Application for Hogwarts School
→ CHARACTER INFORMATION.Name: Indigo Amberghast
Birthday: November 11th, 1941
Hometown: Richmond, UK
Bloodline:Pureblood
Magical Strength (pick one):Charms
Magical Weakness (pick one):Divination
Year (pick two): Fifth (preference), Sixth (secondary)
Biography:Indigo was born in the Master Bedroom of Harrowdown Hall to Edward Theo Amberghast, heir apparent, and Penelope ‘Penny’ Moreau, a Pureblood witch from France prized with beauty and grace enough to assimilate into the Amberghast bloodline -- a bloodline without blemish, and without rumour of such. Indigo was named for his eyes of which his mother, upon seeing them for the first time, remarked ‘they were so blue they were purple.’ This strange turn of phrase stuck in a more succinct form, shortened further to the diminutive
Indy to anyone who held his favour.
This was from the open book history of the Amberghast Family. What follows is from the closed book.
Edward Amberghast met Elizabeth Dresden in 1932 on a summer’s day in Richmond Park, where her gossamer sheen had him stumbling over premature proclamations of love, and where his easy charm for once belied his otherwise steadfast nature, and so swept were they by this whirlwind romance that unkeepable promises were made in moments too easily forgotten under the immense burden of Pureblood piety that he bore. Edward was heir to a dynasty that traced its roots so deep into the Dark Ages that it blinded people to their enormous tally of sins. Elizabeth, on the other hand, was a nobody, and she tallied just one sin: a lie.
Elizabeth Dresden was not a Pureblood witch, as she claimed the day they met. In fact, her parents were both Muggles, though of course their names were long forgotten, inconsequential even as footnotes in this tale. This made her Muggleborn. Faced with such a defining choice, some might wish to contextualise the decision maker. Edward was a righteous man. His position within the Ministry’s Magical Law Enforcement department gave him full autonomy to express this righteousness. Express or exorcise, depending on who was asked. His unyielding disposition and precise interpretation of the law earned him the nickname, ‘The Lawman.’ It was never meant as a compliment, though sometimes taken as one.
There were other rules set out to Edward. Family rules, life rules.
Rules. Who your friends could be. Who you romantically entangled yourself with. Where you worked. How you conducted yourself in public. How you managed perception of yourself and of the family. How you’ve contributed to the Amberghast legacy. The rules, of course, were just obfuscation, and what it really meant was to know oneself, to define oneself in a deliberate way, and ultimately to realise that everyone had to sacrifice something in the end.
Elizabeth Dresden was cast out, her name smeared in private circles, though of course the reason was never given, nor Edward’s involvement even hinted at. Iris Amberghast, Edward’s mother, saw to it that no venue allow her presence, no respectable workplace tolerate her disrepute, that she be as much a pariah as Edward had the lie gone unchecked, had they married -- had they, god forbid, bred. The Amberghasts set out to finish Elizabeth Dresden.
And they
almost did.
Iris and Edward Amberghast, mother and son who had once fawned over her beauty and her elegance, traits muddied by blood, were indeed right when they claimed she would never see them again.
Several years later, in 1941, there was a visitor at the gates of Harrowdown Hall. Usually the house elves would see to it but Penelope Amberghast, Edward’s happily married wife, was in the front garden, barefoot and picking fruit, where the warming charm cast at her feet made short work of the morning dew. She was in song, as was her habit, and her gentle melody almost made her miss the clank of a rock on the nearby iron gates.
Penelope approached and smiled her fairest smile, and as greetings were exchanged she noticed that while the woman wore poor and ugly rags, she carried in her basket the most succulent looking fruit she had ever seen. Dark fruits, rich hues, deep reds and blues and purples arranged as to make them irresistible. The ragged woman didn’t hesitate nor beg entrance. She held her basket to the gate and allowed Penelope’s pale, perfectly manicured hand to reach for a length of grapes, deep purple and perfectly ripe. She ate the entire bunch in matter of minutes, ravenous with morning hunger, and though the ragged woman remained standing there she never stirred or made a sound, not until the fruit was thoroughly devoured.
Then she reached a hand through the gate, startling Penelope who somehow stood firm. The woman placed her hand to Penelope’s belly, muddied fingers splaying out, cracked and dirtied nails scratching at the immaculate white cotton of her nightgown, and said just one thing.
“It’s a boy.”
→ ADDITIONAL INFORMATION.Note: This section is optional, and is up to you to complete.House Request: Slytherin
Personality:Indigo considers himself the physical disembodiment of his father’s every ideal, and there is a striving to his rebellious spirit, perhaps a sort of evolution into the Lawman’s natural enemy: the Outlaw. And despite his father’s stern nature, Indigo’s age and position as heir leaves many of these ventures unchecked, and he plays on this necessity, and indeed the renown of his name in Pureblood circles, to have his fun. He uses sarcasm as both a weapon and a defense mechanism, seldom choosing to take things seriously and often, in any case, not letting others know immediately where the joke starts and where it ends.
He can be studious when necessary, and is bright enough to stay just ahead of the curve, but does have a tendency towards overconfidence in his abilities. Then there is his sense of entitlement, a natural progression to being given everything you so desire by a doting mother, but this manifests itself not in a love of monetary wealth, of which it seems he has too much to run out unless his brain is also lost in the transaction, or of
things, but of people, seeing how they tick, how far you can push them one away and how far the other. And manipulation was a very, very ugly word for wanting to get to know people a little better.
Appearance:Indigo is a tall boy with a lean build, with fair hair and distinctive deep blue eyes. He is aware he is considered handsome and takes care in his appearance without fussing. He wears his blonde hair long, below the shoulder, occasionally tying it up in class or during Quidditch. The Amberghasts often married individuals into their bloodlines based on specific traits - blonde hair from a Latvian witch many generations ago, whose fairness was legendary even today; sharp, cutting cheekbones from his grandmother’s line; and impressive height and hardiness from the Nods, amongst other things. Indigo bares all or most of these traits, as evidenced by the perfect fit of his portrait amongst his kin, but ultimately, and quietly, he is set apart by his eyes, unlike any found in the long, watching corridors of Harrowdown Hall.
→ SAMPLE ROLEPLAY.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.
Indigo relished the Dungeons at this time of day, where it was dark, and just a little dank, and so blissfully quiet that if you didn’t
like swimming in silence then you might just drown in it. It had been a Potions book that needed returning, a Professor’s tantrum that needed avoiding too at the prospect of a late return, and though he thought it truly ghastly that he have to spend his precious time chasing up on their flawed policy, Potions was one of the least attractive places to get detention. There were never any pretty girls there for a start and what's more, there would always be some foul, lingering sourness in the air which, depending on his grade that month, he chalked up to either potion-making or bad potion-making.
As Indigo rounded the corner into another dimly lit stretch of slick cobblestone, a dull thud echoed past his left ear and then back again past his right, bouncing off a nearby wall and rattling around his head until he had no idea from where it came. The voice that followed, however, directed his attention over his left shoulder, his hair whipping about his face as he crept slowly into the low light. But when he heard the name Emma Birch he had to stifle a giggle, thinking
surely it wasn’t possible people still believed that rubbish about her ghost, a story flimsier than a Hufflepuff’s diploma. Students used to parade the halls with upturned hoods, crying out in ghastly, high-pitched wails at lost little first years claimed by the Dungeon’s labyrinth. Indigo stopped, his head tilting, and shrugged, then with one fluid motion pulled his own hood over his head and hugged the dark edges of the corridor.
“Here?!” he cried out in a ghastly shriek, words spilling over smiling lips. “I live
here! Begone foul child before I eat your soul!”
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