Viewing Profile -> Pavon B Sannesley
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With the muggleborns in charge, nothing has really changed since the Battle of Hogwarts. The sides have been switched with those bearing old family names being discriminated against. Once again the revolution is upon us. What side will go to the darkest places to get what they want? Will it be yours?

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Local Time: May 22 2018, 10:31 AM
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Pavon B Sannesley


My Content
Jan 12 2018, 05:41 AM
He had snuck out of his home that night. It had been the first time in a long while when he was home over the holidays even, but that had perhaps something to do with attending the ball, and having to be made presentable.

He had first dreaded coming home and rightfully so. He could no longer conceal what he had done for so long. They knew. Whether they found out via the professor or someone else, but they knew. His brother had been of no help at all, offered little support. Of course the regime after that, was strict. Take the potion the professor provided and be allowed to brew absolutely nothing while at home. His cauldron had been confiscated and his 'crime' had been a flaw pushed into his face every morning. His brother got praise, while he had gotten the scolding. Why was he not more like his older brother who was now soon to be employed in the family's business. His brother could do no wrong, he had been merely a victim of circumstance to which Pavon had done nothing to right. Yes, even that had been said, and his brother remained silent. It hurt him to listen but he could not leave the table till the meal was finished, and once or twice he dared to do so, things had only gotten worse. His loving family had become anything but. The worst part was, he realised, that if someone spoke ill of them he would still have jumped to their defence, still said how great they were. He felt alone. More now than he had when he first entered Hogwarts so many years ago. His owl the only being that kept him company and still looked pleased when she saw him. She would still nuzzle up into his hand, still screech and squeak affectionately and still remain loyal.

A few times Pavon had been tempted to shout back, to tell them exactly how much he did, but then he knew it would not change anything. They would not have believed him, his brother would not have stood at his side to back him up. Ever since he was free his attitude had returned. Proud, cocky and dismissive of his younger sibling. Pavon wondered if he had always been like that and in his youth, naively, he had believed him different or if he had changed by exile instead.

Of course all this had not absolved him from the obligation, the deal he had made. Sneaking out had been surprisingly not as hard as he thought it would be. It might have been down to all the preparations that had been made for the other day, all the fretting and the lot. Sure he had also used the collar that had him leave in a shape of a small feline. His brother had not had any use of it any more, so he'd just taken it back.

Once outside he ran to the pile of clothes he had left there, covered by a cloak that made it look as though it was a mere rock. He removed the collar then, suddenly back to his human self. He shivered as he got dressed in all the layers of the cloth and fabric he had left for himself. The robes were cold, having stayed outside all that time. He squinted his eyes closed, then with trembling hands pulled his gloves on last.

Then he was off.

It was a fair while later that he appeared in the Knockturn alley, a dark, albeit small, shadow hurrying past the many witches and wizards of questionable background, that hogged the streets at that time of night. He clutched his wand tight in the pocket of his robes, to keep himself calm.

Once he reached the nondescript door he gave it a tap, two taps, four and then one again. He pressed his wrist to one part of the door, which glowed very faintly. It slid open and then the moment he was inside, slid closed again.


It was a while later that he exited the same place again, righting his cape and tugging it over his head again. There was something he carried with him now, concealed, hidden. He had shuddered at the memory of the werewolf man who had also been there. He was not in his beastly form, but one just knew who he was, what he was. It was a manner in which he held himself, the way he moved, spoke.

Pavon moved away from there as quickly as he could, passing more of the residents on the way through the dark streets. One had grasped at his shoulder a short while later. "Now now, what do we have here?" The voice spoke, raspy, tired, unpleasant. He twisted away , the spindly arm still gripping a handful of his cloak so that it tugged him back by it.

He stumbled and turned, yanking roughly on his robe to get it free. "Far past the time the normal folk come here..." Was the unpleasant voice again, leering. He wondered why the meeting place had been here and not somewhere, nicer, less populated with the vermin of the wizarding world. "Let go!" He snapped and pulled again, hearing a tear. The hand moved forward to take a better grip of more than that one layer and as he bumped into another one, he turned to smirk at him as well. "Don't you know it is not polite to ram into people?" The taller one asked.

He really had regretted taking this street and not the other, that would have been longer but had seemed to be a little broader. Shortcuts, never, ever, take them. And all this just because he had to come here. He pulled his wand out and his next spell singed the fingers of the one holding his robe. The sudden release had him falling backwards while the voice howled in anger. He did not waste time but to roll - near tangling himself in his own robes -- to get back to his feet. He choked as his scarf was yanked back by an invisible force. He fell back again, still pulling at his the fabric around his neck as it tightened.

"Fine clothes. Hmmm.. you aren't from around here." The voice said and more began to crowd them now. "Wonder how much of those coins you have on you." The wand may have been used a few times more before a foot stepped onto his hand, holding it and he was forced to release.
Jan 24 2017, 04:08 PM
It was the holidays and as promised, the younger of the Sannesley's was once again working at the Hogsmeade. It was better than staying at Hogwarts and it allowed for more freedom. It gave him something to do and the company of the lady that owned the shop was equally exquisite. To be quite honest, the reason he was here was not so much pay, although he earned more than he usually did, doing homework for others or something similar, but her. Her presence made him feel better. Of course the fact he had once more gone and been able to take a dose of his potion, helped too, but even without that it felt as though whenever she was around his mind and body would, at least for a while, completely forget the dire need for that cursed thing.

So that day he had been at the shop since morning. He opened early, and came even earlier to clean it up and have it prepared for the first customers. Holidays were always a good time to make more sales, especially the ones around winter time when gifting was practically in the contract of having free time.

It was till about noon that customers kept coming in requiring this or that. He helped them, gave advice and sold the soaps, the creams, the perfumes and tonics and whichever else they asked for. He had gotten rather good at recognising what would suit a customer whether by their personality or really, just their appearance. Well noon had come and gone. He had a very short pause and it continued like that till evening when at final last he could think about closing the store again for the day.

When the customer left he turned to check the supplies and began restocking one of the shelves.

Mickey Crawford Artemisia Evergreen
Oct 11 2016, 07:34 PM
It was the end of the first week and there was already very little to look forward to. The worst of the classes was the Muggle Studies one of course. It had a new professor. Some Hart that neither had a heart nor did he deserve its other meaning, of being a stag. It did make Pavon think of the Potters though. While it may have once been a secret about what form a certain animagus took, it had not been in the history books, long after. He sighed. Ok, here he was. Right through the door. He even walked to his desk and he wasn't late. He wasn't really early either. He was not in a hurry. He would have only been in a hurry to get out of the class room again.

After he sat himself down at the table he lifted his hands to rub at his temples. The headache was just what he needed, more. Maybe he could excuse himself and leave? He doubted it though. The professor did not look like the kind who'd excuse someone just because their head hurt. He propped a book - it wasn't even a Muggle Studies one, up infront of him. It was standing up, so that he could lean his chin against his elbow and close his eyes. If only he could sleep through the class. He was tired.

Glancing briefly over to his left, he wondered if the other two that were part of his group would come. The only reason he even came was to hopefully keep the points. He did not care about detentions, but points were something he preferred earning over loosing. He closed his eyes again only to open them to study his quill. It was a lot more interesting than the subject could ever be.

His bag was slung over the chair behind him and there was a roll of parchment in front of him. He hatefully remembered the notebook and pen that he had had to use thanks to Morrigan. If his intention had been to make him hate the muggle things even more, than that professor was successful. If it was anything of the opposite, he failed spectacularly.

Declan Hart
Sep 29 2016, 01:27 PM
After the frightening encounter with a werewolf Pavon had not wanted to risk getting caught by the professors and yet at the same time just wanted to be in the dorm as quickly as possible. He used a shortcut or two, kept out of view and quickly slipped into the dungeons, past the common room and off into his dorm room. He noticed that his room mate was already fast asleep. He slipped out of his robe, folding it so that the dirt could not be visible. Then he began to strip and change into his sleeping robes. He ran his hand through his hair, tucked the few leaves out of it and chugged it on the floor.

He really hoped Maz had waited a little longer before she approached a professor. Of course there was no reason for himself to be called. She would not betray him. They had a story and they'd stick to it. She was attacked long after he'd gone. He returned to his common room and then his dorm. He just hoped his fellow room mate had gone to sleep earlier than needed and thus could not testify against any of that happening.

Once his shoes and socks were off and his sleeping robes were fastened around his waist he turned to slip under the several layers of bedding and blankets. He tugged the fabric up to his nose and sighed contently. He knew he should have brushed his teeth , washed his face, washed his hands, but thought it was enough that he wiped them on a piece of cloth.

He nuzzled his pillow, still a little out of breath. He could not sleep of course, no matter how tired he felt, but at least he was in his bed now, safely in the Hogwarts castle. The wolfman was a bad memory now, nothing more. He wasn't sure if it was better that he would be caught or would have escaped, but decided to allow fate take charge there.

Persephone DeVilaine

Sep 21 2016, 01:57 PM
Happy birthday professor! May you have plenty more and may they be successful!

Lilly Pembrokeshire
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