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Archived Applications / Deirdre Blackbourne (complete)
« on: 03/12/2014 at 00:30 »
Application for Hogwarts School
→ CHARACTER INFORMATION.
Name:Deirdre Muireall Blackbourne
Birthday: 18 November, 1927
Hometown: Village of Ilvardun, Scotland.
Bloodline: Halfblood
Magical Strength (pick one): Charms
Magical Weakness (pick one): Conjuring and Summoning
Year (pick two): 5th (preferred), 6th
Biography:
She had fleeting memories of the woman known as Nessa Blackbourne, but what she thought she knew might just have been fabricated by the few descriptions her father ever gave -- a slim woman with dark caramel skin and big, lash-rimmed eyes. There was a wrinkled photo too, which she found in the shed in an old box of papers. It was faded, but she could see the gist of her mother's figure, and it was like staring into a mirror. Da certainly missed her, but he was the pragmatic sort and didn't sulk, hadn't ever sulked as long as Deirdre had known him. What was done was done, he would tell her with the slightest of shrugs, and endings were a part of life no matter how hard you tried to avoid them.
Deirdre respected and even shared his viewpoint to some extent, but she could not help but feel as if this were one ending that could have easily been prevented. Her mother had simply made that choice.
She never considered their family broken, though. A mother absent since she was hardly three was a mother she didn't know to miss, and Da was company enough even if his work often left her to fend for herself for weeks at a time. She preferred the quiet, open spaces of the Aberdeen Coast to the bustle of the cities her father tended to work in and learned quite early to care for her own needs while her father was away. They were good lessons in independence and she quickly learned that something done properly had to be done by her own hands. Besides, he always managed to be back for the full moon, no matter where he was and who he annoyed by picking up and leaving. Deirdre respected his resolve -- they'd lost income over it to angered clients of his security consulting services who felt he was theirs alone to command. But that was the thing about her father. Silas Blackbourne was controlled by nothing but his own drive, his own determination. They were the qualities she admired in him, qualities she herself strove to emulate, and that was a good thing because Deirdre didn’t have much of a choice but to trust in that kind of inner strength.
The story went that Nessa had taken three year old Deirdre out one evening just to look at the great, orange October moon from the hills behind the cottage. Deirdre herself remembered nothing of it, which was perhaps a blessing given the extent of the puncture marks still etched in scars, back to front over her right shoulder and clavicle. She knew the creature came from out of nowhere, knocking her mother to the ground and grabbing the little girl in its jaws. She knew it was the first time her mother had seen anything remotely magical as her father, hearing the screams from the house, ran out, pulled out his wand, and began firing at the canine assailant bolt after bolt of red light until it released Deirdre's small body and ran back across the hills from where it came. She knew that by the time Silas reached her, it was too late. And she knew he'd had a great deal of explaining to do to his Muggle wife, who, still in shock, had to suddenly accept that her daughter was going to turn the very thing that had attacked them. That, and her husband was a wizard.
In the end, it was all too much for Nessa to take in, and within the month she'd packed a bag and was gone.
By the time Deirdre was five, full moon nights were as perfectly choreographed as a professional ballet. A set of caves near the sea served as her haven while she was transformed; barriers were put up, and Silas kept watch while the night wore on. She was on a strict regimen of wolfsbane potion -- an expensive commodity, but they managed. Silas' former occupation as an Auror allowed him to take care of any scratches she procured, but most of the time she came out unscathed, merely bruised or nicked and sometimes not even that. She was lucky.
In all other respects Deirdre was a normal child, bright eyed and adventurous, clambering over the rocky shoals and craggy green hills, using her increased sense of smell to sniff out new and interesting places. She often found trouble, whether it be an excursion too far into a sea cave and nearly drowning as the tide came in, or almost falling from one of the rockier cliffs overlooking the sea. Sometimes it was with the Muggles in Ilvardun -- ignorant of her powers and lycanthropy as they were, Deirdre was still the outsider to many, the girl that lived in the isolated cottage down towards the water and near the caves they believed were cursed. She was an oddity and some shunned her for it.
Once, when she was eight, she socked a Muggle lad straight in the nose for calling her a changeling.
"I'm not a faerie child," she snapped at him, wrinkling her nose as he howled on the ground, clutching a bleeding proboscis; after all, her arm was stronger than most girls' on account of her wolfishness. "Faeries aren't even intelligent, they're like annoying little insects and they lay eggs so that dinnae even make sense--" But he was already up and running, poor boy, and looking for a safer place to nurse his wounds.
She found out later that he'd told his mum that he'd tumbled and hit his nose on a fencepost. He didn't want anyone to know a girl could hit him like that, which was just as well for Deirdre. Silas would have sent her to bed without supper if he knew.
When she was eleven and finally received her acceptance letter to Hogwarts by owl, it was a cause for excitement but also concern -- Deirdre's transformations were too dangerous to allow her to remain in the Castle, and while she was by this time mostly proficient in caring for her own minor wounds, it was a great deal to expect the school to deal with. Wanting his daughter to remain safe and begin her schooling by working around her "affliction," Silas eventually decided that she would be homeschooled. Deirdre herself was monumentally disappointed by this ruling, believing that she was perfectly capable of taking care of herself as long as a safe place were provided for her transformations beforehand.
Now approaching fifteen, Deirdre continues to be strongly independent (sometimes to a fault) and focused. She has finally convinced her father to allow to her to attend Hogwarts beginning in her fifth year in order to complete her OWL exams and prove herself academically, on the condition that she is provided with a guaranteed safe place for her transformations. Silas contacted an old associate from his years in the Auror office -- Juniper Steele -- and asked for the Magical Defence professor's help in facilitating such a place; Juniper agreed.*
*Approved by Juniper E-L Steele.
→ ADDITIONAL INFORMATION.
Note: This section is optional, and is up to you to complete.
House Request: Gryffindor. While her thoughtful introversion and discerning outlook might reflect Ravenclaw, it is her inner lioness that truly makes her one of Godric's own. Her charisma is found in the draw she has on others to not only like her but follow her lead.
Personality: At first glance Dee appears outgoing and even extroverted, but these are learned behaviors rather than her true nature, which is quite introverted and quietly observant. Easygoing and ambient, she rolls with the punches except when it comes to her opinions and morals; pressing her further brings out an often unreasonable stubbornness and hellbent determination. She does not become angry often, but once she does, it can be explosive.
Appearance: Deirdre is a natural beauty with warm chocolate toned skin and near-black eyes that glint with an almost golden edge when the sun hits them just right. She prefers to wear her hair short and close to her head.
→ SAMPLE ROLEPLAY.
It was a few days post-lunar cycle, and she was still catching up on sleep from her monthly transformation. Excusing herself early from the Great Hall, she tugged on her robes absently; the sleeves were, as always, too short, but Da had to buy them off the rack to offset the price a bit and didn't want to risk ruining the wool with a lengthening charm. She didn't blame him -- robes were, as it went, exceedingly expensive--
Her ears perked before she saw him, before he wheeled around and began to shout; she could hear his footfalls on the flooring, got a whiff of... well, adolescent boy. Not to mention the overbearing scent of wet Quidditch pitch.
"WHAT! Haven't you ever seen a loser before? Why don't you just take a picture!"
Oh. It was him.
"I don' have a camera," she told him, and there was a gentleness in her voice that edged a more practical tone. The cadence of her Scottish brogue seemed to roll of the echoing stone walls. "And you don' have to be so loud." Her nostrils flared instinctively, taking in his scent (warm, tense, anxious), but she quickly rubbed it as if she had a cold to mask the action.
(Be careful, bairn, Da told her severely when the train arrived on the platform and she'd promised very sincerely when she hugged him goodbye.)
"I think you're not as bad as you seem to think you are," Deirdre continued. "It wasn' an easy shot, from where I stood. You ought to give yourself a bit more credit or sommat."
She shrugged, then held out a dark chocolate hand. "Blackbourne. Deirdre. Don' think we've met?"
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