Basics:

Name: November Morsus
Name Meaning: Last month of autumn, suffering and sorrow.
Nicknames: None as of yet, hoping to leave "Miserable Morsus" behind.
House: Slytherin.
Birthdate: October 22nd.
Age: Twelve.
Year: First(?).
Species: Human.
Height and Weight: 4'11, 85lb.
Hometown: London, England.
Heritage: Currently unknown.
Wand: 27,5 cm, cherry wood and dragon heartstring.
Patronus: N/A

Personality:

Likes:
-Plants, particularly magical ones
-Books and libraries.
-Anatomy and physiology; the intricate inner workings of the human form.
-Cooking and baking.
-Poetry, particularly of a dark or morbid nature.
-Artists, poets, dreamers.
-Animals, particularly the ones most people think of as creepy, like snakes, bats, spiders, and crows.
Dislikes:
-Brutish bullies.
-Religion.
-Conforming to any given standard of 'normality.'
-Nosy adults.
Strengths:
-Very quick-witted and well-read.
-Good at making himself quiet and unnoticable, can move in almost perfect silence.
-Is a capable self-taught junior medic, though his knowledge in magical cures and treatments is lacking.
-Is rather self-sufficient due to the neglect in his upbringing, and is already rather talented in cooking and gardening.
-Excellent with knives.
Flaws:
-Can be very temperamental and unstable.
-Cries a lot.
-Doesn't look after himself too terribly well, tends to undervalue himself in general.
-Has a hard time reaching out to others and making friends.
-Poor impulse control.

November is a very quiet, hesitant boy, always trying to shrink himself, lurk against walls or in corners, and generally try to make himself invisible. For those who look past his attempts to disappear, they'll find a young man who gives off a very strong aura of melancholy, a lingering sadness no matter his mood.

However, he does have his quiet joys, finding the most contentment in the subjects of herbology, anatomy and medicine, cooking, and potions. Though he delights in these, he tends to keep that, and any happiness he really ever feels, a closely guarded secret, as if he's frightened that if he's caught enjoying himself, he'll be punished.

Should he be coaxed out of his shell, one will find a very passionate and loyal friend, who will bake you cookies, stay up all night with you, and take better care of you than he ever did himself. However, there's something lurking beyond even that. Something unstable. Something fierce. Something Dark.

History:

Our story begins much the same as one we all know and love very well: With a child in a basket, dropped on a doorstep in the dead of night, with only a note for company.

But that's where the similarities end.

The doorstep young November Morsus found himself on was that of St. Romuald's School and Home for Lost Youth, a miserable and dilapidated muggle-run place that was one more health code violation or neglect report away from being shuttered for good. To call it a school was to be very generous indeed, as young November found himself just as often stirring pots in the kitchens or yanking weeds in the sprawling, unkempt garden as he did receiving any kind of proper education. However, one thing he did manage to learn from the scant amount offered was the ability to read, and read he did, devouring every book he could beg, borrow, steal, or otherwise get his tiny hands on at a voracious pace. During these long, lonely years, books were one of November's only companions.

After all, the other children weren't exactly fond of young November. In fact, they found him rather unsettling; the way he always whispered to the many sleek, fat snakes that slithered though the garden and swore they whispered back to him, and waved to the large and scraggly crows that perched on the wrought-iron fence. The way he crept through the mouldering halls with nearly no sound at all, seemed to always be just behind you in the blink of an eye. The way his gaunt, pale frame resembled some villain from a campfire story. The way he would stare with fascination, not horror, at the sight of blood.

Needless to say, children can be cruel and vicious creatures, and November was often the butt of jokes and the brunt of petty attacks. Coupled with the blatant disapproval of the adults running the place, November began to feel he was unlike any other, that all he loved, he loved alone, and maybe that he was just as much of a monster as they all said he was. The torment grew and grew, more unbearable with each day, and with one figure at its head: Barnaby.

Barnaby was a piggish brute of a child, shoving his way to the top of the heap when there was something to compete for, and shoving the other children around for the sheer cruel joy of it when there wasn't. Willowy, delicate November was, of course, his favourite target. Day after day he would push him around, snatch away his books, call him the nastiest names he could think of.

Until, one day, November had enough.

There was Barnaby, boxing November into a narrow corner, sneering with fetid breath over what a pleasure it would be that they'd both be on bathroom shift that day, wondering how many toilets he could push November's head into today. And something in November's heart just, shifted. Cracked. He saw the banister behind Barnaby, empty air that lead down a long winding staircase behind. One sharp shove, and Barnaby was gone.

They ruled his death an accident, hurriedly placed it out of sight and out of mind. But November knew better. November knew that everything they'd said about him was true, that he was a monster, a demon, a madman waiting to happen. But somehow, he didn't quite think he minded so much anymore.

The years went on in much the same way, with scant comfort found with books and snakes, just as swiftly banished by his fellow man. So when the letter came, he thought it was just another joke, another cruel trick to make him think his stories had come to life and laugh at his excitement. So he just shoved it under his bed. But then more letters followed, and visitors after that, and suddenly November found himself embarking on a journey beyond his wildest dreams.

But magical journeys were for heroes, not monsters...

Appearances:
Presented in vaguely chronological order

Ragged Things
In which November makes a friend on the train.

Sorting Ceremony
In which November is sorted and cries like a little baby.

Sawbones
In which November.... Oh.... Oh no...

TRAINWRECK PARTY IN THE BATHROOM
In which... November, this is really getting out of hand.

Hidden Treasures
In which November looks for ingredients and finds friendship instead.

Curiosity
In which two children have a whole lot of PTSD between them.

Ultimatum
In which November and Green's bromance intensifies.

Slytherin House Cup Party
In which November makes an attempt to socialize.

Family:

Relationships:

Rainier Green:
"We met on the train on the way in. He's... Quite prone to temper, but he's very nice, really. I'd even say he's the very first human friend I've ever made."

Kaegen Deathmote:
"I don't believe it. I think I might just have found another soul like my own. I-... It makes me want him."

Xailah Alptraum:
"Another predator soul, I think. She called me Dr. Frankenstein when she first saw me, but rather than cast fears or judgements upon me, she, protected me. I should like to be her friend, if she'll have me."

Kathleen Taylor (Inactive):
"She caught me in the restroom with my, tools. The first thing she did was scream, call me mad. I hope not to run into her again."

Charles York (Inactive):
"Threatened my friends in an attempt to expose me. I'll kill him. I swear."

Eri Windstone:
"I've made another friend! Already! Quite a nice girl, offered to help each other with homework. Says people think she's a monster, but I just don't see it."

Eris Fawley:
"She's a lovely girl, but there's something very, haunted, about her. It makes me worried she can, tell."

Trunk

Dueling Stats:

Strength: 6 | Agility: 10 | Control: 10 | Stamina: 4

Spells and Potions Learned:

Cure for Boils
Forgetfulness Draught
Herbicide Potion
Incendio