SCAMANDER, lorcan fido

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LORCAN FIDO SCAMANDER

you hold your truth so purely, well swerve not through the minds of men


BASICS
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FULL NAME Lorcan Fido Scamander[/color]
NICKNAME Lorcan, Lorc[/color]
AGE Fifteen[/color]
GENDER Male[/color]
HOUSE Ravenclaw[/color]
BLOOD STATUS Half
PLAY-BY [/color][/color][/font]Dylan Forsberg[/color]
CANON OR ORIGINAL Canon[/color]
ADULT OR STUDENT Student[/color]
PROFESSOR? IF SO WHAT SUBJECT? Not applicable[/color]
OCCUPATION? IF SO WHERE DO YOU WORK? Not applicable[/color]


WAND 9.75 Inches, Willow, Thestral Hair[/color]
PATRONUS A Rabbit[/color]
MIRROR OF ERISED A warm pair of wool socks and his brother hugging him, accepting Lorcan as he is.[/color]
BOGGART His dear twin dead. [/color]


STRENGTHS
> Gentle
> Slow to anger
> Astronomy [/color]
WEAKNESSES
> Cares too much about his brother’s opinion of him
> Quite the push-over
> Terrible in social situations[/color]
LIKES
> Camping
> Quiet
> Lysander
> Wool Socks
> Animals
> Thunderstorms
> The night sky[/color]
DISLIKES
> Shoes
> Being cold
> Showers
> Crowds of people
> Other’s disbelief of the transmundane[/color]

OVERALL PERSONALITY Growing up, Lorcan’s only friend was his brother, and he was comfortable with that. As such, Lorcan never saw the need of making friends, especially considering there were so many people, that who would ever want to be friends with him? He likes his solitude and assumes his brother will eventually see that he misses his twin, and they’ll be close again, so Lorcan tries to keep his friendship slate clean so that they can pick up where they left off when they were eleven. Despite his naivety when it comes to his brother, Lorcan was always slow to trust people. He doesn’t understand bonds between friendships like he believes he understands bonds between family members. Lorcan has an odd perception of the world, readily believing in transmundane things that his parents always looked for before the Scamander family settled down. After all, nobody has proven that Nargles and Crumple-Horned Snorkacks aren’t real, so there’s a chance that they are. (Real until proven imaginary was his mother’s rule of thumb on the subject, and Lorcan was inclined to agree.) [/color]


MOTHER Luna Scamander nee Lovegood[/color]
FATHER Rolf Scamander[/color]
SIBLINGS Lysander Scamander[/color]
OTHER Xenophilius Lovegood, Grandpapa [/color]

HISTORY "Papa, why is it so loud?" A young Lorcan asked in a quiet voice that betrayed his fright to his father. Rolf gave a small smile, gathering his younger son into his lap. "Thor is with us tonight, Lorcan. It's his gift to the world." Lorcan looked up at his father in wonder. "Like the stories, Papa?" Rolf chuckled, a warm sound that Lorcan felt underneath his hand rather than heard. "Just like the stories, little one." They sat there for a moment, silent so as to allow the crackling fire, the beating rain, and the rolling thunder (that had, just seconds ago, scared Lorcan) to make music for them in the small log cabin. Luna came in a moment later, a tea tray floating behind her and another blond boy in her arms. No announcement of her presence was needed as the mugs full of cocoa were passed to their owners. Even after Lorcan and Lysander were put to bed, Lorcan felt warm and content and calm, even though the rainforest outside was anything but. “I hope we never go home,” he said quietly as he cuddled next to his brother in their not quite cramped cot. Luna smiled down at her two children. “Oh, little one, you are home, so long as you’re with family.” And she was right.

Such was the setting of Lorcan’s childhood. They scarcely stayed in one place for long, always following Luna and Rolf as they searched for trails of different, supposedly mythical, animals; Rolf because he felt like he was carrying on the family tradition of documenting animals, and Luna because it exhilarated her. Lorcan often found himself with his brother as his only playmate, but rather liked the solitude of living in such remote, secluded areas. While Lysander would go off with Rolf when he went to cities for supplies, Lorcan preferred to stay with his mother in the beauty of the natural world, often with bare feet and wide smiles.

Only when the twins turned ten and their grandpapa, Xenophilius, got sick did they go back to London to stay, after spending three years in Sweden searching for the ever-elusive Crumple-Horned Snorkack. Lorcan and Lysander were hard-pressed to remember to speak English in the house from then on, as Luna started to help with the Quibbler and Rolf taught them how to write with quills between editions of his books. Lorcan had a tough time adjusting to the warm weather and the big house. When the twins’ Hogwarts letters came, Lorcan couldn’t fathom going away and leaving his mother behind, but Lysander wanted to go, and being left behind by his twin seemed like a much harsher fate. Lorcan hated Diagon Alley, with the bustle of people instead of the rustle of leaves, the harsh noise of a million voices talking at once instead of the harsh, blessed nothingness of silence. If not for his tight grip on Lysander’s hand, despite his twin’s pleas to let him go because it was embarrassing, Lorcan would have felt suffocated in the sea of anonymity. Eventually, it was time to go to Hogwarts, and Lorcan enjoyed the unfamiliarity of the train ride, the soft chug of the wheels turning as his soundtrack. But then in the hall, Lorcan was called by the professor before Lysander, and it was wrong, Lysander was older, he should be first, what was he supposed to do, and if not for Lysander’s soft shove, Lorcan would have drowned in the spotlight. Instead he mustered what little courage he had and gently placed the hat on his head.

“Quite a bright mind, yes.” Lorcan felt himself blink in confusion. “Thank you,” he said quietly, blushing when he realised it was out loud and he was talking to a hat, for Thor’s sake. “Just thinking it will work; no need to speak. Not brave enough for Gryffindor – no, don’t feel ashamed, bravery is quite overrated – and not sneaky enough for Slytherin. Loyal, yes, but your brains quite outweigh that. Quite like your mother, you are. Yes, it’ll be Ravenclaw for you.”

Then Lysander was placed into Hufflepuff, into a different house than he. Lorcan felt his world crumble. His brother didn’t want to be with him; he could tell from the smile on his face as Lysander sat next to a boy he’d become friends with on the train. It was a few months into the school year before Lorcan would feel comfortable enough to sleep soundly, before he stopped being awoken from fright when he couldn’t feel his brother’s warmth next to him.

Dear Mama, Please let me leave to be homeschooled. I hate it here. Love, Lorcan. PS; Failing that, please send wool socks. I think the Nargles have hidden mine and Lysander won’t let me borrow any of his.

Despite his pleas to his parents, they didn’t let him go home. Lorcan felt lost and alone, with his twin quickly leaving him behind in favor of his fellow Hufflepuffs and his housemates snorting at him when he made a factual reference about Nargles or Crumple-Horned Snorkacks. As the year progressed, more of his socks and shoes were sequestered away by the sly animals, and Lorcan learned to love bare feet even when they felt like they were going to fall off from the cold. When they finally were able to leave for summer break, Lorcan nearly sobbed in relief; he could get his socks and his brother back and everything would be normal again. Lorcan’s heart broke when they got home to learn that his brother’s policy to ignore his odd twin was what had become normal. Lysander left for his friends’ houses the moment opportunity struck, and Lorcan felt himself be left behind again. What he’d wished to avoid by going to Hogwarts happened anyway, and Lorcan wasn’t quite sure what he was supposed to do with the constant ache of sadness and longing thumping through his chest.

The years progressed in a similar manner of lost socks and bare feet and broken hearts. Lorcan’s soft heart didn’t allow him to go through the process of desensitization that would usually happen with children such as him. Each sharp word hurt as the first, each lost sock made him just as sad. The only thing desensitized from the harsh conditions of his third world life were his poor, bare feet, but even they sometimes bleed the tears of wounds untended.

After his fourth year, where his brother began to notice the supple curves of a woman (where he was so scared that something was wrong with him, because they just seemed so squishy and unpleasant, whereas now he just avoids thinking about how lovely the smooth muscles of another man can be), Lorcan began to find solace on the roof of the Rookery, where he could spend hours watching the blues of the sky, even surveying the stars most nights. It helped with Lorcan’s ever-aching heart, to just stare at the huge sky in that terrible developed world and just be, for once.

“Lorcan?” Rolf seemed nervous as he looked at his youngest son. “Yes, Papa?” Lorcan’s eyes, so like his mother’s, looked up to him, wide with innocence. “You never think of… jumping off of the roof, do you?” Lorcan gave a soft laugh, a charming (though he likely didn’t realize it) smile on his face. “Of course not, Papa. Don’t be silly. This building wouldn’t be nearly tall enough to jump off and expect to die, nor is it short enough to jump off of for simple fun. That would just be reckless.” Somehow, Rolf thought, that answer didn’t ease his worries.[/color]

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