expelled from hogwarts, school of witchcraft and wizardry

poacher and dragon keeper, underground arena

sectumsempra. A spell spat out with enough animosity to lacerate its victim without the force of such dark magic. his father, that almost eternal fury was faltering at last, staggering with an utterly gratifying defeat. From the depth of several wounds, blood surged to the surface, painting his white shirt as ink drops blot in water, spreading, soaking the skin, the fabric, tainting the floor of their family home scarlet. yet, the begging never came. Lucian never would be granted such satisfaction. no, death did not stalk this time, did not savour a moment of sadism before enveloping the victim. the haemorrhaging was far too severe for him to suffer as long as his son wished. But those seconds, those fleeting moments linger still in the recesses of his mind, as though an invocation of power, to remind him, that he, Lucian Hwang, will be tormented no longer.

power in the hands of the repressed is a tool of lethality. yet, little thought was put into the rule which forbade him and his sister from practicing magic at home. they were meant to feel as powerless as he, he who had only his fists to fight with, only those calloused hands to work with and only that hate oppressed mind to keep his magical children from their nature. yet, who can blame him? the human who married the daughter of corban yaxley, a death eater who sought to rid the world of the muggleborn and muggles. she had left everything for him, her family, their philosophies and their wealth. vowed never to trouble him with magic, benevolent or malevolent and his children would be subjected to the same vow.  

contradictions was all lucian could see between the stories his parents told of his lineage. his father's, brimming with hatred, his mother's, speaking of fond memories. raised between summers at his father's muggle side and magic filled hogwarts, he was terribly torn. he was meant to loathe his nature, when he was honing it for the better part of the year. he was meant to hide it, to push it down, until it ceased to feel a part of him in the comfort of his home. yet, in the threat of violence, instincts resurfaced to cast protection, from the reaching hands of his father, which sought to discipline him. the rule was thus broken, inciting the rage of he who set it. within moments, lucian's wand was confiscated and snapped before his devastated gaze. a punishment for using magic to defend himself.

from that moment onwards, he simply took whatever he was given without much protest, suppressing the powers he knew he had to halt this abuse. until one night he stumbled upon the writings of his grandfather in the garret, detailing elaborate beliefs and philosophies, teaching spells and curses which progressively inched him further from sanity. he dressed the journals in misleading coverings, read them day and night under the guise of literature. never before had he experienced the superiority which came with the tone of yaxley's, filling the void of the lack of praise for his excellence, for his powers, for his brilliant abilities. his magic was meant to be revered, not shunned. 

lucian's fourth year was characterised by this erratic imbalance, though only clearly displayed the day he cast the cruciatus curse on a mudblood in hogwarts, earning himself explusion. the details of that incident would remain only with him and his victim, though the students took no time fabricating all sorts of scenarios. it was that summer night when students emptied the halls of hogwarts, that he returned with his letter of expulsion, his silver blonde hair no longer dyed to conceal his lineage.

of course, he was met with an unsurpising amount of gloating, until the reason for being expelled was found out and a wannabe death eater, he was called, a worthless, pathetic little boy who knew not what he was doing. ❝you are nothing.❞ his father pushed at his chest, shouting with maddening anger. that was all it took for lucian's repression to give way, casting that lethal spell which bled his father to death. those cruel eyes would trouble him no more. he was free at last, yet shackled still by the crime of his liberating act. rightfully scared, the young wizard fled, with his father's blood on his hands. he would be exiled from all that he knew, made to use his skills to survive. 

two years had passed since, lucian found his footing in shady london dealings, between criminals of his kind who cared not what he had done to end up in the slums. with time, he came to earn his living in an underground arena, wherein he holds the position of a dragon keeper, similar to ones his sister used to marvel at. 

Name's Noah but you may call me by my character's name. He/they for pronouns and of age. You must be of age as well to plot with me. Do not expect me to always be available, work will prevent me from being around at times. Thus, please do not rush me or poke me under any circumstance. I don't do so and I expect you not to, as I'm aware of my plots at all times. In case of delay, assume that I am occupied or simply will get to it soon. Trust that I will inform you if I wish to drop it. If you'd like to contact me, I primarily use discord and kkt at the moment. You may ask for my handle in pms.

LOREM IPSUM DOLOR SIT AMET, CONSECTETUER ADIPISCING ELIT. AENEAN COMMODO LIGULA EGET DOLOR. AENEAN MASSA. SOCIIS NATOQUE PENATIBUS ET MAGNIS DIS PARTURIENT MONTES, NASCETUR RIDICULUS MUS. DONEC QUAM FELIS, ULTRICIES NEC, PELLENTESQUE EU, PRETIUM QUIS, SEM. NULLA CONSEQUAT MASSA QUIS ENIM.