Hogwarts School: A Harry Potter RPG

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→ CHARACTER INFORMATION.

Name: Drogo Vexius

Birthday: April 2nd 1960

Hometown: Fort Augustus, Scotland

Bloodline: Pureblood

Magical Strength (pick one): Conjuring & Summoning

Magical Weakness (pick one): Divination

Year (pick two): 1-2

Biography: With a bloodline that was sorted into Slytherin for generations, Drogo Vexius had a lot of pressure on their shoulders. Both his mother and father were duelists, while his grandparents were Broom Racers! This went on, back and forth every generation, at least this is what he was told by their grandparents.

Being an only child, Drogo was spoiled beyond belief! He always got everything they wanted, even if they were acting up, which was a lot. This was because at just five years old, Drogo had their parents taken from him suddenly. It was some sort of spell, or potion that caused them to fall extremely ill and it slowly ended their lives after dealing with it for only a couple weeks. The ones at fault for it were soon caught and brought to justice.

Drogo ended up moving in with his grandparents and learning things from them. He honestly doesn't remember much about either parent, but the fact he had to deal with this in the back of their mind may cause some long term effects. Which is exactly what happened. There were a ton of times when he would lash out at his grandparents, breaking things, not listening, and so much more. But luckily for Drogo, he would have a bright future ahead of them, as long as he would stay focused.

→ ADDITIONAL INFORMATION.
Note: This section is optional, and is up to you to complete.

House Request: Slytherin

Personality: Haunted by their past, Drogo is not one to open up and talk to people, he tends to keep to himself because when people see the scars on his face, they immediately begin to gossip about what could have happened to him. Once so happy and full of life, now he is brought down constantly because of what had happened to their family. Drogo is a loner and finds peace in that time, but is very open to socialization in the right setting.

Appearance:  Drogo is almost five feet tall, fair skin, bright blue eyes, and two scars on his face. One that stretches from one cheek, and comes along the nose to the other cheek on his face. He also has a small scar on the right side of his lips. Drogo has a dark shade of red hair, almost looking like Auburn in a sense, Drogo normally wears a dark gray suit with a black tie, along with dark gray pants and black leather shoes.

→ RETURNING STUDENTS.
Note: This section is only for students who have been previously played at Hogwarts. Please see here for more information about Castle Dropouts levels/how many levels you are eligible to claim.

Link to your last levels request (if you never posted one, link to your last accepted student application):

Number of New Levels Requested:

New Levels Request:

How your character kept up with their studies: Whether your character was still at Hogwarts or left school entirely for a while, tell us how they were able to keep up with their studies and learn about magic, which would allow their levels to keep increasing.

→ SAMPLE ROLEPLAY.
You come across one of these posts on the site. Please select one & reply as your character. Remember, you can only roleplay your own character's actions, not Evangeline's or Hugh's.

Option I:

The dungeons. A place eleven-year-old Evangeline had not yet travelled since her arrival at Hogwarts.

A place she really was just fine with not knowing; but it was too late. The dare had been accepted, even if it had been done in fear of being kicked out of Gryffindor, like the older girls had said she would because Gryffindors were supposed to be brave.

The air changed instantly when she hit the main corridor of the dungeons. The dampness was almost too much for her and she instinctively took a deep breath to avoid the sensation of being suffocated. There was also a sour burning smell which Evangeline assumed was from many, many Potions lessons.

Further and further she walked, her steps so slow and gentle they made no noise against the stone walls and floor. The feeling that she wasn't alone crept up her spine and raised the tiny hair on the back of her neck. Shivering, Evangeline wrapped her arms around herself. Suddenly, she missed the warmth and comfort of the Gryffindor common room. The fire was always going and it made her feel at ease.

Why had she let those girls talk her into this? She was only eleven, she didn't have to be brave. Surely the Headmistress would not kick her out of Hogwarts for not being brave.

If only she had these thoughts while being dared to search for the ghost of one Emma Birch, whom supposedly haunted the dungeons. It was not, Evangeline had learned, the place where the sixteen-year-old girl's life had ended but as she had been from the house with a snake as its mascot, it was the place her spirit had returned to. That common room was down here somewhere, she'd been told.

Something - the small blonde girl wasn't quite sure what - but something made her stop in her tracks suddenly. There was a low, dull thumping noise. Or maybe that was her heart beating so loudly she thought it was coming from outside her body.

"H-h-hello?" Her voice was barely above a whisper.

Remembering that she was supposed to be brave, Evangeline tried again.

"Hello! Is Emma Birch here?"

The sound of her own words bouncing back at her off the walls made her jump.

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Option 2:

That rat of his was in for it now.

The gray little rascal had disappeared from his clutches at breakfast. Again.

Before Hugh even knew what was happening, Merlin had shot across the floor, somehow managing to avoid all the feet walking across the hall and had escaped through the open doors.

Which meant that Hugh was now stomping through rows of flowers and other various flora, searching for the small creature. It was like the rat knew Hugh was allergic to most flowers. Merlin always chose to run to the gardens whenever he got away from Hugh. It was as if the rat did not want to have him for an owner.

Hugh had named his pet Merlin because he had hoped the powerful name would give the rat more incentive to be more than a rat. Not that he expected Merlin to change into a wizard or anything, but rats were just so...useless, for the most part. With a name like Merlin, Hugh thought it might give the rat purpose.

The only purpose Merlin seemed to have was getting away from Hugh as often as possible.

As the fifth year trudged into the second row of flowers, not taking much care to avoid trampling the first row, he felt the first sneeze building up pressure in his nose and behind his eyes.

"You blasted rat! Where are you?"

He pulled apart a section of bright red flowers; he didn't know what they were called because he despised flowers, and ducked his head low to peer into the depths of the flowerbed. It was moving closer in proximity to the flowers that finally did it. Hugh took in three great breaths and then let out an almighty sneeze. It was strong enough to disturb some of the dirt on the ground before him.

Groaning, he stood up again and wiped his nose on his sleeve. It was as he was turning his head, his nose running up and down his arm, that movement in his peripheral vision caught his attention. Normally one who preferred to put his best face forward, Hugh was a bit embarrassed to be caught wiping his runny nose on his robes.

Nevertheless, Hugh put on his best haughty voice. albeit a bit thickly with his plugged nose and said, "Can I help you with something? It is not polite to stare."

Roleplay Response:
The dungeons were always a creepy place to wander about. Not only did the cold bother most, but the damp ground, darkness around each corner, and even the smell had the students avoiding this part of the castle. As for Drogo Vexius, he intended on sticking to the shadows to be unseen. Not only did he enjoy keeping to themself, but he also didn’t like others seeing him in general. He was insecure about the scars and his life in general. People nowadays seem to be so quick to judge, even if they didn’t know the story of whatever they were criticizing.

Drogo Vexius was still young and didn’t have any friends, so he spent a lot of his time just wandering around the castle, looking for any kind of knowledge that could be found, whether it be from professors, or even some of the hanging portraits that loved to chat your ears off! They even had some interesting stories to tell, as well!

Each step the young boy made seemed to echo throughout the dungeon, but that was because the damp floor squished under the weight of Drogo’s feet. But the boy stopped dead in their tracks when he heard a voice ring out from the distance. He quickly began to panic because Drogo had no interest in speaking to anyone, especially a girl! But it was too late, Drogo was spotted and asked a question.

There was no running now, so he perked up and smiled lightly. “I’m sorry, but I don’t know anyone by that name. My name is Drogo Vexius, though. May have seen me in a few classes, but who knows!” He responded with excitement, which was odd on his behalf. It had to be the cold getting to him or something. One way or another, Drogo nodded and went on their way to wander around Hogwarts some more.


→ ABOUT YOU.

Please list any characters you have  on the site (current and previous): None

How did you find us?: Top Sites

CHARACTER INFORMATION

Character name: Indigo Amberghast

Previous and/or Current Character(s) if applicable: Cillian Pryke, Xanthe Amberghast, Tully Twelvetrees.

Character age: 31 (November 11, 1941)

Character education:

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft & Wizardry, Gryffindor, Class of 1960

Strength and weaknesses:

For as long as there were thoughts in his head Indigo has been picking things apart — rules, the natural order, and people in particular — possessing a natural aptitude for analysing complex situations, decoding intricate puzzles, and grasping nuanced ideas effortlessly. More practically he is a seasoned duellist with a lightning-quick draw and a composed, fearless disposition. Though his determination has been at times bordered on obsession, and his adaptability and resourcefulness accused of crossing certain lines, there is an inevitability about his investigations, the unwavering, unseeing belief that he would get the job done.

His talent for picking things apart means Indigo is fuelled by cynicism, often refusing to play nice with others or follow rules and expectations despite (or perhaps because of, even more so) his position as a high-ranking Auror. He is unpredictable and emotionally detached, someone who likes to tease and play games, toing and froing from either side of the mask, sometimes appearing to take nothing and no one seriously, navigating his place in their tragic tales with a sharp smile and an even sharper tongue.

Physical description:

Indigo is tall (6’3), lean but strong and broad-chested, moving gracefully, often completely silently, but always with unnerving calmness and composure, smooth and deliberate. Outside of crime scenes, interrogation rooms (and classrooms) he wears his hair down, effortlessly immaculate, though known to grow wild, thick and unkempt with the souring of his mood. His attire tends towards monochrome, mostly black, complemented by his long, dark coat or vast, billowing robes, flowing wraith-like out behind him. He’s seldom seen blinking, and gives the impression that nothing would make him flinch.

Personality:

He is unmistakably and unapologetically aloof, sharp but guarded, and speaks and carries himself in a way so devoid of self-doubt as to resemble arrogance. If his mood is susceptible to anything it’s his own sudden and mercurial whims, always quick to joke (at anyone’s expense) or to turn a phrase, or flex his dry wit, selective in what he chooses to take seriously and almost impossible to control — two traits honed during his initial stint at Hogwarts. He will not hesitate to speak his mind, rarely deferring to the chain of command, and will often appear reckless and obsessive in pursuit of his targets.

Indigo can be extremely loyal and protective but only to individuals, not to surnames or institutions, and is rarely willing to divulge his loyalty, friendship or affection by anything but the most subtle means, using charm to keep even his favourite people only just within reach.

Hopes and dreams. Why are you teaching at Hogwarts?:

Indigo was always more of a thinker than a dreamer. It was never his intention to be an Auror — and for a while he actively avoided it, due in no small part to an unpleasant familial connection — but by the time he realised what road he was on, and how far ahead he was of everyone else, it was too late to turn back. Because it always happened the same way, the same patterns drawn in different shapes, written in different languages. There was always a reason, a pull he couldn’t ignore, always a play, always something, somewhere, ahead in his view, cursed to fester there in plain sight, where no one else could see.

Biography:

As the Amberghast heir the early years of his life are well documented, details scattered liberally through public record, tabloid fodder, and the occasional chapter of some long, dull, pretentious book concerning, purely, notable Pureblood lines. It was an old name, drowned in old money, famous among those who cared about such things, and infamous among those who didn’t; a family renowned for charity in abundance but not a hint of kindness.

Not content with unfeeling charity, there was also the Amberghast family’s tradition of sending even its most talented and provided for members into ‘public service’ roles, often within the Ministry, for a fixed, short-term period, expected to not only learn and manoeuvre socially but to be a living, breathing endorsement of the Amberghast name that only accidentally lords it over everyone. As such Edward Amberghast, Indigo’s father, spent nearly a decade as an Auror, a Hit Wizard retiring in his prime, the more palatable details of his final bust inked on the front page of the Daily Prophet, his career ended in the world’s neatest and most predictable blaze of glory.

Far be it from seeing his father as a hero, or someone to emulate, Indigo had clashed with Edward from the very beginning, as soon as he could stand on his own two feet, able to see nothing of himself in the man. Beyond merely being the first real source of authority in his life, Edward was a stubborn man, hard and unpleasant, cold deep to his bones where all the wells ran dry, unfeeling. Indigo, expected to some day lead his family towards even greater prosperity, promised instead never to do as he was told to do, never to be made over in someone else’s image, and never to yield, not even for a greater good.

It might have been that he was destined for Gryffindor no matter what, but as the first Amberghast in four centuries to be sorted outside Slytherin it was considered close to scandalous — the boring walls his name couldn’t now adorn, the tacky badges he would never fix to his lapel — and drove another wedge into the divide. He never told anyone that a silly old hat had been the first thing to ever call him courageous — reckless was the word they always used.

Detached from these expectations, Indigo did not prioritise working hard, or studying late, or networking academically with his peers, instead drinking and smoking and partying his way through his final years at Hogwarts, coasting by on cleverness and raw magical talent, and in a testament to the extent of his wasted potential managing to nevertheless graduate near the top of his class.

After Hogwarts he was expected, again, to fall into line, but as with Slytherin, as with the insipid Pureblood girls he was ordered to entertain, as with the mind-numbing public appearances at big family events, Indigo refused the door opened to him, fitting their parameters of service to the name, and borrowed the family yacht, only six glorious months later stranding it at sea. Then he began to skirt the upper crust, just for fun, his the kind of name that always opened a door, and it all started as a little game with friends, played at parties and functions and galas — anything that promised charity whilst selling extravagance and overindulgence — late at night slipping into their vaults unseen, and slipping out with whatever they wanted, because they didn’t need a thing.

When he ran out of vaults to rearrange and reappropriate in Britain he moved the party across the channel to France, only to unexpectedly find himself in the middle of the investigation into the mysterious death of a young girl, her body found sealed within a locked room. Called upon as a witness and not a suspect, Indigo was quickly drawn into the case, unable to help himself, the questions inside and outside of his head, rattled off day and night and like a steam train if he didn’t feed it answers, and though he hadn’t even really meant to help, or wanted to, or perceived any of his actions as towards that end, it was he who solved the riddle and exposed the perpetrator, earning him the unpleasantness of a public commendation (more of those to come) and the immediate offer of a job as an Auror with the Ministry in France.

It was at this point, quite suddenly, that he seemed to vanish, for almost two years, communicating rarely and only to avoid being declared dead, unseen besides silly rumours of out of body experiences and spiritual mountain retreats. Then he returned, just as suddenly, nineteen months later, appearing in France exactly where he was last seen and acting as if nothing had happened or were amiss, not hesitating now to accept the job, already fluent enough in French to tell them where to stick their commendations.

By the time he returned to Britain the job, the parts he liked at least, came as easy to him as breathing, his dangerous obsession unseen but for the thin, dark rings around his eyes, his ruthless efficiency praised and commended by plenty who wished to live vicariously through his accomplishments — his family by no means immune — but to Indigo he was simply on the same path on which he’d always been, beholden to no force but his own momentum.

---

Jack was away from the office when the news broke, so it fell to one of his dutiful stooges in middle-management limbo to deliver what Indigo considered a rather limp attempt at a rollicking — Jack would have at least had a few stiff drinks first, perhaps even psyched himself up in the mirror — and by the time the Ministry Man had finished, flustered, hoarse and red in the face, Indigo had for him only a faint, teasing look of bewilderment, like he hadn’t really been listening.

“Jack couldn’t floo back into the office to have his own tantrum?” he asked, as if it were the most pressing question.

“You’re an Auror, Amberghast!” said the man — Johnson, maybe? — irritably, slamming a full deck of folders down on the desk, splayed out like cards, each one crammed too-full with parchment, “you can’t just disappear to Hogwarts without telling us — ”

“This is me telling you.”

Johnson’s eyebrows tried and failed to go vertical, nonetheless managing the unpleasant contortion of his face.

“And who's going t—”

“I am, obviously,” he said, his large, pale hand gathering the case folders and with a flourish of his wand binding them in string, “it would take more than a year at Hogwarts for me to allow any of these troglodytes to undo my work. So don’t you worry — I’ll close just as many cases as I always do.” 

If it had been Jack standing there he might have brought his attention to another stack of files, thicker still, buried in the deep, enchanted drawer of his desk. Not because Jack hadn’t seen it, or because Johnson hadn’t seen it, not because it was any kind of secret, in fact.

A year previous during the Azra debacle — though merely another in a long, long line of debacles for the Ministry at Hogwarts — he had not limited his investigation to one volatile woman nor allowed himself to be poisoned by the Ministry’s seedy and myopic intent. Something worse was festering there, something that could lie, and charm, and make invisible its true nature.

It was why it always happened at Hogwarts — no one there wanted to see.

SAMPLE ROLEPLAY
It was the largest office in Hogwarts and, perhaps to students and newcomers, the most intimidating. The shelves were filled with various odds and ends, with a place of honor for the Sorting Hat, and the walls held all the portraits of past Headmasters and Headmistresses.

In the middle of the room sat a large desk. Everything was in order, for the current occupant had always despised a messy desk. It was the sign of a messy mind, and she had always favored neatness.

A clock sat on the desk, which currently showed the time to be 2:05. The meeting was supposed to begin at 2:00 precisely.

Along with order, Anneka valued punctuality. She was a very busy woman these days. Even during the summer, she had a number of matters to attend to. Interviewing and hiring staff was only of those matters. The newest potential member of her staff wasn't making a good impression.

She paced the room, black heels clicking against the stone floor. When the door finally opened, Anneka turned, her expression reminiscent of a Russian winter. "You are late."

Explain yourself was what her face said.

Roleplay Response:

Two chimes of the clocktower had come and gone by the time he reached the foot of the staircase, and he was half inclined to take the ominous sounds at face value and head back to his office, Anneka having neither the heart nor the face for forgiveness. With most people he would consider five minutes late being closer to five minutes early, Indigo never a punctual or considerate creature, but with Anneka he expected to find her half-catatonic, face glued to the clock, groaning his name with a haunted murmur.

He moved in silence up the spiral staircase (and could have sworn he heard her pacing) entering the room without so much as a knock, lest those additional ten seconds be held against him.

“I know, darling, really it’s terrible,” he said, gliding across the room towards the steaming pot of tea and, not completely immune to her plight, he poured hers out first, a salve to soothe her woes. “I was stuck at the bottom of that staircase for nearly half an hour — honestly, your staff can’t half drone on.”

He fell back gracefully in his seat, cup and saucer in hand — completely steady and unspilt by the fall — taking a long, noiseless sip of the blisteringly hot liquid and watching her, his dark eyes not blinking, over the china rim.

“You know what it is? They need to get out more.”

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https://hogwarts-school.net/sortinghat/index.php?topic=10379.0