Welcome to Hogwarts School :: A Harry Potter RPG! It's 1949!

Recent Posts

Pages: [1] 2 3 ... 10
1
Updates
03/26/17: Adoptables page updated! New Marlowe characters introduced. Noah Graves still available.
03/22/17: Jude's app is posted.
02/26/17: Ignatius' app is posted.
02/25/17: Winnie, Clementine, and Hugo taken.
02/14/17: Adoptables posted. Jude and Ignatius taken.
 
Some ages, names, faceclaims, and backstories are flexible. PM Jude Marlowe if you’re interested in making changes to one of these characters, and we can figure something out!
2
Adults & Children / Caledon Angelus
« Last post by Dashiell Vallen on 26/03/2017 at 19:48 »

E L S E W H E R E   A D U L T

CHARACTER INFORMATION
Character Name: Caledon Aldric Angelus
Gender: Male
Age: 38
Blood Status: Pureblood

Education:  
Hogwarts, Slytherin '31

Residence: 
Helspur Manor, South of England

Occupation
Healer - Specialist Surgeoun

Do you plan to have a connection to a particular existing place (for example: the Ministry, Shrieking Shack) or to take over an existing shop in need of new management?
St. Mungo's

Requested Magic Levels:
Adult characters have 32 starting levels to distribute across these four categories (less levels can be used if you so desire, but no more than 32). The number of levels on the lowest ability must be at least half of the highest ability.

If you want levels above the usual 32 total, or a significantly uneven distribution of starting levels, please fill out and submit the Special Request form here.

  • Charms: 8
  • Divination: 8
  • Transfiguration: 9
  • Summoning: 7
Do you wish to be approved as a group with any other characters? If so who and for what IC reason?
Not especially, no.

Please list any other characters you already have at the site:
Arminia Meadowes, etc.

Biography: (300 words minimum.)
He was bored.

The majority of Caledon Aldric Angelus's dissipated into meagre attempts at seeming vaguely interested in the cares and worries of those who took up space in his life. His parents, Xander Angelus and Moira Lemay, did what they could to teach him the proper value of feelings. He was kept away at parties. He saw them scarcely, for inspection, for dismal family events which required his presence. An only child. No use for others.

He wouldn't have wanted a sibling anyway.

Caledon grew up in the expanse of Helspur Manor, his family's ancient home, spending his time riding his father's selection of prize horses and reading volumes from the library. It was here Cal discovered the one thing that managed to capture his wandering fascination. The dissection of the human body. It muscles and bones. How they could break and shatter and still be healed. He poured over magical medical diagrams and spells with an obsessive vigour not shown to any other thing.

The medical profession was appropriate and tasteful.

When he arrived at Hogwarts at age 11, the Sorting Hat barely skimmed his head before declaring "Slytherin". It pleased his parents. Cal hardly cared. While he nursed his ambitions with appropriate classes and the adequate offerings of the library, he easily passed his exams and tests with little effort and much annoyance. His professors remarked on his natural intelligence. He thought they were fools for being surprised. Somewhere in his third year, he realized that he was exceptionally attractive. Girls would stare. Some boys would too. The power that gave him, though he cared very little about the gratification it created, warped in him the vanity his parents had been ensared in their whole adult lives. He could use people up. He could absorb their every thoughts without giving many of his own. And even when he hurt them, it seemed like they liked it.

And he liked that too.

Graduation brought quick internships and labs that passed faster than the expectations or guidelines of those in charge of him. For Cal, they were tedious and dull. He just wanted to start performing surgeries. To dissect and inspect and learn.

The war offered much opportunity for the young surgeon to expand his vivacious appetite for the atrocities that interested him. Blood and guts and mangled limbs and irreversible spells challenged what he could do. He didn't care about his colleagues. He didn't care about which side won, so long as he could work.

The war wasn't boring.

But life after the war was a much different story.

Both parents dead from heart attacks left Cal with exceptional wealth and only three distant cousins to indulge in familial ties. Only the best and most expensive of things are enough for him, and he takes pleasure in donating to research and advancement in his own field. Women and men come in flocks and hoards. He never wanted an attachment. An attachment would only expect the unexpected of him.

And something dark eats at him. Though he could not say what - nor care enough to indulge it entirely - the war taught him that he much preferred seeing pain and anger than the alternatives.

They weren't boring.


Roleplay: 
You come across one of these posts on the site. Please select one & reply as your character:

Option Two -
The snow had been falling steadily all morning and it didn't look like it was going to stop any time soon. Joshua Campbell scrunched his face up in a frown as he lifted his gaze to look to the sky. Snow. It really was quite a bother. 

And it certainly didn't make it better that Diagon Alley seemed to be getting more and more crowded. Joshua sighed and pointed his wand at the large box that was currently placed on the doorstep of his shop. He had to get going. He had an order to deliver. 

"Wingardium Leviosa!" The elderly man muttered and watched the box hover in the air for a moment. Honestly, did St. Mungo's really need that much tinsel? And with glitter of all things? He sighed again. If it hadn't been for the rather convincing stamp on the order, he would have been likely to believe it had been a prank by one of those orphaned rascals living up there.  

Oh well, there was no point in waiting. Joshua deftly stirred the box down the doorstep and out onto the street, carefully levitating it above the heads of the crowd. 

"Coming through! Coming through!" His voice sounded over the chatter of the crowd. "Keep out! Move ahead! Go on!" This was going way too slow. People were in the way and walking like they had all day! He huffed. Luckily the road was down hill.

"Coming through! Coming th--- arrrgh!" Joshua let out a loud shout as his feet suddenly slipped in the snow and sent him, the box, and several long strands of tinsel tumbling into the person who had been walking in front of him.

"For Merlin's sake!" Joshua muttered angrily as he hurried to his feet again, red and gold tinsel now decorating his black coat. "I am so sorry! This blasted snow!" He looked apologetic at the person he had crashed into.

Roleplay Response:
He hated the damn weather.

Chunks of white ice floating down, soaking onto coats and heads, creating accidents. Injuries he may be called in to fix. Cal blinked lazily, his hand holding his wand upwards while he projected an umbrella charm above him to keep the snow off of his onyx wool coat. It was expensive. Cost him 15 galleons from a higher end shop in Diagon. An investment. Beautiful, it cut an attractive silhouette on his frame.

He'd left Mungo's to get a stack of cigarettes. The only retailer who carried his favourite blend sat in the middle of Knockturn Alley. It made obtaining them tricky, but he was able to do it without anyone saying a word to him.

No one would.

The temptation to alight one for his walk back into the building held strong. Only a minute's walk. To straighten out the flurry of those apparating into E&T. Too much of a possibility for a fuss, had been the official regulation.

It was annoying.

Cal stared ahead, pale eyes focused on the ever-moving doors of the hospital. Always people. Especially with the damned snow. No one seemed to use common sense when the weather changed. As if several weeks obliviated all memory of weather prior to then. Even the damned rain.

Ridiculous.

Shouting. A vague disturbance behind him.

Then, someone and something tumbling into his back, knocking him off balance and sending his arm down. Wet slops bled onto his oiled hair. Ran down his neck. Assailed his shoulders.

Cal steadied his feet. Rage burned. He spun round to glare at the problem.

A tail of red tinsel fell from his shoulder and onto the clumsy good-for-nothing with a spill of boxes and holiday around him.

"For Merlin's sake!" he muttered, pushing himself up through the onslaught of snow. The idiot only looked up after caring for his cheap, knickknack of a coat. "I am so sorry! This blasted snow!"

Pale eyes narrowed.

"Bloody ridiculous," Cal growled, turning back to the entrance. Cold. Wet. Irritated. "Absolute fool."


OTHER
How did you find us? Loved this site for years! Just getting back into it.
3
Adults & Children / Joshua Mulligan
« Last post by Joshua Mulligan on 26/03/2017 at 04:31 »

E L S E W H E R E   A D U L T

CHARACTER INFORMATION
Character Name: Joshua Mulligan
Gender: Male
Age: 35
Blood Status: Pureblood

Education: 
Hogwarts - Slytherin - 1926 - 1928
Salem - 1928 - 1934


Residence:
Permanent Residence in Uppsala, Sweden

Occupation
Musician
Beater for the Swedish National Team


Do you plan to have a connection to a particular existing place (for example: the Ministry, Shrieking Shack) or to take over an existing shop in need of new management?
Participating in the Quidditch World Cup
I’d like to have him work for Azkaban afterwards (September of 1950)


Requested Magic Levels:
  • Charms: 13
  • Divination: 6
  • Transfiguration: 7
  • Summoning: 6
Do you wish to be approved as a group with any other characters? If so who and for what IC reason?
No

Please list any other characters you already have at the site:
Marina Lamont, Wit Northcutt

Biography: (300 words minimum.)
More than anything else, louder than any sight, smell or sensation, the thing Joshua remembered most about the places he’d been were the sounds.

In Uppsala, in the heart of the swedish winters, the snow muffled everything. A backdrop of reverie in white to the darker interiors of the clubs he frequented, watching, listening as the country acquainted itself with the jazz that he’d known since birth. A luminous soundscape when he
beat
beat
beating
his bat for the country’s Quidditch team.

In San Francisco, where he’d lived alone after his father died, the alto calls of trumpets and trombones through the night his beacon of guidance through grief and fog. The latter purred the baritone undertone to his entire life. The latter played a staccato tune entirely new to him, not quite in harmony with the
beat
beat
beat
rhythms he usually ran to.

On the Fillmore his own notes rang rampant in a sea of song, blending with those of the greatest musicians of the time, muggle and magical alike. His mother had taught him moons ago that all tunes could combine in canon. Joshua acquired his own lot of fame among their ranks, improvising, making magic with but the carrion call of chords on his trumpet, his saxophone, his piano until they were interrupted by a different beckoning. A call back to his old habits
beat
beat
beat
on the Quidditch pitch.   

London hummed a sadder song in its final months, the adagio crescendo to the allegro overture until no more music could be heart. The final note, his father’s last drawn breath, still echoing against the chambers of his memory. His father, every bit the man he’d hoped to meet, yet every reverberation of the man’s actions calling out to some unknown darkness Joshua felt averse to look into. Until the man’s heart beat its last
beat
beat
beat
and he saw it all too clearly.

In Knockturn Alley where the deals went down. Where power thrived and the weaker hearts couldn’t be spared to
beat
beat
beat
another beat.

On the Atlantic waves crashing and percussing against the keel. Him racing toward the man who’d abandoned him, escaping for the thousandth time the soft embrace of the woman who’d loved him through every absence. Her strong arms had once
beat
beat
beat
the monsters away.

In  New Orleans where he’d come home to see his mother stepping to a new drum, playing along to someone else’s song. She’d remarried while he’d been off at school to a man more like herself, less like her son. A man who could barely improvise a tune of brass and strings, let alone a cavatina of wood and feather. Home was not found here; it lurked in the shadows calling to him from across the ocean. So he set off in search of the man who’d loved him less, of the man who’d taught him his first hymns. Leaving behind the women who’d chosen a new
beat
beat
beat
to walk to.

In Salem where he’d fine tuned his wand like an instrument, where he’d honed his beater’s bat like a drumstick constantly upping the tempo as the wind and the roaring crowd sang his praises. He got to dictate the
beat
beat
beat
up until he graduated.

In Hogwarts he hissed louder than his father, noted carried through the wind to his mother’s ears. Too much like a man who’d left her, the sultry squib, unmarried and bearing his child, a bully and an egoist, a smirk glimpsed before it turned away to crawl with other monsters of madness and music. She stole her son away across the sea to raise him before a darker requiem could
beat
beat
beat
her to it.

In London where his bastard heart first
beat
beat
beat


Roleplay: 
You come across one of these posts on the site. Please select one & reply as your character:

Option Two -
The snow had been falling steadily all morning and it didn't look like it was going to stop any time soon. Joshua Campbell scrunched his face up in a frown as he lifted his gaze to look to the sky. Snow. It really was quite a bother.

And it certainly didn't make it better that Diagon Alley seemed to be getting more and more crowded. Joshua sighed and pointed his wand at the large box that was currently placed on the doorstep of his shop. He had to get going. He had an order to deliver.

"Wingardium Leviosa!" The elderly man muttered and watched the box hover in the air for a moment. Honestly, did St. Mungo's really need that much tinsel? And with glitter of all things? He sighed again. If it hadn't been for the rather convincing stamp on the order, he would have been likely to believe it had been a prank by one of those orphaned rascals living up there. 

Oh well, there was no point in waiting. Joshua deftly stirred the box down the doorstep and out onto the street, carefully levitating it above the heads of the crowd.

"Coming through! Coming through!" His voice sounded over the chatter of the crowd. "Keep out! Move ahead! Go on!" This was going way too slow. People were in the way and walking like they had all day! He huffed. Luckily the road was down hill.

"Coming through! Coming th--- arrrgh!" Joshua let out a loud shout as his feet suddenly slipped in the snow and sent him, the box, and several long strands of tinsel tumbling into the person who had been walking in front of him.

"For Merlin's sake!" Joshua muttered angrily as he hurried to his feet again, red and gold tinsel now decorating his black coat. "I am so sorry! This blasted snow!" He looked apologetic at the person he had crashed into.

Roleplay Response:
Winters in England were tame in comparison to the northern sting of Sweden. Still Joshua topped his tailored robes with a fine trenchcoat suited to the snowfall and fit his feet with a warm pair of leather boots, the clean soles crunching every time they his the crisp white crust.

He’d received a letter some weeks ago from a vestige of his last visit to his birthplace. A hint that he’d left something behind which he hadn’t meant to. A resonant remnant of a melody he’d composed with someone fairer, someone worthy of sharing his harmonies.

He might not have come. These streets held many memories of a darker time, of temptations best left forgotten. Yet some questions begged for answers and some truths ought to be sought.

Letter in hand, Joshua wove his way through the crowd, eyes intermittently falling from the way ahead to glance back down at the letters scrawled upon the parts of the parchment underlined by its purposeful fold. A name and a location.

Eyes on his emblematic question mark, he did not notice the man behind him, nor were his ears poised to listen to the sounds of voices, crying out all about. Trained ears could filter out the noise and let in only music. In moments like these, it left him vulnerable to unexpected collisions and showers of tinsel and glitter.

Joshua stumbled forward, hand letting slip the parchment as arms flailed to regain some semblance of balance. On his heel he whirled around to face his assailant. Shoulders squared, jaw clenched, ready for confrontation. Not expecting a stuttering old man, his guarded demeanor loosened, tuned itself down to a softer key.

“No harm done.” He muttered, brushing some decorations off of his fine coat, leaning down not to help the other but to reach out for his own fallen letter.


OTHER
How did you find us? Google | TopSites | Recommendation | Facebook | Tumblr | Other
4
Adults & Children / Rose Bloom | Elsewhere Adult
« Last post by Rosalie Bloom on 25/03/2017 at 06:05 »

E L S E W H E R E   A D U L T

CHARACTER INFORMATION
Character Name: Rosalie Lilian Bloom
Gender: Female
Age: 23
Blood Status: Muggleborn

Education: 
Hogwarts - Hufflepuff, 44'

Residence:
Muggle London

Occupation
I intend to sign her up in St.Mungo's - so Junior Healer?

Do you plan to have a connection to a particular existing place (for example: the Ministry, Shrieking Shack) or to take over an existing shop in need of new management?
Nope

Requested Magic Levels:
Adult characters have 32 starting levels to distribute across these four categories (less levels can be used if you so desire, but no more than 32). The number of levels on the lowest ability must be at least half of the highest ability.

If you want levels above the usual 32 total, or a significantly uneven distribution of starting levels, please fill out and submit the Special Request form here.

  • Charms: 8
  • Divination: 8
  • Transfiguration: 8
  • Summoning: 8
Do you wish to be approved as a group with any other characters? If so who and for what IC reason?
Nope

Please list any other characters you already have at the site:
Elizabeth Marques.

Biography: (300 words minimum.)

Background

When Rosie was a small child, her mother used to tell her that her father was a prince from a far, far land who had fallen in love with her but had died in an adventure. Then, a bit later, it changed to an actor. And then to a famous singer. And a doctor. When she hitted her twelve years, she just assumed that her mother also didn't know who her father was - but whoever it may be, she really wanted him dead.

Money had always been short and hard earned, while in counter part their family had always been large - four kids, she being the youngest, her grandma, her mother and the last countless boyfriends. Amelie Bloom was a too kind and soft woman, with the fatal flaw of always falling for the wrong kind of man. If not for her older brother hard work, Rosalie probably would not have attended Hogwarts.

As the years passed, things got a lot better for them. They finally could afford a decent house. No more second hand clothes. And a car! Now, her siblings are all working and married - Rose is proud to say she has an small army of nieces and nephews - grandma has still a lot of tenacity in her, despite the age, mommy finally found a good guy and Rose graduated from Hogwarts a few years ago.

Personality

It may be because of her being the youngest, but Rose tends to see the world through rose-tinted glasses. Some people may even call it naive, others call it altruism. She's kind-hearted, friendly and can't hold a grudge even if she wants to - not to say that, as a former hufflepluff, her loyalty is unwavering.

Rosalie dreams of making a difference. Not with heroic, brave acts but helping people, and she can be quite passionate about it - to the point of being unpratical, sometimes. She can't stand cruelty, or any kind of injustice - especially if it envolves children. Also, there is a kind of sadness in her, a need to escape from reality.

Besides this, she's very attached to family and this is her sore spot. The only topic that can make her something akin to ferocious - Yes they are muggles, and this doesn't give nobody the right to belittle them.

Roleplay: 
You come across one of these posts on the site. Please select one & reply as your character:

Option One -
Amelia Nixon was many things, but she was never a pushover reporter that people could just usher away with a busy shuffle past. She was dedicated and eager to cut to the very middle of the current political tensions because she was Amelia Nixon and her articles would most certainly become front page material.

“Sir, please! It’s for the Prophet, how do you feel-“

Another one brushed passed her, the shuffling busy masses making their way through Diagon Alley for the lunchtime rush. This had been the best possible time to get people, but none of them were giving her anything to go with.

Only momentarily discouraged, the short red headed lady took a seat on a nearby bench. Her quill resting in her left hand and her notepad ready in the opposite hand. Amelia pouted, tapping the quill against her leg as she scanned the waves of people for somebody - anybody - who looked like they had something to say.

She had been dreaming of her name in bold print, Amelia Nixon: The Source of Today’s Tomorrow. She had been dreaming of the larger office and the secretaries that would fetch her the morning coffee and fetch her anything she needed. The VIP interviews and the most exclusive press passes. But all Amelia had was a page seventeen piece on the rising number of frogs in London.

Hardened by a day of no success, the reporter stood up and started to trod off down the alley. A loose stone on the cobble path caught her heel, sending the distraught girl toppling down to the ground.

“Merlin’s fog watch, my heel is broken! Help!” she yelled as she tried desperately to recover her shoe frantically in the middle of the Diagon Alley moving crowds.

Option Two -
The snow had been falling steadily all morning and it didn't look like it was going to stop any time soon. Joshua Campbell scrunched his face up in a frown as he lifted his gaze to look to the sky. Snow. It really was quite a bother.

And it certainly didn't make it better that Diagon Alley seemed to be getting more and more crowded. Joshua sighed and pointed his wand at the large box that was currently placed on the doorstep of his shop. He had to get going. He had an order to deliver.

"Wingardium Leviosa!" The elderly man muttered and watched the box hover in the air for a moment. Honestly, did St. Mungo's really need that much tinsel? And with glitter of all things? He sighed again. If it hadn't been for the rather convincing stamp on the order, he would have been likely to believe it had been a prank by one of those orphaned rascals living up there. 

Oh well, there was no point in waiting. Joshua deftly stirred the box down the doorstep and out onto the street, carefully levitating it above the heads of the crowd.

"Coming through! Coming through!" His voice sounded over the chatter of the crowd. "Keep out! Move ahead! Go on!" This was going way too slow. People were in the way and walking like they had all day! He huffed. Luckily the road was down hill.

"Coming through! Coming th--- arrrgh!" Joshua let out a loud shout as his feet suddenly slipped in the snow and sent him, the box, and several long strands of tinsel tumbling into the person who had been walking in front of him.

"For Merlin's sake!" Joshua muttered angrily as he hurried to his feet again, red and gold tinsel now decorating his black coat. "I am so sorry! This blasted snow!" He looked apologetic at the person he had crashed into.

Roleplay Response:

Option One

Rosalie never really had become used to the Mayhem that Diagon Alley could be. But well, it was probably her fault - she should have known better than going there when the start of the term was so close, and at this hour, no less! Surely not her wisest decision. But then, most of her decisions aren't wise. Regardless, here she was.

“Merlin’s fog watch, my heel is broken! Help!”

She looked around a bit, trying to find the voice source. It wasn't easy, at least not with her height, but not impossible. She felt simpathy for the woman situation - Rose had discovered quite early that heels are her worst nightmare. Pretty ones, sure, but still terrible.

Said heel was not so far, and the auburn haired woman was quick to recover it - noticing that it was, indeed, broken. Drawing her wand out, she muttered a quick "Reparo" before seeking the owner of the shoe.

"Are you well?"

OTHER
How did you find us? Google | TopSites | Recommendation | Facebook | Tumblr | Other
5
Updated 3/24/17

Chastity and Collin are taken, but all others are still open :)
6
Suggestions & Questions / Re: Name change request
« Last post by Basil Cassiel on 23/03/2017 at 21:04 »
Right... Thanks. ^^'
7
Suggestions & Questions / Re: Name change request
« Last post by Gabrielle A Renard on 23/03/2017 at 20:17 »
You should probably submit a Helpdesk ticket for that, Carl. :)

http://hogwarts-school.net/sortinghat/index.php?action=helpdesk;sa=newticket
8
Suggestions & Questions / Name change request
« Last post by Basil Cassiel on 23/03/2017 at 16:40 »
Hi, I wondered if I could have my user name changed to Basil Cassiel?
9
Adults & Children / jude marlowe | elsewhere adult
« Last post by Jude Marlowe on 22/03/2017 at 17:30 »

E L S E W H E R E   A D U L T

CHARACTER INFORMATION
Character Name: Jude H. Marlowe
Gender: male
Age: 24
Blood Status: Pure

Education: 
Hogwarts, Hufflepuff ‘42

Residence:
Hogsmeade Retreat and Rehabilitation Manor

Occupation
Lost Cause

Do you plan to have a connection to a particular existing place (for example: the Ministry, Shrieking Shack) or to take over an existing shop in need of new management?
Hogsmeade Retreat and Rehabilitation Manor

Requested Magic Levels:
Adult characters have 32 starting levels to distribute across these four categories (less levels can be used if you so desire, but no more than 32). The number of levels on the lowest ability must be at least half of the highest ability.

  • Charms: 7
  • Divination: 8
  • Transfiguration: 9
  • Summoning: 8
Do you wish to be approved as a group with any other characters? If so who and for what IC reason?
nope

Please list any other characters you already have at the site:
Lucifer Morgenstern and co.

Biography: (300 words minimum.)
fifteen

Jude fidgeted in the thick woolen suit. It was a beautiful piece of clothing, masterfully tailored and cut to the young man’s figure, but the man in question had no time for Italian designers. Next to him, Frances sat as still as a statue, her features equally statuesque. He saw echoes of his own face in her straight, corn-silk hair, her pale blue eyes, her slightly beaked nose. Perched next to her on the arm of the couch was Cecil, looking more bird than boy: blue eyes perpetually round, nose too big for his narrow face, lips set into a grim line that looked shockingly out of place on a seven year old boy. Screech owl, Jude dubbed him, for both his avian features and the ear shattering screams that the little monster wielded like a weapon.

“Look at the camera, you git!”

The siblings also shared a terribly vulgar vocabulary, much to their mother’s woe. Jude’s head snapped forward, and his face split into a wide grin seconds before the photographer’s camera disappeared in a flash and cloud of smoke.

“Frances!” Eleanor Marlowe snapped as soon as the smoke had cleared. “Watch your language!”

Frances scowled and stuck out her tongue, but fell silent nonetheless. A second passed, then Jude felt a sharp pinch on his left thigh. His sister’s fingernails were sharp enough to leave half-moon runs in the delicate wool, he noted with a scowl.


“Ow! You b-”

“Jude, leave your sister alone,” ordered Charles Marlowe. He was an impressively sized man--barrel chested, taller than most, with a notable midsection to match--but the glimmer of laughter never quite disappeared from his watery blue eyes. Still, Jude fell silent immediately underneath his father’s scrutiny.

When the portrait arrived two weeks later, the whole Marlowe family beamed in sepia tones. Charles hung it in the parlor, right above the fireplace, where visitors could remark on how much the siblings’ resembled their parents and how happy the family looked. Eleanor would make a bashful comment, Frances would politely offer to take the guests’ coats, and Charles would put a hand on his eldest son’s shoulder, a proud smile on his face.

They weren’t perfect, but they were happy.



seventeen

The circular dorm room looked conspicuously bare without dirty laundry and textbooks covering every available surface. It was June, and the boys were cleaning out their room for the very last time; Jude was overwhelmed with a strange feeling, knowing he would never return. He had spent most of his time at Hogwarts complaining about the professors and the workload, failing classes and dreaming of summer vacation, but now that his seven years were coming to a close, a cloud of nostalgia settled over him.

Every last belonging had to be located and packed into overflowing trunks. An owl hooted glumly from the confines of her cage. Early morning sunlight filtered through the window,  and the noise of students frantically searching for misplaced items rose from the Hufflepuff common room. Jude had nothing left to do: all his books were tucked into a bag, his clothes thrown haphazardly into his trunk, and all miscellaneous items crammed into a knapsack. Still, he lingered in the room he’d shared with Ignatius for seven years, unwilling to leave the memories behind just yet.

“Oy, assholes.”

A boy with milky skin, a scattering of freckles, and unruly black hair poked his head through the door, clutching a wrinkled letter in one hand.

“Piss off, Noah. We’re packing.”

Noah scowled but entered the room anyway, dumping his bags onto a freshly made bed.

“Mum wants to know if you’ll be coming to her dinner on the fifth. Says she needs to plan the seating arrangements.”

Jude cast an amused look at Ignatius before tossing his book bag to Noah, who caught it and set it down with his own belongings. 

“I’ll go if Ig goes,” he promised, looking to Ignatius for confirmation. “Take my bags to the common room, will you?”

The boy disappeared with a frown, struggling under the added weight of Jude’s belongings. Ignatius cast his dormmate a disapproving look, but Jude brushed off his friend’s discontent with an exasperated sigh and roll of his eye.
“Noah’s tougher than he looks, Ig. You don’t need to mother him,” he chided. “Now hurry up or you’ll miss the train.”



eighteen

The sun beat down from all sides, burning and blistering and blinding. It was the type of sun the group of British tourists had never known. The soft light of Mediterranean vacations couldn’t compare to this calor, and it made Jude decidedly miserable.

The palest of the bunch, Jude’s milky complexion stood the least chance against the sun. Already, his shoulders glowed tomato-red from a morning spent lounging around the pool; the skin felt tender and painful to the touch and so he remained in the shade of an umbrella, newly wary of the sun’s scorching rays. A book of poetry lay on the beach towel next to him, opened to the first page and gathering sand; it was more important to Jude that he was seen with the book, rather than being familiar with Keats’ work.

“Marlowe!”

Hugo’s smooth-as-butter baritone rose above the symphony of squawking gulls and waves against sand. The older boy had mercilessly mocked Jude over lunch when he’d seen the angry red skin on his back, and now Jude made a pointed effort to ignore his call. Adjusting his sunglasses, he picked up his book, flipped a dozen pages forward and pretended to be thoroughly engrossed by Keats’ talk of nightingales.

“Oh, c’mon, Marlowe. Don’t mope.”

Hugo crouched in front of the reading boy, scattering droplets of saltwater that eagerly soaked into the pages of poetry. Jude didn’t look up, only frowned in annoyance, and patted the paper dry with the edge of his towel.

“I was only teasing. And you know, I don’t think Clem minds that you’re as red as a-”

A cloud of sand interrupted him, thrown by an indignant Jude whose face now matched his back. Spluttering with rage and blushing to his roots, he scrambled to his feet and snatched up his towel, casting a dirty look at the older boy.

“Hugo, you can go--”

What he suggested to Hugo would have earned him a slap on the head from his mother, but Hugo only cackled in response. The sound of his laughter followed Jude as he stormed from the beach and through the hotel lobby, only falling into silence when he collapsed onto the soft white sheets of his bed.





eighteen

The bottle passed from hand to hand, honey contents slowly swirling and dwindling with each sip. The flickering bonfire cast a primal glow across the shadowy campsite, illuminating six faces.

Dirt and sweat clung to every pore, but every face was plastered with a grin nonetheless. The mezcal certainly had as much to do with the happy expressions as the company; this particular group was more prone to bickering, but all disagreements had been put aside for the time being. The six friends were simply basking in the firelight, in the warm night breeze and hum of crickets in the brush.

Mexico was a dream. Even after the last coins disappeared from the very bottom of their purses they’d pushed on, walking or hitching rides and soaking up the sun and sea. The War raged on in Europe, but they were safe from troubles here. Mexico was a place for adventure, not worries. They faced each day with no concerns for the next, no plans save their next excursion or meal. Only a few hours earlier, they’d stumbled out of the Mayan ruins they were currently camped in onto a perfectly circular, crystal clear sinkhole. A cenote, their guidebook informed them. Common in Yucatan but Jude had stopped listening to Noah’s droning soliloquy about the cultural significance of the sinkhole. Hungry, they hadn’t stopped, but the bright turquoise waters stayed with Jude. Now, covered in dust and sweat and good judgement gone with the mezcal, a brilliant idea came to him. Standing up, he brushed crumbs off his dirt-stained shirt and addressed the other five.

“Let’s go for a swim.”



twenty four


Spirits soared higher than the tip-tops of frost-covered pines, silver-grey-green-blue under the moon that hung so low in the sky that he just knew that if his arms reached and stretched just far enough he could surely brush his fingertips along its velvet curves. Surely.





The road was long but his patience was longer. His feet were weary but even the weariness finally grew tired and gave way to a clarity as crystalline as the untouched snow that crunched beneath two leather boots. The leather boots lacked moral integrity and ceded way to slush that parted reluctantly only when asked very nicely by the steel tips of the toes.





Light filtered through the needles that clung to branches that clung to trunks that sent long tendrils of roots shooting down into the earth. Moon beams soft as kidskin gloves bounced and skittered across blankets of snow, never damaging the pristine surface but showing a clear path to follow.





This way, called the dancing moonbeam, who winked before slipping away between two trees.

Stop right there, called the man in the wide brimmed hat and sturdy green coat.

Whee-ee-ee-ee, called the salt-and-pepper starling perched in the darkness above.





The blanket tucked tightly around his neck was warm but too heavy and the funny sounding man in the green coat had handcuffed his hands behind his back the third time he’d shrugged the scratchy wool off onto the wooden floor.

He wasn’t too bothered by this chain of events. The blanket was uncomfortable but he’d easily slipped his emaciated wrists through the silver cuffs and now only kept his hands behind his back because the man in the green coat seemed a decent fellow, if not easily upset and rather on the dull side.

A pot of something steamed on a stovetop, and he was for a moment lost in the patterns that rose and twisted from the gleaming copper like wraiths rising from the grave.

“Listen,” started the funny man in the green coat whose wide-brimmed hat now twirled between two nervous, fidgety hands. Pale grey eyes flickered between those constantly moving hands and the man’s coffee-brown eyes, unconcerned by the rising urgency in the man in the green coat’s voice.

“Let’s start with something easy. What’s your name, son?”

Names. Names were something he hadn’t thought of for months, and something he hadn’t needed for much longer than that. A thousand answers rushed to the tip of his tongue, some that seemed more familiar than others like a pair of shoes lost but then found again only to realize that they don’t fit quite the same as they used to. None of them felt right, so he stayed silent.

Instead pale eyes flickered to the maps on the wall of the basic wooden cabin, following strange rivers through unfamiliar mountains to unknown coasts. Not England, no. No London or Bristol or Liverpool or Brighton or Manchester to be found on these maps. Nor did he see Guadalajara or Cancun or Tijuana, so they weren’t in Mexico.

“Do you have your papers on you, son? Do you mind if I take a look?”

The man in the green coat gestured to his dirt-covered knapsack, and Jude made no motion to stop him. An extra pair of socks, a whistle carved from reed, an empty canteen and two strips of beef jerky, a ragged blanket and his wand. The latter fell on the table with a dull clatter. It was scratched and lackluster from years without care. Jude’s eyes followed it as it rolled to the edge of the table where the man collected it with clumsy gloved fingers. A slow burning panic settled in his stomach; he couldn’t identify why or how, but he knew the man should not be handling the thin wooden wand. The panic rose and was joined by anger, sending tremors through Jude’s hands until they shook uncontrollably. His jaw was clenched and his vision blurry--then the man put the wand down carefully on the blanket and the panic was gone.

“No papers, kid. What on earth am I supposed to do with you?”




“He’s your problem now, sir.”

The firm hand on his upper arm disappeared, and he collapsed onto a narrow cot while a wave of dizziness washed over him. Darkness blurred with light and color then finally gave way to shapes and shadows and the ringing in his ears faded to a tolerable buzz before he opened his eyes and soaked in his surroundings.

White walls met seamlessly with dark wooden floors scuffed by decades of inconsiderate feet. Half a dozen pairs currently paced, the sound of their footsteps only overpowered by their clamoring voices.

“Male, mid-twenties, severely malnourished-”

“He was worse before, you should have seen him when that park ranger pulled him from Waterton-”

“Healer, there’s a man from the ministry who wants to speak with the family-”

“-no sign of physical injury- that will have to wait, Calloway. Send me someone from the fourth floor, stat, and-”

“If you could just sign here, healer, then we can be on our way-”

The voices rose and fell in marvelous dissonance and for a moment he thought he found a pattern in the discord, a cycle of pitch and tone and syntax that could be predicted as easily as the tides or moon or weather. But the man-in-white dismissed the funny men in his stern, professional voice and broke the spell and the voices descended once again into incomprehensible chaos.

“Thank you for your troubles. His family is waiting in the hallway, and I’m sure they would like to thank you personally.”

The group of funny men exited the room in a cacophony of swishing robes and he caught a glimpse of light hair and drawn faces before the door slammed shut behind them. For a moment he remembered sunny afternoons on manicured lawns and running down long carpeted hallways chased by a peal of laughter but the sound of cars honking outside and the man in the white coat’s overwhelming cologne brushed those thoughts from his already cluttered mind.

“Well, son,” began the man-in-the-white-coat. “Well. Damn.”

He looked at the man-in-the-white-coat blankly. The voyage had been short but turbulent-he hadn’t wanted to touch the paperweight that glowed bright blue but one of the funny men made him anyway and then with an uncomfortable tug at his insides they’d disappeared in a swirl of colors-and now sitting on the thin cot he began to feel decidedly overwhelmed.

“What in Merlin’s name happened to you?”

What had happened to him? So many different things, each more wonderful and bizarre than the last. He couldn’t exactly remember when his adventure had started but beginnings weren’t important anyway and keeping track of each and every escapade required more focus than he currently had. Than he ever had, really, because thinking was tedious and overrated. It was so much easier, so effortless to let thoughts run wild and free.

“Mr. Marlowe?” asked the man-in-the-white-coat. “Jude? If you tell me what happened, I can help you.”

He did not think he wanted this man’s help. The scent of cologne was overpowering and seemed to fill his lungs with every breath he took and the cloudy brown of this man’s eyes told him he was not to be trusted. But words came to him, and they fit his tongue perfectly, came tumbling out one after the other like pearls on a string in a raspy, unfamiliar voice.

I am but mad north-north-west. When the wind is southerly, I can tell a hawk from a handsaw.

The man-in-the-white-coat spun around, surprise evident on his lined face. Those were the first words he’d uttered in weeks; he’d had none for the park ranger, none for the funny-sounding men, none for the escorts that had brought him here. The man-in-the-white-coat tossed the papers he held onto the cot besides Jude, before pulling up a chair across from him.

“Alright, then, Hamlet. I’m listening.”

Roleplay: 
You come across one of these posts on the site. Please select one & reply as your character:


Option Two -
The snow had been falling steadily all morning and it didn't look like it was going to stop any time soon. Joshua Campbell scrunched his face up in a frown as he lifted his gaze to look to the sky. Snow. It really was quite a bother.

And it certainly didn't make it better that Diagon Alley seemed to be getting more and more crowded. Joshua sighed and pointed his wand at the large box that was currently placed on the doorstep of his shop. He had to get going. He had an order to deliver.

"Wingardium Leviosa!" The elderly man muttered and watched the box hover in the air for a moment. Honestly, did St. Mungo's really need that much tinsel? And with glitter of all things? He sighed again. If it hadn't been for the rather convincing stamp on the order, he would have been likely to believe it had been a prank by one of those orphaned rascals living up there. 

Oh well, there was no point in waiting. Joshua deftly stirred the box down the doorstep and out onto the street, carefully levitating it above the heads of the crowd.

"Coming through! Coming through!" His voice sounded over the chatter of the crowd. "Keep out! Move ahead! Go on!" This was going way too slow. People were in the way and walking like they had all day! He huffed. Luckily the road was down hill.

"Coming through! Coming th--- arrrgh!" Joshua let out a loud shout as his feet suddenly slipped in the snow and sent him, the box, and several long strands of tinsel tumbling into the person who had been walking in front of him.

"For Merlin's sake!" Joshua muttered angrily as he hurried to his feet again, red and gold tinsel now decorating his black coat. "I am so sorry! This blasted snow!" He looked apologetic at the person he had crashed into.

Roleplay Response:

“Jude, come along now.”

A small hand tugged at his elbow, but he stayed stubbornly put in the middle of the sidewalk no matter how his nurse pleaded and chided. She was a small, birdlike woman with the start of wrinkles beginning to appear at the corners of her eyes and mouth. Jude found her incredibly easy to ignore.

He had a small army of nurses who rotated shifts, keeping a watchful eye on him all hours of the day and night. No matter where he went, one accompanied him: to the recreation room of the Rehabilitation center, to the gardens, to his visits to St. Mungo’s and the rare weekend excursions the outside world. He made a point of mixing them up, of swapping names and being difficult; it was cruel fun, he knew, but was by far the most amusing activity at the Center.

“Jude, you’ll be late to your appointment!” bemoaned the current prison guard. She was the newest, and woefully unprepared for her job. The slightest mishap sent her into a frenzy. Already, he saw angry tears welling in her eyes.

“I’m not going to tell you again, Jude! I’m going to count to--”

She was interrupted by a box of tinsel to the face.

The ensuing chaos was better than Jude could have hoped for. The flustered man apologized profusely and the nurse, covered in tinsel and soaked to the bone, shrieked and cursed. Jude would have liked to stay and watch, but he recognized opportunity when he saw it. While the nurse was thoroughly occupied with the offender, he slipped away and joined the crowd of Christmas shoppers. He reckoned he had at least an hour before a very angry nurse tracked him down and dragged him by the ear to St. Mungo’s, and he planned on making the most of his temporary freedom.

OTHER
How did you find us? Google



Powerplays approved by players. Special request approved by admins.
10
Suggestions & Questions / Hengist Remembrance Day
« Last post by Basil Cassiel on 21/03/2017 at 23:44 »
Hi guys, Carl here. ^^

I've always envisioned Hogsmeade village as one of those small areas in which the locals have this very close-knitted togetherness, if you know what I mean? Kind of like a place where 'everybody knows everybody', with many of the families having lived there for generations and one of the few places where kids don't HAVE to be overly formal with adults, having grown up around them.

I had this idea for a local holiday in honour of founding father of Hogsmeade on which its residents comes together to pay tribute and also celebrates the establishment of the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy, seen as how their homes came to be after Hengist of Woodcroft was driven from his own by Muggle persecutors. I have this image in my head where they annually huddle together around this enormous bonfire on the High Street not unlike those used by Muggle witch hunters, throwing away and burning any bad memories they may hold. (Figuratively and literately). This is supposed to symbolize and be reminiscent of "a fresh start".

On this particular day, seen as how popular rumour has it that Hengist of Woodcroft lived there during medieval times, one meal and the first drink of your choice is on the house in Three Broomsticks Inn. Also, if any one witch or wizard take in on one of the rooms that day, the first day you stay there are free of charge, and families receives a discharge.
Pages: [1] 2 3 ... 10