Hogwarts School: A Harry Potter RPG

 

CHARACTER INFORMATION
Character Name: Andrei Lockley
Gender: Male
Age: 19
Blood Status: Pureblood

Education: 
Hogwarts (Slytherin ’43)

Residence:
London, Knockturn Alley

Occupation
Up To No Good

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?
nope.

Requested Magic Levels:
Adult characters have 32 starting levels to distribute across these four categories (less levels can be used if you so desire, but no more than 32). The number of levels on the lowest ability must be at least half of the highest ability.

• Charms: 9
• Divination: 6
• Transfiguration: 8
• Summoning: 9

Do you wish to be approved as a group with any other characters? If so who and for what IC reason?
nope

Please list any other characters you already have at the site:
Elias Irigoyen, Lucifer Morgenstern, D’Arcy St. James, Skade Larsen, Josephine Darling

Biography: (300 words minimum.)

July 19th, 1926. 5:45 PM. Sofia, Bulgaria.

Nadya held the squirming babe in her arms. Its skin was still red and splotchy, as it wasn’t yet an hour old. Still, its lungs were strong enough to fill the small house with the sound of unhappy shrieking. In contrast, the infant in the older woman’s arms was oddly silent; it was clear the twins would be different as day and night.

“Mama,” murmured the younger woman. At the sound of his mother’s voice, the screaming baby quieted, and both adults gave a sigh of relief.

The older woman moved to her daughter’s side, and gently combed Nadya’s curls off of her clammy forehead.

“Write to Patrick. Tell him his sons are born,” she continued. Nadya’s mother began to protest, but the younger woman continued.

“They’re called Anton and Andrei. Write him, mama, please.”

Decemeber 3rd, 1930. Prague, Czechoslovakia.

The twins stood side by side, dressed in identical quilted overcoats, their dark hair powdered white by snow. Silently, they admired the tall buildings and wide boulevard; this was their new home, their mother had told them.

“No, they’re not identical,” repeated their mother to a curious passerby for the hundredth time that evening. She was struggling with three heavy suitcases, and her dark curls had spilled out from under the scarf she wore. The landlord who was renting her a loft was thirty minutes late, and her children were starting to grow impatient. Nadya knew that as long as Anton behaved, Andrei would follow his lead—but even the precocious Anton was beginning to tire. It was a long train ride from Sofia the Prague, and the two boys had put up with the journey quite well; their mother knew that their good behavior couldn’t last much longer.

With a curse that she hoped her sons didn’t pick up—they were starting to repeat phrases they’d heard—she unfolded a letter from the landlord; the address on the front, a passerby told her, was a little more than three kilometers away. She sighed. With the suitcases and four-year-olds, this would be a very long walk. 

August, 1936. Liverpool, England.

“And you will behave,” Nadya reminded the two boys in front of her. They were both tall and lanky, their knees scabbed and their shorts dirty. Their faces, though different, wore identical expressions of mischief. 

“Yes, Mama,” replied one. The other just giggled.

Nadya let out a sign. There was no controlling the twins, she’d learned after ten years of mothering them; they made their own decisions—at least, Anton did. Andrei just followed his older twin’s lead.

“Nadya.”

The voice was deep, refined; the man it belonged to practically screamed old money. Tall, pale, and blond: Patrick Lockley carried himself with confidence that had once made Nadya’s heart flutter. Now, it just made her feel tired.

“You haven’t aged a day,” he complimented her. His voice was impartial and held not a hint of sincerity.

“Patrick,” she replied in a clipped tone. “It’s good to see you.”

She didn’t make an effort to disguise the lie, and she saw him recoil at her use of his own tactics.

“I take it these are the boys?” he asked, rapidly changing the subject. The twins stared up at him, unsmiling.

“Yes,” Nadya answered. “Anton. Andrei. Do you have all your bags?.”

They nodded, and Patrick placed a hand on his sons’ shoulders.

“Then we will be on our way,” stated Patrick Lockley curtly. “Nadya, it was nice to see you.”

June 1943. Hogwarts Grounds

We did it, Andrei thought numbly. Anton sat beside him, staring into the distance. Both boys had their feet in the chilly water; at a glance they looked like mirror images of the other, but closer scrutiny revealed subtle differences. The letters in their hands, however, were identical, apart for the names on the front. The message was the same: after much consideration, it had been decided that the Lockley twins would graduate with the rest of their class. Poor notes and even poorer exam scores had made the decision difficult, and the brothers’ behavior hadn’t counted in their favor. Still, Anton and Andrei were graduating, and leaving the castle in barely a week.

Anton broke the silence.

“Let’s go back to Bulgaria,” he suggested. Not unexpectedly, Andrei nodded in agreement. 

“Alright,” he conceded. “I’ll write to mother.”

May 1944. Moscow, Russia.

A bullet whizzed right over Andrei’s hiding spot, and the young man threw himself to the ground.  Desperately, he searched the shadows for his twin, but he couldn’t risk using lumos lest he give away his own location.

“Protego!”

The whisper came from twenty feet to his left, between two Russian tanks. The sound of a bullet bouncing off of a shield spell echoed through the alley, then Anton was by his side. Both men were breathing hard, and Andrei could see the fear in his brother’s eyes.

A lot had changed in the past year. Their trip back to Bulgaria had gone as planned, but the twins quickly grew bored of Sofia. With the encouragement of their mother, the brothers started a trip around Europe, working odd jobs to pay the cost of travel and food. Greece, Romania, war-torn Italy; they traveled off the beaten path, and eventually arrived in Russia. 

There, they’d fallen in with muggle smugglers. Contraband weapons, drugs, moonshine; these men met demands with supplies, and Anton saw a business opportunity. To be fair, they did make quite a profit—only they’d been forced to abandon it all, along with any material possessions, when the NKVD raided the smuggling circle’s headquarters.

A cry pierced the night, and Andrei knew that a smuggler had fallen. He didn't even have time to register the death of his friend before Anton was pulling him backwards, towards the mouth of alley and away from the NKVD agents.

"Anton!" he exclaimed. "We can't leave them there!"

Anton kept running, dragging his twin along by the collar of his coat.

"We don't have a choice, Andrei. If we go back, we die," hissed Anton, his expression livid. They'd reached the end of the alley, and Anton released his twin, who immediately started back towards the sound of gunfire.

"Andrei, don't," pleaded Anton, and his voice betrayed fear. "There is nothing we can do! They're as good as dead."

Another cry came from the alley, proving Anton's point.

"We need to leave," whispered Anton furiously. "Now. We can be out of Russia by tomorrow if find brooms."

Andrei hesitated, recognizing the truth to Anton's words but reluctant to abandon his friends in the alleyway. Anton gave him one last look, then turned and hurried down the street, pulling his hat down to cover his face. 

Andrei stood alone at the mouth of the alleyway. He could hear the gunfire ricocheting off of brick walls, and the frantic cries of the smugglers desperately trying to regroup. His twins' form, on the other hand, was rapidly disappearing into the gloom of the Moscow streets, and Andrei knew he was running out of time to make a decision.

He didn't look back as he took off after his brother.

June 1945. London, United Kingdom.

Andrei waited outside of his Patrick's office. Anton was in there, discussing their situation with their father. Penniless but unscathed, the twins had arrived back from the Moscow disaster a week ago. Without funds or a place to stay, they'd had no choice but to use their Lockley heritage, their final weapon, as a means of survival. If all went well, Anton would secure both of them jobs with Patrick. With a little money and employment, they could leave behind their criminal past; if their father refused to help them, Andrei didn't know what they would do or where they would go. Not back to Russia, that was for sure.

The muffled screaming coming from the office had stopped a few minutes ago, replaced by an ominous silence which was broken by angry footsteps. The door clicked open, and Anton stormed past, not sparing his twin a glance. Before the double doors clicked back shut, Andrei caught a glimpse of his father seated at his desk, head between his hands. With a muttered curse, he took off after his twin.

Anton was waiting on the street corner, cigarette dangling from his lips. Andrei didn't have to ask; the meeting hadn't gone well, and the twins were once again left to their own devices.

"It's okay," Anton reassured his twin, but Andrei heard the doubt in his voice.

"I know a guy," Anton continued. "In Knockturn Alley. He'll have a job for us."


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:
Andrei was on a job. Or rather, Anton was on a job, and Andrei was standing guard for his twin. He didn’t mind; the politics of these gigs bored him, and he preferred waiting that part out outside. He trusted Anton would figure out the logistics: that’s what his twin was good at. Andrei, on the other hand, was good at punching things.

His still smooth cheeks were red from the cold, betraying his youth. His posture and his expression suggested a weariness beyond his years, but no matter how threatening he looked, he couldn’t manage to grow a real beard.

With a sign that fogged up the air in front of him, Andrei pushed himself off of the wall he’d been leaning on. He knew of a bakery not a block away, and a cup of hot coffee was tempting. Without gloves, his fingers had turned white and numb; a couple minutes inside couldn’t hurt, since Anton wasn’t due to be done for at least another hour. These deals always took ages.

He’d barely taken ten steps before he felt something collide with him. It didn’t hurt—he was a tall young man, and it took more than a shove to make him stumble—but he was used to people giving him a wide berth.

"I am so sorry! This blasted snow!" apologized an old man as he picked himself off of the slippery ground. Andrei didn’t offer to help him up, nor did he pick up any of the long tinsel strands that now decorated the street.

“You should be more careful, old man,” snarled Andrei. He wasn’t really angry, only bored; anyway, aggression came naturally to him—it was second nature by now.

“Next time, I’m sorry won’t do you any good.”

It was an empty threat; Andrei had no intention of actually harming the poor bugger, but a good scare might teach him some manners.
 

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