Hogwarts School: A Harry Potter RPG

Shop name: WICKéd'sCANDALS (WICKéd's Candles, but misspelled- and note the lack of [space] between words)
Shop Type: Magical Candle, Balm, and Wax Seal Shop
Location: Knockturn Alley
Subforum? If approved, I will take out a Shop Owner's subscription

Short Description (50 words max): Romantic candles with a kick; salves, balms and ointments; protective seals: your one-stop spot for all your wax-based needs! 
Long Description (200 words min):
The Approach.  The entry to Wickéd's Candles is much like any other business in Knockturn Alley- mossy bricks with the occasional blackish film, with the smells of earth and some sort of pervasive unpleasantness that cannot be described in mere words.  The owner has done nothing to dissuade customers from the obvious- Knockturn Alley is not the most savoury place to be.

Above the large picture window is a copperplate sign, remarkable only by its 'newness' and interesting paint choice:

The single large window display bears: tier upon tier of candelabra; candlesticks of every ilk (from black wrought iron to some sort of luminescent crystal and everything in between); some resting on pedestals and risers, others hovering naturally in the air.
The simple flames from each of the hundred-odd specimens dance and sway gently, producing a mesmerizing movement of intoxicating bliss.  Written on the glass proclaim these products to be low-scent, smokeless, and created using age-old methods.  The words across the bottom of the glass proclaim the shop is Open Monday-Tuesday 10am - 6pm and Thursday-Saturday 10am - 8pm.  Closed on Wednesday and Sunday.

The Store.  The interior of the shop is unusual in its shape due to its location wedged between two larger, more prominent shops.  The frontage itself marks the widest part of the room, then stretches back quite a distance to where the back two walls meet.  The five-walled room gives the impression of a much longer space because of this illusion- an illusion Mr. MacDonald has taken great lengths to enhance: furniture and fixtures are 20% smaller at the far end of the room, gradually increasing towards the front.

The front of the shop closest to the door is the counter where Newton sits, with a tall barstool off to one side whereupon a client might sit and look through the various colors, styles, and spells available to them for custom order.  A small sign attached to the register invokes the rules of the store:

A small display of honey candies sits in a closed jar next to the register- moving about like live bees in a provocative little dance.  The little sign on the jar proclaims that this dance is to lead the customer back to here.  It is important to note that the entire store is lit entirely by candlelight, which surely must be done by hand- a mass-lighting charm would be disastrous in such a place.  It is slightly warm in the shop, but less so than would be imagined considering all the open flame.

Along both of the long walls are shelf-upon-tiered-shelf of colorful candles in neat boxes, punctuated on occasion by a display of one sort or another.  Little placards divide these areas up by scent, color, and magical disposition.

Through the center is a long table neatly dividing the store in two.  On this table are various, more specialized items- candle sets and candle holders of all sorts; sealing waxes and novelty candles hand-carved into prominent wizard's visages; and tea-candles that magically refill any teacup that comes near with a variety of teas.  Also here are a variety of cauldrons- an alternative to buying from the stores in Diagon Alley.

The back corner where the two short walls meet is another display featuring several of the more jovial entires- cake-eating candles; singing or chanting candles; pairs of teleporting flame-candles (that magically light their twin when blown out regardless of distance); even candles that don't create shadows.  Along the right back wall is a doorway leading to a narrow staircase that leads to Newton's apartment above.  Opposite, on the left back wall, is a single unisex lavatory.

The Apartment.  Newton's apartment is fully furnished with antique but well-kept furniture, giving it an almost-museum quality.  It features a study, a spare bedroom, a spare-bedroom-turned library, a third-story master bedroom, a full kitchen, and a large dining area.  On the roof is a small garden and even smaller apiary.  A laundry chute leads to the Basement (storage) area below.

All of the artwork here is of places, not people- there is no evidence of family at all.  Even a cursory glance would let a person know that Newton doesn't receive much company, and the place desperately needs a woman's touch.

The Basement.  At the base of the staircase leading up is a candelabra of seven attached to the wall- if they are blown out in the correct sequence and then the candelabra is pulled, the first flight of stairs leading to the landing collapse, leading to a basement level below.  In this room are the equipment for a large-scale mead-making operation and candle-making apparati; along with boxes of supplies.  A laundry chute can be used to access the apartment two stories above.

A secret passageway behind some of these boxes leads to a second, larger room fitted with comfortable seats and a fancy table that change from Dining to Pool to Craps to Poker at a command.  A well-stocked bar punctuates the far corner, and a hearing tube allows those at the bar to hear not only what is going on in the store above them, but outside on the street as well.  In all, the room might comfortably house a dozen people, with up to thirty in a pinch.

Featured prominently behind a glass case in a niche in the wall are three unlit black candles in golden candelabras.  No telling sign or significance is given to them, but they are obviously somehow held in reverence.

Another secret passageway leads from here to the Knockturn Alley sewer system.

What purpose will this shop serve other than selling things and being the home of your character? Why would people want to RP there just for fun?  In addition to Utility items such as self-lighting candles, floating candles, and person-specific 'locked' wax seals, WICKéd's Candles sells a variety of novelty items: charmed candles to increase emotions, desires, or other attributes; and 'prank' items: cake-eating candles, head enlargers/shrinkers, and potentially more unsavory magicks.

Given Newton's history as an Arcanologist (specifying in Dark Arts artifacts), and his relative neutrality to the idea of the Dark Arts, things of that sort might abound here as well.  Also, Newton has begun manufacturing honey-mead in the basement- and is gently reaching out as a potential site for clandestine parties/rendezvous (perhaps Resistance?). 

SO: light-hearted prankish fun; customers trying to recapture (or persuade) love, glory, or luck; nefarious/dark meetings; and secretive stuff.

[OOC: The main premise of the items here are candle-based potions, essentially- invoking spells/effects when the candles are lit, similarly to when potions are drank/tossed/etc.  Much like potions, the effects are built-in, and must be prepared ahead of time.  A candle is created with a specific effect in mind, much as a potion.

it is understood that many prank items require special permissions; this simply provides a vehicle for roleplaying these special situations.]  The Charms used in Newt's candles are compulsions rather than demands- they can't force a person to do something against their will.  Those kinds of charms require a more practical approach (permission from on high and probably a good thread)...]

Certainly not.  I'm sure that his capture and subsequent time in the POW camp began with all of his possessions being confiscated.  Even if it had not been, Newton would certainly have gotten rid of the blasted thing for all the misery it caused.

CHARACTER INFORMATION
Character Name: Newton Yune MacDonald.
Gender: Male.
Age: 44.  Born September 7, 1935 (pre Time-Warp).

Education: 
Graduated 1953 from Hogwarts School of Wizardry and Witchcraft.  Ravenclaw.  Head Boy.
6 years private study within the Lustrous order of the Hyadum, a secretive organization of 7th-born wizarding children.

Residence:
The Azure Crescent, a boarding house in London (temporary).

Occupation
Arcanologist (study of lost, ancient, and unused magical items, with special interest in Dark Arts artifacts).

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?
Recently released from St. Mungo's, perhaps (see bio).

Requested Magic Levels:

• Charms: 11.
• Divination: 5.
• Transfiguration: 9.
• Summoning: 7.

(These seem a bit low for Newton, but I don't recall what his levels were at graduation.  So let's just play along.)

Do you wish to be approved as a group with any other characters? If so who and for what IC reason?
Not at this time.

Please list any other characters you already have at the site:
None.

Biography: (300 words minimum.)
Things took a turn for Newton by age 24, the start of the '60's.  After his da' had blamed magic in general and Newton specifically for his mum's death, and after his little sister had been disowned for being a 'damnable witch', Newton had assumed guardianship and sent her to Hogwarts. He and his girlfriend, Bridgit Wilkinson, had started to get serious- he'd even bought a ring.  The Lustrous Order of Hyadum had granted him full Fellowship status within their organization, above his colleague Reginald Lark (who had an additional two years membership and seniority).

This would prove to be a turning point in his life.  In the December 1960, Mr. Lark was asked by Newt to pick up his sister at the train station for Winter Holiday.  By that evening, Newton was worried, as they had not arrived.  By the next day, he filed a Missing Person's report on them both.  By the following Friday, it was discovered that Reginald Lark, as an act of revenge, had kidnapped poor Heather.
The worst of it, Newton knew it was going to happen.  Heather, a talented Diviner, had warned him weeks in advance that she wouldn't be coming home.  When he'd pressed her for more information, she'd said something about 'Don Fawns, She Chews', which made no sense.  In the weeks after her disappearance, he'd discovered 'Dong Fong Chi Chu'- the 'pearl of the Orient', was a poetic name for Hong Kong.  He used his position within the Hyadum to grant him field study, and booked a portkey.  A letter to his beloved Bridgit was all that marked his move- he left without saying goodbye to anyone because- aside from Bridgit, Heather, and the Hyadum- he had no one to say goodbye to.

Reginald Lark was the son of the late Wizard Ambassador to Hong Kong, and he had grown up there.  If he had taken Heather here, it would be like finding a needle in a field full of haystacks.  Finding him- and through him, her- would become Newt's obsession for the next decade.  Every day meant another opportunity to scour the streets, then the neighboring countryside.  He traveled into China, following every lead.  Countless times he found himself without a clue, without a hope.  Dark times.

Call for dark measures.  Newton was never good at Divination himself, but he had worked with items and artifacts of that sort for years.  He found a small weapon, a blade no bigger than a razor.  A handle that made it look cheap.  It came wrapped in black silk, in a lead-lined cedar box marked with the Chinese symbol for 'curse'.  This one in particular allowed a wizard to look through the eyes of someone they hated.  As much as he loved his sister, he began to hate Reg Lark.  He imagined him doing horrible things to her, causing her suffering, pain... death.  Newton's rage increased with every imagined slight.  It cost him blood; and sweat; and nightmares that became a part of him.  But he found Reg's trail.  Found himself winding through China, into Laos, and finally into war-torn Vietnam.

He met up with Reginald Lark in a small hut in a village just south of the DMZ, during a firefight between the Americans and an insurgance of North Vietnamese.  Reg had been hit with a stray bullet the night before, rendering his wand-arm useless; he was recovering in the village infirmary.  It was here that Reginald Lark finally got his revenge upon Newton.  Heather MacDonald was dead, and by Reginald Lark's hand- but it was still Newt's fault.  The weapon that Reg had left for Newt to find, he explained, was cursed.  Yes, it allowed the user to see through the eyes of one he hated.  But the visions, the nightmares, the hallucinations the user suffered- those were projected onto the victim, who couldn't help but act them out. Newton imagined terrible acts against his sister; Reginald had no choice but to oblige.

In a rage, Newton slashed down upon his sister's killer- and found that the blade went through Reginald Lark without a scratch! The weapon could not harm the user's worst hate- a final, cruel betrayal.  Newton could do nothing but scream in frustration and madness, as the horrible truth mocked him where he stood.  The scream caught the attention of the Viet Cong; machine guns tore the hut, and Reg, to pieces.  By cruel twist of fate, Newton survived.

When the Time Shift occured, Newton had been flat on his back on a grass mat in a tiny cell in the middle of a camp, a prisoner of war for who knows how long.  Now he was on the jungle floor in the middle of the jungle, with no roads or markings of any kind to guide him and nothing but the clothes on his back to help him.  His wand had long been confiscated, and with it the majority of his magic. 

His life in shambles.  He wandered for weeks, certain that he had died and had gone to a hell of his own design.  A villager found him near-dead in a rice field, and the one person in town with a truck took him to the city.  He was discovered by the Wizarding Community at this time, as a task force had been set up to handle the confusion and strife caused by the shift.
Newton has spent the last several years of his life as a patient in St. Mungo's, undergoing 'therapy'.  Sometimes, after a sorrowful day with many failures and shock treatment, when he first flutters his eyes in exhausted sleep, he dreams he can see what his doctor is doing. (Probably not real.  Unless you say it can be, in which case it is still very rare and a horrifying experience for Newt.)

But all this is behind him, for he has been released with a clean bill of health! (Or he has found a way out and is on the lam.  That might be fun!)

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:
Newton coughed under his breath, bringing his hands up too slow to catch the heat that escaped with it.  But that was okay, he'd be home soon enough.  He looked up only briefly to catch the street sign, then wiped his beard with his hand quickly, trying to keep the snow away from him as much as possible.  He couldn't feel his fingers any longer, but that was okay, too.  The newspapers he had stuffed up his sleeves kept his core warm, at any rate.
People were walking to and fro, stepping in his way in a way designed to annoy him.  The signs in the windows exclaimed 'Christmas 1941!' in bold red and green, causing Newton to shake his head and cough again.  Thick and heavy.  Dangerously so.

He remembered.  He remembered 1941 clear enough.  He'd grown up in muggle Scotland.  His mum and da' had a little flat by a stream.  He was the seventh of eight siblings, and all but he, his mum, and his little sister were muggles.  He wondered if they'd recognize him.  Then he wondered if they even existed here, in this reality.  Let's see, there was Heather, his littlest sister, then...
...good Scottish names!  Tip of the tongue.  Bruce?  Beauregard?  One of those... Donald was next- wait, Donald MacDonald?  That didn't seem right.  He coughed.
And looked up again, just in time to see gold and red flash before him. "Coming th--- arrrgh!" came a noise from in front of him, and a sudden rush of movement directed at his face!  Instinct kicked in.

Not the old instinct.  From before.  He was better now.  Better.

He closed his eyes as the tinsel fell on him much as the snow had.  He couldn't feel it anyway.
He felt the box as it collided with his chest, pushing him back on the snowy ground and threatening to put him on his back.  But he was calm.  Not at all like before.
"For Merlin's sake!" the man called out angrily. "I am so sorry! This blasted snow!"
"No, my apologies," he replied, calm and collected.  "Didn't see you there.  Do you need help with anything?"
Then his cough, his damnable cough, burbled up from his chest, disrupting his show of strength.  He was feeling old.

He glanced down at the package now dispersed on the ground before him.  St. Mungo's it read.  Newt winced, panicked for a second, trying to pull the tinsel out of his scraggly beard.

 "Watch where you're going next time!" he mumbled hurriedly, pressing past the man quickly.  ~If he was from St. Mungo's, he might recognize me,~ he thought, ~and nobody wants that.~

OTHER
How did you find us? Other.  I did a little digging to find the old boards, and that led me here.