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Height: 5' 3''

Weight: 115lb

Haircolor: black

Eyecolor: Blueish-grey, with rings of red around the pupils that are usually difficult to see.

Boggart: Living Darkness

Species: Dhampir

Patronus: N/A

Wand: Dragon heartstring and cherry

Year: 4th

House: Ravenclaw

Age: 15

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Allow me to recount to you the story of Kaegen Deathmote. The story of a boy who was raised to succeed by something that could hardly be called a man. He was raised to look up at the stars and see nothing but angry eyes looking back down on him, eyes that dared him to fail, to stumble, to falter in his attempts to become something that could survive, survive anything, survive anyone. It was this animalistic instinct that had been stamped with the coldhearted mark of success. It was a base desire that had been given wings by a young boy's dangerous imagination. Those wings would carry him up into the sky to hogwarts, and those wings would carry him in a downwards spiral all the way down to the deepest brambles of his own mind, and the deepest recesses of the hallowed castle, which at one point had seemed almost a salvation to a soul starved of friends and light.

Born a monster, or so he supposed. Kaegen couldn't recall any period in his life when he hadn't been the way he was, but that is hardly a reliable statement. The boy had never much cared for the past. It hardly existed to him, appearing in his mind only as abstract concepts and lessons. He learned well, and quickly, but his past chapters, no, those weren't relevant. He had a name that tied him to the past, and that was more than enough. It was partially his own name, a name that he thought of as being anchored into his very soul. But it was also partially titles, honors, events he had survived and the names of those who had given him the right to do so.

He had never been suited to others, never been suited to socializing, never been a child who bothered to cry. He knew what would happen if he did, he knew what the future would hold for him, back then. The future was predictable, he knew what actions would cause what reaction before he could walk. But before he could walk, it was easy. He just had to be quiet, and everything was fine. But the more developed his mind became, the harder it became to keep track of what he was supposed to do. And when he could no longer bear life in the little cabin, he ran away.

For a while, he knew that he was protected. He knew that if the creatures that lived near his little home came near, vengeful magic would strike them down. The ground was wet, the sky was a constant white, and puddles of stagnant water provided cover for the deep sinkholes that threatened to swallow the unwary. The reeds felt firm to the touch, and they would shield him from sight, a little, if he needed them to. He began to see things as friend or foe, helpful or hindering, good or bad. The reeds were good, so were the puddles. The sinkholes were bad, so were the snarling things.

The soft things that scampered on the ground, the soft things that made his skin feel funny, those were good, sometimes they would stay with him, keep him company. Those early days were very good, as long as he stayed outside. They were good as long as he was away, as long as he had his space.

But one day, the good disappeared. One day the vengeful magic didn't come, one day he knew without a doubt that he was on his own. He wasn't alone, really. The source of that protective magic was still in that house, was still sitting on the chair that smelled like smoke and stale lemons. But that source wasn't coming, it wasn't going to help anyone. It was not a protector anymore, it was a teacher.

He decided early that it was safer away from the house, safer to fend for himself, safer to be afraid of what might lurk behind the reeds, safer with the snarling things, with the things whose scent gave them away, with the things that rent the very trees asunder. That was his life, for the next years. He couldn't leave forever, he needed the red. And the red was at the house. But it didn't take long to make that journey, didn't take long to try to steal the red, didn't take long to fail, and get caught.

The cycle was finally broken by a flying sparks, a sudden explosion that drove away the pair of red eyes that had finally tracked him down. His life saved by a surge of something he couldn't explain, closely followed by a piece of paper, placed under the red. Accepted... to hogwarts? This was new, to Kaegen, as most things were. No matter how many times his spirit came under fire, hope was always just around the corner, because he possessed a singularly beautiful spark of curiosity. A spark that in the coming years would be dimmed more, and more.

That day was the last day in that home, and the last time he was protected. The teacher was gone, and his defender was back. An escort to the edges of his home, a careful guide of the roads, a shakey lesson on the customs, of the trains, of platform nine and three quarters. A lesson was given, before Kaegen struck out, that included a few very important things. That he was 11 years old, at the time. That his home was called the fens, that the rest of the world wasn't like the fens in appearance, but that it was identical in spirit. He had lived in these fens all his life, roaming in the area surrounding that of the little cabin, and the lone teacher that occupied it. This final lesson ended with a half smile, and a simple sentence that would prove to be so important to the little boy that he carved it onto the granite surface of his mind forever.

Lamik Fillestar ──────────────── 3rd year | Gryffindor =============== ======= Reducio ================ Lamik Fillestar, the boy that Kaegen began to remember simply by the story that he once told. A story that had given Kaegen a new kind of fear, the fear of being truly alone. It was a fear that didn't like to admit to itself what it really was, festering in terrifying ambiguity and threatening to drive Kaegen further still into madness. Kaegen also vaguely recalls a few other run-ins with this boy, although they only made him confused. How could someone who appeared so meek strike him so powerfully with words not even slightly tinted with aggression? =============== == =

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======= ======= Reducio ================== Kaegen has long wondered about the pieces of his memory, long gone. When a girl tried to hug him claiming to know him, he was intrigued but put it to the test. Did she see him as a boy, or as a monster. It didn't take long for him to come to the conclusion that she saw him as a monster, and had been trying some half-hearted trap. She barked at him as she left, cementing her XX status. For now, she is all but irrelevant to him. A type B person, but not a formidable one. ==== ==== Falentra Black ──────────────── 4th year | Slytherin

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