(OOC: this would happen during a time when the player himself was not online. in term of this specific thread, these events are things going on in the current time period. so these are things that theoretically other players could in fact find out about without a lot of work.)


Male Captus Bene Detentus (wrongly captured, properly detained)
<Ares Richard Keeferson, age 13... and a bit, Third Year Hogwarts>

Once more was Keeferson within the hallowed halls of the Hogwarts Library. It was not that he was studying for anything to do with school. No, after a recent conversation with Madame Pomfrey, he was trying to find a way to save a life - his own. The talk he had with the professor had shaken him greatly, but none could get from him the precise reason. Even the regular legion of Slytherin damsels (except for Shacadia Shay) could not dredge the truth from him. It was as if someone has smote the life from his soul and left an empty shell. For two days, he did not eat at all. This was noticed by some of the gambling Gryffindor, all of them swearing up and down that he got an owl from home saying that one of his supposed girlfriends had died.. or something. (Speculation on the lives of others is a common pasttime inside of boarding schools. Hogwarts is no different.)

The books were stacked on the corners of the tables, as he was going through them one at a time. This was his second day of intensive study. Ravenclaw students watched him with interest as tome after tome would find their way to his table and then away from it again. Some of the works were no more than a metal spine with leather thongs attaching the numerous parchments to it. Others were brand new copies of currently in-use textbooks. Still, the general theme was the same with all of them: they were huge.

The first day of study carried him through quite a few Mundane (read: muggle) topics. The list was wide and varied, including quite a few tomes on the "soft" martial arts of China, from T'ai Chi Chu'an to Aikido, from Xingyiquan to Bāguà Zhǎng. He had purchased those publications from a few used book stores the last time he was in London on his way to Diagon Alley. He remembered well -why- he had purchased the manuals and primers originally, but their purpose would be far different now. It was not as if Scathach was really that interested in the martial arts anyway. He was far more interested in the weapon history of Ancient China - a tome he had snatched up from Keeferson's fingers with avid interest. (To her credit, Talaitha had kept a copy of the Brazilian Jiujitsu manual, along with the information on Capoeira.)

Another topic that had been perused over the day before was psychology. More specifically, obsessive-compulsive disorders and how to work around or through them. This was of primary interest to Keeferson, given the behaviours of certain people he knew - not the least of which being himself. Somewhere within all these pages, there was a key to unlock the chains that held him captive... and he was going to find it. Granted, some of the terminology was somewhat beyond him, but that was okay with him. (Thesauruses and dictionaries made excellent translators if one was willing to put them to work.) No matter what words they used, Keeferson was determined to locate that one kernel of knowledge that would sprout into a sheaf of wisdom for him to draw upon. And even if nothing turned up, he was certain all this reading would do him good later on (as long as he could MAKE a later on for him to reside in).

The final topic of the first day had been Mundane-based as well: metallurgy. Between conventional metallurgy and wizarding's Alchemy, he was sure that he could forge what he wanted in due time. Of course, the term "forge" may not have been completely correct, given the nature of his subjects. Still, there would be some smeltering involved, and this would require some theory work to explain the process of the practical. He had already purchased some heavy duty heat-resistent gloves for this, and had located (mainly through Liam) other conventional tools. When Aeronwy had asked what all of this was for, Keeferson's reponse was simple: "I need to make a key to remove my shackles." Aeronwy had sighed at him, chiding him for being far too young to have such weight on his shoulders... and then noted he still had a translation to finish. (The school owls were very spoiled that day, carrying messages back and forth.)

The second day was when all the students had started really noticing Keeferson. His parchments were covered in script - all Chinese, as per his usual. The few Slytherin in the library that day may or may not have notified those who kept eyes out for strangeness. Keeferson, for his part, didn't really care. He wanted to do this for himself, not for anyone or anything else. Occasionally he would stretch and look out through the windows as if lost in thought. Some of the school owls would find him in the library, soaking wet from the rainstorm outside. He would pat them down with a towel he had brought in with him, then feed them a few treats before they would head back to the owlery. (Owls had a special fondness for Keeferson for some reason...)

"Theories of Transubstantial Transfiguration" was first up. Not that it would have anything of true value within its pages for Keeferson, but he found reading through its pages always gave him a sense of calming. (Yes, he really is a geek.) From there, it was "Numeroly and Grammatica." Between the two tomes, he actually started writing down more notes, as if he had found something to correlate the pair. Keeferson had always been certain that one could relate almost any magical principle to another with enough effort and research. Perhaps he had found what he had been looking for. His studies in Arithmancy had always reaped strange and peculiar rewards. This time would be no different, as he found some notes from a previous student who had left them behind. He would try to find out whom this student was at a later date - a -much- later date.

"Where There's A Wand, There's A Way" was next on the list, along with "The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection." He pretty much skimmed through the pair of those reprinted hardcovers, not finding what he was specifically looking for within them. However, he did mark off a few pages in the D.A.D.A. textbook, most of them close to the back. Along with those, a swift flick through in "Magical Theory" gained him a little more insight apparently. He had gone through at least four parchments of fifteen inches each by this time, and the day was by no means close to being over. Pulling out more parchment, he wrapped up the previous notes and placed them in a scroll case to go through at a later time.

Spending two hours reading about Dark Wizards and how to properly flick your wand could be terribly boring at the best of times. To Keeferson, it felt like he was trying to yank out his own teeth with a pair of pliers. His eyes felt bruised, as if someone had smashed him in the face with a desk. Rubbing his face with his gloves on, he looked around to see if anyone was watching. Noting no witnesses, he took out a silver flask and drank some of the contents. Hating the taste (which was worse than Buckley's Cold and Cough Medicine), he had grown used to the painful reaction on his tongue. Sighing and taking a deep breath, he moved on to the next set of books.

Making sure the owls that kept coming by had a chair or two specifically to land on, he pulled out a second towel from his bag. A mild drying charm took care of the first one easily enough. He knew that Madame Pince was getting annoyed about all the owls coming in to see him, but as many of them had messages for him from others, there was not much he could do. Sending off a few small packages at once with seven school owls, he was certain that he would not see those birds until the next evening at best. Sighing, he just hoped that everything he had worked on for those people sending the messages had been correct.

"Hogwarts: A History" took up an hour almost unto itself. Not that he was using it for the information directly within its pages, but references to other compendiums and dissertations within the History section of the library. By the end of the hour, Keeferson had seven other tomes all about the history of sorcery within the United Kingdom - especially Ireland and Wales. Not that he was leaving out Scotland, but every time he made to reach the anthology he wanted, it would fly to another shelf. Narrowing his eyes underneat the hood, he noted the name of the tome for later.

"Weird Wizarding Dilemnas and Their Solutions" found itself being used as reference for the same history books. What "Hogwarts: A History" and "Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century" didn't contain, the virtual encyclopedia of screw-ups and solving them did. Normally, Keeferson hated reading through the Eurocentric essays and British-glorifying articles within, but this time was an exception. Between the trio of tomes, Keeferson's quill found much to write about.

The quill itself was something that Keeferson had created with the "blessing" of the owls: it was a composite quill made from the shed feathers from at least seven of the owls. He had made it after class using shed and broken feathers within the Owlery, along with a few other ingredients. Having found a few older incantations within "Where There's A Wand, There's A Way" and "Theories of Transubstantial Transfiguration," he had literally merged them all into a solid quill. (Adding Acromantula Webling Webs and one Bronze Knut per feather had been the key.) He had made a few of these over the course of the previous year, mainly as annunciation and pronounciation exercises for himself. All they were good for was regular notework, nothing magical at all. Still, he had sent a few to people he had trusted (or was forced to have faith in) without telling them the origins: Siu Keuwn and Qianxiao, Liam, Scathach, and his friends and family back home. He merely told them a store sold bronzed owl feathers for a good price as a novelty.

At the end of the night, Madame Pince ushered him out into the school as usual. He had not even been allowed to put away the books himself, mainly as it was just reaching curfew. He let Madame Pince throw him out of the library, making sure to take a longer route back to Hufflepuff Commons. There was nothing for him there, and there was even less for him in the empty hallways. Nothing, of course, but time to think. Perhaps he had found just enough to get what he needed. He wouldn't know, of course, until he put it to the test. Still, it was far better than where he had been previously.

_________________
One character thus far:
Ares Richard Keeferson, Hufflepuff Hardcase
Redefining "user-unfriendly" since 1976.

(OOC: This little interlude happens while Keeferson was spending time in the Infirmary after coming in late. He had been attacked while trying to save a family of owls and came back with bruised... well... everything in the upper body. Having to remain in the Infirmary until the early afternoon, this went through his mind.)

Aut Disce Aut Discede (Either Learn Or Leave)
<Ares Richard Keeferson, age 14, Fourth Year at Hogwarts>

Keeferson let his head hit the pillow of the hospital bed. Well, Infirmary bed, as he had made it back to Hogwarts safely. Undoubtedly he would have lost points for coming in late for curfew, but that couldn't be helped. The letter from the Canadian Ministry had been rather clear, though he figured that Professor McGonagall would have more than a few words for his "handlers" the moment she could floo them. After all, nothing on the "retrieval list" was remotely safe for the regular person to handle, let alone a Fourth Year student. It was like a scavenger hunt... with traps designed to remove a limb.

Sighing once, he went over the events of the past week. Not the fights or the arguments, but some of the conversations he had with the professors. Specifically Professor Flitwick (with Tyson by his side), and just now Professor McGonagall (as Madame Pomfrey was treating his bruised ribcage). It wasn't that he didn't talk with the teachers on a regular basis, but these were more personal conversations that had led him to believe one thing: the professors didn't want him learning ANYTHING outside of the textbooks.

Talking with Professor Flitwick had to have been the most anticlimatic thing he had done during the past week. He would have been better off beating his head into a wall and hope answers would fall out of his nostrils. First he had asked him about where to search for some older spells. The most he received for his troubles was "talk to Professor Binns." He could have figured that for himself, or so Keeferson contemplated. It was as if (in Keeferson's mind) Flitwick was purposefully "passing the buck." If he had wanted to talk to a ghost, he would have asked The Bloody Baron about it first. Now that he considered it, the Bloody Baron and the Fat Friar would be as valuable a source of information as any within the school. He never really conversed with Headless Nick or The Gray Lady, so he didn't place them into his mental calculations.

Next topic with Flitwick was the constant harassment Keeferson had been suffering at the hands of a few choice Ravenclaw. Handing over old death threats as proof even, Keeferson had expected to hear "Okay, I'll put an end to this nonsense." What did he get for his troubles? "I'll thoroughly investigate this." If Keeferson had wanted to take the "slow boat to China" route, he would have told Shandy and Callie long ago. In fact, it was because of the prefect and the Head Girl he even considered talking to Professor Flitwick about the situation to begin with. It wasn't as if he hadn't been dealing with it in his own way successfully. Numerous broken noses, busted lips, and lost points to Hufflepuff had been his legacy there. Of course, the Ravenclaw students slid off lightly (in Keeferson's view) when it came to their punishments. It was always Keeferson - he was taller, stronger, more prone to violence, whatever excuses those meted out the punishments could come up with. To Keeferson, "I'll thoroughly investigate this" meant "I'll do absolutely nothing and there's nothing you can do about it."

As one could expect, Keeferson's belief in Professor Flitwick wasn't that high.

As for the third issue, he had asked Flitwick about "how to defend against someone that has all the advantages." Flitwick told him he'd be more than happy to talk with him about dueling at a later time, but there had been a class he needed to prepare for. When Keeferson told him that his question wasn't about dueling but demons (and specifically one Dolores Umbridge), Flitwick didn't seem that interested in explaining anything else to him further. So to Keeferson, his discussion with Flitwick struck out completely.

Talking with Professor McGonagall about how he received his injuries hadn't done him much better. After describing as best he could about what had gotten him injured to begin with, Keeferson asked one of his favourite professors about where he could start looking for older spells. Professor McGonagall's response was that Keeferson ought focus on his homework. The very same obsession which had been driving Shacadia away from him, unnerving bookworms around him, and getting him mocked even by First Year students. It was not that being made fun of was anything new, but knowing that his focus on his school work was causing Shacadia pain disturbed him on a purely base level.

He couldn't figure out why none of the professors seemed interested in Keeferson learning anything beyond what was in the regular lessons. After all, wasn't education all about expanding the mind and exploring the possible? Turning on his side, Keeferson was glad he had remembered that one package for Professor McGonagall from his old teacher back in Canada. She had been adamant that Professor McGonagall receive this package, upon pain of thousands of lines and extra homework the moment Keeferson set foot in Toronto again.

Suddenly, Amy Valerine came into the room. Keeferson was certain she couldn't have heard of what had transpired, but... she was here now. Might as well get the interrgation over with, right? Besides, he had just met her sister Kylindra the day before. As well, it wasn't as if he was going anywhere fast. Madame Pomfrey said he was stuck in the Infirmary until noon. It couldn't have been more than eight in the morning. Yes, this was definitely going to be a very long day...

_________________
One character thus far:
Ares Richard Keeferson, Hufflepuff Hardcase
Redefining "user-unfriendly" since 1976.

(OOC Posting: This is just another one of Keeferson's study sessions. This would have occured before he discovered the "joys" of Pinboria and its flora and fauna. At this time, he didn't have the knowledge he does of Durmstrang that he possesses now in his Fourth Year.)


Nihil Tam Munitum Quod Non Expugnari Pecunia Possit
(No fort is so strong that it cannot be taken with money)
<Ares Richard Keeferson, age 13, Third Year at Hogwarts>


There were some days that Keeferson really hated all the studying he was doing. Sure, right now there was a party in the Gryffindor Common room that anyone in Third Year and above was invited to... and he wasn't going. Not that he normally attended such things to begin with, but it would have been a grand opportunity to talk with Shacadia, Liara, and maybe even Florymonde if she was back from her trip back home. Keeferson hadn't seen Florymonde or Liara in days, so he didn't know if they had returned yet.

Shacadia was a different story, as he saw her almost every day. Not that he minded, if he was to admit it to himself. Though others saw her actions in a different light, Keeferson sort of liked the fact there was at least one person who cared whether he lived or died inside of Hogwarts. Sort of gave him a reason for continuing on. In fact, she factored heavily in his remaining at the school - especially after the conversation he had with Headmaster Dumbledore. It was the thought of Shacadia being "alone" within the school that had turned the tide, so to speak.

However, that was a few weeks ago, and he was in the library... once again. Keeferson had stopped counting how many hours he had spent in the library hunting down answers for some question or another. The fact he was making at least a Golden Galleon per week with all the essay revisions he was doing didn't hurt, either. The library was more than a place of refuge for Keeferson now: it was his office, his sanctuary, and his prison. There was something definitely unnatural about holing yourself up in a place with nothing but books around you that you aren't actually READING without needing to.

This time, however, he was trying to find something about those three spells he had read about by accident: "Atemdesdrachen (Dragon's Breath*)," "Neplusultra (The Impassable Object*)," and "Geluflamma (Frost Flame*)." The scholastic sorcerer-in-training could already perform a miniature version of "coldfyre," but all it could do was chill a drink in his hand. And even then, that was a result of Keeferson's personal "illness" and nothing to do with conscious spellcasting. He could control it, but he couldn't really do more than that. He had also heard of a different form of "Incendio" called "Creo Ignam*," but most of the texts on that were pretty much on lockdown. The more he tried to study, the closer he got to The Restricted Section. And Keeferson was certain that spells as old as these which had been thrown into disuse wouldn't be locked away like that.

As he perused tome after tome, he realized he would be spending another full day within the library looking for answers that may or may not exist. This was frustrating for numerous reasons, not the least of which he had just received a package from Liam with an old parchment that the older man wanted Keeferson to translate. Setting the parchment off to the side, Keeferson thought about trying to do both at once: study and translate. Seeing the mountain of books he had sitting on two corners of the desk, he just set his head down on the bare table and sighed. He felt completely overwhelmed and unprepared. As he closed his eyes for just a moment, his body felt the need to catch up on some of the sleep he had been denying himself.

Keeferson awoke two hours later, completely refreshed and partially startled. Waking up from that dream had thrown him clear from his chair and into a shelf of books. Thankfully, the library's towers of books were secured solidly to the floor with both nails and sorcery. He still hit it hard enough with his back to cause an anthology of old Celtic poetry to land on the floor beside him. Inside it, however, was something that caused him to do a double-take: a sheet of papyrus listing off at least four treatises concerning the usage of two of the spells as well as one publication talking about the downfall of the other two. This had to be more than just sheer luck working in his favour, thought Keeferson.

Putting away around nine to twelve otherwise useless publications, Keeferson went looking for those four in the list. He made sure to keep the papyrus with him, placing it inside of his copy of "Hogwarts: A History." Making sure to sign out a copy of "A Guide To Midieval Sorcery" and "Olde and Forgotten Bewitchments and Charmes," the young Hufflepuff carried the documents back to his little table of troubles. Opening them all up to different pages using cantrips he had found a few years back in "Wand Spells: Beginning Primer" and "Where There's A Wand, There's A Way," the pugilistic Hufflepuff got back to serious work.

For two hours, however, he stopped reading his work entirely. Those one hundred and twenty minutes were dedicated to the translation of the parchment sent to him by Liam. It wasn't even difficult work for him, but time intensive. Double- and triple-checking his work was not something easily done, as he was going between languages to do so. In the end, the effort was worth it as he folded up everything into small envelopes. He would send it all to Liam at a later time and date.

As time for dinner approached, Keeferson sighed as he heard his stomach rumbling. Giving up the hunt for this day, he brought back all of the books and placed them in their correct areas. Not that he had memorized the wizarding version of the Dewey Decimal system, but Madame Pince just redirected him through all of the books. She wasn't about to put something away when the student went and got it themselves if she could help it. At the last, Madame Pince gave Keeferson a gentle reminder that he should be spending a little more time outdoors. Keeferson's response was a curious one that Madame Pince allowed to slide from her memory: "this -is- how I go outside and play."


_______________________

* - please note, NONE of these spells actually exist within Harry Potter canon. This is something my character is trying to "find" as a project.

_________________
One character thus far:
Ares Richard Keeferson, Hufflepuff Hardcase
Redefining "user-unfriendly" since 1976.

(OOC: this jaunt takes place one week before the Easter Egg hunt. As this is during Keeferson’s fourth year of being at Hogwarts, all of his current issues apply – including his desire to make dragonhide gloves reinforced with brass underlay.)


Nil Sine Magno Labore Vita Dedit Mortalibus
(Life Does Not Give Mortals Anything But Hard Labour )
<Ares Richard Keeferson, age 14, Fourth Year at Hogwarts>


If the truth were to be admitted, Keeferson had absolutely no idea what he had gotten himself into.

This was a Saturday, not a Hogsmeade weekend, and here he was… on the Quidditch pitch. He avoiding this section of the school like the plague, having nothing but horrific memories of his few flying lessons. Sure, “proper wizards and witches should learn how to fly on a broom.” What the heck did he want a big bundle of potential splinters under his thighs for? No, if he was meant to fly, he’d get on a plane like normal people. That is what planes were made for. Arguably, they weren’t as “green” as riding on brooms, but they definitely felt a lot safer. Not to mention, there were no in-flight snacks brought to you on a floating stick with straw attached to the back. He had heard about flying carpets, but he hadn’t seen any of those yet.

Still, this was the Quidditch pitch – land of high-flying risk takers. And what was he doing here? Watching a small group of Slytherin dames practice Quidditch away from the prying eyes of their classmates, honing their skills for what reason the singular Hufflepuff in sight had no clue. None of them were on the Quidditch team. In fact, not a single one of the young women had ever expressed interest in Quidditch, not even Hamiyet Karadeniz – and she was the sports junkie. So what were they all doing on brooms to begin with? Karenza Norrington wasn’t even a part of their normal clique; neither were Ériu O'Challagne or the Italian Theresa Olapaglia. It was something that was bothering Keeferson’s brain from the beginning of this little game of “aerial shinny” as he considered it.

He would get his answer soon enough, and he really should have seen this coming.

“So, Keeferson,” began Theresa innocently – or at least sounding innocent to the ears of the untrained, “who do you think is better at Quidditch? Boys… or women?”

He couldn’t even run. It was a trap.

“Yes, Keeferson, please do give us your unbiased opinion? It would be most gracious of you to do so.” This, of course, was Noémie Bailleul. Even when she was trying not to be verbally intimidating, her sultry tones sent shivers down Keeferson’s thirteen year old spine. Some how, she had managed to fly at high speeds throughout their entire practice without mussing her perfectly coiffed hair. Anyone who spent that much using Charms on their hair was meant to be feared and respected.

Karenza and her friend Umi Aramia flew lazy circles around where Keeferson was sitting. Given that he truly hadn’t been paying that much attention to what was going on overhead, he wasn’t all that shocked to see them cruising around his position. He almost reached for his wand in his jacket, but thought better of it. After all, he wasn’t under attack, and randomly striking people down off of brooms was a sure way to gain far worse than a regular detention. The pair were even in his year at Hogwarts, but he never really encountered them. She were almost inseparable at the hip, something which always got on Keeferson’s last nerve: women roving in packs.

Cherise D’angelnuit, as usual whenever Keeferson was stuck with nothing to say, was giggling. By now, Cherise and Keeferson were about the same height – something which completely ticked off Cherise. The “Hufflepuff Horror Story” found it highly amusing, but never bothered to say anything. He knew better: Cherise had a faster wand than she let on. She had been playing Keeper for one of the two “teams,” along with Ériu for the other group of girls. Ériu for her part was remaining surprisingly silent. In truth, she had wanted to do something like this to the young man for a while, but never had the opportunity to. She was planning on memorizing this moment to use against him for a very, -very- long while.

Sinn're Alarcsein, the de facto captain of her team had also made sure to listen in on what was going on. The young man still hadn’t said anything by the time Sinn’re had landed her broom, so it was obvious to her that Keeferson was trying to come up with a suitable answer. He was clearly outnumbered on the pitch: seven Slytherin women in the air and two on the ground (not including herself) to one really unfortunate Hufflepuff. She had actually masterminded this little outing, planning it two weeks in advance. Making sure that Keeferson had his schedule cleared, she had even arranged it so that nobody would miss him – at least until evening repast. Considering all the scrolls, parchments, quills, and ink he had around him, Keeferson had been effectively cages within his own work.

The other two Slytherin damsels, Georgina Watson and Bethany Arrowsfeld, had just been watching the older girls practice. They were there mainly as Keeferson was tutoring them outside while the older girls were playing. Sure, they were spending more time observing the aerobatic display than their Potions work, but the Hufflepuff hardcase was notorious at keeping people on track when it came to tutoring sessions. The fact they got to witness how Slytherin women operated was merely the icing on the cake for their day, as Keeferson had been particularly hard on them over the past two sessions. (They were horrible spellers, even if their calculations and content were excellent.)

Keeferson’s hood turned in the direction of Sinn’re. And as he spoke, he stretched slightly and then turned back to the numerous parchments at hand.

“You know, I don’t know… and I don’t care. I’ve no time for Quidditch. You know this already. And if you are asking about something specific, just be out with it. I’ve got at least four essays to correct, three independent projects to look over, and these two little ladies here to educate on the merits of proper spelling and punctuation.”

Sinn’re laughed, as it seemed that while surrounded by women, Keeferson obviously saw himself as being surrounded by “work” first.

“Right then, Keefmeister. So then, you tell me if you think we can crush our respective boyfriends in a match come tomorrow then. You’ve seen them. You’ve met them. You’ve even talked to a few of them… if you can call snarling at someone and looming over their heads a conversation.”

“Ériu, if you are talking about those wastrels you call `honey’ and `sweetums’ from the Academy of London ... I reserve the right to kill you all where you stand if you don’t crush them utterly and completely. They are nothing but talk, most of them. I’ve seen what real Quidditch hardcore junkies look like and sound like and they aren’t it. Poseurs like them are standard the world over. Feel free to chain them to the Quidditch posts and use them as dart boards afterwards. Whatever you do, if you lose it had better me to salve their male egos. And yes, I’ll know if you lost because you were bad.”

Hamiyet and Theresa’s howling laughter could be heard around twenty or thirty feet above and away from Keeferson. He didn’t care. The snickering of Umi and Karenza echoed as they kept up with their lazy circles around him. He didn’t care. Not even Noémie’s amused stare at the back of his head phased him. The young man was far too engrossed in yet another badly written Arithmancy paper to be bothered. Cherise’s whisper to Sinn’re sent them both into fits of giggles before he finally decided enough was enough.

“And why, pray tell, are you still laughing instead of practicing? Can’t you see I’m busy working here?”

“Because,” Noémie replied for the group of girls, “we promised the boys they could do whatever they wanted with you if we lost. It seems they have a bit of a jealous streak and so…”

“If I see a single one of them within ten meters of me, I’m removing limbs. Slowly. With a magically enchanted chainsaw.”

“And that’s why we love our Hufflepuff snugglemuffin Keefy!” Georgina cried out before tackling Keeferson with a bearhug.

Keeferson swore under his breath that he would never understand women as long as he lived… and that he hoped certain women he knew would tear their boyfriends to shreds on some anonymous Quidditch pitch the next day.

Needless to say, Sinn’re and her “Slytherin Femme Fatales” handily defeated their boyfriends with a score of 370 to 250. Losing Keeferson as a source of good grades was just too important. That… and they weren’t sure Keeferson had a chainsaw stashed away in his room or not.

_________________
One character thus far:
Ares Richard Keeferson, Hufflepuff Hardcase
Redefining "user-unfriendly" since 1976.

(OOC: This is another study session, but this one is NOT within Hogwarts at all. This takes place inside of a different magical library elsewhere inside of England . He wasn’t paying attention to his surroundings, so he could have been followed here by another student. While within the library, he was somewhat more alert, so anyone who was trying to spy on him would have needed to hide themselves with more than magic. As this takes place in Keeferson’s third year, this naturally comes long before Matt passing his OWLs and before Professor Flitwick’s Easter Egg hunt.)


O Praeclarum Custodem Ovium Lupum!
(An Excellent Protector Of Sheep, The Wolf!)
<Ares Richard Keeferson, age 13, Third Year at Hogwarts>


For the life of him, Keeferson had absolutely no idea how he found his way to this library. It wasn’t on the tour guide, and it definitely wasn’t one of the “great places of educational establishment” in Professor Binns’ lesson on “Old Libraries of the Fourteenth to Seventeenth Century in Europe .” And yet, here it was. It looked pretty old on the outside of the place, covered in vines, bird nests, and other such signs of decay. Then again, a lot of magical places had one appearance on the outside and a completely different one from within. He was going to be skipping classes for the whole day anyway, so he might as well make it worth his while.

Keeferson had gotten up that morning right at daybreak. After a quick shower and freshening of breath with toothpaste and mouthwash, he had snagged himself breakfast. Making sure to bribe every owl he saw with food that morning, he was certain that nobody could come looking for him. He didn’t want any sort of interference from others, however well-meaning that it might be. Some days, he just found himself learning far more when he went out by himself. This may have had something to do with his illness, as it had been flaring up quite a bit for the past few days. Especially after having flashbacks of encountering Dolores Umbridge, he wanted a place he could banish her memory.

The first book he found held nothing of what he was searching for within, along with the second. What those books did do, however, was gain him four sets of dirty looks from a group of (he thought) students. Not wanting to start a fight inside of a library he wasn’t familiar with, he slid over the two books to the group with his black dragonhide gloves on. The tallest of the four students walked over to him at that, the other three staying completely put. Quietly, words were spoken between the pair for around twenty minutes. When the tallest of the quartet walked back to his table, Keeferson had breathed a sigh of relief. He didn’t want to get into a duel or an all-out brawl in the middle of all this information. That would be sacrilegious at best. It seemed the young man had mistaken Keeferson for someone else, given the height and the clothes. (Keeferson was in his regular out-of-doors apparel and not in school robes.) The moment the young man had heard Keeferson’s Canadian speech, he had decided to find out everything he could about Canada from the somewhat sullen Keeferson.

As it was, the two books Keeferson had picked up originally were the very same duo of texts the foursome had been looking for over the past three weeks. Apparently, the four young people went to a smaller magical college somewhere close to Brixton that specialized in the medical arts. All of them had spent time going to school at Durmstrang, the longest being the brunet of the group. Being reminded of exactly how unlike he was compared to them all, Keeferson left that section of the library and never checked back on the four students after that.

This time around, Keeferson had been a little more fortunate. Being guided by some liner notes in his copy of “Where There’s A Wand, There’s A Way” and “Denizens Of The Darkest Depths,” the young Canuck managed to locate two more rather huge books: anthologies of poetry from wizards throughout the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. Sure, there was nothing concrete in the poems themselves, but one could see certain patterns and foci of the styles of the writers. Of note, four writers (whom were all female duelists apparently), wrote rather scathing works about a pair of wizards who had a habit of using spells that sounded like the spells he was hunting down. First, Keeferson made sure to write down the name of the books he found (including the year printed and the edition number). From there, he wrote down the names of the poets as well as their poems written. All of this reading and writing easily took up three hours of his time, if not a few more than that.

Putting those two books away, he found himself needing to stretch his legs. Leaving the library, he went to a small bistro for his lunch. Yes, he should have packed his own lunch before heading out, but he had been in a rush. Not to mention, finding the library itself had taken him two hours longer than he had predicted. He had stepped through the floo system fireplace by 6:30am. He had found the physical structure of the library at 9:30am. The library itself opened around ten in the morning, giving Keeferson around thirty minutes or more to just stroll around the neighbourhood. Given the severe downpour of the early morning, the afternoon’s sun-showers were a pleasant surprise in comparison. From one in the afternoon until two o’clock, the young man spent quality time not studying –anything,- instead just relaxing and eating a hot meal. He had opted for the rather pricy “buffet special” at the equivalent of $30.00 American, only to find out that their buffet only allowed for three returns to the table. Wanting to complain about such a shoddy ruling, he chose not to bother. After all, this entire trip was on the dime of lazy Slytherins who hated writing their own theory work for Potions and Arithmancy.

Heading back to the library, he came across two young women whom were having trouble finding their dog. Though he had a feeling it would not turn out well, he opted to help them out, giving them the name “Archie.” He figured he would never see them again, so he didn’t mind using one of the nicknames that Siu Keuwn back home had given him. The search took the three people all of ten minutes, as Keeferson came up with the bright idea of using a chicken sandwich purchased by a roadside vendor as a lure. Well, that brought the dog running back.

Pity nobody told him the dog stood four foot at the shoulder.

The two young women had to help up a badly shaken up Keeferson as their “cute little puppy” made short work of the sandwich. Hiding his personal emotions, Keeferson politely bowed to the ladies and set off on his way back to the library. Brushing himself off, he wondered exactly what kind of dog that was, for it didn’t resemble any one breed he could recognize. As well, he hand a twinge of regret at lying to the women about his name. Remembering how sore his butt was from landing on the cobblestones, he threw that regret into the rubbish bin along with the desire to know the names of the two damsels.

Two-thirty in the afternoon had arrived, and so had Keeferson – back to the library that was. Finding a new quiet corner to use for himself, Keeferson set back to work with his studying. For the next four hours, Keeferson focused not on standard spells, but the arts of alchemy, potions, and metallurgy. He had not given up on that dream of becoming an artificer, as being a hit wizard was definitely out of the question. Shandy Wease and Callie Bradley would kill him if he tried, of that he was certain. That, and it would end up terrifying some of the First Year students he had started doing some tutoring with. In short, it would have been a hassle he couldn’t afford to deal with at this point and time.

The first hour was dedicated to the history of magical rings, and the methods of which some are made. Until this point and time Keeferson had been blissfully unaware of all the different rings there were to be found on the open market alone. He never wore rings himself, instead putting anything of the sort on a silver chain around his neck. The chain was then looped with the rosary given to him by his favourite teacher back home. (The brass rosary given to him by The Fat Friar he had since returned… only to find it back on his bed the next day.) What was worse, at least in the eyes of Keeferson, was that some ring styles were completely incompatible with some enchantments. The information made his head hurt and almost caused his nose to bleed.

The next sixty to ninety minutes were spent researching component materials. The components he was looking up, however, were all potions. Some potions, as he was learning, were used to make OTHER potions and a few scrolls for spells. It was similar to some of the things he had found before in older works, but with clear descriptions and very fancy diagrams. For a short while, Keeferson went back and forth between four or five different compilations. Using quill and ink on numerous parchments, the young man took notes of his own. He also made sure to write down the names of the books again, not wanting to lose all this information. He even switched hands in order to write down even more notes, but in due time he had to put everything back. It seemed that for such an out of the way library, it was quite popular with people his age. Still, not a single Hogwarts student was in sight.

The rest of his time in the library had been looking up the study of how to construct magical clothing – specifically gloves. Gloves, unlike rings, were easy to come by and very affordable. They would be perfect for what he was trying to do – experiment. All he needed to know was how to best go about starting, and it was in these manuals and parchments – of that he was sure of. Keeferson by this time had already seen gauntlets made to increase the natural strength and endurance of a person, but he wanted to do better. (Please note, he made sure to purchase a pair of those gloves every time he saw them.) And he was certain even if he failed at the original concept, the gloves could still do –something- for those who wore them. It was just a matter of identifying how to make things happen.

The materials for the different gloves he read about went from swine to scales, from chain-link metal to woven palm leaves. The different materials used to make the gloves were as varied as the ways they could be enchanted. Though Keeferson wasn’t about to attempt anything exotic on his first few tries. He was going to use tried-and-true leather and dragonhide gloves. Nothing really extravagant there, as he wanted to stick with materials he could easily come by. As well, the more strange and rare the materials, the harder it would be to replace them if and when the experiments failed. And finally, with commonly acquired ingredients, Professor Snape was less likely to give him a lecture on mishandling “precious and irreplaceable resources.” He remembered the first time he heard that speech when he was allowed to sit in on a Fourth Year Double Potions class with Hufflepuff and Slytherin. He saw no less than five potions fail in spectacular fashion. As he had not been allowed to participate actively, all he could do was take notes and wait for the blood to fly… and fly it did. Keeferson wasn’t about to set himself up for that type of failure.

As half-past six in the evening rolled around, Keeferson decided to head for home. It took him fifteen minutes to find a place connected to the floo fireplace network. The location he had come into closed around four in the afternoon – something that Keeferson had not been expecting. He ended up bouncing through two different floo fireplaces before heading into Hogwarts itself, one of them being Flourish & Botts within Diagon Alley. Grabbing a few book titles he had wrote down from the library he had visited, he made the rest of his journey back to Hogwarts without any further incidents. Dodging all of the prefects before they could see him, he made it all the way to Hufflepuff Commons before anyone actually asked him where he was.

His reply to the inquiry? “Research project.”

_________________
One character thus far:
Ares Richard Keeferson, Hufflepuff Hardcase
Redefining "user-unfriendly" since 1976.

(OOC: this takes place after a conversation with Hufflepuff's Nina Hymndust. He had finished his day away from the school after a most... enlightening conversation with a few other students.)


Hoc Natura Est Insitum, Ut Quem Timueris, Hunc Semper Oderis
(It's An Innate Thing To Always Hate The One We've Learnt To Fear)


Well, now he had a starting point. After conversing with Nina, Keeferson knew where he should start looking and in which directions from that point. At least two of the spells he had been searching for clearly had modern counterparts. One of them had been made into some sort of artifact-style device from what he had been told. The other had apparently been refined or evolved.

The first incantation, better known as "The Dragon's Breath," now was slightly more common to the masses. At least it would be if the masses were willing to go and look for it. Where Miss Nina Hymndust had told him to start sniffing around for it wasn't exactly in the public eye. Not as if he hadn't spent time in the region before, but the last few times he had set foot in those parts had not gone too well. Running into miscreant rovers was never something you wanted to repeat unless you were head hunting. And wasn't in Keeferson's current list of things to do. Maybe another time.

Still, if he could find these things, he could see their origin. Perhaps if he bribed some of the right people, he could even talk to one or two of the people that made them. Not that he wanted their secrets to their success, mind you. No, he wanted to see exactly how far back the knowledge went. And anything of a destructive nature was always of interest to Keeferson. After all, a good defense was never complete without a good offense. The young Huffepuff had no intention of leaving either side of his magical education incomplete.

His mind flashed back to seeing some of the other students using a spell known as "Protego." He had never been shown it before, and he wanted it. Knowing that a student a bit younger than he was had some version of it made him cautious. After all, protective invocations had never been his strong point. That spell, "Protego," and the one "Episkey" were definitely on his personal acquisition list. Blowing stuff up was always a good thing, but it didn't do you much good not to live long enough to profit from it.

Reading through his numerous notes, he started tossing away more of the first and second draft write-ups from Potions. Not that he needed them anyway, as he had most of the final and third drafts already locked away in specially protected binders. As well, more than half of the notes in his bag didn't belong to him at all. They had been the rough, second, and even third drafts from Slytherin students he had been "assisting" in Potions and Arithmancy. Of course, "assisting" meant "give me all your crap work and I'll rewrite it out so that way the basics will make sense." It wasn't quite an honest living, but it made him more than enough to pay his way through most minor expenses. It was one of the main reasons he did so well in Potions - he had to memorize most of the material years before he was required to start writing the essays out for himself.

As he closed his eyes, he allowed his memories to flash back and forth through the conversation with Nina. For such a slight damsel, she had a force of will not normally seen in such a young woman. This didn't really bother Keeferson any, as he wasn't trying to intimidate or manipulate her. That would be a waste of valuable resources in his eyes. Someone like Nina should be a great source of information, as long as he went about it the right way. This, of course, was part of Keeferson's problem: lack of social skills, absence of social graces, and just about devoid of any socialization at all. His constant rage put him at odds with just about everyone - including himself. Trying to not offend Nina should have been simple, but he knew he was going to anyway. After this little early morning chat, he didn't know if Nina would speak with him again. He'd been surprised previously, but he wasn't about to hold out hope.

Now that he thought about it, one of the older spell's modern versions had an opposing spell he had already seen in action: Accio. One of the spells he had been looking for must have been the medieval version of Repulso, given the way Nina explained it to him. Keeferson almost wished he had written some notes down, as he didn't want to lose it all. Sure, he could attempt to ask Professor Flitwick about both of those incantations, but his previous attempts to get anything from Flitwick had been... less than successful. As both of those spells were by no means illegal, he was going to see if he could find some texts on those.

He would have to thank Nina properly later. Of course, that would mean knowing what she liked. The towering teenager figured he should ask Sierra Tillery and perhaps Seril Kane for direction in that respect. Not that he expected either to help him out of the goodness of their hearts, but it was unlikely either of them had issue with Nina. Just as long as it didn't call upon his non-existent knitting skills, he figured he should be just fine.

_________________
One character thus far:
Ares Richard Keeferson, Hufflepuff Hardcase
Redefining "user-unfriendly" since 1976.

(OOC Posting: happens a few days after his latest time in the Infirmary. Lost the entire original post of this because of a browser flip, so I have to write it again. Yes, this means there may be some extra bitterness involved. It is still rated PG-13 for firm language and mature situations. More than likely it would have occurred after Kylindra and Amy both talked with Keeferson while he was still badly battered.)


Quad Nesciunt Eos Non Interficiet
(What They Don't Know Won't Kill Them)
<Ares Richard Keeferson, age 14, Fourth Year at Hogwarts>


If there was anything Keeferson hated, it was being trapped. Whether it was verbally, through coercion, or even physically, he hated it. Something about being confined against his will truly got to him in a way that regular teasing and annoyances did not. It would tempt him to lash out at whomever was responsible, regardless of their level of authority. Naturally, this sort of behaviour would bring him into conflict with the prefects and the teaching staff of Hogwarts if not redirected. So when Keeferson found himself at the proverbial mercy of one of Liam Creidhne’s rivals in the “acquisitions” trade, he wondered exactly how long it would take to find his body if he tried assailing her with one of the knives he had on him.

The “her” in question went by the name of “Ereshkigal.” Thankfully, the young woman was not as fearsome in form as her assumed name made her out to be. In reality, she was a cousin of Hamiyet Karadeniz, Slytherin sports junkie, and regular annoyance in Keeferson’s life. In reality, “Ereshkigal” was Consolantia Younan, a graduate student at the University of Strathclyde . Most of her own magical education had come from inside the home while she had been attending regular school. So unlike quite a few other “pureblood” magicians, she was quite familiar with Muggle society as well as Magical society. It gave her an advantage over much of her competition, as she was more than willing to use all of her skills (and associates) in order to get a job done. Case in point: asking her cousin when “Liam’s little language lizard” was leaving Hogwarts on one of his numerous unscheduled jaunts to the great outdoors. Hamiyet made sure to let Consolantia know when she knew that Keeferson was heading into Diagon Alley for something – usually because of Sinn're Alarcsein making a request for the young man to do some “shopping” for her.

“Ereshkigal,” the aggravated youth began while looking at the three unconscious men behind him, “would you like to tell me just –how- you knew I would be here and chased by a small gang of thugs? Or are you going to insist that it was `pure coincidence’ that you managed to run across me?”

The level of fury in his heart after the events of the previous week laced his words with venom. The fact he had not been sleeping well due to lingering “phantom wounds” did not help any. Underneath his hood, his eyes were bloodshot from fatigue. He had been looking into various medications to help him with sleeping, but wistfully. The Draught of Dreamless Sleep only worked half of the time now, and that was at the strongest dose. Thanks to the contents of his regular medication for his illness, other potions and traditional non-magical medications which would help him rest were weakened by at least half. He had hid the symptoms from others successfully, but it was catching up to him.

“I could tell you how I did that, but then I’d have to kill you. That is how the rules work isn’t it? Or is it that I kill you first and then tell you?”

“Whatever. Just kill me if you are going to kill me. I don’t have time for this garbage. Seriously, I’m just-“

“Just what, hrm? My little Hufflewufflekins?”

The snarling that came from Keeferson’s throat would have made any buzz saw proud.

“Simmer down, Hogwarts. I am not going to kill you. I am not going to tell you anything. In fact, what I am going to do is put you to work. You seem to be so valuable to Liam, so I thought I would give your skills a test spin myself. Now then, I have a rather beautiful portrait at my friend’s place. The problem is, I can’t read what the writing on the framework itself means. We were told by an auctioneer it would be worth twice as much translated to a true collector. So before I sell it, I need it translated. And that is where you come in. You read Japanese, correct? You are going to make sure the painting doesn’t have something stuck inside of it. If you fail, I am feeding you to a kraken. Understood?”

“Whatever.”

“For someone whom isn’t in a position of power, you are definitely mouthy. And stubborn. Did I mention that those two traits are frightfully unattractive, and you won’t be able to get a girlfriend by being a cantankerous old goat before the age of twenty? Seriously, Hogwarts, you have an attitude problem. I don’t know what they are feeding you in that school of yours, but you definitely need more fiber in your diet. And maybe some Zoloft in your cereal, to go along with the powdered Prozac on your doughnuts.”

“Do I sound like someone who is about to start scarfing down freakin’ –Happy Pills- to you?”

“No, but you definitely need them. And if you don’t start talking nicer, I’m going to use Silencio on you… right after getting out the electrical tape to seal your mouth shut so you can’t even make weird faces at me. Geez, if you are like this all the time, I would hate to be your teachers.”

“Don’t worry. My teachers already hate to be my teachers. My classmates hate to be my classmates. This country hates to keep me above ground and above water. I have a lot of hate to go around. Anything else?"

“Have you –heard- of being a co-operative captive before?”

“What? I’m walking in the direction you are pointing, aren’t I? And I have that painting of yours to go and translate. After that, you’re going to snuff me out or something like that, aren’t you?”

“… You know, I wasn’t before but now I am sorely tempted to. Stop right where you are there, Hogwarts. From here, we can Apparate.”

“And why not before? Actually, you know something? Don’t bother to answer that. I just don’t care.”

“… (What have I gotten myself into?)”

And with that last thought of hers, Consolantia and her captive Apparated away to where Consolantia’s friends and associates were waiting for them.



* * * * *



“What do you mean you just saw Keeferson leaving Diagon Alley with Ereshkigal? Does he have any idea of the danger he’s in by being around that woman?”

That was Scathach MacNessa to Tiernan Leekstone. Both of them were part of Liam’s crew of “acquisitionists.” Tiernan had followed Keeferson throughout part of his journey through Knockturn Ally until he had run into Sonny Reb'Liarghain and two of his friends. Normally, Tiernan would have left the dueling to people like Aeronwy or Liam himself, but neither of the pair were around. Before Tiernan could even attempt to help Keeferson, however, something had occurred. The first thing was a flash of light that filled the little crevice-way. It was the screaming that followed that clued Tiernan in that the three men in the little path were being attacked, but by whom he couldn’t tell. When it was all over, the three men were all laying face down on the cobblestones. It was as entertaining as watching a Mike Tyson fight back in his prime – brutal, swift, decisive. And behind Keeferson (whom Tiernan had been asked to find IF Keeferson had come into Knockturn Alley today), had stood Ereshkigal. Tiernan wasn’t about to challenge that woman in a duel. He had heard about the last three rival underground duelists who had tested her skills: they had all been found tied up with pink nylon ropes and feather boas, swinging from the rafters inside of The Shaggy Sonorus Saloon. (To date, nobody figured out why THAT bar specifically – including the owners.)”

“Ereshkigal swooped in like a falcon snatching fish from the river, Scathach. I could have tried to step on her skirt-trail, but that would have been a little too risky.”

“Tiernan, she just Apparated with Liam’s translator! Exactly how risky do you think –that- is?”

“Dunno. Look, from the looks of things, she wanted Keeferson alive. It’s not even the first time that she’s sort of brushed him up either, now that I think of it.”

“And what do you mean it is not the first time, Tiernan me lad?”

“LIAM!” two voices exclaimed, seeing one Mr. Liam Creidhne’s scowling visage in the doorway of Scathach’s apartment. One could tell that Liam already had been having a bad day. His normal good looks were marred by the black eye and the busted lip. His clothes, normally immaculately clean, had stains of blood over the front – more than likely from the busted lip. His denim slacks were still in pristine condition, considering. His prized boots, however, were completely covered in what looked like motor oil. None of it compared to the stormy look on his face. Apparently whatever beating he had gone through was nothing in relation to whatever was going on behind his eyes.

“So Tiernan, I ask again: what do you mean it’s not the first time?

“Liam, keep your hair on, man. It’s not what you think if you’re considering that your lad from Hogwarts is skiefing on us or something. Each time it’s like Ereshkigal’s got some sort of radar on her. She’s done stopped him up in the middle of Flourish & Botts the first time, or so my sources tell me. And she’s hit him up twice after that. Each time it’s been just before or just after he was supposed to come see us. And you can tell by the way the boy’s standing he’s wantin’ like none of her. Someone’s got your boy pegged, Liam. Dead to rights, pegged he is.”

“Tiernan, someone’s got us –all- pegged. I didn’t get to where I am without being a little ragged at the edges once in a while. Still, this all stays between us in our crew: the lady upstairs has been doing triple time. She has a second set of workers going out at the same times we are, -and- she’s been using our boy to do her translating once she gets a hold of something sweet. In short, we’ve been getting played out. When I got the word today to see her, I skipped to her loo like a good little choirboy. Turns out, lads, someone else in the organization who doesn’t like us wanted to send us a nice physical message. So yeah, it’s definitely not one of our best days, chaps...”

The grim tone of Liam wasn’t lost on Tiernan or Scathach. Both of their faces hardened after hearing what their leader had to say.

“Don’t worry over much about it though, chaps. Things are already in motion to get us back to where we belong. The lady upstairs didn’t appreciate my being chummed up like shark bait. Heck, I looked worse than this before I actually had my little one-on-one conference with her. Seems that the lady upstairs has been doing more than doing triple time; she’s been saving up for something special. I don’t know what it is exactly, but I can tell you the payouts going to be crisp like a winter wind in Wales . Didn’t even smell like a set up. It might be rowdy ruck, but we’ll give it a nip and tuck. As for Keeferson, we’ll just hope he can hold his own with Ereshkigal. For now, the little earner’s on his own. I like it as much as you all do, but we couldn’t follow him even if we knew where he was. That’s the word from on-high: if our walking dictionary gets borrowed, we have to wait for him to get back to the library.”

“So then, Liam…”

“Right, Scathach…?”

“Who’s telling Talaitha? You know she’s taken a shining to the lad like a little cousin who ain’t so little but still you see him like.”

“I’ll tell her and Aeronwy. We’ve got a meet tonight with Damsel Topperfield – all of us. Be on your best and prepare for the worst. Remember the last time we got one of those.”

“I remember right well enough, Liam. That was the night before we had to leave Dublin on that permanent vacation tip if I’m not mistaken.”

“Nobody’s fault that, Tiernan. Nobody’s fault that at all. None of us were looking to join the Battle of Hastings for that mess. So I’ll send word to Aeronwny and Talaitha to meet us here in about two hours. For me, I need to get myself cleaned up.”

“Before you step lively, Liam… Gotta ask something: what happened to the lads who did this you?”

“Scathach… who said they were lads?”

“… Liam, that’s like just plain wrong.”



* * * * *



Keeferson and Consolantia arrived inside of an abandoned building. Informing him they were just outside of Sheffield , Consolantina made it a point to let him know that she would be doing most of the talking unless it had something directly to do with the translations. That was fine with him originally, as he had no intention of speaking with anyone for a while. When the got to the first bus stop, she pulled out a cellular phone and dialed a number. Apparently the other person had been waiting for the call, as Consolantia got an answer immediately. Within five minutes, three cars pulled up. For the first time, Keeferson was thankful he had worn his regular clothes. The school robes he had grown accustomed to wearing were useless and hampering within a regular city. This was more his style, even if all the people who got out of the rides were obviously wizarding stock.

Consolantia was greeted by everyone there as “Ereshkigal,” proving this was all business. Keeferson just remained as far in the background as he could get. (This meant just leaning on a lighting pole with his arms crossed and his hood hiding his face.) The moment one of the people noticed Keeferson’s presence, Consolantia went right to work with explaining the “rules of the translator:”

- no harassing the translator (unless you were a girl)
- no touching the translator’s hood
- no touching the translator’s gloves
- no throwing things at the translator
- no asking the translator for freebies (very important this)
- if the translator asks for you to use a spell, use the spell as directed
- if the translator tells you to run, do so. Don’t question, just run.

Keeferson, introduced to them all as “Charlie Huang,” was placed in the second car along with Consolantia. The trip to the loft-style condominium complex was fairly quick, with conversation floating around him. Any time a question was asked of him, Keeferson would answer as briefly as possible, often sprinkling Mandarin Chinese words in with their common English counterparts. Those in the car swiftly began to ignore his presence almost entirely – which was the young man’s intention in the first place. By the time they got out of the car, the other passengers were engaged in a lively conversation while Keeferson had been toying with a Chinese puzzle sphere.

Walked up to the third floor (as the elevators were “too far away” according to one of the other people), Keeferson got a good look at the portrait Consolantia had been talking about in a Poloroid picture. Shrugging once, he said nothing more about it. When they entered the actual loft, the smell from what must have been incense was almost overpowering. Keeferson’s nose wrinkled in blatant disgust, but thankfully the massive hood he insisted on wearing kept his features (and therefore his emotions) secret from those around him. Stretching slightly, the tall youth started to look for the portrait in a subtle fashion. After five minutes of a minor tour (presented by one of the people wearing golden signet rings), he was taken to where the portrait was currently hanging.

The moment he saw the script on the side of the portrait itself, he took a step back. The entire portrait – including the frame – was in fact three ancient rituals written down in calligraphy and then covered as art. It was nothing Keeferson had dealt with before, and he was more than a little daunted by the massive task. Since he didn’t want to “go missing” in the eyes of Hogwarts, he needed to do this as quickly as possible. Motioning to Consolantia, he whispered to her about needing certain tools of his trade being made available to him. He was not about to write down something of this nature with a #2 pencil and foolscap. She quickly had the people (most of who seemed to be hangers-on) to acquire everything he demanded – including better seating and lighting. At least seven different conjurations were done in order to create the “ideal” study desk. Not that he cared much – he had a painting to decipher.

The young man worked straight into the night for a full eight hours. Thankfully, most of the calligraphy had little to do with the magic of the ritual itself and more to do with the setting and the properties required. In the end, the rituals were all about making magical clothing. Not that it was a lost art, but the true artistry and dedication required to perform these rituals was something most would simply scoff at with impatience. Consolantia, for her part, was quite impressed with the work that Keeferson put in. Not even stopping for food, he only drank water and washed his face a few times. He had gone through four eagle feather quills and two pigmy pigeon quills in order to write it all. The amount of parchment and papyrus expended would rival even Professor Snape’s insatiable demands for his essays. (Keeferson would know, as he wrote more essays for the man than most of the people in his class.) At some points, Keeferson had even tried drawing diagrams with his left hand in order to alleviate the strain. This worked to a point, especially after Consolantia used a spell on his arm that allowed him to “draw as you believe” for a small period of time. The cost, however, was that his left hand remained completely numb and useless for an hour when he had finished.

As the last part was completed, the lone adolescent in the loft filled with adults leaned back in his chair. Stretching himself out again, he rose to his feet. The inkwells were completely dry, and the feathers he had burned in a small fire he made for himself with matches on a stone tablet. The reason for this? A small offering of thanks to the birds who lost their feathers for his scribing. Cracking his knuckles, he paced around the room thrice over, going through everything he had written down. There was nothing left but to find out if he was going home in a box, on his feet, or not at all. Leaving the room, Keeferson went to find Consolantia.

“So…”

“Oh, Charlie? You done?”

“Yes…”

“Right then, time to go. See all of you later! Hugo, Marlie – can you two give us a lift out to the Apparation point? I don’t want to get lost on the way back there. And hiring a cab to go to the middle of freakin’ nowhere just doesn’t look good.”

Keeferson, following Consolantia’s lead, bowed to the remaining people within the loft. Not actually saying anything else, he just wanted to get back to Hogwarts. And get back he did, albeit very slowly. First, Hugo and Marlie (two young women in tuxedo blouses and gray denim pants) managed to take a “shortcut” which carried Consolantia and Keeferson through the center of Sheffield . After that little detour, Consolantia Apparated the pair of them to Pinboria. It was here they parted company: Consolantia heading to some floo location Keeferson had never heard of before… and Keeferson back to Hogwarts – directly into the Hufflepuff Common room. Smirking to himself, Keeferson went to bed silently. This was definitely going to be the beginning of some brand new chaos – whether the young man wanted any or not.

_________________
One character thus far:
Ares Richard Keeferson, Hufflepuff Hardcase
Redefining "user-unfriendly" since 1976.

(OOC: this happens immediately after a conversation with Domi Trax, Kalara Crest, and Sierra Tillery. For what would be a full day, Ares Richard Keeferson is completely absent from the school grounds. If anyone tried to find him, they could not. Unless they were using excessive means (GPS tracking, scrying magic, espionage agents, et cetera), Keeferson would be nowhere to be found. During the same period of time, a package would have been sent to Hufflepuff House, care of Qianxiao Lui, for Keeferson. It would have just his last name on it for the addressee, but there would be writing on the box in Chinese. Anyone who could read Chinese could read it easily: “Please do not attempt to open unless you are a crazy Canuck. Contents will be harmful to your health. Cute Crimson Commando Canadians only!” The package would be warded rather impressively to keep prying fingers out.)


Igne Natura Renovatur Integra
(Through Fire, Nature Is Reborn Whole)
<Ares Richard Keeferson, age 14, Fourth Year of Hogwarts>


Birmingham, England.

What did it have to offer a young boy from Canada? A few cars here and there, a couple of early rising joggers, at least four stray dogs roaming the avenues for scraps, and a beautiful glow along some of its windows. This was the first sight of Birmingham that Ares Richard Keeferson had. Of course, it had taken him a few steps to get to Birmingham itself, let alone the place he was standing now.

To start himself off, he had taken the floo network within the school from the Hufflepuff Commons to the Great Hall. This (as far as he was concerned) would make it just that much more difficult to figure out his route away from the school itself. From there, he took the floo-connected fireplace from the opposite side of the hall to Diagon Alley’s Flourish & Botts location. Trying not to disturb anyone, he left behind seven silver pieces with a note affixed to them. The note was a simple one, stating thanks for the usage of their services. He had been getting into a habit of paying off people when traveling, mainly to keep them from speaking about him with anyone that might follow. Not that anyone was on his tail yet, but he wanted to be sure he had all of his bases covered. After Diagon Alley, he had made it a point to travel to one of the floo network connected fireplaces within Knockturn Alley. He used one of the ones Aeronwy and Scathach told him to use in case of duress or early morning travel. The person watching over this point, however, wanted a different sort of toll from Keeferson: textbooks. Shrugging once, Keeferson gladly handed over all of his tomes on Divination, Charms, and Muggle Studies. All of them he would be able to purchase again, and some of the books were in fact from outside sources. The woman then mentioned she was trying to get her less fortunate cousins a basic education. Nodding once, he then handed over quite few other textbooks he had acquired from different places. His satchel a lot lighter now, he set off through the floo fireplace to his next destination: Liatkovitsh Lane .

Liatkovitsch Lane was the place he had been told to meet up with the others at. The others, of course, being Liam Creidhne’s associates. The floo fireplace dumped Keeferson out on his face, something which must have been intentional. He landed in a pile of cushions which would be considered waist deep on him. Sprawling for a moment in a daze, Keeferson spent some time getting used to his surroundings and the low light. From the décor, it looked to be a semi-private residence – perhaps a co-op or a similar communal agreement living space. It did not really matter to Keeferson at the time, for he wasn’t planning on moving in. Rolling off the pillow mountain and getting to his feet, he rubbed his face underneath his hood with a towel from his satchel. The fatigue was going to catch up with him sooner or later if he didn’t do something.

“Oye, slacker. It seems that you got here a little late. What were you doing, getting some beauty sleep?”

The voice belonged to Liam, and it was completely at ease. When Keeferson turned to see him, he noticed that not only Liam was in the room. In fact, all of Liam’s regular associates were there in varying states of alertness. For example, Tiernan was busy snoring away on a couch, while Talaitha and Aeronwy were playing a game of snap (but not Exploding Snap). The lot of them looked as if they had been out all night and had gotten to Liatkovitsch Lane no more than an hour before Keeferson himself. As well, all of them looked a little scuffed up like there had been some sort of altercation.

“I haven’t slept yet. Do I want to know? Should I know? And am I going to get to know?”

It was Scathach’s voice from the hallway that answered his question:

“You probably don’t. You probably shouldn’t. You probably won’t. But as you’re in as deep as well, there’s still a chance that you will. That covers yesterday and today. Oh, and Keeferson? We know about your little walkabout yesterday and we don’t hold it against you. Just to clear the air and all that, laddiebuck. Now then, our ride’s here. From here it’s about two hours to where we are going. From there, new clothes for everyone – that means you, Keeferson. No, you don’t have to wear leather chaps and a black cowboy hat. That’s for Sleeping Beauty over there.”

Tiernan chose that time to wake up.

“Hey, what was that about chaps and cowboy hats? Scathach, I told you I ain’t wearin’ nothin’ o’ tha sort, man. You want to get your skirts all soiled, that’s you and you alone, mate. I’m goin’ because we ‘ave to. I ain’t doin’ no bloody fashion shows.”

Scathach laughed at his barely functioning partner-in-crime. Shrugging once, he beckoned Keeferson forward. As the young man started moving, the rest of the group started to stretch out and get themselves ambulatory again. Sipping on his coffee, Scathach virtually floated up the steps. In fact, it was possibly the most lively the Hogwarts student could recall ever seeing the man. Not as if he noticed such things all the time, but he could have sworn that Scathach smelled of cloves and cinnamon. Yes, at least one of them had a “good evening” the night before. As long as nobody made him try anything, Keeferson figured he would be just fine. After all, what else could go wrong that didn’t involve massive explosions that would kill them all?

As it turned out, the young man was going to have a rude awakening when came to women and the open road. Keeferson was the first up the steps after Scathach, and found himself face to face with who had to be the tallest woman he had ever seen in his life. (Well, in terms of being up close and personal, that is.) Standing a good two even meters in height, the lady’s build reminded him of a bronze statue he saw in the Art Gallery of Ontario as a child. Being much smaller than everything then, the scale of the woman’s form had given him pause. Now at his current height, not much gave him that feeling of awe. If nothing else, he saw the potential to terrify the living daylights out of Domi Trax.

“Liam! I thought I knew all your people. When did you get yourself a ringer? And he’s still in school robes, no less. What, you just like them fresh out the classroom or something? Any older and they start seeing you for the lounge lizard you are without makeup, it seems…?”

The stammering and gagging noises made by Liam caused everyone to crack up – everyone, it seemed, but Keeferson himself. Scowling underneath his hood, he did not understand the humour behind her statements. It was when she leaned on him suddenly that he noticed there were no rings on her fingers. So, no lasting commitments he had to concern himself about immediately. At least, none in the traditional sense he figured.

“So then, pipsqueak, what’s your name?”

Before he could answer in his usual caustic fashion, Liam recovered in a matter most befitting him:

“The lad’s one of ours, Kaylie. He might be Hogwarts fodder, but he’s all talent. This lad here’s-“

“-The translator. Li’Ki, darling… I thought we had agreed we would be sharing his talents from here going forward?”

A woman in warm and flattering hues had stepped out of a late model sedan, along with three other companions. The trio with the lady who had spoken were women wearing what looked like tuxedo pants and themed chemises. Liam’s eyes locked onto hers and narrowed. When Keeferson turned his hood to get a better look at the woman, he was briefly reminded of a familiar face. Sadly, he couldn’t place it for the life of him.

“And morning to you as well, -Penny.-“

“Liam… I told you to never call me that.”

“Then feel free to continue using my proper name, Perri, and we’ll all be figs and farthings. Sound good to you?”

“But I –like- calling you Li’Ki. It’s cute and cuddly and-“

A massive coughing fit (which was entirely involuntary) from Keeferson broke Perri Wurring’s train of thought. Especially now that she had a better look at the boy who had been doing so many of the complicated translations over the past few months. The lad wasn’t as tall as Kaylie, though the few photographs taken of him she had did do him justice. Her little conversation over the phone with Consolantia “Ereshkigal” Younan had also given her fair warning. Still. Only fourteen years old and six feet in height was still quite impressive. Though given the severity of his coughing, his health must have been in question. As the youth stood at his full height again, Perri smiled to herself. Liam had already taken in the chap as one of his own, apparently. This could prove most amusing and advantageous for her. She had never gotten along with Liam Creidhne. He was too… something. She could never place a finger on it, but it was there. The same thing went with his friends Tiernan Leekstone and Scathach. MacNessa. Keeferson didn’t have whatever it was those three did in his blood. He wasn’t irritating until he opened his mouth. And since he was a boy, there were always ways of controlling them…

“Hey! Am I driving you faded Erin Struckers somewhere or what? The minivan awaits passengers. Though the little guy here can ride in the front with me.”

The laughter from the women crashed against Keeferson’s eardrums. He vaguely remembered his using diminutives on others, but he never believed he was that arrogant with them.

“You know something, Miss? I think it’s past my bedtime. I believe I’ll just go home to my crib. Sound good?”

“Kaylie, look at what you did. You’ve hurt my boy’s feelings and all that. Keeferson! You need to come with us, man. None of this crazy hay-baling nonsense. This is a serious deal we need you in on, lad. I wouldn’t ha’ left you the care package if it wasn’t that type of thing.”

“…”

Liam was using one of his patented “C’mon man – work with me here” looks. Similar to “puppy dog eyes,” the effect is to create doubt in the subject’s mind as well as halt their retreat. Liam’s success rate with the gaze (along with the open-palmed hand gesture) with men was 83%. (With women it was much higher, but that is another story.) Keeferson’s gloved left hand slammed into his right viciously.

“… fine ...”

“Yes! Right then, everyone into the rides. No more stalling and such. And Kaylie! No more short jokes, or I get the lad over here to toss you over his shoulder and carry you up a flight of steps!”

“You really think he can? I mean I hate to say it, but I’m no shrinki-“

The squeal of shock from Kaylie as she found herself being lifted from the ground by Keeferson bathed the group in high-pitched pain. Though he could only do it for a few seconds before setting her down, the point had been made. Unfortunately for Keeferson, the point was that Kaylie had finally found a boy strong enough to be suitable as a possible boyfriend for one of her younger sisters. Settling down in the passenger front side, he promptly fell asleep for the duration of the drive. As much as he had wanted to remain awake, fatigue overtook him swiftly. In fact, all of Liam’s people took a welcome nap on the way down. The only person not in the minivan was Liam himself. He was “stuck” in the same car as Perri, given the amount of legroom he had wanted for himself. As it turned out, one of the women from Perri’s sedan rode with Kaylie and the others.

The two hours went by swiftly, even as Kaylie made sure to check on the sleeping passengers every so often. The only one whom had not taken a powder was Jonie (the young woman originally from Perri’s drive to Liatkovitsch Lane ). When the group arrived in Birmingham , it was closing in on eight o’clock in the morning. The cars were parked in an underground garage, where Keeferson was told to leave his school robes behind. Thankfully, he had been wearing regular clothes underneath his scholastic attire, or there could have been a problem. Changing on the opposite side of the minivan, he did his best to keep his skin covered in all regions. Folding his robes and placing them in his satchel, he came back out to face the rest of the people. Silently, the group made their way to the elevator, where they extracted themselves on the seventh floor of what must have been an apartment complex. Going inside, Keeferson found an outfit had already been selected for him. He tried not to ask how it was they had so much information on him as to get his proportions. He rationalized it away as having dealt with Liam and his crew for numerous years.

Liam, however, was –also- wondering how Perri and “Ereshkigal” (whom was also in on this) got Keeferson’s sizes right, let alone Scathach’s. In the end, everyone’s outfit suited them perfectly. In the case of Keeferson, they had found him something with a Chinese motif as an overshirt, a brand new Public Enemy t-shirt (size XL) as an undershirt, and new pants and shoes for him. The old clothes of all of the crew were taken away “to be properly laundered.” Keeferson tried to voice objection to such (given his paranoid outlook on life at times), but was mollified (barely) by Aeronwy, Talaitha, and surprisingly Kaylie. Kaylie also took the opportunity to state that Keeferson “could be handsome if anyone could actually see his face.” The young man just shook his head quietly but assertively: he still wasn’t ready to allow the general public to see him.

The lot of them had been given the chance to use one of two bathrooms – one in the “staging” apartment, or the one across the hall, known as the “holding” apartment. Jonie and one of the other witches in Perri’s employ had rented them out for the week under assumed names. The advantages of such an arrangement were many – especially as the pair of flats came furnished with all the essentials. So the men (and Keeferson) went across the hall to get themselves freshened up properly, and the women remained in the “staging” flat. Keeferson made sure to go in last – after, of course, Liam had Scourgified the entire bathroom twice over. (Tiernan had taken the opportunity to shave his chest, and Scathach’s “Number #2’s” were legendary in stench.) By now, Keeferson was truly regretting not having snagged something to eat on the way through the Great Hall in Hogwarts, but it was far too late to do anything like that now.)

The job they were being sent on was three-fold: acquire, translate, and relocate. Liam, Scathach, Tiernan, and two of Perri’s hand-chosen assistants were to first convince three different non-magical jewelers to sell them seven different statuettes of varying ages. This would be fairly simple, except for the fact the trio of jewelers were scattered around Birmingham – including one in the city’s Bordesley Green. Aeronwy, Talaitha, Jonie, and Kaylie were to start working on the methods the items would be safely shipped out of Birmingham to various collectors across Western Europe . This would, of course, depend purely on how fast the items could be found, validated, and translated. Perri herself, along with Consolantia (who had shown up with breakfast for all of them), would be assisting Keeferson with the translations of the various items. And the fourth young woman, Brigette, would be doing most of the co-ordinating between the groups. In short, this was to be quite the massive undertaking to complete in a singular day.

For the first few hours, Keeferson really had nothing to do. Instead of even attempting civilized conversation with Perri and Consolantia (whom he had seen enough of the day before), he spent the time reading and getting his area ready. Not that he was attempting Feng Shui, but he made it a point to have everything in order long before the first of the seven items came through. And as Scathach entered the doors of the “staging” apartment, he walked the item right over to Keeferson, set it down on the table, and walked out. His only words were not good ones: “They’ve sold the other piece already to some ruddy bobby lovers. We have to go and buy it up or get it the five-finger way.”

Keeferson’s attention to the outside world vanished for the next two to three hours. The jeweled vase completely enthralled him – not in an artistic sense, but an anthropological one. Translating from ancient Chinese Song Dynasty era took work, especially when some of the gemstones themselves marred the script. Even as he handled the vase with his dragonhide leather gloves on, he used a light and delicate touch. It was the same as how some fathers hold their children for the first time. His eyes narrowed as he carefully read and re-read the script. More than once were his initial findings wrong, based on the previous and next characters in the text. His quill and parchment were very busy, pausing only when he would turn the vase to reveal more of its secrets in the light. Every time he swiveled the vase on the table, he took a sip of water. He had poured himself a towering glass of water to begin with, and it was coming very close to hitting bottom by the time the first run-through had been completed.

For the last half hour of work, he went over everything by candlelight. And as he had suspected (read: feared), there was more to be documented. He could not even begin to express his frustration and worry, sighing inaudibly as he went back over his findings yet again. After the review, he started working on the next set of parchments which were solely based on what turned up in the candlelight. Stretching a few times, he got up and walked around the table with the candle. Having the melted wax from the candle coat his dragonhide gloves meant nothing to him, as the gloves could always be cleaned off. By the time he had finished with his final investigation, it was around two o’clock in the afternoon. It was only then he noticed three things: he was –really- hungry, there was absolutely nobody in the apartment, and it was a Potions class he was missing at around this time. Cursing his foul luck, he went to the bathroom to refresh himself. When he came back out, he heard the door begin to unlock. Hiding behind a kitchen wall and reaching for a knife, he steeled himself in case it was someone doing a break-in.

“Hey, Keeferson! Where are you, chapel scrub? Time to get some time in at the pub for some food, man! Tried everything about an hour ago to get you to notice save spellcraft, but you were too zoned out.”

Keeferson breathed a sigh of relief, putting away the knife. It was Tiernan. He could even tell it was Tiernan from the cologne (which he had slathered on before heading out with Liam and the others). As Tiernan stepped through the door, he waved over Keeferson. Aeronwy and Jonie popped their heads in as well. Apparently, everyone had left Keeferson behind while he had been hard at work. He only noticed now the various paper balls on the floor around his chair.

“Chapel scrub, seriously have I never seen someone that interested in something that boring in my life. And I’m the one that like stamps and coins, lad. You need a hobby. Better that, you need a girlfriend. Or two of them. Maybe three, if you aren’t picky about being a slack little-“

Jonie and Aeronwy both hit Tiernan over the head with newspapers. Bemoaning his “vicious beating at the hands of harridans,” Tiernan retreated to the elevator, the other three in tow. Locking, wizard locking, and then bespelling the doors so most regular people would forget they even existed, Jonie and Aeronwy escorted Keeferson back downstairs. Taking a few cabs from two city blocks away from different directions, the entire group found themselves at Birmingham ’s famous The Rectory Bar and Restaurant. Spending close to an hour there, it almost seemed like a real large group of friends having a get-together. However, the truth of the matter was Consolantia and one of the other women Tracey-Leigh had used a few specially made items to create false conversation around them. The sixty minutes were spent conversing about how to acquire the other four items, and getting the first three precious finds into the hands of those whom had paid top dollar to acquire them. Keeferson spent most of the time eating, being unusually hungry – even for him. Besides, he had nothing constructive to add to the conversation.

When they returned to the flats, Talaitha and Kaylie took the vase that Keeferson had been working on away. Jonie and Aeronwy retrieved the bronze Celtic cross (which Keeferson only now noticed), immediately vanishing into an awaiting cab downstairs. Brigette commandeered Scathach from his original task to leave with a rather elaborate looking series of interlocking bracelets. Those items all taken care of, Keeferson started to clear up his mess and wait for the next item to show up. He did not have to wait long, as Liam (with one of the women whose name Keeferson never did catch) brought through an iron horse. The horse was obviously enchanted, meaning this would take far longer to discern and translate. Sighing, he simply started pulling out potions from his satchel, getting out a couple of extra tomes, and set himself to task.

Whoever had created the horse had a perverse sense of adventure. No less than five times did the horse try to escape by jumping through the window. Each and every time, Perri and Consolantia had to Stupefy the animated equine, then use Hypno and Petrificus Totalus on it. More than once did Perri audibly lament Keeferson couldn’t just do it himself, especially when she was working on the fifth item: a beautiful necklace dedicated to Ninhursag (a Sumerian goddess) from the thirteenth century. Thankfully, Keeferson’s numerous books once again came to the rescue. He just happened to have a book about Sumerian mythos and burial practices on him. This was very useful, as there were three hidden curses upon the necklace that would have spelled the end of Perri if she hadn’t thought to look for certain glyphs hidden by years of tarnish. As for the horse, eventually Consolantia used seven different immobilizing incantations on the thing, before yelling at it in some language that neither Perri nor Keeferson understood. Suddenly, the horse simply stopped moving entirely.

“What the heck did you just say to it?”

“Uhm… `Where’s the off-button on this thing?’ No seriously, that’s what I said!”

Keeferson merely shook his head and went back to work. Now free of the distraction of being kicked at, bitten, or charged, the translations went much smoother. This time, he was not as lost as before, given that he was a little more helpful with Japanese than he ever could have been with Gaelic or Gallic text, let alone Old Byzantine. However, the translations still took the trio all the way until 9:00pm that night to complete. The seventh item itself ended up being retrieved by Jonie completely by chance, and then translated by – of all people – Liam. Though his facial features were completely bland as he recited the script upon the back of the various coins, all in the room could tell he was holding something back from all of them. Keeferson didn’t even care by this point, as he was getting used to people not telling him things he felt he should know about.

It would be another two hours before the entire group was back together at the apartments. Arranging for things to travel using non-magical means but swiftly had proven to be more of a challenge than Aeronwy had given it credit for being. It was that final item that could not by any means go through magical transfers for two weeks bare minimum. The spells embedded into the very gold used were hazardous to any tomb raider’s health even now. They were reflexive and conditional, and by their very nature would have a “reaction” to their transport similar to that of setting off a stick of dynamite six inches from a person’s chest. Sure, you –could- survive it, but you were not likely to. In the end, the entire affair had been expensive, time-consuming, and risky. Traveling through some of the rougher neighbourhoods of Birmingham had not been “a tourist attraction” by any means. All any of them wanted to do now was go home.

The ride back to Liatkovitsch Lane was as quiet as the drive up. Most of the group was sleeping, but Keeferson chose to remain wide awake on the way back. He had his reasons – mainly trying to figure out his next move when he returned to Hogwarts. He was not looking forward to dealing with the students, the teachers, or the ghosts. For a full day, he had felt actually important. Even if he was deluding himself, which he believed he was, Keeferson thought it would be nice to spend more time doing jobs like this one. In the end, however, he did take that first step back to Hogwarts on his own – the same way he left.

* * * * *

“So Liam,” Perri began, long after Keeferson had found his way back to Hogwarts, “the boy doesn’t know the real reason why you are doing this all, does he?”

“No he doesn’t, Perri, and it’s going to remain that way. The lad has enough on his mind already. You can tell by the way he acts.”

“Paranoid, you mean,” said Brigette in a sardonic tone. “The boy didn’t even lift his hood once to show his face. He wears gloves all the time. And he was even watching out for mirrors. Where did you find him, Liam Creidhne, Transylvania ?”

“He’s not a vampire, Brigette. He’s just a lost soul, looking for a place to belong. And an angry soul, that needs to learn forgiveness.”

“Very poetic, Talaitha,” continued Brigette, drinking her firewhiskey and soda. “The problem is, he’s still a freak. And sooner or later, something’s going to snap. I’ll be at home in my nice comfy bed when that happens. Good luck with him.”

“He doesn’t need luck,” said Consolantia very quietly to Perri. “What he needs is a miracle. And he’s not going to get it. Not in time… not that one.”

_________________
One character thus far:
Ares Richard Keeferson, Hufflepuff Hardcase
Redefining "user-unfriendly" since 1976.

(OOC: This happened a few days ago. This is just a small rundown of what happened when Keeferson left Hogwarts to go back to Canada. It will be filled in completely later... or not. Depends on how I feel.)


Culpam Poena Premit Comes.
(Punishment Closely Follows Crime As Its Companion.----Horace)
<Ares Richard Keeferson, age 14, Fourth Year at Hogwarts>


The charges were simply laid out.

There was in fact nowhere for Keeferson to turn to.

In the end, however, the charges did not outweigh the acts of the other... which is what set him free.

Despite the celebrations held for him as he walked out of court essentially a free man, he felt no jubilation or exhuberant relief. In the end, this wasn't the end of the story, merely a chapter in the ongoing anthology.

* * * * *

"Ut sementem feceris ita metes," he said to himself as he walked through the floo fireplace to the offices of the Canadian Ministry. His eyes covered by his ever-present hood once again.

"And what is that supposed to mean, Keeferson? You know that I do not speak Latin like some of you young people do."

"I'm sorry about that, Mr. Hunting-Shadows, sir. What it translates into is `As you sow so will you reap.' It is attributed to Cicero. Long dead type person."

"So then, none of your usual Chinese quotations? Considering for someone who isn't in any way Chinese, you have a lot of them."

"Not this time, Mr. Hunting-Shadows, sir. Not this time."

Taking the portkey, a rather intricately carved statue of a blue heron, the pair vanished from view. Reappearing in the offices of the British Ministry of Magic's Foreign Arrivals Office, Hunting-Shadows handed over Keeferson to the British handling team. It was from there he was allowed to finally floo (completely unassisted and unaccompanied) back to Hogwarts.

_________________
One character thus far:
Ares Richard Keeferson, Hufflepuff Hardcase
Redefining "user-unfriendly" since 1976.

(OOC: may be filled in more later. I just lost a bunch of stuff I was writing.)


Panem Et Circenses
("Bread And Circuses")
<Ares Richard Keeferson, age 15, Fifth Year of Hogwarts>


There are some things that Keeferson should have learned by now, or so he thought to himself. Some of those things were incantations. Other items were potions for both internal and external uses. However, the thing he was wondering about at this time was a vexing issue which had plagued young men his age for years: how do you politely run away from a woman that scares you?

Though a full twelve inches taller and probably twice her weight, the woman in front of Keeferson scared the living daylights out of him. Of course, he would never admit that to anyone, as he had his image to consider. What that image was, however, was up for interpretation. Brandishing a wooden spoon, one very angry older woman was lighting him up like a Roman Candle, verbally.

The woman in question was, of all people, Scathach MacNessa's grandmother. Keeferson remembered clearly each time he had come across the dainty and diabolical woman. This would be his sixth encounter with the woman, and he was worried he wouldn't be going back to Hogwarts with all his limbs intact.

Scathach had run into Keeferson as the Hufflepuff was leaving one of the clothing shops in Diagon Alley. Keeferson almost didn't recognize the young man, as Scathach had made it a point to shave, style his hair, and even put on a proper suit. Keeferson had just spent four hours straight inside of the clothing store - most of that working for one of the owners doing translation work. Before Keeferson actually made any conversation, Scathach had dragged the younger man away from the front of the shop. By the time Keeferson was about to put up a serious argument, Scatlach Apparated them to a similar series of streets inside of Scotland's Glasgow.

"Look, lad. My grandmum's expecting me to be there with a few chaps I work with. She doesn't know about what I really do for a living, and I'm not about to tell her now. I need you to distract her alright?"

Keeferson's bewildered mind couldn't truly process anything else and blindly nodded. Scathach's cheerful acceptance of this was followed with a jovial clap to one of Keeferson's shoulders. It was only after he did that, Keeferson's mind snapped back into focus. However, by that time it was too late.

Which, of course, lead him to his current predicament.

Scathach's grandmother could have taught the dead to curse, given the volume she was using. Even then, Keeferson had absolutely no idea what she was yelling about. The fact at least half of it was in "the Olde Language" as Scathach called it. Out of the numerous languages Keeferson -could- in fact speak, Picti wasn't one of them. In the end, one of Scathach's older sisters, Taryn, had to translate everything for him.

Keeferson realized three things about Scathach's family: they were all crazy to some degree, they all spoke Picti to different levels of tolerance... and they all still considered Mrs Isla MacNessa to be the undisputed head of the house. Not even Scathach's uncle Julian (who made Scathach and Keeferson look small in comparison) even attempted to raise his voice around her.

"Scathach," Keeferson said as they were leaving, "you -so- owe me one."

_________________
One character thus far:
Ares Richard Keeferson, Hufflepuff Hardcase
Redefining "user-unfriendly" since 1976.

(OOC: this is in response to something I have been working on. I would like to thank the DM staff for allowing me to even have hopes of working on these projects to begin with. as well, I would like to thank the players on this server for being so good to me during my days of stress. I know I write a heck of a lot. it's just the way I am.)


Omnia Mihi Lingua Graeca Sunt
("It's All Greek To Me.")
<Ares Richard Keeferson, age 15, Fifth Year at Hogwarts>


The words for the spells were beginning to take shape. Sure, it was not as if Keeferson was an expert in ancient Greek mythology, but there was always something to be said about having way too many books on hand. It was the early morning, and here he was in Flourish and Botts in their "reading section." The place was a cordoned off section of the famous bookstore in their upper section. (Upper section being a relative term. Keeferson had no idea how many floors Flourish and Botts possessed, always finding himself lost when he wasn't looking for a specific text.)

He had not purchased a book from the store in weeks, and yet they did not mind him using this location. In fact, the store wasn't even officially open yet. So how did he pull off this minor feat? Simple: bring in five rare books the owners had been looking for months unsuccessfully in great condition without legal reprisals following you. All of the tomes had been from Korea and Japan, and were very difficult for the average Western collector to get their hands on. However, Keeferson's friend Qianxiao Lui back in Toronto managed to come through for him. The cost of the favour, however, was quite high: Keeferson would be getting some "pictures" taken on his next trip home. (He wasn't looking forward to that at all.) Still, the effort was worth the risk of embarrassment. Being able to come into the store early to have a quiet place to examine books outside of the school was a good thing. As well, the owners of Flourish and Botts did not associate Keeferson with the chaos that had occurred at Hogsmeade. Anyone who spent as much time reading as Keeferson did could not have been involved in such a debacle, certainly.

Keeferson had made leaps and bounds in his research of those three “lost” spells: Geluflamma (“Frost Flame”), Neplusultra (“The Impassable Object”), and Atemdesdrachen (“Dragon's Breath”). Now he was also on the hunt for three more incantations: Aestum Fluctuosum (“Tidal Wave”), Disconcordo Adversitas (“Disconcordant Opposition”), and Void Sphere (Minor). The lure of hunting down these spells was almost palpable to Keeferson. He figured if he could understand them, he could harness them. And with harnessing such magic, he could then increase his knowledge about the very things he was learning how to make. Of course, first he would need to find a way to make the spells work. This would be the tricky part, as just coming up with

Neplusultra, for example, was so far divided into numerous spells, he was better off learning the various derivatives and being done with it. As it was, Accio, Repulso, and a few other spells were already accessible within the school itself. Having joined Jack Amesworth’s “Conjur Club” was one of Keeferson’s best choices within the school. Thanks to Jack’s “peer mentoring” style, Keeferson had made tremendous progress with his conjurations. Sure, he was still working on creating chairs and tables, but in due time Keeferson was certain he would reach the level of expertise he needed to start making what he truly wanted. And the more he learned about conjurations, the more he learned about certain spells related back to Neplusultra. For him, Neplusultra was less of a goal than it was a guideline: something to measure up other spells to.

Atemdesdrachen was far more prevalent in his mind than the rest of the incantations. It had been a dream of his since his first year (and his first Sandsmith Artifact) to learn how to breathe out flames like dragons of legend and myth. Sure, the more he researched the spell in all its forms, the more dangerous it presented itself. If nothing else, there were continuous mentions of why the spell was so hard to find listings for: backlash. If there was anything magicians of any stripe hated, it was being hoisted by their own petard. And with Atemdesdrachen, there was a tendency for the spell to actually harm the user itself. Not exactly good for extended usage. The level of backlash was inconsistent, but this was something Keeferson had been expecting. Most of those whom had learned the spell had not written down their findings. Or at least, not in places easily discovered… or fireproof. The young man already had an idea or three in place to counteract this problem. Of course, first he would have to be successful with the spell to make finding the solution worth it.

When it came to Geluflamma, Keeferson was bemused at how difficult it was originally to find even the briefest mention of it. Now, he had four tomes with descriptions within. The sudden change of fortune was thanks to Cherise D’angelnuit, oddly enough. He had managed to hunt down an heirloom of her family purely by chance. When checking out a few of the baubles in the Hogwarts library, Cherise, along with Bethany Arrowsfeld and Karenza Norrington, had walked in on him. Upon recognizing the brooch, Cherise immediately mentioned to Keeferson about its value to her family and the fact it had been lost for over seventy years. The Hufflepuff’s reaction? Flicking it over to her with two fingers, he stated it was worthless to him for his studies, and didn’t have anyone to give to anyway. The squeals of joy from Cherise had all four of the students ushered out by Madame Pince within minutes. The next week, Cherise showed up at Keeferson’s favourite haunt with a host of books. Apparently, Cherise’s family had been so grateful that they had found a few texts they had no use for that any true bookworm would love to get their hands on. And true to form, Keeferson was most appreciative.

Aestum Fluctuosum and Disconcordo Adversitas both had turned up completely by accident. They were mentioned mostly in academic works about – of all things – the dangers seafaring wizards have to face. He had only come across them thanks to a series of assignments by Professor Binns and Professor Sinistra. Most students would have casually overlooked them, figuring they were not worth mentioning in the reports. In fact, Keeferson had completely ignored that section of the book entirely the first time around. It was only after a conversation with Tera Jallebin and Kylindra Valerine that he looked through the books again. As he had been working on translations for Aeronwy Rhonabwy and Talaitha Haldane, he had gone back to one of the pubs with the duo. They were the ones who directed him to the books he had in his possession currently. (The previous anthologies and texts he had managed to sell to a magical library. He also made sure to throw in at least another ten books he had on him to sweeten the deal. Only when he was leaving, did Keeferson realize he had sold all of his books on Divination by accident. Sinn're Alarcsein had been highly amused as she gave him her old, used copies as replacements.) In the end, he was as far with Aestum Fluctuosum and Disconcordo Adversitas as he was with Geluflamma.

And as for the Void Sphere (Minor) incantation… That was a story in and of itself. As well, he figured that spell would end up being permanent research material, much like the Neplusultra invocation. Still, the idea of creating pure –nothingness- appealed to Keeferson in a way that mere fire or frost could not. Unlike the rest of the spells, he wasn’t planning on sharing this spell with –anyone- if he could figure it out. There was something which called to Keeferson about it that he knew that few would understand. And with such thoughts in mind, he made sure to keep his reading covered whenever he drifted into the territory of this spell. By the time the store opened, Keeferson had purchased two more books for himself… and at least another five for Aeronwy and Talaitha. (They were shipping harder to find texts to their families and friends abroad.) For Keeferson, his next stop would have to be the apothecary. There were a few (dozen) questions he wanted to get answers for, and he had a feeling he needed to start somewhere familiar…

_________________
One character thus far:
Ares Richard Keeferson, Hufflepuff Hardcase
Redefining "user-unfriendly" since 1976.

(OOC: The work expressed in this post is purely that of the character. The character has for the past five years been working on various projects. He has been working on more than just the rediscovery of certain spells. He is still working on the completion of the items being mentioned in this post. Please note, the actual components of the items are left intentionally vague - mainly as the player has no idea if these will come into being, and in what form. Any suggestions may freely be made to my PMs.)

Praemonitus, Praemunitus
(Forewarned is Forearmed)
<Ares Richard Keeferson, age 15, Fifth Year of Hogwarts>

Spending all that time in the dungeons couldn’t be healthy.

Keeferson, someone who should have been in the prime of his life, was once more in one of the abandoned dungeon rooms. Having purchased a series of cauldrons – and having one bought for him by Shacadia Shay – he had set to work on the construction of his own personal laboratory. Most of his ingredients were commonly (or uncommonly) found mentioned in the scholastic ledgers for Potions. The few things he had to acquire far outside the school were nothing illegal or lethal – at least by themselves. The amount of spells he had used in trying to clean up the place alone had been exhausting. He had always given people credit for their housecleaning skills, but this was the first time he had to overhaul an entire space by himself.

Rows of fancy dragonhide leather gloves hung on the wall. Rings of various sizes and materials were resting beside them. In a box, at least ten different regular work gloves sat. He had thought about trying to work with belts as well, but such things were for more advanced studies. He had collected a few capes and cowls as well, mainly to see if some of the concoctions would only work with a larger surface area. Items such as shirts, blouses, pantaloons, and shoes he had not even considered. They were a lot harder to package up and get through the halls in quantity than gloves. That, and he surmised he should stick to the basics for now.

Most of the desks had been in various states of disrepair when he had taken over this space. Not to mention the chairs were in horrific condition. The ventilation was pretty much nonexistent, and door itself had been a joke. Thanks to the extensive usage of a few spells, this was no longer the case. Though Keeferson had ended up feeling –very- sick by the end of the first day, his constitution had grown use to the amount of spellcasting required to resurrect a classroom. Quietly he thought to himself even Headmaster Dumbledore himself would be pleased by these results. He had added a few plants to the farthest corners of the room, mainly for decoration. He made sure that the plants didn’t need much water, even going so far as to purchase a Paracelsus-Oldridge Magical Purification Device for wasted potions. Sure, it had cost him almost as much as that mirror he had to take care of. Sure, it was a twisted series of enchanted tubes and spheres. Sure, it even made interesting clouds of smoke and steam as a by-product. But it worked, and that was what mattered. (Professor Snape would have a field day if he ever discovered such.)

One massive used cauldron sat on the north side of the chamber, farthest from the door. Apparently, someone had thought to use this place before Keeferson. However, that couldn’t have been for at least thirty years. The amount of dust he had collected was nothing short of terrifying. Somehow he had miscasted a dust-clearing spell he had used for books once. What ended up happening was a gravity well that only attracted dust and soot. The resulting compressed sphere was about the size of Keeferson’s fist. Fused together, the particles made a smooth and polished “stone” the colour of brown bread. Keeferson had made it a point to place the thing somewhere he could see it, but out of reach of regular people. (Regular, in this case, meaning they couldn’t reach it without magic.)

The desks had been another story. It had taken Keeferson two separate days to get them back in order. Utilizing a copy of Bartholomew Bloxam’s “Do-It-Yourself Wizarding Home Repair for Beginners,” he had discovered brand new ways to put a desk together. He had also discovered that mispronouncing spells due to sneezing or coughing could end up setting fire to the very thing you were trying to repair. Out of the original twenty desks which were in various levels of decay and disrepair, seven were now fully functioning again. The other desks were no longer in existence. Either they had been cannibalized, incinerated, erased from view, or used as shelving material. Over the next few days, Keeferson also learned that the shelves and the desks were a little “thirsty:” pouring certain potions directly onto them could end up bestowing some of the properties of the potions into the desks themselves. Keeferson ended up making a host of potions for practice to test this out. More than likely, this was due to the spells used to reconstruct them. In the end, as long as Keeferson kept his areas clean, he would be just fine.

The rows of items had been purchased, found, purloined, and “acquisitioned” over the past five years. Not a single item was of any real significance that he kept inside this workplace. Everything here was replaceable; in case certain factions got a little too curious and found their way in, they would not be rewarded for their hard work. Anything important or valuable came and left with Keeferson, unless it was experiments which were ongoing. At that moment, he had at least three pairs of gloves soaking in rather vile looking concoctions, and two rings simmering in small brass cauldrons over indirect heat. Each of the cauldrons had been labeled carefully, so that way Keeferson would not mix up the set. (He also had them memorized by volume and discoloration, if the labels found a way to fail.)

He had always made it a point to read through the findings of others first if something was available. And thanks to Druppi Tallow, he had a most impressive set of previously proven “recipes” to compare and contrast his own work against. He still had not heard back from Terry Elders about his requests from before, but he was in no rush. After all, good things always tended to take a long time around him. The first set of gloves would probably not be ready for another week or so, but things were finally moving along. Monitoring the menagerie of metal and mahogany, the Hufflepuff student sighed once. The three test run gloves would be most interesting if nothing else. Surely, he didn’t –have- to use fancy dragonhide gloves for them, but he chose to start with a material already enriched with its own innate magical properties. The three different gloves were of three different types of effects: one for elemental protection, one of circumstantial protection, and one based on physical protection. Each one carried its own recipe, and its own set of random variables. He had tried working with different properties before… and almost melted down the cauldrons. In fact, he had used the remains from the cauldron in the worse shape as part of one of the recipes for a side project. That one remained untouched by the east dungeon wall, along with all the other components. The Canadian import was taking special care to pick up things that wouldn’t be missed for that idea. After all, if it worked, there was a very good chance he was going to need it sooner or later.

Tapping on the small cauldrons holding the rings with his wand, the Potions-loving student looked at his work with a more critical eye. Reading through some of his notes, he used a skimmer to remove some of the crust and scum at the top of each cauldron. He made sure to have a separate skimmer for each, just to be on the paranoid side. The mess itself was disposed of in a separate old cauldron. He wished he could get running water in this classroom, but that would mean notifying the Headmaster if nothing else. And he really didn’t feel like explaining himself to Dumbledore yet again. Although, so Keeferson calculated, it was only a matter of time…

_________________
One character thus far:
Ares Richard Keeferson, Hufflepuff Hardcase
Redefining "user-unfriendly" since 1976.

(OOC: this post is to explain where he went after talking with Marta today. he clearly was not going to be in any of his classes. this post also explains part of his current "health conditions." one of Keeferson's problems has always been sudden flareups in his shoulders and arms of pain. recently, he's started to have pains in the neck - literally. this will give interested players - mainly those whom have been involved with his health - an idea. if pressed, this is what he would tell the characters. well, some of it.)


Oderint Dum Metuant.
(Let Them Hate Provided That They Fear)
<Ares Richard Keeferson, age 15, Fifth Year of Hogwarts>


If there was anything Keeferson hated, it was being stalked. Okay, admittedly there were quite a few things that Keeferson hated, but being stalked had been in his top ten list since he was ten years old. Usually because in the case of the young Hufflepuff, bad things happened to him whenever people crept up behind him. Not that he had never used invisibility to his advantage since joining Hogwarts. However, he considered that a completely different affair, as some of the creatures he had needed to raid the nests of would have plucked out his gizzard and his groin had they seen him. (He was certain some of the girls in Ravenclaw would do the same if they ever caught him at that magical view space that he had heard some of the older Slytherin boys talking about.)

Today was no exception. As he had found himself on the rainy streets of Cardiff somehow, he wandered through “The Muggle side” and tried to figure out his purpose in staying at Hogwarts. He tended to have these moments when things in his personal life crashed and burned. The one major difference was this time he hadn’t done anything wrong yet. He had a feeling he was being watched as he went from bookshop to bookshop, never actually purchasing more than he could reasonably carry in his army bag. Of course, the army bag had been the first thing he purchased when he got to Cardiff , the second being “second breakfast.”

He had shown up to the city in a gray bomber jacket, dark blue denim pants, and steel-toe work boots. Making sure to put the hood over his head, many people instinctively moved out of his way, mistaking him for a local tough. It was only when he spoke that the patrons of the various stores stopped giving him the eye. He made it a point to be excruciatingly polite, as he did not wish to attract even more attention to himself than he already did. Keeferson know he could never blend in inside a city such as this, but he had been asked a few days previous to acquire a few things specifically inside of Cardiff . Though what three pureblood Slytherin girls in First and Second Year needed inside of Muggle England was completely lost on him. Still, they were paying good money for him to acquire the books and baubles they were looking for, so he didn’t care quite as much.

After the fourth bookstore, he made it a point to prepare a minor surprise. Sure, he was not allowed to cast spells, but nothing prevented him from using augmented items in a subtle fashion. So with that logic in mind, he changed his regular dragonhide leather gloves for the “troll gauntlets,” sliding on a pair of low-riding brass knuckles on over top. Nothing illegal… as long as the local authorities did not stop him. He was not about to try to get into a fight in public if he could help it. Being underage in a foreign country was hard enough without being behind bars to boot. Never being that good at observing his surroundings, he just tried very hard to blend into the daytime crowd, getting as drenched as anyone else.

When lunch time came around, he figured out the collection of trains and floo fireplaces he had taken to get –to- Cardiff in the first place. Managing to land himself in the Hufflepuff Common room first, he dropped off his things in his school trunk and headed upstairs. There, he had a small conversation with Veiyne about his immediate future in Hogwarts, and if he truly had one. (Keeferson that is, not Veiyne.) Expressing some of his doubts about his oratory skills for a conversation he intended to have with the new Headmistress, he ended up departing earlier from the conversation than he normally would have.

Heading back to Cardiff , he made it a point to return without his brand new army bag. In all fairness, he looked almost like a brand new man: wearing a nice three-piece suit, a snazzy watch, and a trench coat that went to three inches above the ground. His aim this time (including a fake set of spectacles) was to purchase the jewelry the little damsels wanted. He had a checklist with him so he wouldn’t forget anything. With his wallet filled with euros and British pounds, he headed straight for the more impressive side of town. He did not want to go through any of the pawn shops until he had run out of other options. He was looking for receipts, if nothing else. Everything had to be as above board as possible. This was not like some of his runs for people, where things would just “vanish” the moment they were out of his sight. These would be used in public, worn in public, and even presented to others as gifts.

Keeferson was glad he had set out a day to do this for himself. The whole searching for "really pretty things" was exhausting, annoying, and above all... expensive. Not to mention the moment that Shacadia or Sierra heard about any of this, he'd have to start explaining it to people. Not that he truly hated that possibility, but it was just better that he didn't at times. People tended to jump to some pretty interesting conclusions around him. Six hours of straight shopping in stores that ranged from the eclectic to the exotic. Another two hours of navigating buses and taxi cabs to get to the opposite side of town for the last three things. And through it all, that suspicion that someone had been trailing him ever since he got back to Cardiff.

Just as he had purchased his final bauble, he stepped out the store to see a young woman just -staring- at him. He adjusted his gloves, adjusted his glasses, and started to turn away. He had a feeling that was going to be a bad idea, but he did it anyway. Why exactly? Because he knew that nobody would be insane enough to start a fight in -front- of a posh place such as he stepped out of.

The problem was, as he thought to himself later, was there were always alleys all too conveniently located to be shoved into. The young woman smiled at Keeferson, holding him against the wall with one hand. Unable to move, Keeferson realized two things: that there was no way this woman was interested in what he purchased, and he probably wasn't going to be able to fight his way out of this woman's grip.

Leaning into Keeferson, she whispered:

"You do know I've been following you, don't you? Your furtive glances behind you when you think nobody is paying attention. Your sudden flagging down of taxis when there was a store conveniently half a block away. Ducking into a shopping mall during the busiest time of day. All of your little antics were so... cute. You destroyed two of my would-be playmates a few weeks back. Do you remember?"

Keeferson thought back to what had happened weeks previously. It was those blasted vampire fledglings - the ones which had got the better of him. He had wound up in the Infirmary thrice because of his rushing in to find one stupid ingredient on the grounds of Hogwarts. Keeferson could remember the smiling face of the first one, and how it tried to whisper something at the Hufflepuff as Keeferson started to lose consciousness. He had been fortunate enough to have been found by a group of Third Year Gryffindor girls who were trying to find spell components the same as he was. Trying his luck a second time had netted him the same results... and it was the same group of young ladies who had once more needed to lug Keeferson's unconscious body back to the castle. (Since then, Keeferson made it a point to pay them all back with cake, cookies, pie, and a free tutoring session for Potions.) The third time he could barely remember, but he did recall using one of the items he had purchased from Knockturn Alley to get out of the mess he found himself in. Though how this woman inside of Britain was responsible for those abominations somewhere lost in Scotland was completely lost on him.

"And you are so young and sweet still," the woman cooed at him. "All this strength and potential, inside of one little mudblood pauper. I should kill you and make it look like a robbery, but I think I'll do something better. Since you've made me so very cross and thirsty, I think I'll try a sip of you instead."

With a smile, the vampire pressed her hand into Keeferson's chest suddenly. The force winded him, causing him to sag against the brick. And with the hustle and bustle of Cardiff's nightlife getting under way, Keeferson's throat was punctured by two fangs of ivory white. The vampire's "sip" was more like a cup full, leisurely draining away at Keeferson's life. But true to her word, she chose to let him live... but not before kissing him in a way that no young man his age is supposed to experience for another decade or so.

"You were so very good, Red-eye. I think I may have some of you again. Keep it hot and fresh for me, Prince Pauper Red-eye. I'll definitely be back for you..."

Keeferson for the life of him couldn't remember why he didn't even think to cry out when she had approached him. And he certainly had no clue as to how he managed to get back to Hogwarts without further incident. Holding his neck in agony, he brought out a few bandages and commandeered the washroom for a few minutes. Afterwards, he went out of Hufflepuff Commons and delivered all the requested items in record time, only to duck back into the Common Room before anyone saw him again.

_________________
One character thus far:
Ares Richard Keeferson, Hufflepuff Hardcase
Redefining "user-unfriendly" since 1976.

(OOC: This takes place after the conversations Keeferson had with Celeste Star and Rosdion Nifien today in the morning.)


Audio, Video, Disco
(I Hear, I See, I Learn)
<Ares Richard Keeferson, age 15, Fifth Year at Hogwarts>


For a change in the eyes of his classmates, Keeferson was in classes. In fact, he was in classes all day. The foreign student was renown for his missing of classes at random intervals, yet still doing frightfully well in school. The secret to his success was how he spent quite a bit of his time: reading. Today, however, was all practical classes, and he knew why he had chosen not to miss any of them: he had a better chance of being carted to the school's hospital from a class than from a random street.

His time spent in St. Mungo's the day before had been brief and enlightening. Of course, waking up inside of St. Mungo's had not exactly been his plan. He could not blame anyone else but himself for his misfortunes, however. He knew he had been lax in monitoring his own health for quite some time. Professor Snape and Madam Pomfrey had always insisted that the best judge of Keeferson's own condition was Keeferson himself. And what had he done? Thrown his soul on the table and rolled the dice. The fact he wasn't dead surprised him in an almost depressing fashion.

The bandages on the side of his neck pressed against his hood. Once more he had decided to wear it, not wanting to deal with the questions which invariably came about his eye. The fact that he was of Nubian descent seemed to be of far more interest to members of his own House than his eye colour, however. He would have found it more humorous if he could remember seeing more people like him. Then again, Keeferson thought to himself, he was in the middle of the United Kingdom. Most of those similar to himself were out of North America, just like himself.

As Lockhart droned on vaingloriously about how Defense Against the Dark Arts was a gallant and challenging occupation, Keeferson started working on his essays again. Knowing that Lockhart wouldn't pay attention to one quill waggling (thinking they were quoting him), Keeferson worked silently and without much interference. It was one that Professor Moody had assigned for them two weeks previous. Keeferson had his almost finished, but he also needed to write two other versions of it, using the notes of a few other students. One of them (a Ravenclaw girl one year head of him) was to have a decidedly formulaic format. The other one (commissioned by a Gryffindor damsel also a year ahead of him) was to be cross-referenced with of all things, Quidditch. Keefersion really hated Quidditch.

When the first class was over, Keeferson milled along with the rest of the students to Divination with Professor Firenze. It was hard to look at Firenze and consider him a teacher for Hogwarts. The young Hufflepuff had grown up believing that centaurs were fictional. Of course, the same could be said of unicorns, dragons, and Red Caps. As Keeferson had learned the old fashioned way, that was not the case. It was only through Professor Firenze that Keeferson learned anything at all in Divinations. His marks had improved distinctly the moment that the wisened centaur had started teaching some of the classes.

His third class of the way was Transfigurations. Keeferson barely remembered any of it. He had a relapse of the dizziness and the vertigo from the day before. How he functioned in such a condition eluded him, but he could recall nodding at the teacher's first question... and then bowing to the teacher slightly before he left the class. His numerous books were not even opened. So either Keeferson had been hexed repeatedly without the teacher's notice, or the blood poisoning was acting up again. He figured it was the blood poisoning, given what had already happened. That, and nobody tried to do nonsene inside of Transfigurations, no matter how talented they were. It just was not the smart thing to do.

Keeferson's final class was Ancient Runes. As Keeferson did enjoy learning new things about old things, he was one of his favourite classes to actually savour. It was not unlike sniffing the aroma of a fine wine. That, and the more he learned within Ancient Rules, the more useful he became to people such as Liam Creidhne and Perri Wurring. They bankrolled a lot of his experimentation, so he made sure to keep his understand of ancient civilations current. This period of Ancient Runes was a mixed classe of all four Houses... except for the fact he was the only one from Hufflepuff there. All the other students were sick, injured, or just were too "cool" for classes. Keeferson was not all that concerned, as he was still working on essays. Keeferson, half listening, picked up just enough to figure out the point of the lesson. He may not have been born brilliant, but he knew how much his brain would take before shutting itself off on him.

The moment classes were over, Keeferson headed straight for Hufflepuff Commons, and then the individual Boy's Common Area. Finding the room he was sharing with a few of the other students (who thankfully were not around), he pulled the curtains on the bed and cast enough spells on the makeshift walls to make it -proof from all regular disturbances. And it was like this that Keeferson went to sleep again.

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One character thus far:
Ares Richard Keeferson, Hufflepuff Hardcase
Redefining "user-unfriendly" since 1976.

(OOC: ongoing RP work on something the DMs already know about... and mentions of the aftereffects of an ongoing forum- and server-based roleplaying scenario.)


Dulce Bellum Inexpertis
(War Is Sweet To Those Who Have Never Fought)
<Ares Richard Keeferson, age 15, Fifth Year at Hogwarts>


Keeferson... was sick.

Again.

This was the fifth time in five days this had happened to him. Thankfully, he always managed to catch himself well ahead of time. This trying to go off all the medications and concoctions he was on at the same time was fairly risky. Not to mention for the first time in six years he could actually -hear- something in the back of his head. It was mostly a rasping noise, like something clawing piteously at a stone door. It was not if he did not know what it was either, but he chose to ignore it. There were far too many things at risk that he couldn't pay the noise too much attention. After all, that is what his nights were for, were they not? To deal with those nightmares that traced his arms in feathery touches?

Dealing with the other students from before had forced him to realize something: the medications were not making him better. In fact, they were keeping his sick so his body would have something to do - something to fight. It was the only way the rest of him could catch up to his mind. Without a constant struggle, Keeferson would have been far more frail than he already considered himself. He refused to acknowledge the fact that being able to carry young women in his arms more than ten paces automatically disqualified you for being frail. Of course, so did getting your ribs broken in a bearhug and being able to walk the next day under your own power even with Skele-Grow potion. Still, Keeferson was nothing if not a master of deluding himself into believing himself worthless.

Another tome lay on the desk beside Keeferson's head. The bile which had spilled from his mouth coated the floor underneath the desk. Keeferson whispered a spell at the fuming mess, removing it from existence. The next two spells were to get rid of the chlorine stench of the cloud it had left behind. Opening up windows was Keeferson's next priority, before anyone else had some clue as to what had happened. Those who knew the towering Hufflepuff had already been informed of what was happening to him. Everyone else just knew Keeferson had become far more moody than usual. In fact, he was so bad he had actively missed a Potions class with Professor Snape. Keeferson -never- did that. People just figured to leave him be if they were smart.

Keeferson sighed, taking out a bottle of water and washing out his mouth. Grimacing at the taste, the dark archon looked back on the book in his hands. Not really concerned about the title or the language of the book, he only cared about what it had within. He had on other parchments and in his note book he cobbled together everything else he had wanted to work on. The names of the spells were almost common to him now. Still, he had to fight to learn them in some form and function.

Geluflamma (“Frost Flame”). Neplusultra (“The Impassable Object”). Atemdesdrachen (“Dragon's Breath”). Aestum Fluctuosum (“Tidal Wave”). Disconcordo Adversitas (“Disconcordant Opposition”). Minor Void Sphere. Psychotelekinesis. Analysis Cage. Confringo. Reducto. Ten spells. Each spell having a different purpose than the next. At least two of them just about impossible to learn ever. Two of them easily would have him thrown to the wolves - literally, if not figuratively. One of them he had managed to use once. It was not anywhere close to his end goal, but it was there. The rest of them were still in the clouds, waiting to be brought down to earth.

Atemdesdrachen was so close now, he could see the shadow of its wings. Despite his growing interest in medical magic, his desire was still devastation. Confringo and Reducto called to him like Protego did not. Of course, all the power in the world will not save you if an arrow goes through the base of your skull. Keeferson knew this far better than most would give him credit for. Still, he sought out the magics of maleficence before anything else. Those were the spells he had the penchant for, and he wanted to ride out his strengths as best he could.

Neplusultra and Minor Void Sphere were more dream magics than anything. Spells which almost assuredly died with their creators more than two hundred years ago. None had thought of creating such sorceries as those. In fact, many books he had found mentioning either spell merely passed both off as myths and whimsy, things to tell little children. Perhaps it is because he was always told that magic itself was fantasy and never to be believed why he still chased those magics. One never knew if such a thing was true in the wizarding world. There was so much yet to be discovered... as long as he didn't try to go back to Cardiff to find out.

Geluflamma was his personal "baby." He wanted to figure out how to make this spell work just to prove to others that wind and water could make just as effective an offensive spell as fire. That, and Geluflamma promised to have less collateral damage associated with it. Something similar to Glacies Tempestas ("Ice Storm") or Gelu Morsus ("Frost Bite"), but with more range than the latter and a little more control over what you hit than the former. As well, it would drive Patrick Quigley nuts there was an ice spell which rivals his own flame-based talents. That amused Keeferson more than anything else.

Aestum Fluctuosum and Disconcordo Adversitas were things he had found previously. He would always call them "things" until he convinced himself all the research was not in vain. Keeferson hated learning that something was completely useless. There had been many days spent in the muggle libraries within Toronto he had discovered that. Usually it was in reference to people and them being willing to assist a youth who made them all look tiny and weak.

Keeferson's eyes narrowed at his own papers for a moment, then reordered them again. The last two spells he had placed on the top of his current list - Psychotelekinesis and Analysis Cage. The Analysis Cage was Arithmancy and various medical spells melded together. Not that the concept of the spell itself was new, but this spell was purely of Keeferson's own design. Used successfully once on a whim and a bit of urgency, Keeferson was aiming to make the incantation more stable and eventually give it dimensions of its own. As for the Psychotelekinesis incantation...

... first Keeferson needed to master Accio and Repulso. And Wingardium Leviosa. And that Corpus Locomortor (or however it was called) thing. And perhaps a few other spells besides. Keeferson had a specific goal with that spell in mind. It was not going to be a quick fix. It was, however, going to be very interesting if he could devise it himself.

That was, of course, as long as he didn't end up coughing himself to death.

_________________
One character thus far:
Ares Richard Keeferson, Hufflepuff Hardcase
Redefining "user-unfriendly" since 1976.