Viewing Profile -> MARIUS O. RASMUSSEN

alias & pronouns
eli • he + him
points
750 points
posts
11 posts
timezone
est
contact
pm
status
Offline (Offline)
joined
15-May 18
last seen
Jun 10 2018, 03:43 PM
marius orlinius rasmussen
Firebolt
mars's likes
holiday feasts, whiskey, chamber & classical music, opera, reading, sitting in front of the fireplace, watching snow fall outside the window, the ocean, long walks on the castle grounds, house plants & candles, friendly dueling, a good competition, horchata & chai, teaching, fresh from the garden grilled tomatoes, watching thunderstorms, holding classes outdoors, plums, & black currants.
mars's dislikes
his family (except his brother), being interrupted, long fingernails, stepping in gum, sleeping alone, wearing a wristwatch, bad poetry, the smell of tobacco, small windows, the dungeons, holding classes indoors, flat pillows, down pillows, the smell of freshly mown grass, blood purists, superiority complexes, rock n roll, chocolate frogs & pumpkin pasties, white coffee, small spaces.
nickname & pronouns
mars • he + him
age& birthday
42 • 28 may
occupation
transfiguration professor
year
alumni
school & house
hogwarts - gryffindor
romantic orientation
biromantic
sexual orientation
bisexual
relationship status
single
partner(s)
N/a
blood status & species
pureblood • human
wand
9", cherry wood, dragon heartstring, quite rigid.
amortentia
fresh salty sea air, a hot summer rain, single malt whiskey, and fields of heather, rolling over hills immeasurably, with a hint of cinnamon, nutmeg, allspice, & ginger.
patronus form
basset hound
boggart
marius always wondered what his boggart might become. it frightened him, the concept of seeing a boggart, and he thanked his lucky stars he'd never seen one. he was quite sure they'd be horrifying. he was most terrified of boggarts. when he finally did see his first boggart, it became marius, pale and weak, laying on the ground, moaning and crying, occasionally mocking him in various voices of the rasmussen family. he tried to paint himself as the fearless gryffindor he was supposed to be, but the boggart revealed his own vulnerability to him, his insecurities aired out to dry. and everyone he knew? they all knew he was as much of a fool.
mirror of erised
there he is... marius orlinius rasmussen, order of merlin, first class. he stood before the wizengamot, the minister slipped the medal around his neck. it was a handsome, golden medal, engraved with "order of merlin, first class" in ornate letters around the front face, just on the border of the reeding. the ribbon was slytherin green, not marius' color, but he'd take what he could get. what had he done to get here? when had he been so brave? oh, he desired to be so brave.
broom
bluebottle
pet(s)
nennius, a six year old barn owl.

morgause, an eleven year old tortoiseshell cat with a missing ear.
zodiac
gemini
sin
wrath
virtue
humility
moral alignment
chaotic good
play by
peter dinklage
positive traits
curious

benevolent

loyal

softhearted

energetic

idealistic
negative traits
neurotic

erratic

indesicive

impulsive

showboat

quick-tempered

quixotic
mars's history
marius runs through the grey grass and gentle heather, flora grabbing at his little legs. he's so young still, the youngest of his siblings. like irish triplets: florin is 6, eponine is 5, marius is 4. he's the blight of his parents, who abhor him for his dwarfism, his squibbish mar against their family line. oh, they were so sure he would be a squib.



the rasmussen's are visiting the ocean, marius' earliest memory and his first love. he grabs at the flowers as he runs, over the rocks, up the hill, off the cliff. eponine shouting for help, florin sobbing as his body cuts through the air, then stops. he's made no impact. he twists around in his panic, his head is mere inches away from a rock. with a little splash, he plops into the water, and whips around in wonder. who cast that spell? had it been him?


it had been. marius, the "squib", had been the first of the three rasmussen children to use magic. the water was shallow, but rough. it took eponine and florin's help to get back to the shore, where he knew he'd find fiercely proud parents. he never did find them. in fact, they never made amends, not even when they were on their respective deathbeds.


years later, marius watched florin go to hogwarts. oh, but he'd miss him so much! they would have so much fun together, riding broomsticks over the vast gardens and orchards, plucking plums and currants as they rode. marius was the apple of florin's eye, and florin was his best friend. sure, he'd have eponine to entertain him through the school year, but at least he had christmas break to look forward to. eponine and florin were good friends, but eponine would hardly maintain eye contact with marius. she was their parent's creature, a true rasmussen through and through.


the next year, eponine left for hogwarts. then he followed. marius was, to his utter delight, sorted into florin's house: gryffindor. eponine sorted into slytherin, and he rather liked her there. if there was any way to get along with eponine, it was through a good, healthy competition. she was such a showboat, always needing to one up marius, and he was the same way. they raced brooms around the castle, explored the forbidden forest, dared and pranked their way through hogwarts.


marius was the smart one. he was top of his class all through hogwarts, took every elective in his third year (though he ended up settling on study of ancient runes and arithmancy), and was involved in extra extracurriculars: art, magical theory, muggle art, music, muggle music, orchestra, and of course, frog choir. he became a prefect in his fifth year, and head boy in his seventh.


he graduated from hogwarts with his seat at the top of his class in tact. immediately, he got an internship with the department of magical law enforcement, and quickly rose to the rank of auror. it was there he met agan, his second love, though he didn't smell unlike his first. if marius buried his nose in his hair, it smelled like the sea and faintly of heather.


after putting in a rough few days of work, they'd curl up in front of the fire, get a little tipsy on whiskey, and just talk for hours and hours. they talked so much, they hardly had time to kiss or make love or even sleep.


like most good things, it didn't last. a few years as an auror sometimes does you in, whether you retire, die... agan was killed in the same accident that gave marius the long, gnarly scar across his face, the deep indents in his arms and legs. death eaters terrorizing muggle borns, agan and marius were trying to catch them, and, elusive and impulsive as they tended to be. they ran through the grubby alley ways of london, their shoes splashing in dirty puddles, through cigarette butts and plastic straws. the walls were closing around them, and they were catching up.


"bombarda!" one of them threw the spell back over their shoulder, and a few bricks erupted from the wall, and scattered about their feet. they kept running, marius puffing, agan panting.


"bombarda maxima!" that did the trick. the entire wall came off the side of the building, the bricks crumbling, glass shattering, iron wrought bars around the window, everything came down, and crushed them both. marius hardly felt the pain as blood gushed from his face, and he fell unconscious.


he came to in his bed in st mungo's, his memory as clear as if it were the very previous moment. he called for agan for hours, then sobbed himself to sleep over a bottle of blood-replenishing potion.


after his recovery (everything hurt for so long, he had to relearn how to walk, he'd never be able to move the same way again), he retired, and drank himself into a six year long stupor. it was his brother who pulled him out of it.


"get a job," he kept saying, "you can't drink yourself to death. what will i do without you?"

"i suppose life will go on, will it not?"

"you have to keep going."

"i don't have to."

"things change. you'll never be the same. neither will i. i keep going, you have to keep going."


at least he tried to understand. marius set the bottle down, and agreed. he'd get a job. at least he'd get a job.


marius rasmussen, professor of transfiguration. at first, he thought he might like his job. teaching children, no, interacting with children at all was not his strong suit. he wasn't sure how to treat them, but found that treating them like he'd treat any other adult his age had astounding results. he fell into stride with his new role in a couple years, with a few hiccups involving tranfiguring unruly students and a shouting match with a sixth year that he's still very, very ashamed of.

"these are not your peers, they are your students! wrangle your temper, professor rasmussen!"

"are you going to fire me?"

"not this time."


he read the letter from the student's parents, made a lengthy apology to them and to the student, guaranteeing, on his word, it would never happen again.


in 2020, his mother took ill. florin begged him to visit her on her sickbed, and marius finally gave in on the day she passed away. she was conscious for an hour, held florin and eponine's hands and prayed, before she fell asleep, and within the hour, passed away.


in her casket, she looked happier than she ever had in life. the corners of her lips screwed up into a smile. she almost looked like she approved! and why shouldn't she? her youngest son, a professor at hogwarts, an ex-auror, a survivor.


father wasn't far behind, but he died so suddenly, the last time marius saw him alive was his mother's funeral. it was 2022. the story goes: he was making his morning tea, and his heart simply stopped. florin and eponine were beside themselves with grief, but marius stood among his family and family friends, draped in deep black robes, the claspe that represented their pureblood line, and he didn't shed even a single tear. it'd be hard to miss someone you hadn't spoken with in nearly three decades.


in 2023, marius became head of gryffindor house, to his natural surprise. he loved interacting with the students in his house, almost nothing gave him greater joy than winning the house cup. looking at his house, he couldn't help but feel such immense pride. they always had so much action, the potential to be heroes, such bravery, such daring, such passion.


he'd always looked up to gryffindor, but felt he was so misplaced among them. even now, in his fourties, he questions whether or not the sorting hat made the right decision.

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