Hogwarts School: A Harry Potter RPG

CHARACTER INFORMATION
Character Name: Travis Heartfelt (Originally Travis Pansterheim)
Gender: male
Age: 26

Education: 
* Completed 7 years of Hogwarts education in Ravenclaw house class of ’32.
Four years of muggle composition studies in Conservatoire de Paris.

Residence:
Wizarding London, England

Occupation
Singer, pianist, guitarist, performer, songwriter and composer of the wizarding world. Known for many wizarding hits, among them are: “I’m not Wearing an Invisibility Cloak (also known as: Why Can’t She See Me?)”, “Owl Tapping On My Window”, “The Chill of a Ghost” and of course, the all-time favourite, “Wandless in the Moonlight”. Composed and written songs for a number of other performers.

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?
No.

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.

If you want levels above the usual 32 total, or a significantly uneven distribution of starting levels, please fill out and submit the Special Request form here.

• Charms: 11
• Divination: 5
• Transfiguration: 7
• 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:
Chiara Novelli

Biography: (300 words minimum.)

Backstage, Travis wiped sweat from his face with a fresh white towel as someone draped a blanket over his shoulders and handed him a glass of water. He threw them a thanks, tilting his head slightly, it was a girl, a witch he hadn’t met before. She was looking at him with an expectant smile, she probably wanted to get well acquainted with him.

He didn’t date girls like her. Girls that thought love was the sound of his voice, the warm look in his hazel eyes or the texture of his brown locks. He learned his lesson three years ago when he debuted and thought that love of any and every form was love. What he wanted was true love, not shallow desire that could barely touch the surface of his skin. He wanted love that would pierce his heart without breaking it. The love that was greater than money and fame.

He was by now certain that it probably didn't exist.

He continued walking down the corridor to his dressing room, stretching and yawning widely. The crowd was still clapping and cheering, excited and happy. He had given them two encores, finally that was enough, he was ready to call it a night. Overall, he was satisfied with this performance. They liked the new song, although it had taken so much to get it right, the final product didn’t hold any of the ups and downs of its production.

Every time he had to give them a new song it was always like this. The dread, the anxiety, the apprehension, all mixed within his genuine excitement. A part of his mind always believed and knew that he was great, the greatest. He was confident in his success as much as he was frightened of failure. They loved him, he loved them, it was almost the best relationship of his life. (aside from the relationship he had with his house-pets)

Oh yes, there was drama, there was passion, there was a colourful range of vibrant emotions — but there had never been disappointment. When family and love always seemed to falter and fail, his relationship with the audience was slowly and surly coming to perfection.

He opened the door of his dressing room, there was someone there whom he really did not want to see. “Oops, sorry.” he closed the door, standing in the corridor with his hand on the cold brass handle. It wasn’t right, not wanting to see her. He should want it, he had thought that with time he would come to miss her. But she was repulsive to him, she irked and bugged him. No matter how much time passed, he couldn’t even muster the patience to stand in the same room as her.

Well, you could always count on her to show up after a while. He would never find out what a life without her is like. He drained the glass of water in three long gulps and cleared his throat. It would be best to get this over with.

Travis opened the door, and put the glass down on the table to his right, “Hi mum.” he said wearily looking at her. “How’ve you been?”

Mrs. Pansterheim turned, she was dressed preposterously as always, wreathed in furs and silks in bright and bizarre colours, her large lips sporting a thick coat of dark red lipstick, her cheeks pink with rogue. “How long do you expect to keep me waiting?”

Despair erupted in his heart, she was in that kind of mood. The Pansterheims used to be the lowest of low in the wizarding world. They were rather pure of blood, but dirt poor and always attracted into them the worst kinds of disgraceful witches and wizards. Travis had an aunt and an uncle in Azakaban, a distant cousin who had been exiled to Romania and his older sister’s husband first husband had been a dealer in the black market in Knucktorn alley. Their name was known to be a symbol of bad luck.

But one day, when Travis had been a young boy of six, three hundred years of terrible luck came to an abrupt ending. Father’s new business “Fashionable Stationary” suddenly became the hottest source for parchment and quills in all of Britain. Suddenly mum’s great great uncle passed away leaving her all of his fortune. Suddenly his sister’s husband died of unknown causes. Suddenly granddad’s old business venture in Morocco pulled through. Money flowed in by the buckets, and in a fortnight, the Pansterheims became part of the most prestigious circles the wizarding world.

But they lacked the style and taste of high class, especially mum. As long as it was expensive, she would wear it — not only that, she was always attracted to the ridiculous things, those that shouted for attention and sported odd and messy patterns. Their new house was cluttered with marble, gold and ornamental nonsense. There were more rooms than anyone sensible would need as well as not one or two but seven house-elves who were kept constantly busy with the strangest tasks.

No one in the Pansterheim household knew what the expectations one held of one’s children when one was filthy rich. As a boy, Travis had been pulled in numerous odd directions, scolded for the wrong things and encouraged in strange moments. There was one blessing he could think of in all this mess.

He was introduced to the piano, and thoroughly intoxicated by it. His own personal salvation from the Pansterheim chaos came in the form of that grand instrument and his private piano teacher Mr. Beetlesworth (the very first song Travis wrote and composed had been about that small, balding man with large hands, a nose the size and shape of a bread-roll and watery black eyes).

He leaned against the doorframe, bracing himself for the onslaught of emotional manipulation. “Sorry mum, when a crowd gets this hot and steamy, it’s impossible to stop.”

“That sounds absolutely appalling. How can you speak in such a dirty manner to your own mother?”

Right, wrong choice of words. He did that every time, it was a reflex. “It’s only sounds that way if your head is already in the gutter.”

She gaped at him, he couldn’t do it right. He used to have a knack for dealing with her, but he forgot what his trick was. He chose to move on, “How’s dad doing? And grandad? Still playing wizard’s chess with Felix Finnick? What’s Bertha’s third baby like? A fussy weeper too?”

The moment he stopped talking, he knew: She was going to tell him that if he was so curious about these things, he should come and visit and see for himself.

“If you’re so curious, then you should just come and see for yourself!” Mrs. Pansterheim snapped, “why do I have to come to a place like this just to lay eyes on my own son? My flesh and blood despises me so much he can’t even send an owl now and again. What wrong have I done to deserve to be treated as lesser than that ghastly, ugly beast you keep?”

Travis kept a dog, a black great dane that had everyone staring at him when they walked down the street. He also had an owl named Lillybits, whom he loved but also used for post, and Bubu was there just for the sake of love. He preferred that big dog’s warm and friendly company over that of most human beings. He didn’t like mum offending Bubu, but then Bubu didn’t really care. He was the type of amazing dog that would just wag his tail at any insult.

He was actually in the room with them, staring at mum with loving black eyes and beating his twiggy tail on the floor. “How can you say those bad things about Bubu,” Travis said, crossing the room and hugging his 85 kg companion, “look how much he likes you.”

He was provoking mum, but mum didn’t actually hate Bubu, and it was hard to hold things against him while he was looking at you. She sighed, “how long do you intend to keep up with this, Travis? Why are you like this?”

“This is who I am.” he said, scratching Bubu’s chin. “Wouldn’t the world be nicer if everyone just accepted who they are and didn’t try to pretend to be something they’re not?”

“But your family, Travis, your family is part of who you are!” She was going to pull out the tears. She was pulling out the tears. The tears were here.

“Not when my family can’t accept my way of life. Not when my family is sabotaging my career. And especially, not when my family is trying to force me to marry someone’s daughter just because she’s someone’s daughter.”

“Oh your way of life! Your career! What nonsense!” mum’s face was red with anger, her voice rose in pitch. “I never, never in my life thought that my own son would be so… so un-magical! So muggle! So disgusting and dirty! Leaving off to France to that harrowing muggle school right the day after you completed all yours NEWTs. Going about with all those muggle musicians. How could my son associate with those vile creatures?!”

Travis stopped her speech by violently throwing down the towel he was still clutching in his hand. He got to his feet and threw off the blanket that was still draped over his shoulders. “Come on Bubu, we’re leaving.” The great dane lightly rose, man and dog passing mum and walking towards the door. Travis turned his head before leaving. “Contrary to what you believe, music is the greatest of all magics in this world or in any world. You’ve never touched a person’s heart like I have, so of course, you’ll never know how very powerful I really am.”

With that he left through the door and both he and Bubu apperated away.



Roleplay: 
You come across one of these posts on the site. Please select one & reply as your character:

Option One -
Amelia Nixon was many things, but she was never a pushover reporter that people could just usher away with a busy shuffle past. She was dedicated and eager to cut to the very middle of the current political tensions because she was Amelia Nixon and her articles would most certainly become front page material.

“Sir, please! It’s for the Prophet, how do you feel-“

Another one brushed passed her, the shuffling busy masses making their way through Diagon Alley for the lunchtime rush. This had been the best possible time to get people, but none of them were giving her anything to go with.

Only momentarily discouraged, the short red headed lady took a seat on a nearby bench. Her quill resting in her left hand and her notepad ready in the opposite hand. Amelia pouted, tapping the quill against her leg as she scanned the waves of people for somebody - anybody - who looked like they had something to say.

She had been dreaming of her name in bold print, Amelia Nixon: The Source of Today’s Tomorrow. She had been dreaming of the larger office and the secretaries that would fetch her the morning coffee and fetch her anything she needed. The VIP interviews and the most exclusive press passes. But all Amelia had was a page seventeen piece on the rising number of frogs in London.

Hardened by a day of no success, the reporter stood up and started to trod off down the alley. A loose stone on the cobble path caught her heel, sending the distraught girl toppling down to the ground.

“Merlin’s fog watch, my heel is broken! Help!” she yelled as she tried desperately to recover her shoe frantically in the middle of the Diagon Alley moving crowds.


Roleplay Response:
Type your response here.

Travis Heartfelt waved at someone who randomly waved at him. Most people didn’t expect him to walk around Diagon Alley in broad daylight, so they didn’t actually notice he was him. Indeed, he had many qualities that are quite appealing in a man, and wouldn’t argue with anyone who thought he was handsome. But unless his songs or his face were in the mind of someone who passed him in the street, they wouldn’t recognise him.

It was surprising how little people looked into other people’s faces. Bubu was with him upon this lovely day, they had gone off for a stroll with no particular business in mind. There was no gig for tonight, no pressing work. A sense of calm and tranquility was all that was needed.

Like all the people on the street, he was occupied with his own world and didn’t notice the young reporter struggling against the stream. He didn’t notice her fall and lose her shoe, until he took the next step and found himself treading on something.

He picked it up, turning it over in his hands, before his gaze trailed towards the woman it belonged to. Confidently, he crossed towards her, offering to help her to her feet with the hand that wasn’t holding a shoe. “Dangerous choice of footwear, I would say, dear girl.”

OTHER
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