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travers, christian o.
, seventeen | slytherin
|CHRISTIAN ORSON TRAVERS
Member No.: 65
Joined: 11-October 11
CHRISTIAN ORSON TRAVERS
TRAVERS • SEVENTEEN • STUDENT • SLYTHERIN • TYLER BLACKBURN.
Position: Junior Potions Brewer
Department: Department of Magical Law Enforcement
Office: Office for Defensive Potion Making
Name: Christian Orson Travers
Date of Birth: 16th May 1958
Address: Swallowcliffe Manor, Salisbury, Wiltshire.
Emergency Contact(s): Orson and Evangeline Travers, address above.
Relevent Qualifications: Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, 1969 – Present
Pending N.E.W.T's in Potions, Arithmancy, Transfiguration and Astronomy.
Achieved O.W.L's in Potions (O), Arithmancy (O), Transfiguration (O), Astronomy (E), Herbology (E), Charms (E), Ancient Runes (E), Defence Against the Dark Arts (A), History of Magic (A).
Thank you for taking the time to fill this in. We will get back to you in 5-10 days to inform you whether you have been successful and to invite you to an interview.
Dear Mr Christian Travers,
Congratulations! We at the Ministry of Magic are pleased to inform you that you have been successful in the first stage of the application process for the sought-after position in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. We would like to invite you to a one on one interview with the Head of the Office for Defensive Potion Making, Augusto Bletchley, on the 5th March at 7pm. Kindly respond as soon as possible so we can arrange transportation for you to and from the Ministry.
Amelia Bones, Head of Department of Magical Law Enforcement.
Interviewee: Christian Travers.
Interviewer: Augusto Bletchley
”Good evening Christian, it was good of you to join me. How are you feeling? You look rather pale.”
-Slight chuckle- “No, on the contrary. I feel comparatively well. I just have a pale complexion, I'm afraid. Thank you for inviting me here.”
”It was my pleasure. I see no reason to delay this interview further, so let's begin. You wrote on your original application that you wanted to join the potions branch of our office because it's been your favourite subject all the way through school. Could you explain to me in a little more depth why that is?”
“Of course. My father has always been determined that I should follow in his footsteps and join the Ministry when I leave Hogwarts, which is understandable given his status in the Ministry and the fact that I had been brought up around Ministry Officials all my life. I, however, got to Hogwarts and discovered that there were other paths. Of course, being twelve or thirteen, none particularly appealed to me. However, I was enthralled by Potions. It is such an exact scientific subject. You need time, patience, craftsmanship and skill to complete a potion to perfection. Once done, it is something beautiful. I dedicated much of my time at Hogwarts to learning intricate potion recipes and perfecting them, hence my high grades. I wish I could say I have natural skill in Potions – I fear I do not – however, I have expanded my knowledge enough to make creative additions without the help of any natural gifts. My natural abilities lie in numerical skills, which in turn helps with potion-making. Arithmancy came very easily to me, therefore, I must confess, I enjoyed all the more. I am not stupid – my heritage would not allow me to be – yet if I find a subject dull or irrelevant, I will not pay any attention to it. The thing I pursue must be worth the chase if I am to put any work into it at all.”
“I see... So, would you say you are determined to succeed most of the time?”
“Oh, absolutely. I would not say I am judgemental – unusual for a Slytherin, perhaps – however, I do not associate with things which I deem unworthy of time or effort. Unless, of course, I am instructed to. You will note, Mr. Bletchley, that I have never failed an examination, despite History of Magic and Defence Against the Dark Arts having no use to me. If I must, I will pull my weight.”
“I understand. So, without using determined, could you think of another five adjectives to describe yourself?”
“Hmm, that's quite a difficult one. I am certainly very traditional. I was brought up mainly under my father's ruling, which was best for me, as when I was a child, I could be quite spirited and disobedient. However, I quickly learned the ways I was to act, particularly around my father. My mother was a little more free spirited, which is why I have an adventurous streak. I get addicted to adrenaline kicks; one of the reasons I don't have such a brilliant school behaviour record. However, you must understand, that potion-making is equal to such thrills. What else is there... I suppose I can be quite stoic. I don't really react to things.”
“Actually, that's quite interesting, I hope you don't mind me interrupting. Why do you say stoic? Can't you think of a time you've ever been unaffected by joy or grief?”
“That's a rather personal question, isn't it? If you don't mind me asking, how is this relevent to the job?”
“You see, as you move up the ranks, assuming of course that you will, the jobs become more and more dangerous, with potions tending to explode dangerously. You may come face to face with some devastating and violent injuries – and witnessing them as colleagues are in just as much danger. A calm head would certainly be useful in our department, as long as you have an outlet for your grief somewhere.”
“Ah, I see. In that case, I suppose the most poignant example of stoicism would have been at my father's wedding. Do not misunderstand me, his partner, Evangeline is perfectly pleasant, and I wish them well, and yet somehow... I could not find it in my heart to even raise a smile at their vows. My father put it down to me feeling shy and missing my mother, which is perfectly plausible. My mother and I were very close, and her death was, I will admit, a blow to me. -Snorts ironically- A blow indeed... But I am straying. My father was most disappointed in me. However, I felt merely indifferent. The whole ceremony was a charming affair, full of family and friends, and yet, I felt nothing. I cannot be sure why. However, that came in extraordinarily useful when my great Aunt Batty became inebriated and began shouting about muggle-borns and Grims.”
“How interesting. I have one final question for you. You haven't quite graduated from Hogwarts yet. Why do you want this job now? Why not in a years time? What has made you apply now?”
“You must understand, I come from a very traditional family... I have recently discovered that I am to be wed to one of my peers. Her name is Vienna, and however much I object, I understand the implications of what is about to happen to me. If I must have a wife, I will attempt to support her in whatever ways I can. That's why I am applying so early, you see. So I can save a little money for a year while she is finishing her education. If I wanted, or asked, my father would pay for everything. However, if I don't get to choose my wife, I will at least choose to support her on my own.”
“I see. That's very noble of you.”
“Some might say pig headed and prideful, as well. -Chuckles-”
“Indeed. Well, that's all the questions I have for you. Thank you for attending. We'll be in touch.”
“Thank you. We'll speak soon, I am sure.”
Six months earlier...
I hope this letter finds you well. Your step-mother and I have been enjoying the last of the September sunshine by taking strolls around the grounds. She is not up to much more, after all. I hope you are excited about the arrival of your younger sibling. Have you any more thoughts on a name? Your step-mother is heading towards Titus for a boy. I would be grateful if you could inform her that this is a poncy, stuck up name, as she will take it much better from you. You will be pleased to know that, in preparing for the new arrival, we have not had much time to discuss your future. Keep your head down and work hard. This year is important.
I am absolutely not writing to Evangeline, firstly because I like the name Titus and secondly because I am sure above all other things that is child will be a girl, and that Evangeline will give her an equally poncy French name. However, please consider Héloï se. It means sun, or so I am told. I have become quite taken with it. Yes, that does please me. I would rather you continue to be distracted. You know my mother would never forgive you if you were to force me to marry some girl I don't love.
Send Evangeline my best. Good luck with the child.
I write to you with good news! Evangeline has delivered a safe, strong girl. We have named her Mildred Saule. Mildred was my choice, it was my Grandmother's name. I have you to thank for that. Saule means willow in French, as we frequently walked beneath a willow tree. I'm afraid your step-mother did not take to your suggestion. “Sun” does not quite fit in with our family values, she believes, and I must say I agree with her. However, thank you for the suggestion. I'm sure you look forward to meeting Mildred at Christmas. On another note, you are now betrothed to Vienna Pucey.
I find what you have just done to me unfair and disgusting. Mother always brought me up to believe that I could choose whomsoever I pleased to marry, and let me tell you, Vienna and I have nothing in common. If we were to marry, it would be an unhappy one. Is that truly what you want? A morose, disturbed son; a submissive, frightened daughter-in-law; meek, timid grandchildren? Just because an arrangement worked out for you does not mean that I am the same. In fact, Mother frequently told me how the two of you plotted together to be married. Is it too much to ask to respect her wishes? In fact, it is rather insolent and immature of you to wait until she passed to arrange a marriage behind her back. She would never have allowed such a thing and you know it. Therefore, I demand you break off this engagement immediately. I've never even spoken to Vienna! You have no right to decide my future with a girl I don't even know.
Ps. Kiss to Mildred. It's a horrible name.
I'm afraid I cannot do that. I know you were close to your mother, and that she believed in true love and all that utter rubbish, however, circumstances are different now. Your step-mother's family is a from a very noble French bloodline, and we simply cannot allow you to marry whomsoever you choose. You must be seen to marry someone with both noble blood and a pleasant disposition, and both families have discussed it at length and agreed that the arrangement suits everyone. Unfortunately for you, I am your father, and you must do my bidding. I will never break up this arrangement. You will marry Vienna Pucey and that is final.
Your step-mother and sister are both well. She resembles you greatly.
You have not heard the last of this.
Your son, Christian.
ERIN• GMT • JESUS, MUST BE ABOUT EIGHT OR NINE NOW? AAAAGES.
The single thought pulsed in his head like a heartbeat, growing more and more urgent with every precious second that passed.
They would catch up to him eventually.
He had nowhere to go.
He could feel the heartbeat of his brother, pulsing the same rhythm as his.
Just. Keep. Going.
He had always known that this moment would come. As the scenery flashed past him, his heart rate pounding in his ears, he couldn't help but wonder what went wrong. After all, yesterday, he had been sitting in his living room, his beautiful, wonderful, amazing, perfect family around him. His twins - how fantastic, after all those years of wanting a baby, he had two at once! - were barely three months old, just learning to smile, and wave their chubby little fists at him. Yesterday, they had laughed for the first time. A glorious sound that, although small, had filled their house with delight. His fiancée - oh, how his heart ached for her - had laughed with them, her eyes alight with wonder. All she had to do was call his name, and he would come running for her.
He had changed a lot these past few years. No longer was he the skinny, girlish boy that Hogwarts had known, and kept for seven years. No, he was taller. A little taller, anyway. His hair was longer - instead of being neat, and short, as his roommate had kept it for so long, it now fell into his green eyes, meaning he had to push it out of the way every so often. It was longer at the back, too. It swept down and tickled the neck line of his tee-shirt. He had been meaning to get it cut for a long time, but a second away from his precious family was a second too long. He loved to play with his sons, they were real mischief makers already. They were perfect - something half Fabian, half Laurienta, wholly unique. And Fabian - for that, of course, was the man - had to protect them.
Fabian knew there was something wrong last night when he couldn't hear anything. In Ottery-St-Catchpole, the wildlife was so noisy, it would wake even the heaviest of sleepers. Though Fabian found the sounds relaxing, the silence had frightened him. It was ironic really - the war had out everyone so on edge. So many people were losing their lives. Frank and Alice were considering going on the run, and Lily and James were preparing to go into hiding. After his father in law to be, Charlie Flentowock's, death, nothing had been the same.
He could remember getting up, leaving Laurienta asleep - she had looked so beautiful, so vulnerable, her skin papery thin, and almost translucent in the moonlight - and going to check on the boys. They were fine - twin cots, that Gideon and Arthur had made, with blankets knitted by Molly - and the sound of their breathing contented Fabian for a while. However, he could not rest. Gideon had been staying with them for a while - a rough patch with his lady friend, apparently, although Fabian suspected that Gideon just wanted to protect her, and Albus has already put many protective spells around Molly's house, and Fabian's.
The nest thing Fabian remembered - after watching his boys for an indefinite amount of time - was creeping into Gideon's room. Their house had three bedrooms, as the original plan was one for each of the boys, and one for Lore and Fabian, but it was of no consequence to let Gideon stay while the boys were still small enough to both fit in one bedroom. He had crept over to Gideon's bed, his jaw set in a firm line, and his hands balled into fists.
"Gid. You awake?" He had whispered to his twin, knowing the answer.
"Yeah... S'too quiet." He heard Gideon murmur in reply.
Fabian sat on the end of his brother's bed, the springs creaking in protest. He felt Gideon shift around - he had already been sitting up, it seemed. The brothers sat, side by side, at precisely the same height, identical thoughts running through their heads. Gideon had the nerve to speak up first.
"It's them, isn't it?" There was a beat of silence. Neither twin wanted to say it. For if it were them, they'd have to leave everything they treasured behind. Gideon grasped Fabian's knee briefly. "It's for the best. We're running to save them. It might not be them." On the last syllable, Gideon's voice cracked, and Fabian had never felt more like an older brother than he did at that moment. He grasped his brother's muscular shoulder, the shoulder that he had so often compared to his, and felt weak, insignificant. Now, as his hand comforted the bigger twin, he felt powerful. All he wanted was to guard his brother from the Death Eaters. It was Fabian's fault, all Fabian's fault. He shouldn't have gotten them involved with the Department of Magical Liaisons in the first place. If it weren't for him, there would be no reason for them to come after Gideon at all. Fabian's head ached with the guilt; it were as if a little army was marching around the inside of his forehead in protest, their boots pounding on the inside of his skull. And they were right. It wasn't fair.
"If that's them, Gideon. If that's them, we're going to have to run."
Fabian crept quietly into the small bedroom he shared with Laurienta, his heart pounding, half in fear, half in that silly teenage way it always had when he'd stolen a glance at her beautiful face. Even now, he still couldn't believe his luck. He had always loved her. Deep down, he knew he always would, even if she grew old and grey. He lay down on the bed beside her, pressing his body against the curve of her back, pressing his face into her neck, inhaling her scent, her soft blonde hair tickling his nose, his neck, his chin. Suddenly, it hit him. If the Death Eaters really were here, this might be the last time he got to hold her in his arms, hold her close to his body. It felt like his heart was ripping in two, and falling through a cavernous hole in his happiness. He wound his arms around her waist, pulling her closer. She - how he loved her - turned in to face him, her hands in his hair, her soft lips grazing his. Fabian could have held her there, in his arms but more importantly, safe, for the rest of his days. But it could not be.
"Lore..." He whispered into her ear. There was no need though. She already knew.
"It's time, isn't it?" Fabian sought her eyes. The eyes he had planned to gaze into for the rest of his life. The eyes that would never waver, never leave. It took all of Fabian's strength to stare into them, and nod. It felt like a death sentence.
They had been prepared for a long time. They had a plan of action. Lore was taking the twins to Molly and Arthur's, and Gideon and Fabian... They had always known that they were going to fight.
The moon shone through the window of the twin's room, making the night appear deceptively mild. In reality, the night was heated by sparks of sheer terror. As Fabian and Laurienta wrapped the twins in blankets and placed them securely in baby carriers, he turned to her, his brow furrowed.
"What is this is the last time I ever see you? Ever say goodnight to my boys?" Fabian asked. There was no way to beat around the bush - the war waited for no man, woman, child, or engaged couple and their young children. He reached over, and grasped her hand, unable to express the utter agony this separation from his beloved family was causing him. Lore leaned over, and kissed his lips, her eyes full of love.
"This will not be it, Fabian. I know you're going to fight for us. I love you." Fabian placed his twin down, reached over, and embraced his future wife. She held him back, just for a second. Then, she had to leave. The time they had was too short. Now, she was escaping to safety with their beautiful children, and Fabian was running towards his greatest fear. It was terrifying.
Fabian could do nothing but watch as Lore took the twins, gave him a final smile, and stepped into the fireplace. All Fabian had now was the memory of a smile, a scent, and the knowledge that he had a family to come back to.
Gideon had stood beside him after that, tugging painfully on his arm.
"Fabian, we have to move. If we want to get away, we have to leave now." But leaving his family undefended, despite how much they had discussed it, ripped Fabian apart. But he had to protect them. And Fabian knew it wasn't just his family he had to protect. If he could overcome Dolohov - for Fabian knew that the Dark Lord would send Dolohov after himself and Gideon - he would be protecting all possible people that the notorious Death Eater would torture, maim or kill. And Fabian could live to watch his sons grow into men, and start their own families.
For now, Fabian and Gideon had to run.
So they did. They crept out the back door in the dead of night, knowing that apparition would give them away, and slipped away into the night. There was a safe house not too far from their house - the twins should have been able to get away quickly. However, everything did not go accordingly.
The first thing that Fabian remembered going wrong was the fall. Gideon had always been a little clumsy - it wasn't his fault. They had run, and Gideon had tripped.
Fabian turned just in time to witness it. He saw it as if in slow motion - the free root sticking out of the ground, his brother's stumble, fall, and finally hit the ground with a loud crack.
Then came the worst moment of all.
That was the moment Fabian's heart stopped.
Fabian would remember Gideon's horrified expression, frozen in time for the rest of his life - which now could be a matter of minutes. They had no choice but to flee back in to the house, safe in the knowledge that Laurienta and Fabian's two precious sons were safe at the last remaining safe Prewett's house. Thank the Lord for Molly.
Fabian and Gideon ran for their lives. It was true that the phrase was a cliché, but unfortunately, it fitted their situation so tragically. Fabian could barely feel his feet as he pounded towards the wide open back door, it's darkness a comfort. At least they didn't have his sons, he chanted in his head. At least they didn't have his family. Fabian's family were the most important thing to him.
After stumbling into the house, Fabian saw that the kitchen light was on. His heart rocketed down to the bottom of his shoes. They had switched all the lights off. He turned to Gideon, his brother, his best friend, knowing that their expressions were matched almost exactly. They knew it was too late.
Faced with death, Fabian was actually quite brave. At this moment, he had always imagined that he would collapse - dying young was one of his greatest fears. He knew there was so much more he could accomplish. He had two young sons to bring up, a beautiful partner to make love to, a brother to laugh with, nephews to play with - just when it had seemed his life was full. He should have been terrified. However, a calm, almost serene feeling came over Fabian. He felt collected, together. He knew exactly what he had to do. All noise had been blocked from his ears and an eerie silence took hold of him. Putting a reassuring hand on his brother's shoulder, he nodded. Slowly, very slowly, Fabian crept over to the wide open kitchen door which had once been shut. Glancing behind him to the staircase, he was relieved to see that no-one had been up there yet - the carefully positioned 'Quibbler' had not been knocked out of place. Inside his kitchen - his kitchen - Fabian could hear low, murmuring voices. There was a female, which had to be Bellatrix Lestrange. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named trusted no other female. The other voices he couldn't make out. Then, without warning, a man exited the kitchen, and Fabian found himself face to face with none other than the notorious Antonin Dolohov.
Fabian knew what he had to do. He had to fight - it was too cowardly to run. For Fabian had reasons to fight. He would fight for Cass, his self-deprecating friend who deserved more than she could ever imagine. For her, and also for her sister, who had found love with a wonderful man - and for their unborn baby, who was bound to be a star. He would fight for Lily and James, and their baby (James was convinced he was being bourne a son) who would be the year below his boys - perhaps they would play together. Fabian would fight for the rest of the Marauders. For Sirius, who made Cass so happy. For Remus, who had encouraged Lore into his waiting arms, and for Peter, his friend, his rocking horse, his Lion. He would fight for his first love, he would fight for lost love. He would fight for Molly, and her sons, who would grow into strapping young men before they knew it. He would fight for Arthur, and pray that he would live to meet muggles. But most importantly, Fabian was fighting for his family. For the girl he had loved from the moment he had set eyes on her, and kept that love a secret, until she'd reciprocated it, and for their two beautiful sons.
Fabian would fight for their freedom, or die trying.
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