[center][h3][color=FFA500]Hyacinthus Trivett[/color][/h3]
[sub][i]Image belongs to [url=http://criedwolves.tumblr.com/]Criedwolves[/url][/i][/sub]
[IMG]http://i.imgur.com/aQjLGOq.jpg[/IMG]
[b][u]Location;[/u][/b] Platform 9¾, On The Train
[b][u]Interacting With;[/u][/b] Alva Jay Zolkin [@HaleyTheRandom][/center][hr][hr]
The boy with the pale blond hair and bespectacled green eyes saw no small amount of familiar faces once he passed through the magical threshold and into Platform 9¾, his grotesquely large trunk wobbling on his cart, and Mellifluous yipping merrily from within her cage on top of it. Unfortunately, two of those faces belonged to people in whose honour, he often thought, the word 'putrid' had been invented. Seeing them climb onto the train, he stopped in his tracks, hands suddenly tight on the cart's handle. He did not frown or scowl, but he did grit his teeth behind his lips and glare in their general direction as they disappeared inside one of the cars. As if on cue, Mellifluous growled, betraying his own emotions.

"That was the Kemp boy, I take it?" Said his mother behind him, her voice deceptively nonchalant. Hyacinthus Trivett knew better. He could hear the rumbling beneath. She was furious, vengeful, and she did not await his response before continuing. "Poor lad probably doesn't even know just how inbred his oh-so-pure family tree is."

Hyacinthus felt her place a stern hand on his shoulder, fingers pressing tight on his skin, and the bones beneath. The gesture was not comforting, but it did lend him some clarity, and perhaps a bit of much needed strength. It made him let out a sigh, close his green eyes, and try to clear his head.

"Calm." His mother spoke again, and he turned his eyes towards her. He found her now standing beside him, as statuesque as always in her black dress, sporting a small smile in half-feigned amusement. "Need I remind you that killing your foes with poisoned pastries, while always amusing, is also very illegal?"

Hyacinthus smiled back at her, his hands relaxing on the cart's handle as he sighed again, his chest almost deflating underneath his favourite woolen cardigan. At last, he spoke, his voice unwavering. [color=FFA500]"No, mum. I understood that very well the first time. I will not kill my fellow students with poison."[/color]

"Or?" His mother lifted an eyebrow as she asked. Ursula Startifant's rules admitted no loopholes.

The boy almost rolled his eyes. [color=FFA500]"Or with the Killing Curse. Or use the Cruciatus Curse on them. I promise."[/color]

"Good lad." His mother hugged him, her arms feeling bony around him. Their warmth, however, always made up for it. They did not part from each other for a while, even as she spoke, her voice still as stern as the rest of herself. "Remember that you are [i]not[/i] a Slytherin, and I won't have my son become a dark wizard because of some bully."

She let go of her son, and in her hand was his wand, as beautifully rustic as always. She tapped on his forehead with the tip of it. "If you decide that you want to bring justice upon him, which you are entitled to, let it be a proper duel, as befits the son of an Auror and a Startifant."

"And a pediatrician." His father's firm voice came from his other side, his hand suddenly on top of his head, patting gently. "No son of mine is going to poison a minor."

This time, it was Hyacinthus who did the hugging, clinging to his father like a devil's snare, his smile wider now as he pressed his cheek against the other's chest. When he let go at last, the elderly man ruffled his son's hair, prompting the teenage Hufflepuff to laugh. The anxiety was not doing him any favours, but his family had a talent for forcing it to subside when he really needed it to, such as right now. He did not want to start his fifth year as a forlorn, nervous wreck. He was better than that.

Hyacinthus took a deep breath, feeling his nerves unravel in his stomach, a pleasant fluttering taking over the intolerable dead weight. He grabbed the handle of his cart with both hands and pushed forward again, humming. Mellifluous began to yip at him again, but started barking as the cart was taken from her owner's hands, to be loaded onto the train. In truth, she sounded more annoyed than upset.

"Now, before you leave..." His mother said, and her hand was once again on his shoulder, while with the other she handed him his wand, along with a small blue box. "Do you remember our rules, Hyacinthus?"

The boy turned around and took the wand and the box eagerly. The willow felt perfectly comfortable in his grip, like it should have been there since the day he was born. Ollivander had called it an exceptionally fitting match, which to eleven-year-old Hyacinthus had come as a disappointment, given how much he had wanted a rowan wand.

[color=FFA500]"Yup."[/color] He answered with a quick nod, slipping his wand into the safety of his pocket. [color=FFA500]"Macarons are for dessert, not for breakfast. And just because the Whomping Willow is related to my wand doesn't mean I get to visit it. And if I want to enter the Forbidden Forest, I mustn't get caught."[/color]

Ursula Startifant humphed for a second, but only for a second. Her eyes stared deep into her son's, exploring their depths, looking through the sarcasm. Then, blinking only once, she smirked. "Good boy."

There was another hug, shorter, stiffer, joined by Frederick. And then Hyacinthus was alone, and his parents were walking away, hand in hand, their eyes still glancing at him with every step.

"And remember..." His mother said, halting for a second, a dozen feet away. Her look had gained a powerful warmth, and that rumbling had returned to her voice. "You are our son."

[color=FFA500][i]And I love you too, mum.[/i][/color] Hyacinthus thought as he smiled and waved at them. Once they left the platform, vanishing through the magical threshold, he stepped into the car, his free hand ghosting over the pocket in which his wand awaited, longing to be used. He did not let his smile falter as he walked past the compartments, looking for one with friendly faces.

His search turned out to be a short one, as he encountered an almost empty compartment. Almost empty, that is, save for his favourite Gryffindor, who sat on the left side, apparently listening to muggle music. Alva seemed lost in her musical reverie, which was not an unpleasant sight, to be honest. If anything, it made him feel like engaging in good-hearted mischief, and so he prepared to strike. He crouched a bit and, without missing a beat, pounced her like the most harmless of foxes.

[color=FFA500]"Boo!"[/color] He said, joyful, giving her a tight squeeze, a goofy grin plastered on his face.