Hogwarts School: A Harry Potter RPG

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→ CHARACTER INFORMATION.

Name: Charlotte Angelika Jae Pantazis

Birthday: March 10th, 1947

Hometown: Vienna, Austria

Bloodline: Pureblood

Magical Strength (pick one): Divination

Magical Weakness (pick one): Charms

Year: First, Second

Biography:

Delia told her what to do a lot.

Charlotte let her, mostly because she didn’t mind but partly because it had always been that way. As she went to select the doll she wanted to play with, she made sure to hand her sister one, her favorite and the best one, first.


Delia was still mad. She'd been glowering ever since they'd gotten back from their trip to the market, where Charlotte had let the pretty woman on the corner 'try on' her gold necklace only to have it stolen.

Charlotte knew Delia was mad. She felt the rage coming off her in unsettling waves. She noticed the way her fingers strangled the handle of the brush and the harsh strokes of the bristles through the doll’s hair. She watched with worried eyes as the suppressed irritation finally bubbled to the surface.

Delia put down the doll slowly, eye’s lifting to meet her sister’s before she spoke. “You’re so gullible, Lottie. You’ll just listen to anybody.”

Charlotte chomped down on her bottom lip, working her face into a pout. She wasn’t planning on doing anything about it—she never said anything when Delia was mean—but when older girl continued, “You can’t just let people tell you what to do,” it gave her an idea. Arms crossed proudly over her chest, Charlotte pointed out, “But you’re always telling me what to do.”

Delia was smart, smarter than Zacharias (a hard thing to be) and way smarter than herself (a much less hard thing to be). Charlotte figured Delia would’ve appreciated the chance to argue and prove her general correctness, something she did well and often. She waited, eyes closed in anticipation, for the impassioned response that never came. Delia, it seemed, had not appreciated her comment as much as she’d predicted, and had stormed off, probably to rant to Zacharias—he didn’t talk to Charlie very much, which was okay because Delia liked to talk to her a lot, enough for the both of them—or to bury herself in her sketchbooks.

Charlotte hadn’t learned the lesson Delia had intended. She had learned, however, that disagreeing with people resulted in shortened play time, a lot of sadness, and zero fun. None of those were things she wanted, not now and not ever. Determined to set things right, she rose from her pile of dolls and accessories, stumbling through the mess—a mess she’d leave there, doomed to be the responsibility of whatever unlucky maid stumbled upon it first—until she reached the arching doorway. Down the large hallway, her whining echoed. “I’m sorry! Please come play with me.” Again, when she got no response. “Dee, please!” This time, the sound of a pad of paper smacking the floor rang out above her. If she knew anything about her sister, it wasn’t an accident.

“Delia, I’m coming!”

Charlotte was throwing herself up the stairs before the 'G' had left her mouth.

→ ADDITIONAL INFORMATION.

House Request: n/a

Personality:
It's obvious that Charlotte Pantazis has always been the baby of the family. Her father spoiled and protected her, to the point where she's a little clueless as to how the real world works, and thanks to her older sister whose more than happy to tell her what to do, she's never needed to figure it out. Now that she's entering school, she relies on her friends to let her know what's right and wrong. She doesn't mind getting told what to do, or even being snapped at a bit (though it might make her sad that they're sad); she's really just happy to be there. Having been cooped up in her house with the same people for most of her life, any and all activities seem like they could be the highlight of her life.

Appearance:
When it comes to appearance, Charlotte is definitely her mother's daughter. She's all long, blonde hair, blue eyes, and fair skin. When standing next to her father's side of the family, with their dark hair and tanned skin, the result of spending years by the Mediterranean Sea, they look more unrelated than they do a family. Right now, her limbs are lanky and a little too long for her to have complete control over them. She's tall for her age, something her mother claims is a blessing but she sees as a curse. It's rare to find her without a smile on her face, the perfect accessory to her typical wide-eyed look of childhood innocence (which Delia swears makes her look even more clueless than she already does). 

→ SAMPLE ROLEPLAY.
Option 2:

Charlotte had been on her way—the long way, of course—to meet her friends in the dining hall when something had caught her eye. She was going to be late, and she could only assume that she’d get an earful about it when she finally arrived, but in her defense, her friends should’ve known better than to let her walk alone.

Charlotte Pantazis was, per usual, distracted.

The scene had been hard to miss, what with all the yelling and sneezing and the squashing of things. She couldn’t help but wander over, and once she was there, she couldn’t help but stand and watch.

Her attention was drawn first to the trampled flowers, a frown promptly gracing her features as she thought of all the pretty bouquets and crowns she could’ve made if they hadn’t been ruined. Then, she looked at the boy, and though he appeared much older than she was—and older people knew everything, or at least that was what Delia had told her when she’d asked why she always got to be right—he seemed like he was in dire need of some assistance.

“Can I help you with something?”

As she eyed the snot currently smeared across his sleeve, she got an idea. “I might have a tissue!” She immediately thrust both of her hands into the pockets of her robe. Inside, she found many things—a couple of old candy wrappers, a hair clip, a couple of carrots she’d been meaning to take with her down to the stables, notably not her wand, though she could’ve sworn she’d tucked it in there before she’d let her common room—but unfortunately, nothing that the boy could use to blow his nose. As she stood in front of him so obviously empty-handed, the look she gave him was very apologetic.

“Do ya want me to go get you one?”

→ ABOUT YOU.

Please list any characters you have  on the site: Athanasia Valenti

How did you find us?: already here!

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→ CHARACTER INFORMATION.

Name: Athanasia Imelda Pantazis-Valenti

Birthday: November 9th, 1939

Hometown: Tuscany, Italy & Attic Peninsula, Greece

Bloodline:
Pureblood

Magical Strength (pick one):
Transfiguration

Magical Weakness (pick one):
Conjuring & Summoning

Year (pick two): Sixth, Fifth

Biography:
Athanasia: Immortality
   It is rumored that Athanasia’s mother, Maia, went into labor during one of the most terrifyingly destructive storms Italy had experienced in five years.  Her husband Emilio Valenti, her two brothers and their wives, her twin sister and her husband, her mother, and a portrait of her late father were all present for the occasion. It was a ridiculous amount of people to keep in a delivery room, but Ioanna, the residing matriarch, insisted that all prominent members be present for the birth of the first girl of generation twenty-seven of the Pantazis clan.
   It is also said that when Athanasia was finally born, the storms subsided and the clouds parted to reveal a crystal blue sky and the most vibrantly shining sun. A birth fit for the little goddess she was destined to be, Ioanna would often reminisce. According to Ioanna, her grandmother, she was delivered with a golden glow about her; the most beautiful stunning baby ever to be born.
   The story of her birth was one told many times, perhaps because of how strikingly it suited her name. If her claim was to a never-ending presence, it was only fitting that her birth, the start of fore-mentioned presence, be just as remarkable as the rest of her life was surely destined to be. Admittedly, the idea of such an occurrence was quite unbelievable. For this reason, when Athanasia later found out from Ioanna that she was right to be suspicious of her fabled origin story, she was the least bit surprised. However, she was in no rush to share this news. In fact, Athanasia decided quite quickly that she was happier with a lie, for when a girl is given such a powerful name as Athanasia, a simple birth in a hospital room is simply unsuitable.

Imelda: Warrior Woman, All-Consuming Fight
   When Vasilios Pantazis, Athanasia’s grandfather, died, Ioanna was heartbroken. While their marriage, like that of most purebloods she knew, had been arranged, their relationship, built on years of loyalty and understanding, had fostered a deep love. In his absence, Ioanna found herself lonely for the first time in her life.
   On May 23rd, 1945, Ioanna was presented with the most perfectly exploitable opportunity to gain the company she so desired. On this day, 5 years, 6 months, and 4 days since the birth of Athanasia, Maia gave birth to twins, making them the 3rd and 4th children to join the Valenti family.
   Ioanna firmly expressed her concern that the eldest Valenti child, Athanasia, would fail to receive the much-needed attention and structured instilling of morals due to the heavy burden the twin babies and young toddler would place upon Maia and Emilio. In the interest of lightening their load, Ioanna offered to keep the girl at her house.
   Two weeks later, Athanasia left her home in Tuscany, Italy to move in with her grandmother in Greece. Life at her grandmother’s house varied greatly from her old way of life in Italy, but Athanasia took it like how she did all challenges and adapted in stride. While the situation may have sounded suffocating to some, she found she thrived under her grandmother’s demanding pressure and guiding hand. The idea of a rigorous structure at such a young age might be unfathomable for most —weak minded individuals that they tended to be— but Athanasia thrived.
   She spent her first few years along the shore, learning about the Pantazis’ family tree and hearing stories from her grandmother’s past. She was quizzed or given anything ridiculously school-like, but Athanasia quickly understood that when her grandmother talked, she was meant to listen, and what she said was meant to be remembered.
   Once Athanasia reached the age of 8 1/2, she began a more formal lesson plan. Instead of spending countless hours on the beach, aimlessly chatting and relaxing, her grandmother had pushed them towards a set schedule, slowly easing them into the routine until it ran smooth like clockwork. Monday through Friday, Athanasia was expected to awaken by 7:30 am at the latest. Breakfast was served promptly at 8:00 am. If it was sunny, which in Greece it often was, she would sit with Ioanna in the dining room that opened up to the ocean, enjoying the morning breeze and faintly salty scent that would cling to her hair for the rest of the day. After that were lessons in whatever her grandmother felt compelled to teach, most often skills she deemed would bring Athanasia success or happiness in life. Then she was free from lunch til dinner, although, much to Ioanna’s delight, Athanasia often choose to take up reading in the library or by the shore, educating herself on Pureblood customs, Greek culture, and magic. It was in these years that she developed an intense love for all things magical, diving deep into its history and hungrily absorbing all the information she could find in her grandmother’s seemingly endless library.

Pantazis: Live Forever
   Two more years passed before Maia began to insist that Athanasia return to Italy. What had been little hints dropped at the beginning of the year had turned to determined requests by early June. Ioanna, with the promise that her grandchildren would come to visit her each summer, agreed. Athanasia dared not resist the change, despite having becoming heavily attached to her grandmother. Either way, she’d reasoned, she’d end up surrounded by family, which was never a bad place to be.
   The day before Athanasia was set to leave, Ioanna sat her down to commend her for how much she had grown in the past few years. She’d gone from a little girl to a promising young lady, refined and primed to carefully reflect cherished Pantazis’ ideals. Ioanna then presented her with an old silver box. Inside was a brilliant ring —a large amethyst gem encircled by shiny stones, perhaps diamonds, set on a gold band— that she’d often seen her grandmother wear and a most elegantly crafted walnut wand. Ioanna explained that the ring was a gift from her husband, Vasilios and that the wand was a Pantazis’ family treasure, passed down from generations and last wielded by Athanasia’s Great-Great-Grandmother. Ioanna said she’d always knew Athanasia would go far in life and leave a mark on the magical world. It was in her blood— practically spelled out in every aspect of her name.
   Athanasia had never felt more joyous or proud. She was one of the family now, officially inducted into the Pantazis’ family history books she’d spent so many years hearing stories from. Her grandmother’s approval, which was hard to come by, was hers for the taking.
   However, when the initial glee faded, she was left with the grave realization that she’d just been handed a deeply burdensome responsibility and a sinking feeling that she’d never adequately live up to her grandmother’s newest set of expectations.

Valenti: Strong, Healthy
   Adjusting from life in Greece to Italy was rockier than she’d expected. Suddenly she was sharing the available space and attention with 5 other siblings, each with their own individual wants and demands. It wasn’t so much that she needed constant attention —though she does function best when being fed a steady stream of compliments and praise— but rather that she didn’t know what to do with all the free time that came with being supervised on a far less intense level.
   At first, it was odd between her and her siblings. Simone, who was 8 when Athanasia moved back to Tuscany, was used to being the oldest girl in the house, and originally rejected Athanasia’s new unfamiliar authority. Soon, however, the 4 Valenti girls fell into an easy rhythm. Every morning they’d eat together, split for a couple of hours, and then reconvene for lunch. Athanasia found the sudden abundance of free time odd. Her parents weren’t too invested in what she was doing as long as she was happy and keeping out of trouble. Even without her grandmother, Athanasia continued her studies in history and magic, occasionally involving her younger siblings if she could get them to sit still long enough.
   Soon, she received her letter from Hogwarts and was forced to say goodbye the familiarities and comforts of home. From the moment she arrived, she knew that Hogwarts was not for her. Unfortunately, her parents insisted on her attendance, her mother especially adamant that Athanasia “bond” with other children her age. The school has still yet to grow on her, though she does manage to tolerate it. In her eyes, it’s just another small stepping stone on a path that will lead to greatness.

→ ADDITIONAL INFORMATION.

House Request: n/a

Personality:
Athanasia is a wealth of unnecessary luxuries, products of an insatiable need to constantly acquire the best and most extravagant. She grew up surrounded by opulence and grandeur, living the most excessive, lavish lifestyle her family could afford. Thus, she has developed a taste for life’s finer things.
Athanasia is carefully crafted decisions made in fluid succession with elegant ease. Each movement — a soft twinkling laugh, the coy bat of an eyelash, a seemingly absentminded gesture— is calculated, but played off as effortless. It is rare for her emotions to take control of her actions.
Athanasia is burning passions masked by a desire to retain an air of indifference and superiority. She is fiercely loyal to her family, both the people and the name. She is in love with magic and its rich history. She is addicted to the feeling of standing on the edge of rocky peaks overlooking Grecian waters and riding bareback across acres of lush Italian grass. She is terrified of never living up to the expectations of the family she is so hopelessly devoted to. She knows emotions are messy and create exploitable weaknesses, so she keeps her cards close to her chest.
Athanasia is the product of years of refinement. She has practiced each and every one of her grandmother’s lessons to perfection and strives each day to execute them brilliantly as if it were an art form. She is regal poise and grace with her back straight and head held high. She has learned that real class and true greatness are a state of being. It’s a way of life, not something to be declared, and so she lets her presence speak for her.

Appearance:
Athanasia is the walking dictionary-definition of class. Her hair is always styled to perfection, shiny brunette locks usually worn straight or in loose curls, framing her expertly crafted eyebrows and sharp jaw. Her eyes are an intense brown, appearing endlessly deep in their harsh, judgmental stares. She stands at exactly 5’6”, made up of long, slightly-toned limbs. Over the summer she acquires a soft, dewy tan. It fades during her months locked away in the icy Scottish spires, though luckily just slowly enough to barely last her until the next June. Her gait is elegantly smooth and would come across as aimless if she didn’t retain just enough direction and purpose so that her presence still seems significant. She moves like she’s got somewhere important to be, but she’s in no hurry to get there.

→ 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.

Response:

Athanasia had never enjoyed the dungeons. They were dark and damp and so radically different from everything she’d grown up surrounded by. Even after years at Hogwarts, she had yet to grow used to the confined, morbid feeling of the old tunnels. For the most part, Nasia tried not to dwell on feelings like this for long. It only stirred up deep feelings of homesickness, thus setting off her mood for the rest of the day and making it that much more difficult to sit through classes that barely interested her surrounded by people she often found boring or obnoxious. Luckily, before her train of thought could barrel further down tunnels of self-pity, she was interrupted by a quiet, then loud, call of what seemed to be a young girl. From the sound of it, she was quite terrified.

Had it been one of her little sisters, Athanasia would have immediately moved to comfort her, scooping her up in her arms before leading her far away from the cramped dungeon and its putrid smells. If a stranger had passed by, she would’ve wanted them to comfort her sister, to tell them the nonsensical stories about Emma Birch were just pointless lore meant to scare the first years. She would’ve hoped that the bystander would have found pity and compassion in their hearts to help a young girl out who was so clearly in need.

But this girl was not family.

Athanasia pushed down the sympathy that had begun to form in her stomach, threw her head back, and strode around the corner and into view.

“If you’re looking for Emma Birch I’m afraid you’ll be searching a while. I hear she doesn’t like to make appearances til late in the night.”

Her eyes, now willed into a bored, put-out, and all-together completely over-it stare, properly registered the child’s face. Though a little deterred by the dim lighting, she was able to make out enough features to spark a bit of recognition. Mostly, she remembered the blonde hair from the sorting ceremony. She remembered thinking it was pretty. Not prettier than hers, but not a bad set of locks to have.

“Athanasia Pantazis-Valenti.”

It was a simply stated fact. She didn’t extend her hand or offer any other form of greeting; it wasn’t needed. In fact, it was hardly important that she give the girl her full name in the first place. Anyone who needed to know it probably already knew. Still, Athanasia insisted on giving out the information, if for nothing but her own enjoyment, for she eagerly accepted any chance to announce her place in the Pantazis-Valenti clan.

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→ ABOUT YOU.

Please list any characters you have on the site (current and previous): previously Eleanor Castillo

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