Post by Deleted on Jul 6, 2013 12:10:30 GMT -5
michael alexander corner
CANON OR ORIGINAL: canon
AGE: fourty-two
FACE CLAIM: noah mills
YEAR: alumni
HOUSE: n/a (was ravenclaw)
OCCUPATION: ministry department of mysteries(time research)
BLOOD TYPE: half-blood
WAND TYPE:
PETS:
ABILITIES:
freestyle
Michael always was a quiet child. His parents spent much time trying to get him to talk to other children, but he was always resistant. Playing wizarding chess with against himself was much more fun. So was reading books. Even listening to the muggle news on the old radio was more fun then playing stupid games like tag and hide-and-go-seek with those other kids. Today, the young eight year-old was avoiding playing with the other kids by helping Mummy in the kitchen. She was making a 'Welcome-Back-From-Hogwarts' dinner for him, and from what Michael could tell, was glad for the help. He was getting eggs out to go in the cake, and ran to give them to his mother when he dropped one. His mother chuckled knowingly, and made to clean up the mess. Michael turned to look at her, and tried with what little strength he could muster, tried to focus. What did Mummy's face look like? What did her voice sound like? Why was it so hard to remember? And what was that nagging feeling in the back of his head?
The dream of thoughts ended with a worried voice, calling his name. He awoke and looked around, able to make out a bit of his surroundings. There was a worried-looking raven haired man fake-smiling down on him through ill-hidden tears. He seemed familiar. Another, less familiar face stood besides him, also giving him an encouraging smile. The only thing Michael... that was his name, right?... could really recognize was the pensieve in front of him. He tried to sit up, but then realized he was already propped up. Instantly, he wanted to go back to sleep, where it was warm, where it was safe, where he was numb, but felt a calling to stay awake. It was a struggle he was almost hoping to lose. He hurt. Outside and in. And his head.... The young man couldn't recall ever being more confused. Not that he could really recall much. He thought his name to be Michael Corner, and he could only vaguely tell his age was... 'He's twenty bloody years old, and he can barely eat on his own. He had an entire life ahead of him. An entire bloody life.' the man with the dark hair said. Michael looked over at him, and tried hard to recall his name. That was his brother. He wasn't sure how he could tell, but he was certain of it. So he mouthed the word 'brother', with intent of adding his voice in on it, but found his throat dry, and that merely moving his lips cracked them to the point where a warm liquid swam down to his chin.
Even without putting his actual voice behind it, the effect of the word on his brother, and the person standing besides him, was instantaneous. 'Michael? Little bro? It's me. It's Matthias! Remember me? Remember me? How are you feeling? Do you need water? We'll get you water! How are you feeling?' The bombardment of questions was too much for him. He tried to smile, despite the pain of the cracking lips, for the sake of the man who called himself Matthias. He mouthed the word 'tired', also for the man's benefit. Those two efforts exhausted him though, so Michael closed his eyes, and let fatigue take him back to the warm, empty place he had been before.
Michael sat down with his new House, House Ravenclaw, with a smile on his face, but worry in his mind. That Hat had almost placed him in Slytherin. Slytherin. His parents wouldn't have cared. Neither would his brother have. But the thought of it was sticking out in his mind. Michael was eleven. He didn't really care all that much about it. But it was making something uncomfortable dance at the edge of his mind... A voice broke him from his train of thought. He looked over to see a smiling boy with his hand held out, introducing himself as Terry and then talking about a boy who had lost his toad... the boy's voice was breaking, but Michael put a painful bit of effort into patching it up. He was able to make out the boy's full name. Terry Boot. He was Michael's best friend. One of them. The golden haired boy who was sitting to his left was his other best friend. Anthony Goldstein. Michael wasn't quite sure where he was getting this information from. He wasn't quite sure what he was even doing at that table. Who were those boys again? What were their names? Who was that Harry Potter bloke everyone was losing their minds about?
'Michael? Guys, he's up! Matthias, don't ask so many bloody questions this time!' Michael knew it was Anthony speaking, because Anthony was always pretty good at giving commands when it was needed. If he wasn't in so much damn pain, he'd smile. Like the last time he came into this place in front of the pensieve... was it real life he was in?.... he was in pain. Anger joined it though, tip-toeing around the edges of his conscious. What was he so angry about? Michael looked towards his blonde-haired friend with the intent of asking him. He was pleasantly surprised to find he was doing better somatically then the last time he had awoken in this room. 'Anthony.' He voiced, then stopped, surprised. His voice was lower then what it was in his mind and in those dreams. Much lower. It shocked him into a silence. His mouth wasn't nearly as dry as it had been, but the effort to form words was dragging on his ability to fight his sleepiness, too.
The blonde man, Anthony, and Michael's brother both looked down onto him, and hushed him, telling him to conserve his energy. 'Terry's on his way, man. It's so good to see you. So, so good.' Michael was gaining memory. Patches of it. Enough patches of it to know that Anthony didn't cry over nearly anything. Which made it odd that that was exactly what he was doing now. It made Michael's pain increase. He couldn't help but feel he was somehow the cause of it. The pain fueled a defiant side of him. He opened his mouth, increasing it, and asked where he was. Matthias, another rather stoic bloke from what Michael could recall, chocked out an answer. 'St Mungo's. Spell damage floor. But, let's not dwell on that, mate.' Michael had a feeling that he couldn't recall feeling in a long while, the feeling one gets when someone is... hesitant? dancing around words? doesn't want to say something?... but he didn't have the energy to ask. Something was clawing it's way into his memory. Something that nearly doubled the pain in his head. He wanted to get off the topic of St. Mungo's, or spells, because he was certain that was what caused the flare. 'It should be a crime to serve food that tastes like that!' another voice - Terry's - called out jokingly, as Michael watched him enter the room. 'Downright evil!' he said. Michael wasn't quite sure what he said after that. The pain doubled again, and, all defiant will gone, Michael gave into the darkness.
Michael remembered that he was only going for Ginny. The first time, anyways. He'd always been pro-muggle, especially with his muggle mother, but he didn't know how urgently action was needed until he went to the first meeting of Dumbledore's Army. As a result, even when they broke up, he continued to go to the meetings. Michael was rather glad he'd gone to this meeting. Since third year, he was rather... frightened, by dementors, and Potter had just announced that he was going to teach them a way to fight them off. Something called a 'Patronus', apparently. As he was talking about how to perform the spell, through pure happy memories, apparently, Michael felt an intense sting. He wasn't quite sure why it was so familiar, but he tried hard to put it in the back of his mind. This was far more important. After Potter had gotten done explaining everything, Michael tried, multiple times, to cast the spell. He only got silver wisps though. Terry was able to get something of an animal-ish shape. Cho had been fully able to cast one. But of course, he wasn't able to. He'd always looked on the darker side of things, and since puberty had gone with the 'dark and misunderstood' thing, but he had thought it was just an act. It was, wasn't it? Another flare in the stinging, but he ignored it again. He focused the most positive things he could, but to no avail. Michael had decided, like anything else in his life that didn't work the fist couple of times, to give up He casually thought about how he, Terry, and Anthony had been friends for so long, and idly cast the spell again, and was shocked to see it take a full form. A squirrel. Terry, Anthony, and a few others congratulated him. He accepted the praise, of course, with a proud grin. Still, he could only wonder....
'Why?' Michael said upon waking up. Terry woke with a start. He seemed to have been sleeping by Michael's bed-side. 'Huh?.. Wait, hey, you're awake again! Bloody marvelous to see you again, mate, just marvelous. How are you feeling? Michael looked over to him and smiled. He said that he was doing a lot better then he had been the last times, but that he had a massive headache. Terry looked sad at that, nodded, and said he was going to inform one of the medi-witches. He made a joke about staying awake, then left the room, leaving Michael in a silence that was thick enough to strangle him. His head felt like it was about to implode.
Like most in the same circumstances, he moved his hand to apply some soothing pressure to his head, but unlike most people in the same circumstances, he came across bandages and wounds. Prodding lightly at them with his fingers, he could tell that there were many of each. Now that he was more alert, he was wondering. Why was he in the hospital? Why where his thoughts so scattered? Why couldn't he remember anything? And at the fore-front of everything: how did he get injured? Terry came in, with a nurse, who gave him medicine. After the nurse left, he made to ask Terry half of those questions, but he shrugged them off, and instead gave him news and gossips on people. Michael was frustrated at not having his questions answered, but feared driving him away. After discussing a variety of topics Michael really didn't care about, he fell into another fitfilled sleep. He really wanted those questions answered
Michael knew that the Carrows were crazy. He knew that they didn't have any sympathy. He knew that they were sadistic. But tying up a first year? That was crossing the line. No, just because the Boy Who Lived wasn't at the school didn't mean he (or any other members of Dumbledore's Army for that matter) was going to let things like that fly. Which is why he snuck into the dungeons and let the poor little first year go. And, even as he was being paraded up to the front of the Great Hall to have an example made of him, he didn't regret a single thing. He even had a grin on his face. One of the Carrow siblings (he still couldn't quite discern the difference between them, even with the different genders) took out their wand and said something about wiping that little grin he had on his face off.
The dream blurred in and out. Micheal didn't need to really have it stay in focus. Even in his current condition, he remembered the feeling of that dreaded curse.
There wasn't very much of a rebellious feel amongst the students after that. Some of his fellow Ravenclaws did a little to heal him up, since he wasn't allowed to go to the Hospital Wing, but they could only do so much without anyone noticing. Days turned into weeks, as most of the students waited for the DA's leader to show up. Michael began to lose hope. And began to start plotting ways to kill, or at the very least seriously maim, the Carrows. Maybe the Cruciatus cruse had gotten to his head. His, and a number of other students. There was a student (a Hufflepuff, even) who had suggested putting what they had learned in the Dark Arts class to use, and torturing the Carrows themselves into insanity. Had the Battle at Hogwarts not happened when it did, he would've done just that. The Battle itself would've been terrifying for most seventeen year old boys, but Michael had changed. He was looking forward to it. He was certain he was going to end up dead as a result of the battle, and he didn't care (in fact, he was looking forward to that too).
He fought without a care for past, present, or future, even taking a few curses for his allies. When it was all over, Michael was, for a short amount of time, assumed dead because he wasn't anywhere to be found. He later showed up at St. Mungo's for treatment a particularly bad curse he had received. Though the entire situation was thought to be strange to his close friends, nothing was said to a boy who had fought for the Order of the Pheonix in the great Battle of Hogwarts. Besides, a lot of odd things happened in the weeks after the even. There was nothing odd about his disappearance. After all, many members of the Wizarding world were plagued with a bigger question: who had snuck into the Ravenclaw Tower and blinded the Carrow siblings with an over-powered Conjunctivitis Curse?
Michael woke up in a daze for the final time. He finally remembered. He turned his head towards Terry and Anthony, both sleeping in the spare beds to his left, and muttered a sorry before doing everything he could to muffle the cries he let out.
Michael never quite understood the whole cliched 'I wish I was a child, with no worries' that he often read in books. Until now. Recently dumped, orphaned at the end of the war, with no future in sight, the twenty-year old lad had definitely seen better days. Drinking had definitely not helped what he was feeling, but that didn't stop him from drowning another shot down. Or another. Or another. Or an entire bottle. Two. Three... what came after three again? Five? He wasn't quite sure. And he didn't quite care. He was alone in the house his parents used to own. So many memories were made here. And Michael wanted to forget every single one of them. Every. Single. One. He honestly wasn't trying to injure himself. At least not to point which he did. He just wanted to remove a few memories. Or a lot of memories. There wasn't a big difference to him at that point. He figured, it'd take a simple spell. Now, if only he could remember that spell.... He wanted to reduce his memories, and the pain they were causing him, right? Reduce... Reduct... Reducto! Right? Right. Michael, sitting in his childhood living room, pointed his wand at his left ear, smiled, and mouthed 'Reducto'. Two days later, his brother rushed him to St. Mungo's.
'Michael Alexander Corner. Date of Birth: 21st of August, 1980. That's you, right?' Michael nodded gingerly. While he was eager to be discharged, he wasn't exactly looking forward to the event coming so soon. He wasn't going to say anything, though, and risk worrying Matthias. 'Well, you can be on your way then.I mean this in the best way possible, but we don't want to be seeing you again anytime soon, alright?' the nurse was just joking with him, and added a laugh. Michael tried to mimic that laugh. As did his brother. They both made their way out of the room, Michael hobbling along more then anything.
As such, it was entirely unintentional that he fell, and landed, on one of the Healers-in-Training as they were making their exit. He searched for words, trying to form an apology as the young woman started to insist it was her own fault. The two were both fumbling over their words, both clearly feeling bad about the incident when Matthias, being the oh-so-good brother that he was, spoke. 'Ms. Healer, Michael here just got discharged. He's a little disoriented. Please, don't feel as if this is your fault.' Michael felt a sting or irritation, while the young woman waved it off. 'Miss Orson, but if anything, call me Sandra.' She introduced herself, them insisted to get them to their home safely. Before he could protest, his older brother gave her the address to the Michael's house, then said he needed to go off and get groceries. Though angry at the time, Michael would grow to forgive him as time passed.
Sandra and I have decided to name the child Adonis. I can't believe I'm actually going to become a father. We've named Terry as the god father, which he seemed pretty happy about. Thinking on everything, I'm scared. Will I make for a good father? I don't want to be the type of parent that focuses more on the job then the child, but all the same, I don't want to give up my job. Sandra wants me to quit all together due to the apparent 'danger' involved. I literally sit around and study clocks and coming up with hypotheses all day. Literally. With all the restrictions placed on us recently, that's about all I can do without Tristan crawling up my arse... But, back to the matter on hand, how will I fare as a father? I've read everything I can get my hands on about the matter,. but Sandra's told me to stop stressing. How can I do that with the responsibility looming over me?
I must've done something good as a father; Adonis was more then understanding when we told him that his cousin was going to have to be living with us. He's already taken to showing the poor kid the ins and outs of our house, and treats him like a younger brother already. Some kids were making fun of the little guy's glasses, and Donny rushed to his defense. With the aid of the other kids on his little league Rugby team. And the part-giant kid from down the street. He may be seven, but he's apparently learned the art of intimidation pretty well... Anyways, the bullies won't dare go anywhere near my nephew since the event. Which is good. I don't think they would've wanted me or the part-giant kid's father to have gotten involved. Ha. I have to say, at this point in time, things are really looking good...
'And I can only hope they stay that way.'
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HEY MY NAME IS JUNIOR, AND I ALSO PLAY JOEY BREWER. I FOUND THE SITE THROUGH CAUTION 2.0.
TEMPLATE BY ELIZA @ SHADOWPLAY & RCR
