four years or so were absolutely fucking boring. Mom and dad didn't have much in common. All they did was stare. Passionately, longingly stare. Haha. So yes. They dated a couple of years. Were engaged even longer... To the extent mom forgot she was actually engaged, and asked when the hell he was going to put a ring on her finger. Now, I hate to say it, but, dumb blonde moment much? Their marriage was one to be envious of, if not their entire meeting and staring game. They got married in Majorca. The location in itself automatically makes it a great wedding. Mom's dad invested a lot of money into the wedding, and the guest list had over 250 people. It was a massive wedding. Uhh. Thats all I really know. I was conceived the wedding night, but again, this is the part where I start dozing off, and going red. Honestly. Why the hell would I want to know how it happened?

"Anywhoo. Woo. I was born the first of September, 1959. Almost three weeks late. Apparently I liked the womb... Uhh. I was a normal baby. Not much to report. Crying, pooping, sleeping, eating. Is there really anything else to a baby's life? Well. According to dad, when I was born, I didn't cry. Like. Most babies popping out cry immediately. Dad said I didn't. All I did was look around the room, wide-eyed. That wasn't all. Even when I was a baby, I didn't cry at all that much, and when I did, I was quiet. Mom and dad had to get those baby microphones and set them up everywhere, in case I woke up and they didn't know... Course, they got rid of it when Mel was born, but needless to say, even from a few months old, one could tell I'd be the quiet type. The only other interesting thing was I looked pretty weird. There are chubby cheeks, and then there are chubby chipmunk cheeks. As a baby, I looked a lot like a chipmunk, with big, puffy cheeks. And snow white hair. Thats it, really.


"I was closer to mom than I was dad as a baby, like every other kid. Until that thing happened. That dreadful, disgraceful fiend was born. And stole mommy from me. I guess I was pretty jealous of the attention Melinda got over me, cause for a bit, I went out of my way to scrutinize her. Seriously. Mom and dad were kind of laughing at me for a bit. I think I'd seen grandpa do it; look at a person through narrowed eyes, study them. Yeah. So, I was impersonating grandpa on my sister. I'd give her a vindicated look, and narrow my eyes at her, expecting her to cower the way I did when grandpa did the same thing to me. Never worked, I assure you. Haha. But she did anger me and steal my toys. I knew she was too young to realize all this, but she broke some of them too. Including my Spiderman toy. I don't think I actually stopped disliking her until I was about four or five, when she was still into playing with toys and watching cartoons, and when I started to read.
"And a year later, Audrey popped out. Mom got neutered two weeks later. I guess it was around the time I noticed another chubby cottonball that I gave up with the funny expressions, and began to grow closer to grandfather. Grandfather interested me. Even at the age of four, he came off with this air of confidence that made people cower. He was batman, he was spiderman, he was Shaggy and Scooby Doo. And I wanted to be just like him. So, I stopped being envious of Audrey and Melinda, and started to dress up in dad's clothes. Oh yes. I think I was about four at that time. I began to read at the age of three, and write at the age of four.

It was around that time that I began to show signs of magic as well. Of course, my parents just thought strange things were happening, but I knew better. You see. I kind of grew obsessed with reading and becoming just like grandpa. My parents started getting a bit worried when I began to start growing chubby at such a young age, and stop going outside all together. They thought that taking my books away and putting them up high on shelves to where I couldn't reach would turn my focus to other things. Like getting active. That failed miserably. When dad went into his zone (aka, his art room. he liked calling it the zone), and mom went out to garden, I used to sit in the gallery and just look at the books. They were high up, but I wanted them. And so they flew down to me. Exciting, yes? Becoming a book nerd at such a young age? Mom and dad were flabbergasted, and began to think grandfather was secretly coming and giving me my books. It wasn't until much later did they discover the truth behind this.

"I suppose now is as good a time as any to talk about our family's ability to pack down a good meal. And I mean really pack it down. The amount of food we could eat as a family over the course of a week could probably feed half the world's starving children for a day. Yeah. Dad and Mel still manage to keep from putting on a pound, while mom and I struggle with every mouthful. Damn their fast metabolisms. Anyways, I'm drifting from my point here. I had a major sweet tooth as a child, and I can't say its faded over the yeas. So I was pretty fat as a child. Like chocolate milk belly, rolls, child boobs, the whole tubby shebang. When I first started muggle schooling, I got bullied pretty bad for it, and got bigger because of it. Food was comforting and mom's cooking is impeccable, so I got made fun of and ate more. I know, ironic and sad but true. Elementary School, all of my muggle schooling, it wasn't any good for me. When we were inside, I'd be reading books. When I was outside, I'd be sitting in the same spot everyday, combatting tears while the other kids mocked me.

"Even at that young age, I demanded to know why they were so mean. Yes, they had reason: I was massive. I wouldn't ask them cause I was too shy, so I took to watching them. That must have planted a seed because I soon grew obsessed with it. I could tell when my classmates were lying, when something was bothering them. Above all, I started to feel it too. My empathy was so defined, when I noticed someone was lying, I felt their guilt. When someone fell and scraped their knees, I almost felt pain in my knees. It was around that time I started to confess up to things I didn't do, because I always felt guilty.

"I was about six or seven when grandpa discovered this. He watched Mel steal a couple of cookies from the jar, and then I confessed to it. I'm guessing grandfather realized that I was the living epitome of him as a child, because he insisted that all his grandchildren stay with him a few weeks in the summer. He believed that the dream of a relative continuing in his path did not die when his son pursued art. Mom was a bit reluctant and at first denied this request, but soon her father died, and me and Mel went to grandpa's. She kept Audrey behind, something I still don't entirely understand.

"The time we spent at grandpa's are by the far the best memories of my childhood. Grandfather always understood, no matter the situation. On top of that, he was a lot of fun. Mom and dad wouldn't have ever let us ride down the stairs on a mattress. Grandpa is on the rich side, so his backyard attached to a forest. I can't even begin to describe all the fun adventures I had in there. There was... a creek in that forest. About half a mile from Grandpa's house. And at the thinnest point there were several rocks, beckoning to be jumped upon. Not as easy of a feat as you might think. I've been in that forest so much that most of my memories have faded, however, I do remember quite vividly. One of which being my patronus - yes, this was the same forest we camped in that one time. The second was nearly drowning at that point in the creek. It had rained the night before, and when Mel and I got to the realm the next day, the water frothed and twirled more than I'd ever seen it. Most of the rocks were completely submerged, and the water wasn't calm like it normally was. It was raging. Now, of course that wouldn't stop us from crossing the creek. Mel went first and made it across. That had reassured me quite a bit. If my little sister could do it, so could I. Not so. I took a different path across, slipped on one of the rocks, hit my head against the next, passed out, and somehow broke my arm. Needless to say I never went back to the creek. Each time I went to grandpa's after that, I stayed safe inside in his library, just reading.

"The next couple years of my life were fairly uneventful, but it was about nine when I was forced into grandfather's field, and barely a year later when I started getting sad. It must have been something I read, because it dawned on me on that age that happiness is simply ignorance. How can one be happy if they know of war, of death, of taxes? People that were sad were always looking for something to help them ignore their sadness... Oh yes. Now I remember. It was my mother's expression. I'm not saying that we live a life to be envious of, but it is enough to keep us from starving. We have a nice house, money, family bonds, liberty to spend money on entertainment. Everything. But there was this one night, when I was reading Waiting for Godot. It was late, and I was supposed to be in bed hours ago, but the book entranced me. It was a play that you couldn't put down until the very end. Anyways, it must have been two or three in the morning, and mother walked by in the hallway. I was perplexed, I remember. So I followed her. She went into dad's zone, and broke down and cried. To me, she had nothing to be sad for. She had everything. But she was there nonetheless, bawling her eyes out. A single look at her posture, and a single look into her eyes read that my mother was depressed... It was strange. How I hadn't ever noticed it before. And then I realized, if I hadn't noticed my own mother's sadness, that I must have been compensating for my own sadness, or at least, distracting myself from the inevitable. It was then I decided that the idea of happiness didn't exist. Just ignorance.

"The most peculiar thing happened to me two months before my twelfth birthday. It was about noon, and we were eating chicken and ricotta cannelloni, lasagna, and turkey. Some man dressed exuberantly appeared out of nowhere, right at the street corner. I was watching from the window. He came and knocked on our door, pulled our family into the living room (I was pissed off, cannelloni is my favourite), and gave me the letter. Well. We're muggle-born yes? Magic was myth. I thought the man was a drunk, to be quite honest, but his eyes concealed no lies. Anyways, yes. He told me absolutely everything, and when I asked if people that were from non-magical families were the same as everyone else, and he told me yes. So, went to downtown London, walked through the wall, yadayadayada. Hogwarts train was dull as hell. I didn't know anyone, so you can imagine how lonesome I was. And on my birthday too! September first is my birthday, you see, and the train always leaves King's Cross on that date. Ten freaking hours later, I was on a little boat over this dark lake, scared shitless that we were going to sink. It was three to a boat, but only two could fit on mine. Cause well. You know. My obesity. Sat underneath the hat, got sorted into Ravenclaw, whatever that was, and... nothing.

"I can't say that I was a die hardcore fan of Hogwarts. I wanted nothing more than become a psychiatrist, like Grandpa, and they wouldn't teach me anything that would be of relevance. So I just sat in the library most of my first year, and read. It was typically Ravenclaw, I assure you, but as lonely as hell. The only thing I really liked that year was the food. I mean. How could you not? Its Hogwarts food, for Christ sake. Feasts once a month, all you could eat buffet. On top of that, it didn't take long to discover the kitchens, and the elves were all too happy to serve us. So, I had food whenever I wanted. It was great. It was nothing like grandpa's of course, but it was a bit interesting. The magic, you know. I know magic doesn't solve everything, but it does make life a lot easier. Why walk if you've got a wand? I made a couple of friends that year, went home during the breaks. Thats it really. Oh yes. The bullying. Not only was I fat, a loner, and a nerd. I was muggleborn. And that put me on the top of the bullying list. Most Slytherins are tyrants. It was a pretty bad year. I don't think a single day went by without hearing "fatty", or "Mudblood". When I went back, Melinda kept pestering me with questions, so I got into a habit of telling her how life-altering it was, and how wonderful magic was. Never truly lied to her, I just told her the perks. Nothing but the perks.

"Melinda was pretty excited when she got her letter, and was also pretty ignorant of how you're supposed to go through Diagon Alley. I'll admit, she humiliated and embarrassed me quite a few times. Then she sat in the same carriage as me, and off we went to Hogwarts again. It was all pretty routine at that point. Wake up. Go eat. Find class. Find class. Library. Eat. Class. Library. Sneak to the Kitchens. Sleep. Repeat. I felt like a clothes washer, in continuous, endless repeat. It grew mundane rather quick, so I took to observing everyone again. All the drama! It was like watching television, except without the crappy acting. The next year, Audrey came to school and was also sorted into Hufflepuff. By that time, I really hated Hogwarts. I'd much rather be at home, where everyone else would leave you in peace to read. There was too much drama at Hogwarts, All I wanted was to read...

"God I sound so fucking pathetic. Of course I took note of my own patheticness, and began to hate myself. I had never regarded Slytherin comments as to heart before, but I realized everything they were saying was true. I was a pathetic nerd who needed not to be in Hogwarts, but at home where I couldn't possibly bore the students here... I was almost always alone. Most of my classmates ignored me because I wasn't any fun. A bunch of people hated me, and I couldn't understand why. And I didn't even fucking want to go to Hogwarts. They would not help me in the slightest. So I decided to make the best of my years. To learn more about people. To help people. To put myself last, far below the dirt, and to heal everyone else. It became an obsession. I wouldn't skip meals, of course, cause I loved them too much, but I stopped paying attention in classes, and I read only at night and while eating. I would watch people, understand people. Try to come up with life stories that would explain them. I'd never fix them through advice, of course, but their circumstances would magically get better. They were having a bad day, they'd come back to their dorm to discover they've already written their paper, even though they had no recollection. A relative had died, and suddenly a close friend would become their confident.

"It was never enough though. I'd stay up until four in the morning, every day, to think of unique ways of healing people. In truth, by that point, I hated myself so much that I was looking for some way, anyway to distract myself. I figured that if I went and helped people, then I would have less time to think about myself. To be sad. I'd still be sad, but I wouldn't have the time to think about it. And when I did think about it, I'd try to distract myself with studying It was in fifth year when I started volunteering in the Hospital Wing. I think I even convinced myself at one point that I wanted to be a healer. Because healing is much easier than you think it would be. If someone had some illness, you remember a potion, and you heal. I grew so pathetic. So alone. I wouldn't talk to anyone, in fear that they'd bring up myself, and I'd collapse and break down. I haven't ever had a girlfriend, because I'm afraid if we break up, I'll succumb to nothing. Yes. This is a problem. But no, I'm not going to ask for help.

"You see, I've set myself up for failure. If I don't help people, then I break myself down. If I ask for help, then I'm admitting that I am weak and pathetic, which is what I wanted to disguise in the first place. But its not enough. Its never enough. I can look at a person and understand everything that person has ever gone through. Then I feel their pain. But by helping them, all I'm doing is helping them remain ignorant. They have a bad day, I become the shoulder to cry on. They move on. They overpass the obstacle, and they return back to normal, just looking for ways to distract themselves. I've looked for so damned long for a person, anyone to be truly happy, to have nothing to work towards. But I see nothing. I've never even come close... And it depresses me. I've dedicated myself to helping everyone else, and I haven't even begun to come close to what I was originally seeking. I was looking to not be weak, but in doing so, I have become more weak. And if I back out, I am nothing.

"My life is insignificant and unremarkable in every way. I had great OWL scores. I help so I don't have to face a mind that is constantly in thought. The bullying has not ceased. I grew about half a foot, so now I'm not as chubby. I am still that nerdy kid. Fuck. I hate life. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate the world. I hate corruption. But I am the most corrupted. I am nothing. I need help. But above all else. I need someone. Someone to convince me that I am wrong. Some one that understands. Someone that can look at me, and know what it is like. Someone that knows what pain is. Someone that can see everything for what it is, accept it, and not remain ignorant. That person doesn't exist.

"And the beauty of it all is this: Nobody knows. Nobody cares. I hate myself in every way, I have not given a true smile in... I don't know how long. Weeks. Months. Years. Everyone just thinks that I'm still that fat, nerdy boy who stares at people for who knows how long. Nobody sees how much I loathe myself and the world. They see... a Ravenclaw student, who volunteers and studies the night away. They see nothing else. Not even my family. Maybe Grandfather, but he feels the same way.

"I am nothing."

NAME/ALIAS: Curtis.
AGE: 17.
GENDER: Male
WAY OF CONTACT: PM IS FINE
HOW DID YOU FIND US? Caution. HA. I joined and posted application BEFORE the site died : D.
ANY OTHER CHARACTERS? N/A
MEMBER TITLE: (WONDERFUL WORLD)
RULE PHRASE: --------------
ROLEPLAY SAMPLE:

HUZZAH!
SINCE I'M BATMAN AND ALL, I
PROCLAIM THAT YOU ARE ACCEPTED!

NOW GO FROLIC WITH THE RAVENCLAWS!

- - - - - - - - - - - - -

MWEEEEEEE. I REMEMBER YOUR JASON! HE WAS ALL
SORTS OF AMAZING! SO, THEREFORE, I'M OBVIOUSLY
ACCEPTING YOU! <3

PAIGE.