hunter carney

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“Don’t blame me!” Iris giggled as she stumbled her way into the strange new club that Hunter Carney had insisted on visiting. The sixteen year old Metamorphmagus wasn’t even of age, but that didn’t stop her getting into any club that she wished whenever she wanted. The gift of being able to change her appearance whenever she wanted to had always been useful to Iris, known as Rissy to her friends. Upon entering the first two clubs of the night she had been able to transform herself into a much older, middle aged Witch with long dark hair and piercing grey eyes; needless to say, nobody had attempted to card her. “The Dancing Pixies of Lockharts?” Iris repeated incredulously, a bemused smile appearing upon her face. “Where on earth have you taken me, Hunter?” the young girl gave her companion a sly smile before taking on the same disguise as before, and making her way into the club without question. Once inside, she adjusted herself with concentration until she was once again the Iris-Elliana that Hunter knew. Small and lithe, Iris had the frame of a ballerina despite never having done any exercise in her life. Her body was tanned, as though she had just got back from a week-long trip to California, a look further accentuated by the beachy waves of her long strands of sandy blonde hair. Her baby blue eyes were soft, dazed within her intoxication. Iris Elliana Espanosa de Wills was, in short, absolutely beautiful. But what else was a Metamorphmagus expected to be? Iris’ eyes scanned the club, taking in the intensity of the scene with an uncertain smile. She wasn’t sure whether to be impressed or amused. Either way, the song which was blaring from the speakers was one she loved and so she started dancing, not caring at all that the dance floor was feet away and that the two young students were blocking the entrance. “I like it… it’s groovy.” Iris laughed, turning to handsome companion with a bright smile which soon changed to an expression of shock and horror as Hunter shoved the pixie down her chest. “Hunter!” she practically screamed. “You are disgusting!” she cried, her hand instinctively racing underneath her shirt, picking the pixie up and flinging it away. “You owe me a drink for that!” she stated firmly, and followed Hunter towards the bar, hand in hand.

Drinking had never been a big priority on Hunter’s list of how to live your life until the sudden death of his father, it had been Iris who had introduced him to the art of alcohol, but she had not known the horrible death he had witnessed – his own father brutally murdered in front of his family, it was all too much for the young seventeen year old to endure. Drinking was his outlet, it kept his sane and from bursting. He promised he’d let Connor and his mother grieve before he, too, would follow. Still, he cried himself to sleep as quiet as he could so he could live up to the façade of being one of the happiest boys in this damn school. The class clown, the Gryffindor clown, the Hogwarts clown. It was he was to the people and generally he didn’t mind, he loved hilarity and amusement but there was a time where one could live without. Drinking brought back his true self – he wasn’t afraid of being humorous or telling a joke, he was free and the bitter drink numbed his pain and memory, it won’t be until he woke the next morning that he’ll remember reality, with a booming headache and a feeling of nausea in his stomach. It was worth it for the small amount of clarity he got from the numbing drink.

Smiling down at his good friend, he chuckled and nodded, grabbing hold of her petite hand and dragging her to the bar. It wasn’t long until two firewhiskey’s were in front of them and instinctively, Hunter downed the drink in a matter of a minute. As much as the effects were strong, it was what he was drinking for: if it didn’t do its job, what is the point of consuming the burning liquid? He gagged the drink down and cringed but ordered another instantly, turning to Iris and chuckled. “Connor would kill us if he saw us.” Hunter stated in a matter-of-fact tone and laughed, once upon a time Hunter would have cared. Connor was his role model, ‘was’ being the key word but the two brothers had drifted – he knew they both just needed space, but he had to cope his own way. “But, who cares, right?” I sure don’t, Hunter muttered to himself, shaking his head.