|Full name||Damien Andrada|
|Born||28 July 1914|
|Birthplace||San Sebastian, Spain|
|Parents||Carlos Andrada, Luisa Rivera-Andrada|
|Siblings||Carlos Andrada II, Lillian Andrada|
|Occupation||Owner, Pasta Vino|
|Former Occupation(s)||Student, Honeydukes, Azkaban prisoner|
The middle child of Carlos and Luisa Andrada, Damien lived a regular muggle life, him and his parents all oblivious to the magical link in their family, that would soon make itself very known in their family. After several "incidents", Damien was sent off to a Catholic reform school, his parents believing that he was possessed by some sort of spirit. After two years, he found out the truth about his heritage and ran away, ending up at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. In his 7th year of schooling, Damien supposedly murdered three students, and escaped from the school grounds. After spending six months avoiding the Ministry and their aurors, Damien was captured by the aurors, with the assistance of Bruce Havard. Currently, Andrada is residing in Azkaban prison, after admitting guilt to the murders.
Juanita Castillo was born into a wealthy wizardry family in the late 1800's, in Northern Spain. She attended the Oviedo Escuela de Magia, a smaller, private magic school. Always excelling in her school work, and showing strong divination skills, her parents expected her to graduate and start working for their Ministerio de Magia, carrying on the family tradition. Plans don't always work out as desired though, and things changed for Juanita. The summer before her final year at school, she met a young man while traveling on an 'internship' mission for the Ministerio. His name was Antonio Rivera, the son of a small business owner. The two quickly fell into a summer romance. Juanita knew she must not reveal her magical abilities to this Antonio; for fear that he would turn from her, or worse, turn her over to the muggle authorities. The summer came to a quick end, and before Juanita was to go back home, she found out that she was pregnant.
Frightened and confused, Juanita immediately informed Antonio of their growing baby. She couldn't go home pregnant and unmarriedâ¦it was unheard of. She would be an outcast to her family, and would certainly not be allowed to return to school. Antonio did the only thing he could think of to remedy the situation; that very evening, he and Juanita were married. Juanita still was required to return home. She needed to be debriefed about her internship, inform her parents of her marriage, and face the reality that she was giving up all her parents had hoped for her, all she had hoped for. There seemed to be no other solution though. With a heavy heart, Juanita convinced Antonio to let her travel home alone to inform her parents. With a Ministerio escort, she traveled home and gave her parents the news. Of course, it wasn't fully the truth. All her parents knew was that Juanita had fallen in love over the summer, and then married a muggle man. The pregnancy was never mentioned to her mother or father. With a promise to come and visit them, Juanita made arrangements to have her belongings shipped to her new home, and left Oviedo, unknowingly for the last time in her life.
Returning back to her husband, Juanita had a lot of revealing to do. Now she had to tell Antonio that she was a witch. He was understandably questioning why trip that should have taken over two months happened in the course of one week. He had not expected his new wife to be home so soon. The first thing Juanita did was sit Antonio and down and tell him everything; the fact that she was a witch, the reason she was even in his town that summer, her family history and schooling. Antonio did not take the news well. At first he was in denial, accusing Juanita of trying to create a crazy excuse to make up for whatever real family story she was hiding. When she proved her story by pulling out her wand and turning his coffee cup into a saucer, Antonio dropped the dish, scattering it on the floor and jumped up away from his wife. A witchâ¦his wife was a witch!
Tales of the European witch hunts were far in the past, but still, Antonio could not have someone like that in his household. He did want to run and report her, to get the evil out of his house, but Antonio realized that in doing so, he too would be accused of witchcraft, since they were legally married. As Juanita cried and begged for his silence, Antonio knew that he had no choice. He had married her, and he would stay married. They would have the child, and be a family. But Antonio swore to his wife that there would no mention of witches or wizards in his house, ever. She was not to use her magic for any reason, and furthermore, Juanita was not to leave the house, unless with her husband. He couldn't risk her doing something that would inadvertently draw attention to her magical abilities. Whatever love Antonio held for Juanita disappeared that day. From then on, his sole responsibility was the child which they had conceived. Juanita had kept her true self from him, and that was a deception he could not accept.
The next eight months were a cold shell of a marriage as Antonio and Juanita lived their lived together, with little to no interaction between each other. Antonio would leave for work in the morning, and return home to a nice dinner and a clean house. Any words spoken between them were minimal. Every night, Juanita would lie in her bed (in a separate room), writing in her journal and crying herself to sleep. She still loved Antonio, and tried to hold on to a hope that he still loved her also. It was that small hope that kept her in his house, instead of running home to her parents.
The night that their son Marcos came into the world was a sad, bitter end to the fake family that had been formed between Juanita and Antonio. While giving birth at home, with the assistance of a nurse, complication arose with Juanita shortly after the boy was born. The blood loss for the woman was too great, and with no love and support from her husband, Juanita had no desire to fight for her life. With the words "I still love you" barely past her lips, Juanita passed into the afterlife. Antonio held a private burial for his wife, with no one in attendance. He didn't even take care to inform her parents that she had died, or that they had a grandson. As for Marcos Rivera, he was raised without any real knowledge of his mother, only that she had died shortly after his birth.
Fast forward two generations, and now Carlos and Luisa Andrada were living in Madrid, Spain. Luisa was the daughter of Marcos and Penelope Rivera. Marcos had never shown any signs of magical abilities (much to his father's relief), and as far as anyone knew, they were a completely normal, family. Not knowing anything about the magic history in her ancestry, Luisa never thought about it, and her and Carlos lived a completely muggle lifestyle, oblivious to the magical world that existed around them. Their first son, Carlos Andrada II was a healthy boy, muggle in all sense of the word. And then Damien was born. There was nothing odd to note about the boy at his birth, with the exception of his deep blue eyes. No one on either side of their family had blue eyes. Each family member had the very common dark Spanish hair and eyes. So when Damien was born his parents took it only as a good luck sign, if anything.
In fact, the only person in their family to really pay attention to this small anomaly was Damien's bisabuelo, Antonio. There was no mistake that this young baby's eyes were an exact match to the eye color of his deceased wife, Juanita. This was not a good sign, he knew. Maybe it was because Antonio didn't want anyone to find out their family secret, or because Damien reminded him too much of Juanita, but whatever the reason, Antonio stayed away from the family as much as possible.
Life continued for the Andrada family, living like any decent family would. When Damien turned 10 years old, his parents had their 3rd child, Lillian. Just like Damien, she also had piercing blue eyes. Now that it occurred in two of the children, Carlos and Luisa simply took it as a random gene anomaly, that caused this beautiful difference in their children's eye color.
June 15, 1967
The attic smelled heavily of mold and dust, the latter causing Damien to sneeze as he stirred up a huge cloud of it with the first box he moved. Somehow managing not to drop the box, Damien set it back in its original spot and leaned over to open the small window to his right, letting in a small bit of fresh air and giving the offending particles a chance to escape
Damien frowned and pulled out a cigarette, knowing the open window would keep the smell from reaching his father, who was on the floor below the young Spaniard. This was dumb. Damien had never even met his great-grandfather, so why was he expected to help sort out the old manâs house now that he had passed away?
Of course, Damien knew that they only reason he was there was for the free labor. His father would never pull him out of the Reform school for real family reasons. He hadnât even attended the funeral. Heck, Damien didnât even know a family member had kicked the bucket until Antonio Rivera was six feet under the ground and all of the mourners had returned to their homes. Carlos Andrada had shown up at St. Johnâs Catholic Reform School for Boys just two days ago, simply telling his son that there was some work to be done, and promising the priest in charge that Damien would be returned within 3 days time.
The trip back to San Sebastian had been quiet, as were the few days he spent on the couch in his familyâs sitting room. Of course Damien couldnât hope that his room would have been prepared for him; it had been transformed into a study not long after Damien had been sent away, more than a year prior. His younger sister Lillian was the only one who had any real conversation with Damien and that was only at night, when their parents were asleep.
No matter how many times he tried to redirect, Lillian always tried to have the same discussion: she wanted to know the ârealâ reason Damien was sent away and when he was coming back. But Damien couldnât bring himself to tell her; she was too young to understand. It wouldnât make sense to the 8 year old that her brother had been sent off to a reform school because he was causing strange things to happen without his control. How could it be wrong if he couldnât stop it? Of course, therein lay the truth of the matter: Damien had done nothing wrong, not willingly anyway. But his inexplicable behavior had been deemed as âabominationâ by his superstitious parents, and a strict reform school had been their decisions for the quickest way to rid their son of his âsinful nature.â And when a year at that place did nothing to change the unnatural occurrences, the school became a place for the Andradaâs to hide away their âshamefulâ son.
They werenât so ashamed to pull him out of that place to do some labor for a couple of days though. âHard work might do you some good.â His father had simply grunted at Damien before beginning to bark orders at him which included mowing the massive lawn, repainting the porch, and now, moving all the old boxes from the attic to the pickup waiting in the driveway. âIdiota!â Damien mumbled under his breath, the insult directed towards his father. He kicked over a stack of boxes, the unsealed lid of the top one popping open as it landed on this side, spilling the contents all over the attic floor.
âBoy! I sent you up there to work, not to screw around. You better not be breaking stuff up there, you hear me?!?â His fatherâs angry voice floated up through the small entranceway to Damien, where he stubbornly refused to answer the man. âIâm talking to you son! We were nice enough to let you come home for a few days, stop being so damn ungrateful and answer me when I talk to you! Iâll send you back today, if youâd like.â That threat was enough to make Damien want to answer, had he not been distracted. A rather strange-looking book had fallen out of the box and now lay beside Damienâs feet. Books themselves werenât strange, but this one had some sort of unusual symbols on the binding. There was also a picture on the front which Damien could have swore was actually moving. He rubbed his eyes; surely the dust was playing tricks on him. Reaching down to pick up the book, Damien figured he was probably going crazy, since the woman in the photograph waved at him. What in the world? âDonât make me come up there!â
âItâs fine. Nothing is broken!â Damien shouted down at the man who was only his father by birthright, wishing with all that was within him that Carlos would just leave him alone for five minutes. Without warning, the attic door slammed shut, and the latch secured itself tightly. But Damien barely realized what happened; his focus was still on the book. There was a lock of some sort, but he couldnât see any type of keyhole to open it.
Maybe it was wrong to pry through his great-grandfatherâs belongings, but it wasnât like the old man was coming back to claim them. And given the layers of dust which surrounded him, Damien was sure these items had been forgotten a long time ago. He ran his finger along the binding and discovered that the âstrange symbolsâ were actually words. Weirdâ¦.Damien couldnât make out any letters when he first picked it up. But now they were there, as clear as day.
âTo stay so hidden would be a shame. Reveal the truth to those with a worthy name.â
What an odd saying. Maybe it was an old Spanish saying or something, Damien had no idea. He read over it again, whispering each word to himself. Hmm. The book intrigued him, and the boy was very curious to know its contents. He flipped it over to the other side to get a look at the lock again; maybe he could find a way to pick it. Surprisingly though, Damien found it unlocked. He looked again; Damien swore it had been firmly secured a minute ago. The lock probably just broke. The book had to be almost a hundred years old or something.
Not really caring about how the book became open, Damien flipped through the first few pages. They were all dated, and handwritten in neat, feminine Spanish; it was a diary of some sort. But whose? Damien turned back to the inside front cover: âTo our darling Juanita. Best of luck with your internship. Keep track of your memories; this journal will record them with precise clarity. Make us and the Ministry proud! --- Your loving parentsâ
Juanitaâ¦Juanita, who was that? He had never heard the name before. Damien scanned the first page, trying to gain some clues. âToday is the first day of my internship. Iâm so excited! Mother and father were there to see me off at the Ministry. The trip to San Sebastian had to be made by floo, because of the internsâ journeys must be strictly monitoredâ¦â He kept reading, pausing at odd words which Damien didnât know in Spanish. At least, they didnât make sense. Floo? Apparate? Muggle? It wasnât until he was half way through the page that Damien realized the female voice he imagined was reading the words was actually not in his head at all. They could be heard very clearly in the room, by an unseen voice, which seemed to be coming from the book in his hands. Damien dropped the journal, the voice stopping as the cover quickly snapped shut.
He listened for sounds below, any indication that his father might have also heard the voice which clearly didnât belong in the attic. Hearing no movement, Damien slowly picked the journal back up, hesitant to open it. Looking around, he found an old cloth, and used that to cover the journal, hoping it would muffle the sounds. He was relieved to find that it did. At this point, he was a bit freaked out, and very unsure about what was happening, but Damien couldnât bring himself to just leave the book. He had to keep reading.
âI met a muggle today, Antonio. Heâs the sweetest guy Iâve met here. Our meeting was a pretty scary situation though. As I was walking down the street, a man came up and attempted to snatch away my purse (along with many items in it which canât be revealed to muggles) and Antonio chased him off. Antonio Rivera, that is his nameâ¦âAntonio Rivera. That was the very man whose attic Damien was now cleaning.
Before he could continue reading, a loud pounding on the attic door made Damien nearly drop the journal again. âOpen this damn door, boy! Right now! Iâm sorry Senorita, my no-good son wasnât supposed to shut itâ¦â He could hear his father speaking to someone else, obviously not a family member. Crap. Damien looked around, feeling the need to stash the book somewhere. He had to find out more about this strange journal. The door shook as his father tried unsuccessfully to push it open. Thing Damien, think.
âHere, let me try.â An unfamiliar voice spoke with authority and Damien could tell by the shuffling that Carlos had moved out of the way. âSometimes these things take a gentle touch.â The stranger shook the door slightly, whispering a word in French which she knew would not be understood by anyone in that house. Damien watched with confusion as the latch popped open and barely had time to place the book into the waistband at the back of his pants before the door opened completely.
A young woman, who couldnât be much older than Damien himself, ascended into the attic, followed by a very angry Carlos Andrada. âThis lady is just here to pick up a box. You help her out and donât give her any hassle, boy.â With a quick nod, the older Andrada went back down the stairs, leaving Damien starting at the girl who was looking at him with an odd curiosity. Her gaze moved to the strewn contents on the floor and anger quickly flashed through her green eyes. âWho told you it was ok to go through these things?â The girl spoke with an obvious French accent, even though her English was better than his own.
âIâm sorryâ¦it was an accident, I can clean it up.â Damien started to pick up the items, grabbing an odd stick and dropping it immediately when something that felt like a wave of electricity jolted through his arm. What was that? âNo!â The strangerâs voice interrupted him. âDonât touch anything! These are very important items and I canât have someone of your likeness tainting them.â She pushed him out of the way and Damien stood back, frustrated as the French woman placed all of the items into the box with amazing speed.
âNow you listen here lady, I wonât stand to be pushed around like that.â Damien lacked manners when responding to rude behavior, especially from someone who wasnât much older than himself.
âThe name, boy, is Mademoiselle Ouellet. I expect you to address me as such. And Iâve got more than enough authority to do as I please. If you know whatâs good for you, youâll stand there and keep your damned mouth shut.â
The box now closed up, Nicole Ouellet made a quick path for the door, pausing to stare at Damien once more. The curious look was back in her eyes, like she was trying to read something which Damien couldnât see. Her eyes lit up with understanding, before narrowing on the Spaniard with a look of indignation. âYou donât know, do you? Huh. Probably for the better anyway. We donât need another one of your kind among us.â She said no more and descended the stairs. Damien didnât even hear her say goodbye to his father before the front door slammed shut. He reached behind his back, breathing a sigh of relief that the journal was still there. I t would have been taken also, if that French woman had seen it. What is an authoritative French woman doing in Spain anyway? And what had she been talking about in reference to Damien?
âBoy, get your behind back down here. Iâve had enough of your antics. Youâre going back to Saint Johnâs tonight.â Great, just where he wanted to go actually. Damien would be able to read the journal in peace. He was sure his father would tell the head priest some sort of lie which would land him in mandatory solitude for a few days at least.
June 20th, 1967
Warning bells pealed out among the campus and flash lights shone across the school yard and on the grounds outside of the walls. But it was of no use. The boy they were searching for had been gone for a few hours before it was actually discovered that he was missing from his dorm.
The priest pounded his fist on his desk in anger. Surely there was no hope for the boy now.
âCall up Mr. Andradaâ¦â
July 25th, 1967
The busy London streets were unfamiliar to Damien, but he managed to get around somehow, listening in on conversations and getting clues on places to find food, areas which would be more crowded, and where the police where always patrolling. Damien had gotten rather skilled at reading people in the past month; it was a good skill to acquire for someone who had no formal home to go to. Damien didnât know why he was in London, only that his searching took him in that direction. He was looking for more clues to who he was and what he was.
It had taken him only two days to come up with a good escape plan from St. Johnâs after finishing his great-grandmotherâs diary. A lot of it was rather unbelievable, but some of it made sense to Damien. The whole idea of witches and wizards was crazy to think about. But if it was really in his bloodline, could that explain why he would do random, inexplicable things? And then there was the picture of the woman on the front cover, which only made him more curious. While she was obviously Spanish, her piercing blue eyes stood out from the rest of her features. An eye color which was highly unusual for a Hispanic, yet they were the same color as Damienâs, and his sister Lillianâs eyes, for that matter. There was some deeper connection between Damien and his great grandmother, deeper than any connection with the rest of their family members. And Damien was going to find out what it was.
He had been traveling for a month now, following a lead he discovered about there being some sort of school in this direction. It was weird, but since learning things from the journal, Damien began to notice odd occurrences and could spot people who were justâ¦off from the rest of those around them. It was from these people that Damien was sure to discover another bit of information about the magical world. Sometimes it took a little bit to find the right information, but Damien was good at waiting.
Now he sat in the alleyway of a few older buildings, casually smoking a cigarette, but listening at the same time. It wasnât long before he caught the words of two teenage boys, perhaps a year or so younger than himself.
âNo, youâre wrong! Zoraida is definitely a better beater than Isabelle. She made her Quidditch team without even knowing the rules.â
Those were some of the words he had been listening for. Damien let the boys pass him before jumping up and following them down the alley. Damien thought through the different stories and facts he heard related to the word âQuidditchâ before catching up to them and joining the conversation. âAnd besides that point, didnât Izzy land herself in the hospital a while back with a pretty nasty injury? Obviously she messed up somewhere.â Damien still really had no idea what Quidditch was or who the people where to whom the boys were referring, but he had gathered enough information to at least appear knowledgeable enough to gain their trust. The second boy burst in with an objection, not even phased by Damienâs casual entrance into their conversation.
âNo way! That was a fluke accident, it coulda happened to anyone!â
The two boys argued for a few minutes and Damien continued to walk with them, giving enough interest in the topic but not so much that he actually had to contribute new information. The trio of boys came to a stop outside of an old inn, and finally one of them asked Damien a question not related to Quidditch.
âYou been at the Hangout since the term ended? I donât remember seeing you there, or at school either. What house are you in?â
Ahh, here was some good information. Damien felt like he was getting a big break in his searching. There was a school around here. Luckily, Damien already had an answer lined up for the boyâs question.
âNo, Iâm actually a transfer this year. I thought Iâd come to the Hangout for a bit to get to know some people first.â
Never mind that this was the first time Damien had heard of the âHangoutâ or that he wasnât a student at any school. He figured he could get all that student stuff sorted out once he found his way to this school he had heard rumors about.
âWell then, welcome to Hogwarts, mate! My nameâs Colin. Donât worry; I think youâll fit right in. Shall we go in then?â
The boys entered into the inn and Damien followed close behind. Hogwarts. The name brought Damien a sense of peace. It was a place to belong.