Post by Benjamin Burke on Sept 15, 2009 17:50:51 GMT -5
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About You - -
Name: Najooj
Gender: Female
Age: 17
Years of RPG Experience: 6 years...? I...think? Or 5?
Other: Removed by Admin
OH! And all lyrics credit to MCR and TBS -nodnod-
And! Uhhhh, don't ask me why the personality is in first person while the rest is in third. I honestly couldn't tell you >.< I'd also suggest reading the history first before everything else...? 'Cause like...most of the other parts have mentions of people from his history...? Just so like you know who everyone is and yeah okay I'm gonna shut up now >.>
AND ALSO (sorry, sorry, this has to be said) I KNOW Evan is still around, but I asked Kabby and she said since Evan is poofing right after graduation, and Benji is appearing during the summer and blah, it's fine?Dun kill me Izzy and Skar??__________________________________________________________
Quick Quiz - -
How did you find us? Directory, I think?
What about ISS inspired you to join? Everything.
Do you have any suggestions for us? Me? Suggestions? For you guys Hahahaha - oh wait you're serious? Uhh, lol, OH! I suggest for the admins to take a break every now and then from adminy stuff. That stuff looks like a hecka lot of work D=__________________________________________________________
About the Character- -
Name: Benjamin Burke
Age: 16 (soon to be 17)
Gender: Male
Year: Sixth
Face Claim: James Lafferty
Canon or Original? Original
Facial Properties:my e y e s are shining bright !
The most striking thing about Benjamin's features, really, is his eyes. They're a darker blue than one would normally encounter, bordering on navy blue at times. People often say that eyes are windows to the soul and in Benjamin's case it's pretty much true. He'd always had difficulty hiding his emotions - his eyes always show exactly what he's feeling. Soon enough, though, Jamie had taught him how to add emotions onto his eyes which he wasn't necessarily feeling - if you looked pitiful enough, people didn't suspect you of doing anything wrong or bad. They might even feel bad enough for you that they might give you a little something - a quid or two, depended on the person's generosity. And then, while they were distracted by the sad little boy and feeling sorry for him, Penny would slide around the victim (because she was the smallest of the three) and slip her grubby little hands into his pocket - or, if it was a her, she'd somehow be able to open up the woman's purse without said woman noticing (it had taken a lot of practice, of course, but she soon became an expert at it). And then she would take a small amount of money from their wallet (they had all agreed that taking the whole thing was too 'evil') and then disappear once more. And then Benji would thank the person for his/her kindness and then run off and they were out of sight before s/he could realise they'd been mugged. Benjamin had never stopped feeling guilty about pick-pocketing, but Jamie would always reiterate that they had to do it. It was the only way for them to survive. "Besides," he would say. "It's not like we take everything." And, somehow, that made it all better.I've been seeing your f a c e !
Benji has never been the most handsome guy in his year. Sure, he's a good looking enough guy, but not exactly the best looker. And he knows that well enough. It doesn't bother him, though. He's not a vain guy, although the customary year of puberty was as hellish for him as it would have been for anyone else. But he grew out of it pretty soon, much to his inward relief, and was rewarded with smooth, slightly tanned skin when he was in his third year. He has a long face, with a slightly Roman-like nose and full, curved lips which, when parted in a smile, reveal relatively white teeth as well as a shallow dimple in his left cheek. His jaw is square, ending with a slightly pointed chin. There's nothing really special about the rest of his features; his face is just pleasing, overall. Black hair is always kept rather short now-a-days, and often spiked upwards naturally since all he ever does to get ready in the morning is run his fingers through it, not really bothered to do anything else with it - another reason why he likes keeping it short, to be honest. The longer it is, the harder it is to manage, in his humble opinion.
Physique:well that's what girls dreams are m a d e of !
With his broad shoulders, Benji isn't a small guy, and hadn't been since they grew out. It's not unusual that the rest of him is pretty filled in. He's a pretty built guy, jogging being one of his main past-times. Even as a kid, he'd been pretty fit - but then again, you had to be when you were running in the streets, trying not to get caught if they happened to slip up. But that was in the past, and while it wasn't one Benji was exactly ashamed of it was something he would never return to. Jamie's last words had made sure of that. Still, all the jogging had built up the muscle in his legs, keeping them toned. He doesn't exactly weight lift (doesn't really see the point) so his arms aren't exactly the strongest, although he often plays the position of Beater whenever they play Quidditch with Rose's cousins and swinging around a heavy bat can do wonders, really. He's a pretty tall guy, with long legs, managing to tower over mostly everyone he meets. His growth spurt had hit pretty early and he'd shot upwards significantly in his fourth year, much to Rose's dismay since he became over a foot taller than her by the time their fifth year ended at a staggering (to her, anyway) 6'2.
Wand Type: 12 ¼” Willow, Ashwinder Ash core (Going to Ollivanders to get his wand with his foster parents was one of the experiences Benji will remember forever. Previously, he had always thought his magical abilities were a hindrance – he never really understood them, and didn't get why he could do things that other people couldn't. But once he realised that he wasn't the only one in the world with these abilities, he started to fall in love with the idea of being able to do so many "brilliant abnormal things". All you had to do was point your wand and say a couple of things and the most amazing things happened! His mother could make the dishes wash themselves, potatoes peel themselves, his father could get to work just by concentrating really hard and he would be transported there in a flash – apparition, he called it. The concept was such a wonderful one. Benjamin could hardly wait until he got his very first wand and learned all the "cool" tricks and learn how to Apparate. There were so many things he had yet to learn, and Hogwarts was, apparently, giving him that opportunity. Needless to say, the day he was standing in Ollivander and trying to find the perfect wand, he was practically bouncing with excitement. He went through many with different cores – unicorn hair, phoenix tail feather, dragon scale – and different types – ebony, mahogany, willow. Even different sizes. There were just so many possibilities! Finally, Benjamin's fingers closed around closed around one – 12 and a quarter inches of willow, Ashwinder Ash core. He immediately knew that it was the right one. A thrill went through him, warmth spread through his entire being. Ollivander had urged him to give the wand a "swish" and Benji had done so. Small birds had shot out of the wand-tip, much to Benjamin's delight.
He had had a slight suspicion that they resembled mini-hawks. But that could've just been his mourning and imagination playing tricks on him.)
Wand Expertise: Protection charms ("This wand is great for protection charms," Ollivander had informed him the day he bought his wand. It came as no surprise to Benji, to be honest. He knew he had always been, and will always be, over-protective of his friends and family and everyone else. He hated seeing people get hurt. He'd been the Superman of the orphanage, after all. So it was only fitting that the special property of his wand is that it's good for protection charms. While Benjamin's excels in most of his other class, his best has always been Defence Against the Dark Arts, and his professor – Professor Dumbledore himself – had especially taught him the Protego spell, convinced that he would be able to master it immediately. He was right. At first, the shielding charm was extremely fragile, and enabled the simplest spell through. With concentration and dedication, Benjamin managed to strengthen his shield, and even managed to include others with him. Mysteriously, Professor Dumbledore had informed him the spell would come in handy in the future. Benjamin hadn't known then that Dumbledore knew they were at the doorstep of the largest Wizarding War ever. Even now, he still doesn't know why it will be so "handy".)
Patronus: Hawk. (Benjamin has not year attempted the Patronus charm. He has read about it, of course, but has not year attempted it, although is planning on learning it before the end of his Hogwarts year – how, he doesn't know yet. He has considered asking Professor Dumbledore, but he's not daft enough to believe that the Headmaster will have enough time for him, DADA teacher or not. He already guessed what form the Patronus would form, though – a hawk. Although he doesn't know better, his guess is true. The bird has sentimental value for him, after all, being Jamie's nick-name and everything. When he'd first heard of the charm that fends off Dementors, he'd immediately imagined a large, magnificent hawk swooping in on them, driving them away, glittering white and silver. The image was beautiful. So beautiful that he, the avid writer, the one who has always had a way with words, found himself incapable of describing it. Some things were just impossible to write about, or even draw. They simply remained in your head – a memory or an image that you would cherish forever, locked away safely to be opened whenever needed or wanted.
Kind-of like Jamie himself.)
Boggart: The memory of Jamie dying (Jamie dying is one of Benji's worst memories, and the one he most feared is the one he had thought up himself – Jamie's death being his fault. Jamie had always been like the big brother he had never had, and Benjamin had always imagined that he would be completely unbeatable; never thwarted. Especially not by one, flimsy bullet. When faced with the Boggart during his third year, it had been to the image of a deathly pale Jamie lying on the floor, blood pooled around his body, eyes wide open and completely vacant, staring at him – blaming him for not standing in front of the bullet, for not pushing him out of the way, for not doing anything, for not dying instead of him. Benji had fallen to his knees, the wand clattering out of his limp hand, sobs and words mingled together. It's my fault. I'm so sorry, Hawk. My fault. My fault… Deep down, he knew Jamie would never blame him for his death. But the thing he most feared was that he really did.)
Personality:I am not afraid to walk this world a l o n e!
While I'm not exactly a loner, I do enjoy, what I like to call, my "alone time"; just an hour or so were I can sit in front of the lake, or under a tree, or even simply lying on my bed, alone with my own thoughts. I know what it sounds like – "loner much?" It's not like I don't like people – I like them well enough. Well, most of them anyway. I'm just not the type of person who needs to surround himself with others all the time just to keep me happy. I do have a fair share of friends, of course. Only a few best friends, Ro being one of them of course. Sure, company is great – I'd never say no to a person who wants to join me. And, when I do have my alone time, I don't sit around brooding or thinking things along the lines of, woe is me, my life is awful, I'd really just like to off myself. Contrary to –surprisingly popular among people who don't know me – belief, I'm not depressed, neither am I suicidal. I just happen to like being alone with my own thoughts. I tried to explain it to Ro once when she accused me of being upset when I said I was going off on my own back home, and I told her why I loved my alone time so much. I remember I said something like, "it's a good way to sort out your thoughts. Just you and the silence. Your inner voice becomes louder than anything else and nothing can interrupt it. You know?" Only, I don't think she did know. Ro loves people – more than I do. Possibly more than anyone I've ever melt. Sometimes I think she feels lost without people around her. That's where we're extremely different – I'm used to growing up without family. The orphanage people were great, but usually they left you to your own devices, and I didn't mesh well with the other kids. True, I was a hero to them – but that didn't mean they wanted to hang around a lot with the weird kid who could do strange things like shoving people without touching them. I didn't mind then, and I don't mind now. Being alone gives you a sense of responsibility – for your life, your well-being. A sense of responsibility which, I'm glad to say, I still have. Rose, on the other hand, grew up with tons of family members – literally. That girl has so many cousins, it's unbelievable. I don't know how she remembers them all. But I don't envy her. I did before. I was jealous that she had such a huge family, because I never did. But then, she never had someone like Penny and…Jamie. So maybe she doesn't understand the whole alone time thing. She's okay with that. Something else I admire about her. I'm quite the opposite.I just wanna break you d o w n so badly !
As implied before, I like to know everything there is to know about…well, everything. I despise being kept in the dark – even more than not knowing what people are thinking. I'm not going to kid myself, I'm no where near learning leglimency. And I'm not really interested in that. I don't want to force people into showing me what they're thinking, or their memories or whatever. I like figuring people out. It's just when I meet difficult people who always have a wall that frustrates the hell out of me. I like trying to break down their wall and see the person beneath it all. Of course, there are some who don't have anything behind that wall. Others are afraid that there isn't anything behind the wall, and so keep it up, fearing that people will see the real them and not like it. I'm not really sure which is worse. All I can say is, I like a challenge. And when the person is interesting enough, I can have all the patience I need to break them down. Or maybe that's the wrong word for it. But I don't know any other way to phrase it so we'll stick with that, shall we? Anyhow. Another point of figuring people out is that I like to incorporate them into my stories. It's nothing unusual to find that my characters share similar characteristics to people I know. Ro has often appeared in them. She's usually the damsel in distress or the "fair maiden" or the princess. Always the soft, innocent one, because that's how I view her. Delicate, someone who needs protecting. And I'm more than willing to do said protecting. I've never had a little sister, so Rose is the baby sister I've never had. She doesn't seem to mind…much. Kent Tulsa (or, as I like to call him, The Oafish Git) made an appearance in my old stories a few times. He was always the villain or the evil person who wanted to take over, or destroy, the world. Bloody arse. I'm half-tempted to go back to the orphanage and see if they've kicked him out yet. I bet he's still the same even now. Once a bully, always a bully. I feel sorry for the people who have to work with him in the future. Maybe someone will bring him down a few pegs. He sure as hell needs it. Of course, not all of my characters come from my figuring out people. Most are from my own imagination. Sometimes I even end up putting parts of myself into the characters. Whatever the case, I love them all. I've never gone as far as believe they were real. I'm not bloody insane, thank you very much. And I don't talk to them exactly. I just like to imagine them, and put myself in their shoes. I do that with people in real life, too. How else can I guess what they're going to do?because the world will never take my h e a r t !
In juxtaposition to the previous…trait, if you will, I really do care about people. Sure, I like figuring them out, but I'm not going to push them to breaking point or anything. I don't go out of my way to hurt people – emotionally, anyway. If it happens, I don't mean to do it. I'm not a rash person when angered, I do think things through before I react – even if the reaction does end up in a fight, it's only ever because I figured it was worth it. As it is, it's almost always worth it. I just have this…thing where I can't stand it when perfectly nice and innocent people are being teased or hurt by some idiot who thinks they're the prince of Hogwarts. I would never stand for it. I'm also the kind-of guy who'd help old ladies cross the street, carry people's groceries for them, and so on and so forth. I do have a tendency to choose to help people whom I deem worthy of deserving help. In other words, if I come across someone who's, in short, an enemy who happens to be in trouble, I'm ashamed to admit that I might think twice about helping him out, thinking he probably doesn't deserve my help. It all depends, really. On the seriousness of the situation. How much I hate him. Stuff like that, you know?
Boy, does that sound cold or what?would you be the savior of the broken, the beaten and the d a m n e d ?
It's no secret that I'm a protective guy. I'm fiercely loyal towards my friends – but it's not just them. I can't stand seeing people get hurt. It just doesn't feel right. I can't stand by when someone's being bullied or whatever. It's not in my nature. I've always been the Protector of the Smaller. Even back at the orphanage – I was the one who stood up to Kent Tulsa whenever he picked on the little kids. Bravery? Hardly. More like humanity. It's inhumane to stand by and watch someone getting hurt without doing something about it, in my opinion. I just do what any other person should do – I stick up for the little guy. I've gotten into quite a few brawls before because of my need to over-protect people, I'll admit. I've delivered and gotten a few hits, gotten a few battle wounds. Nothing big, of course. Most bullies never stay standing for too long. They always chicken out eventually. They bully people to feel better about themselves. I've said it before, I'll say it again. But whatever. If they want to bully people, I'll just have to be there to stop them every time I can. I'm not a hero. I'm just a person who cares about others, as aforementioned. See uhhh above trait?l i s t e n, cause they've got so much to learn !
Ro commented more than once that I'm a good listener, and I guess I am. I'm not much of a talker, really. I like listening to people. Which is probably why Rose and I get along so well. I'm mostly quiet, and she likes to babble. See? Perfect best friends. Or so she says, I'm really just quoting her here. People like that, at least. I'm the go-to person when my friends need to bend someone's ear, since I'm always willing to lend one. And I do actually listen rather than pretend to listen like other people I know. Although, all right, I'll admit it, sometimes I might have zoned out during a couple of Rose's babbling. But I've gotten used to making it seem as if I'd never stopped listening in the first place. Since Ro tends to go on and on, whenever you zone back in she's usually talking about the same thing. Not that I mind that. I find it fairly adorable. Poor kid might find it difficult to find someone who's as willing to listen to everything that comes out of her mouth. Then again, I'd doubt she would really mind even if she did know that whoever she was talking to wasn't listening to her. She would just keep rambling on. Of course, when it's my turn to talk, you'll find that I can be a very frustrating individual. I don't like talking about myself – at all. I guess you can say I'm a closed sort of person? I keep things bottled up. While my emotions might almost always be on display, the reasons for them aren't. I like to keep things to myself. I'm a great secret-keeper, whether its mine or otherwise. The number of people who know about my whole history are very few – Ro being one of said few. I've even kept a few things from her. Like I said, I'm not the biggest talker. Unless I completely trust you, there's very little that you can get out of me. And I don't trust that many people, either. Around me, you're on a need-to-know basis; mostly, you don't need to know very much.
he taught me how to hold my t o n g u e !
[/center]I like to think I'm an intelligent person. I mean, I didn't get that great of an education during the first eleven years of my life – for three of them, I had none when I probably should have – but Hogwarts didn't seem to really require any background information. Everything was new to practically everyone, so it was great for me. There was a bit of struggle at first as I tried to grasp the fact that I had to go to an actual school and have actual classes and what-not, but it wasn't long before I became determined to excel in every single one of my classes, just because I'm like that. I'm an over-achiever, I'll admit. I don't like not being at the top of the class. Of course, there are a few subjects that have caused me disappointed. Like History of Magic. But that's mostly because I find it completely useless. And the only good thing about Muggle Studies, really, is Professor Burbage. Hey, I'm just like every other bloke. The only thing that keeps me awake during her lessons is her pretty face. I'm not crude enough to think of anything else. I actually respect women. Living on the streets for those few years hasn't removed the principles that Mrs. Thomas and the others at the orphanage had drilled into us all, therefore I refrain from making vulgar comments about the fairer sex. Unless they have it coming, which is another issue all together.
Another thing is that I, unlike much of the male population in the world, actually think before I speak. Meaning, I usually don't end up saying anything tactless when I don't mean to. Of course, I have my moments when I lose my temper – we all do. But they're far and few between, at least. I've learned over the years that having a loose tongue can get you into tons of trouble; especially with thugs on the street or what-not. It's not really that difficult for me to hold my tongue anyway; I'm pretty good at keeping things bottled up, and I'm generally pretty quiet around most people. It makes some uncomfortable, but I'm just not a talkative guy. Besides which, I'm pretty serious and mature for my age anyway. Or so say my foster parents. And Ro. So I guess I should trust their opinion? I dunno. I think it's just because I had to grow up real fast in a short amount of time. It goes with the whole package of being responsible-slash-quiet, I guess. Being serious, that is. But still. Doesn't mean I don't know how to have a good time. If I wanted to, I could party it up with the best of them. I'm not much of a drinker, but a few drinks to relax you can do wonders. Even if I'm, technically, not of age. Yet.
just to prove that i c o u l d !
I'm a stubborn guy. People know that about me right off the bat. I like having my way. I don't like being told I'm wrong, or being told how to do something. I like to think that I'm smart enough to figure anything out. And, more often than not, I'm right. Which is good, because I hate being wrong, as aforementioned. And I'm one of those annoying people who don't even like admitting that they're wrong, even if they are. I'm a bit of a hypocrite and don't like those types of people, even if I am one of them. So, in essence, if I met myself, I wouldn't like myself very much? How perfectly morbid. Ro says she hate it when I'm being stubborn. Apparently, it frustrates the hell out of her. Actually, it frustrates a lot of people. And I do, occasionally, relent to a few people's wills when I see that I truly am wrong, or that they're better at handling whatever situation we're in or whatever. I like to think that I'm not blindly stubborn, but rather reasonably so. Many people seem to disagree and say that it makes no sense, but that doesn't really matter to me. Let them think what they want to think. I know who I am and what I'm like, and nothing anyone will say or do will change that. If they can't handle me the way I am, then honestly it's just their loss. I'm not going to waste my time changing their mind. Why should I? I'm perfectly happy with the friends I have right now, it's not like I need any more.
And that's basically me, in a nutshell. A quiet, observant, stubborn and responsible (well, I like to think I am, anyways) young writer. Anything else you need to know, you'll find out by getting to know me. Maybe.
Likes:
+ Writing; It's one of my passions, I'll admit. I'm going to be a writer someday.
+ Photography; Not exactly a passion and I'm not particularly good at it, but I like trying to capture beauty – plus, I like taking pictures for memories. The few pictures I still have of my parents, for example, mean a lot to me.
+ Sarcasm; I don't use it that often, but I can appreciate the humour – even though an excess can get annoying, I'll admit.
+ Pie; Especially my foster-mum's. It's one of my biggest weaknesses.
+ Hogwarts; It's my second home. Literally.
+ Birds; Jamie rubbed off on me. We'd go to the outskirts of the city with Penny and show us all types of birds. Hawks were always his favourite.
+ When girls wear high-heels; I'm a bloke. Excuse me for appreciating the finer things in life.
+ His foster parents; Probably the best foster parents a person could have.
+ Nature; Sometimes it's nice to sit with no one but Mother Nature keeping you company.
+ Parties; While I might like being alone every now and then, it doesn't mean I'm a loner. I like parties just as well as the next teenager. They're a nice way to rewind, forget any troubles you might have and just have a bloody good time with your mates.
+ Keeping a journal; It's not the same as my writing. Keeping a journal keeps my thoughts organised, even though I don't write in the thing that often. Besides, it's also a good way to record and document memories. The good and the bad.
+ Observing people; Or, as Ro calls it, people-watching. It's quite amusing, even though – for some reason – it annoys people.
+ Magic; Self-explanatory.
Dislikes:
– Cheating; And I don't mean in tests or what-not either.
– Ancient Runes; I bloody regret taking it for my OWLs. Ruddy tough subject.
– People who act dumb; As in, they're smart but pretend to be otherwise. What a bloody waste, honestly. Being dumb isn't a good thing, mates.
– Stealing; I only did it because I had to. And we were nice about it, at least.
- Chocolate frogs; The flaming things always jump away before I get the chance to eat them, and I'm not chasing after a bloody piece of chocolate. The card things that come with them aren't so bad, though.
- Being critisised; I'm one of those people who hates being told he's done something wrong. It drives my professors insane.
– Pollen; Bloody flowers give me allergies.
– Pessimists; I'm not an optimist, but even I know everything isn't terrible in the world. Pessimists annoy the hell out of me. Or maybe I'm just used to Ro's constant optimism.
– Betrayal; No need to explain that either.
– Bullies; Insecure little gits who need to pick on those who are smaller and weaker to feel better about themselves.
– Junk food; I got food poisoning once. Put me off the stuff.
History:
it started with an all right scene !
Like everyone else, Benjamin Burke had had parents - at some point. He was born to loving parents Simon and Madeline Burke. They named him Benji after his deceased grandfather, even though he never knew that. His mother was a muggleborn, his father a pureblood, and both had attended Hogwarts. Simon had been a year older than Madeline, but they'd met anyway. She'd been his best friend's little sister, after all. It was the classic cliché. The two got along beautifully. Simon was a photographer; he captured beauty in a way no one really could, in Madeline's opinion. And Maddy became his favourite model, whether she was aware of it or not. He dabbled in painting and drawing, but always returned to his trusty camera – occasionally his Polaroid for those pictures that weren't what he would call "professional shots". Maddy was a writer. She loved writing anything and everything. She told him that she had kept a journal ever since she had learned how to write, carefully writing every single event that ever happened to her. At times, she would tell him, she wouldn't touch the thing for months on end. Other times, she would be writing in it practically ever single day. She told him that, when she had met him, her entries suddenly became more frequent. They were almost always together; mostly because she often tagged along with her brother, and her brother was often hanging out with Simon, so it was really no surprise that their at-first-subtle-attraction soon turned into something else. There was no denying that the two clicked – each was an artist in their own way. They understood the fact that someone could have such passion about what would normally be considered a hobby by others.
They'd both denied their own feelings because of her brother until one night, they just couldn't seem to help themselves. It started with a kiss and led to a very wonderful (if unfairly short) life together. Her brother, his best friend, minded at first. Of course he minded. His best friend was snogging his baby sister! - His poor mind couldn't (or wouldn't) begin to imagine what else they could be doing. But it wasn't long before he'd caved and, after the natural Big Brother talk ("you hurt her and I kick your bloody arse all the way to China"), he was fine with it. It was tough, when Simon graduated and Madeline was left with one more year at Hogwarts, but they were patient and waited, meeting during Hogsmeade weekends and the like where Maddy spent hours on end in Simon's arms, listening to his steady heart beat. It was the best sound in the world to her ears. They'd already decided on a marriage date; 1st of July, the year Madeline was to graduate. They weren't going to wait any longer. John was the one to walk her down the aisle and give her away; their parents had both died when they were much younger. Car accident - they had been muggles. Simon's parents had left him in an orphanage because they'd been "too young to raise him". They had also been muggles. It was one of the things that had brought Si and Maddy together - they understood each other in a way no one else seemed to be able to. How difficult it was to grow up without parents. At least Maddy had had a brother, and an aunt to take care of them - he'd had no one. He wouldn't wish it on anyone else. He had no way of knowing that his own son would be thrown into a similar - if not worse - situation.
A year later, John died of an as-of-yet unknown magical disease. Maddy was heartbroken, but Simon pulled her through it. He was her rock. Everything she needed and more. She loved him with all her heart. And then, three years later, someone else came along whom she loved deeply - as deeply as she loved Simon, if not more; a healthy, bouncing baby boy. Benjamin Edward Burke was born the 5th of September 1960. He was adorable. Simon continually told her that he had "his mother's eyes". Maddy would playfully respond that he had his serious expression - even as a baby, Benji had been unusually quiet and even serious-looking at times, or so they often joked about. For a baby, anyway. Unfortunately, the couple didn't get the chance to enjoy Benji's childhood. They were both Aurors - and damn good ones too, according to their co-workers- and everyone knew the dangers of that. Two years after Benji was born, his parents were murdered during a fight with a couple of Death Eaters they'd been tracking. And Benji was suddenly an orphan - no parents, no uncles or aunts, not even grandparents that could take him in. If it weren't for their neighbour, Mrs. Jenkins, he might have never been found - there was simply no one to ask for him. Just like that, one night, the two year old had been left alone in the world, sitting in his crib. If the "caring neighbour" next door hadn't stopped by to make sure everything was okay when heard his endless wails, he might've died that night too. Apparently, it hadn't been his time yet. Mrs. Jenkins took him to the closest orphanage.
She wasn't caring enough to actually take him into her own home.
your life will never be the s a m e !
The orphanage gladly offered him a place in their humble organisation, every worker sighing sadly over the fact that his parents had died so young, and that he'd never properly known them. One of said workers went back to the apartment and packed up his things, and then - almost as an after thought - some of his parents' things as well, whatever she could find - just pictures and other such material things, like a well-used Polaroid camera (her opinion had been that the boy might inherit a love for photography, since one of his parents seemed to have it) and a journal. She was lucky Simon and Madeline were both muggleborn; finding pictures that were moving probably wouldn't have been all too good for her sanity. It was a pitiful amount of memories that she could gather, but she was sure it was better than nothing. Poor Benjamin Burke, the woman, Mrs. Thomas, thought before she went to sleep that night, her thoughts on the quiet little two year old with the unusually serious expression and the deep blue eyes. His life will never be the same again without his parents. But it wasn't the only heartbreaking story she'd heard before. Plenty of kids here had never known their parents - whether it was because they'd been dropped off on their porch because the couple couldn't 'handle a kid' (now those parents just really ticked her off), or because they had no other family. It was how the world went; and it was such a cruel, cruel world. One where your family can disappear in the blink of an eye. But, like her mother had always told her, c'est la vie.
i'm just a man, i'm not a h e r o !
Mrs. Thomas ingrained that motto into them. C'est la vie. She told them it should be their way of thinking; she claimed that, if they thought this way, they would never feel unnecessarily sorry for themselves. According to her, they had nothing to pity themselves for. They had a roof over their heads, they went to sleep with their stomachs (mostly) full, they had clothes on their backs, they had friends and people who cared about them - what more could they want? Benjamin didn't disagree with the motto itself. Yes, c'est la vie. That's life. When he become old enough to question why his parents had to be the one to die, why he was left without any parents he had to say well, that's life! When he wondered why no one ever came for him to take him away, or even asked for him, he had to say well that's life! Yes, that's life all right. He had to be thankful, right? Like Mrs. Thomas said. Be thankful for those basic things. Don't want anymore than that, because you probably won't get it. The orphanage wasn't exactly that rich, after all. They could barely keep up with the amount of children they had, it was enough stress for the few people who worked there. Benjamin never meant to add to that stress by being strange. He really didn't. But it still happened.
It all started when he was four; little things happened at first. He accidentally moved things here and there; occasionally was able to reach places he normally wouldn't have. And then it became big things. Unexplainable things that couldn't be ignored any longer, as much as Mrs. Thomas and the others wanted to. Like when he shoved Kent Tulsa when he was only six years old without even really touching him and sent him flying across the room. Kent Tulsa was the resident bully, as it were. He was a jerk to everyone who was perceived weaker than him; which would be practically everyone. It wouldn't have been so strange if Kent hadn't been displaced so far. And if he hadn't been two years older than Benji and about two breadths wider. Benjamin hadn't meant it. He'd just gotten so mad because Kent was picking on one of the younger kids again. It just isn't fair, he had said to himself. He should really just pick on somebody his own size! And as he'd been standing there, in front of little Anna, getting angrier by the minute, it just...happened. One moment, the eight year old was jeering at them - "Oooooh, little Benny Wenny has a crush on Annieee! Benny and Annie, sitting on a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G, first comes love, then comes marriage, then comes Benny Wenny with -" But he never managed to finish the song. Because he was across the room, unconscious. He'd hit his head pretty hard. And Benny hadn't even touched him. Anna had called him a superhero and hugged him tightly. The grown-ups knew better. There was something strange about Benjamin Edward Burke. They just didn't know what.
Even so, they ignored it for a while. Pretended it was just some sort of miracle. Besides, the other kids loved him. Hell, they hero-worshiped him. He was the protector of the small and the weak. Kent Tulsa and his side-kick could never get away with anything without Benji finding out about it. The "strange miracles" were starting to happen more often, though, and the grown-ups were getting worried. It wasn't something they could just ignore anymore. It was obvious there was something very off indeed about the boy. He'd broken glass cups when he'd gotten particularly infuriated. They finally stopped denying it all together when Kent ended up hanging from a tree (one that was extremely high indeed), screaming and pleading with Benjamin to put him down again. They couldn't ignore it anymore; either Benji was possessed by some sort of...demon or...well, they couldn't really think of the other explanation. All of them knew there was no such thing as magic. There couldn't be. And yet, they could believe he was possessed by a demon. Oh well. C'est la vie, right? They'd thought he would grow out of it, but instead it was just growing out of control, in their opinion. At seven years old, Benjamin was suddenly seen as a threat of some sort. "Lord knows what he'll do next. He might accidentally murder them!" Mrs. Burns, another of the teachers, had exclaimed. Mrs. Thomas had automatically jumped to Benji's defence, of course. She loved the boy dearly, and couldn't bear for them to say that he was anything but the sweet, if a little misunderstood, boy that he was. "He hasn't really hurt anyone yet," she'd protested weakly. "He's a freak, Moira. There's no denying it. But...what can we do about it?"
but does anyone c a r e ?
[/b]Unbeknown to them, Benjamin was standing right outside the staff room, listening to every word they said, a deep ache starting in the region where his heart was, the feeling of being betrayed being one he wasn't used to. He'd thought they were his family - how could they say such horrid things about him? Sucking in a deep breath, careful not to cry (because crying wasn't something big boys did and, at seven years old, Benji considered himself a big boy. Of course he did. He was more mature than anyone ever gave him credit for), Benjamin made his way slowly and quietly back to the room he shared with three other boys. They weren't there, which was good. He could pack quietly, and he did. Pulling out a bag from beneath his bed, he threw it open and swallowed slowly. Was he really doing this? Leaving what had been his home for the past five years? Running away? He flinched and then shook his head. No, he wasn't running away. He was...he was escaping. He was leaving these people who thought he was strange. Who thought he was a freak. Who would want to be in that environment? Not him. Gritting his teeth in determination, he moved to the wardrobe and began packing his things. It didn't take a very long time; he didn't have many possessions, after all. Only a small heap of clothes, a handful of quids, his mother and father's old pictures, his father's old journal and Polaroid camera, and, the two most important objects of all - his journal and his note book. This year, Mrs. Thomas had come up with a sort-of counselling method with the "older children" - even though none of the children were older than ten years old. She told them that writing things out helped you sort out your thoughts, and then she gave them each a bound, empty journal. It was how Benji was first introduced to writing, as a matter of fact, and it wasn't long before it almost became an obsession. And it wasn't just writing facts, either. As a matter of fact, he wrote very little about his own experiences at first, using the journal for that. Having saved up the (rather pitiful) amount of monthly allowance he got from the orphanage over a few months, he managed to get a note book in which he could create a whole new world with its own characters. They weren't that well written, he was only seven years old, but he knew he could get better. That he would get better. Practice makes perfect, right?
And then, with one last glance around, Benjamin zipped up his bag and shoved it under his bed again. He wasn't stupid enough to try to leave when everyone was still awake, of course. So when they'd all fallen asleep, he shoved the covers off and hopped out of bed, fully dressed and ready to set off on what he presumed to be a new, exciting adventure. He was convinced no one would mind about his disappearance; they'd probably even be glad, he thought bitterly. Then the Freak will be gone. He felt sorry for the younger ones, though. As soon as he left, Kent Tulsa was going to start bullying them worse than ever. But oh well. C'est la vie, right? His mouth twisted into a grimace. That motto was starting to get quite depressing – not to mention, old. And yet it fit so many situations. And it did make him feel better. No, that was a lie. It just stopped him from pitying himself. Which was just as well. He didn't need self-pity. Yanking his bag over his shoulder, he walked with small, determined steps out of the room he'd lived in for so many years, down the stairs he knew so well, the ones whose banisters he'd often slid down, and then he was suddenly standing in the lobby, staring at the doors that would lead to his freedom…and he paused. He hesitated and he turned, staring around in the semi-darkness. At the place he'd called his home. The place that could no longer be called that, he reminded himself. He couldn't turn back now. He didn't need them. The seven year old pivoted on his heel, grasped the door handle and turned it, pulling the door open quietly so as not to alert anyone – Mrs. Thomas was known for being a light sleeper – and then he crossed the threshold into the outside world. Alone, for the first time in years. And then he closed the door - to the orphanage, but also to his old life. In doing so, he opened the door to his new one.
just who do you think you a r e ?
[/b]The first few nights of living on the streets alone were hard. It was cold, and dirty, and the food he'd managed to snag from the kitchens (and which he'd only had a brief moment of guilt over) was diminishing quickly; too quickly. By the third night, it was completely gone and it wasn't long before he felt like his stomach was eating itself. He could have never imagined that it would be so hard. He'd left the orphanage with fanciful thoughts of never-ending adventures. This was definitely unexpected. And then, finally on the fourth day, they found him. They were like his guardian angels, sent from heaven. At least, that was what he was convinced of at first. There were two; a boy and a girl. He woke up that fourth morning to a vision; a beautiful young angel with a glowing halo around her head. The image would forever be in his mind, even if it was ruined afterwards when the girl moved and he realised it had been the sun catching the flaxen colour of her hair; the realisation didn't make her any less angelic to him, though. With her wide blue eyes, golden curls and pale skin, he considered her to be the most beautiful being in the world. All of this happened in the space of about ten seconds. And then his awed thoughts were interrupted by a sudden shake of his shoulder and he had blinked owlishly, turning his gaze to the other young person who had been there – a boy. Older. He must have been about thirteen. And the girl was probably nine or ten. Both older than him, but that didn't matter at the moment.
"Oi, whatchu doin' curled up here all on yer lonesome?"
The boy had a strange accent. It was British, but he slurred his words a lot. Benji didn't let his thoughts dwell on this unusual trait for very long, though. What did it matter if he spoke strangely? At least he was speaking to him. Benjamin hadn't realised how much he'd missed talking to an actual person until then. "I ran away," he said, as truthful as always, even back then. "And I'm hungry and thirsty," he added, almost as an after-thought.
"Whass yer name, kid?"
"Benjamin Burke. And I'm not a kid!" he added indignantly, scrambling to his feet and clutching his bag possessively to his chest. The boy arched an eyebrow, obviously amused – whether it was because of his words or actions, Benjamin wasn't sure. He didn't particularly care anyhow.
"Ye are too a kid!"
"How old are you?"
"Thirteen." As if that automatically made him not a kid, Benjamin thought bitterly.
"That's only six years older than me!" It was only after the words left his mouth did he realise how stupid it was, and he scowled. "What's your name?" He directed the question mostly at the angel. He wasn't really interested in the boy as much as he was in her, and she had yet to speak.
"M'Names Hawk. And this is P." He jerked a thumb in the blonde's general direction.
"Oh don't be such an arse! He can know our real names. He ain't the police. His real name is Jamie King, and I'm Penelope Stevens. But call me Penny, I hate the name Penelope," she informed him with a shudder. She spoke in a slightly strange accent too, but it was better than the boys, for one thing. Penelope. What a beautiful name. It suited her.
"Ye talk too much, P," the boy said, and then suddenly eyed Benji's bag. "Whatchu got there, kid?"
"It's Benji. And none of your business," he snapped, holding his possessions even more tightly, narrowing his eyes suspiciously. Jamie held up his hands in mock self-defence, before rolling his eyes.
"Fine. I ain't interested in your bloody junk anyhow."
"Hey Benji, wanna join our group? It's just me an' Jamie and, frankly, I'm gettin' tired of the idiot." Except she said the word "idiot" as eed-jut. He thought it was adorable, and couldn't help but smile. Before he could stop himself, three words blurted out of his mouth,
"I'd love to!"
And that was how Benjamin's brief life as a pick-pocket began.
well they got him in a t r a n c e !
[/b]"It's the only way for survival."
That was how Jamie justified it. It's the only way for survival. To survive, they had to steal from others. Because it wasn't like they could somehow find a job, you know? It wasn't their fault they had no home, no grown-up to take care of them. They had to make do with whatever they could do. They had to steal from other people. They had to. And it wasn't like they ever really noticed. Just a few quids here and there, Jamie would say. Just enough to get us through the day without starving. At first, Benjamin was unsure. He had been raised knowing that stealing was bad. That people who stole went to hell, and he definitely didn't want to go to hell. But Jamie's influence was too much and it wasn't long before he agreed that it was the only thing they could do – it might not be the right thing, but it was the only way to survive. And so he let Jamie and Penny teach him. He almost never did the actual pick-pocketing. Jamie picked the victims, Benji distracted them and Penny slipped around silently, stole the "few quids" and then they were gone. Usually, the victims never noticed. Penny never took enough for them to get suspicious – or broke. They weren't bad kids. They honestly weren't. They just didn't have a choice – it was like they were forced to go to such lengths, just to survive. Besides…c'est la vie, right? That's life. Benjamin was completely sold by the end of his first month with them. Stealing couldn't be bad if you didn't have any other choice, right? Besides, who was he to argue with Jamie? The boy was older, and thus must be wiser. Besides, they were like his family. When they found out about his "abilities", they didn't call him a freak. They just thought he was special – and that his abilities were amazing. Not strange. Not weird. Amazing.
It was no surprise that soon Jamie became the big brother Benji had never had. Suddenly, Benjamin didn't have to be the hero, the Protector of the Small. It felt nice to be protected for once. Jamie and Penny were his new family. He'd been convinced of that when Jamie gave him his "code name" – or street name, if you will. It was the name they used on the streets, although for what reason Benjamin had no idea. Jamie said it was to avoid the police, but that didn't make any sense what-so-ever. So what if they knew their real names? He didn't question Jamie about it, though. And the older boy thus dubbed him B-Ball. It had happened very suddenly, too. Jamie had, apparently, picked the wrong victim because he caught Penny pick-pocketing. He had been too aware. Or perhaps it was Benji's fault, for not distracting him well enough. Whatever it was, the man was suddenly shouting at them and Benjamin had grabbed Penny's hand and yanked her through the crowd in the direction he knew Jamie was in. And then he'd heard the breaking voice over the crowd, calling for…him. "Come on B-Ball! Hurry up! Hurry up, P!"
B-Ball. That was his nickname. It meant he was officially included in their group.
Later, he asked Jamie, why B-Ball? His response was: "it's 'cause of yer initials. B.B. B-Ball. Ya know?"
He didn't know, but he didn't dare say anything, even though it made as much sense as Jamie's code name – which was not at all. Hawk. He'd told him why he called himself that; his old guardian had called him "Jay". And a "jay" was a bird, but "Jay" was hardly "coded" enough, of course, thus he chose "the next best thing" – a hawk. His favourite bird. Benjamin hadn't dared respond to that and tell him how far-fetched it was, although he'd seen Penny roll her eyes in exasperation, and then she informed him that her code name was because she refused to be named Quid – the original name Jamie had picked for her. "I won't be named like money, Jamie!" she'd exclaimed. And then he'd replied, "but yer nickname is money, Pen!" She'd then proceeded to sulk for a whole hour before he made up to her by buying her a chocolate and she immediately forgave him. Benjamin had a feeling this easy-forgiveness had more to do with the fact that Penny had a large crush on Jamie then it did with the chocolate (which, frankly, broke his heart because she was supposed to be in love with him. But oh well. C'est la vie).[/blockquote][/color]
