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Victorians could hire 'professional mourners' to attend their loved one's funeral. These people would partake in the procession and were not allowed to speak, just look awfully sad! — Rune

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"The Prodigal Sister" for Ophelia Devine. Faked deaths, scandal, and schemes!
Kristoffer was going to be great at this, because he was great at everything. Also his memory was greater than everyone else's, because he bet no one else had ever lost their virginity somewhere exotic like Morocco. Hell, he bet no one else had even lost their virginity. Inexperienced losers.

Kristoffer Lestrange in Shining, Shimmering Splendour

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7 Deadly Sins

Complete seven threads, one where your character displays each of the Seven Deadly Sins — Pride, Lust, Sloth, Envy, Weath, Gluttony, and Greed. Each thread should be at least ten posts, with at least three being your own. Character accounts can be combined.


Sour Grapes
7th April, 1888 — Slytherin Table
In a week and a day, Slytherin were playing Hufflepuff, so Kristoffer - ordinarily indolent as he was - had drilled his team ruthlessly on the quidditch pitch this Saturday morning, inflating either their begrudging respect or their ill-will towards him by having them out there flying laps in the drizzly April chill a good hour before breakfast had even appeared on the tables in the Great Hall.

Winning the quidditch cup this year under his leadership might raise his name to Headmaster Black in perfect time for the staff's Head Boy discussions for next year, Kristoffer had considered to himself. (This was perhaps a more galvanising thought that simply envisioning winning, for winning's sake; personal glory trumped team glory every time, any fool knew that.) So, Kris would have happily spent all Saturday out there, if another of the house teams hadn't gone and booked the damn pitch and thrown them all off eventually.

It was only as he stomped into the Great Hall at last for a belated breakfast that he realised just how late in the day it was: the ceiling was showing some sun finally parting the clouds (where had it been all morning!), the house tables were considerably emptier than at mealtimes, and, worst of all - even with the weekend's more leisurely breakfast times - there was no food on the table.

He'd bloody gone and missed breakfast completely! However dogged Kris had been about training the team hard before the match, he wasn't sure it was truly worth that. Especially not now that his stomach was rumbling and his mood had taken a nosedive.

He fell onto a spot on the Slytherin benches near St. Claire (a seventh year he quite liked, and who had the good sense not to be on the quidditch team), determined to sit right there until lunch appeared on the tables. Of course, they weren't quite barren in this between-meals-study-time: there were jugs of pumpkin juice dotted along the table in intervals, accompanied by bowls of fruit. Kristoffer reached into the nearest one and scraped up a handful. Of grapes.

"Merlin, bloody grapes again," he grumbled, not thrilled that that was all there was to sustain him after hours of flying. He lifted his disgruntled expression to St. Claire, with a casual nod in greeting before he continued his unceremonious complaining. "Why is it always grapes?"

Jonathan was having a particularly rough morning as he'd woken himself up early to get started on a project for his N.E.W.T. level Herbology course. He was awful at the subject, despite the fact he was interested in it, but with plenty of extra help that he got from his professor, he managed to get an A on his O.W.L.s so he could take the next level course. He was sure people thought he was mad for forcing himself through it, but he wanted to impress his father, whom was always adept at the subject. Of course, this meant that nobody wanted to sit with Jonathan today because he had a stone cold glare at the wall for the most part as he ate breakfast, then again at lunch, only softening slightly because now his eyes burned from lack of sleep and so now he just looked completely zoned out as he ate his food.

By now the blonde was picking at the roll he'd managed to swipe before the younger years battled each other for it and only looked up, suddenly snapping out of his daze when he saw Kristoffer sit down in the empty seat beside him. Jonathan had always liked the guy - he was the kind of person that he deemed worthy of learning magic and spending time around him. Jonathan would gladly vote him for Head Boy if such positions were appointed that way, because he thought out of everyone he knew, he deserved it. He grinned slightly at him and spoke with a light, teasing tone.

❝ Because grapes are our new overlords. I mean, we had delicious strawberries at breakfast. Pity you couldn't make it. ❞

Jonathan broke off a piece of his buttery roll - he never actually took bites out of it anyway, just pulled pieces of it off - and offered it to Kristoffer.

❝ Will this make you feel better? ❞

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He snorted at Jonathan's response about the grapes, shoving the handful he had grumpily into his mouth and thinking of the strawberries he'd missed as he chewed them up. "Some of us have quidditch matches to win," he added, in explanation for missing the meals, sounding less enthused about it than he had been this morning. Some of them, Kristoffer thought to himself, were unfortunate souls with obligations and a pack of twelve-year-olds to put through their paces. Ugh, it was a hard life, wasn't it?

Jonathan was here to make it a little more bearable, and provided some better sustenance than fruit. Granted, a piece of bread roll was not going to fill the gaping crevasse in his stomach, but it was - he rather had to brace himself before thinking such sentimental drivel - the thought that counted.

"So this is what it feels like to be wretched beggar scum," Kristoffer said melodramatically, taking the share of bread from his friend with a nod in thanks. To have to rely on charity - to beg for scraps! Kristoffer, who had never spared a kind glance to any urchins or cripples in the streets, let alone a coin, found imagining such a ludicrous possibility... rather fun. "Please, sir, spare a knut," he mimicked in a comically squeaky voice, holding up the bread in his hands like it was the first food he'd seen in weeks.  

Speaking of the sort who'd be better off dead... he eyed Jonathan, wondering what he'd been doing all day. "Actually, you look like you've lost the will to live."

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