Damien Peregrine

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Damien Peregrine
Biographical Information
Full name	Damien Eugene Peregrine
Born	February 27th, 1915
Birthplace	Glasgow, Scotland
Deceased	Unknown
Residence	The Peregrine Manor, Glasgow, Scotland
Nationality	Scottish
Blood Status	Pureblood
Education	Durmstrang
Class	Upper
Physical Information
Family Information
Spouse	Unknown
Children	None
Parents	Altas Peregrine, Vivien Peregrine
Siblings	Korin Peregrine
Magical Characteristics
Wand	Fir Wood, Unicorn Tail Hair, 12 inches even
Affiliation
Occupation	Auror
Former Occupation(s)	Researcher

Biography

Delicate, elephantine windows encompassed the spherical study, consuming the room in extensive winter light. A circular, stained mahogany desk companied the centermost point of the clustered area, engrossed with hard cover books and piled documents. Hot, tumbling steam drifted from the melanoid coffee mug balanced on a section of table where Damien Peregrine had found hardly enough space to keep it. He leaned forward, scribbling cerulean ink onto beige parchment; the room lacked proper seating, forcing him to remain on his feet the entire day.

Celadon eyes darted the circumference of the table, searching for the bold title, Magick Moste Evile within the perpetual, chaotically organized heaps of reading material. His slender fingers reached out, grasping the binding as he caught a glimpse of the author’s name, Godelot. Book tucked firmly to his side, Damien searched for more, slowly adding weight to his side as the list of books increased. Secrets of the Darkest Art, Olde and Forgotten Bewitchments and Charms, Magical Hieroglyphs and Logograms; the list went on. Damien wobbled as the books leaned against his front, beginning slightly above his waist and ending against the tip of his chin. Carefully, he inched his way along the side of the room, maneuvering towards the arched exit where a spiral staircase descended, taking him to the central family manor.

The Peregrine estate separated into eighteen different oversized buildings with stories upon stories of floors, along with vast gardens inhabiting the back of the central manor and the apple orchards a mile east. The entirety of the estate remained an estimate of 60,000 acres located in Scotland, along the coast of the Atlantic Ocean. The manor remained isolated from the public eye; the perimeter was sealed off by tall, obsidian shaded iron gates.

Out of the corner of his eye, Damien watched as a group of murmuring house elves passed, carrying parchment and inkwells towards his father’s office with hurried pace. The Peregrine’s house elves were only bought after cautious detailed research pertaining to each one his father found interesting. Only the best would do, there were no exceptions. However, the elves were treated with phenomenal respect and courtesy from every Peregrine, as long as each of the elves obeyed every rule set into place. This surprised many guests who found the helpers extraordinarily disgusting. Damien found them abnormally comforting, having been around them so long. He estimated at least two hundred lived within the grounds, maintaining the garden and serving meals to whoever felt hungry each day.

Two hundred elves resided on the estate; three people remained. His grandfather, Locksley Peregrine, a wise man with an off white, braided beard that reached his midsection and continuously grew each day. Damien’s father, Atlas Peregrine, a strict man who carried a stiff, upper-class appearance regardless to where he traveled. His father possessed a quick temper and a sharp Scottish dialect; Damien avoided him whenever he could, forced to address him as simply, “Sir.” Korin Peregrine, Damien’s older brother, visited occasionally although he never remained. Korin Peregrine never explained why or where he had to leave to so frequently, but simply that he had to leave. Damien didn’t mind, the house elves and his grandfather were more than enough company.

Several offers from the elves to carry the pile of books in his hands were thrown around the room eagerly. Each time, Damien politely declined. He’d lived his entire life in leisure; he was more than capable of carrying a few books himself. Regardless, as he attempted to open the towering oak doors leading outside, the elves had reached the handle first, struggling to pull the doors back for [i]“Mr. Peregrine”[/i] to proceed. Damien nodded his gratitude, reluctantly advancing across the stone paved paths towards the court yard that remained the center of everything within the estate.

He knew the grounds like the back of his hand which happened to start aching as the weight of heavy books strained him. Damien had picked up his speed, irritated by the way his blonde hair shuffled over his eyes and his shirt scratched against his neck uncomfortably. He froze as he reached his destination, glancing up the exterior of his grandfather’s observatory tower before roaming inside.

As he entered, the scent of pine water and strong cinnamon invaded his senses. He surveyed the study casually, from the maroon carpeting to the golden drapes to the countless odd objects his grandfather had collected. Along the various ebony tables set bundles of Phoenix feather quills and wrapped chocolate frog packets. A red oak coat hanger stood by the door, covered by cloaks and silly, useless gag hats. Self-stirring cauldrons were stacked on the top of an overflowing bookshelf with sets of two-way mirrors and an unfinished game of wizard’s chess.

To the right of the entrance, a similar, wider staircase commenced to the top floor. Damien grimaced, books still weighing his hands down as he climbed the stairs, aching with every step until the final few when he genuinely worried he would collapse. Along the railing, Damien set the leaning books down, relief washing over him as he stretched his fingers to his wrists to his arms out. He slowly pushed the door to the observatory open, slipping inside and peeking around until he found his grandfather, beard flipped over his shoulder as he wrote with his back turned from the entrance where Damien stood patiently.

As if on cue, Locksley Peregrine glanced back at his grandson with a bright smile that could warm the coldest of hearts. “Ah, Dame, my dear boy--” He was more of a father than Damien’s biological father would ever hope to be. “—How over the moon I am to see you, have you brought the books?”

Damien nodded his answer, stepping forward to face his grandfather. “Yes, I have, grandfather. I left them outside on the top of the staircase, as instructed.” Stuffing his hands inside his pockets, he felt his grandfather thoughtfully study him over.

“Good, that’s very good.” Locksley laughed, nodding to himself. “…You’re going to have to leave again, aren’t you? Following in your brother’s footsteps, huh?” He joked, setting his phoenix feather quill to the side.

A nervous chuckle slipped from Damien’s lips, “You’re intuitive as ever; I could never hide a single thing from you, and I still can’t.” Damien sighed, explaining the reasoning. “-I have to attend to Auror business and traveling, as always. To be honest, I can’t even stay and chat. I’m running late enough as it is.”

The old man waved him off softly, “Well, the early bird gets the worm, Damien. Off you go, do great things!”

Damien returned the man’s smile as he paced back to the exit, stopping in the doorway as a thought crossed his mind. “Why do you need these books, Sir?”

Locksley Peregrine chuckled, his laugh low and booming. “All in good time, Damien, you’ll learn in good time.”

Damien frowned, confusion plastered on his face. “Sir?-”

“Off you go, Damien.” The old man turned towards him, a twinkle in his eyes. “You’re late enough as it is, from what I recall."

Damien nodded, reluctantly taking a few steps back before closing the door. He glanced towards the pile of books, before pursing his lips. He despised surprised, but loathed secrets even more. He slowly cascaded down the stairs, his mind exploding in confused, scrabbled thought.

All in good time.