 Who Am I? Ern's 2460FUN
Yoooooooooooooooooo.
This was straight-up terrible. Kale Trent was having a bad time.
The moment he entered the castle-- no no, the moment he stepped off the train-- the sixth year was assaulted by memories. None good and none comforting. This castle took a lot from him, chipping away at all the good and naive and lovely parts of his personality, and cast him into darkness, silence, misery. Sure, they'd patched up the castle fine, but the echo of memory lived in these halls.
You couldn't paint over trauma, buds.
He'd lost his Dad on that dais. The same one he sat at now. He'd had an unforgivable tossed at him in a classroom nearby. He'd seen a man killed on these grounds in his name. He'd been shoved into a dark and dank Room to rot beneath this castle. He'd lost all sense of time and reason in that mirror locked up in the Headmaster's office, his Dad's office.
This castle was suffocating with unpleasantness.
And man, oh man, was Kale feeling the burden of it. The blonde swept back his long and swooshy hair (haircuts who??? haircuts where???) and soldiered into the Great Hall. His shoulders were dipped and he shuffled low-key kinda quietly to the sea of red and gold. If people missed the grand-Hello-Dolly!-esque-entrances, well, maybe next year folks. For now, he simply made it to the Gryffindor Table and settled in, back rigid and shoulders hunched.
'Sup, friends?
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