Application for Hogwarts School
→ CHARACTER INFORMATION.
Name: Hartley Aymeric Seavers
Birthday: May 18th, 1923
Hometown: Wrexham, England
Bloodline:
Muggleborn / Halfblood / Pureblood / Unknown
Magical Strength (pick one):
Divination / Transfiguration / Charms / Conjuring & Summoning
Magical Weakness (pick one):
Divination / Transfiguration / Charms / Conjuring & Summoning
Year (pick two): Fourth/Fifth
Biography:
March 15th, 1930
“
’The Seavers? Nasty bunch of broads, I’d say. Vicious witches, really, the way they run their families. The poor men! Ought to be treated better than a bunch of house elves I’d like to think. But what’s a girl to do? Not every family’s perfect.’ That’s what they said! I tell you, that’s what they said. Downright snooty.” Margot paced across the back porch frantically.
“It doesn’t matter what anyone is saying, Margot, I am the head of this estate and I run this family with great dignity and pride. Let the whole world talk for Merlin’s sake, I don’t care. We’re strong.” Hartley’s grandmother, Anastasia, sat poised in her rocker, a pair of knitting needles knitting away in front of her. Hartley half cowered, half eavesdropped in the corner of the deck. It was quite common to find the young boy hiding from the women in his family. Frankly, they
were quite frightening. Especially given the light his father painted them in, but nonetheless, despite his young age,Hartley found the political conversation rather interesting.
“If it wasn’t for my father...” Hota started, but Anastasia silenced her.
“Your father is a dignified man and he has a lot of pressure from his friends at the Ministry to maintain his manly stature within the family. You can’t blame my son for trying his damndest to uphold a good reputation. It’s in our blood after all. Still, you shouldn’t be finding him any sort of threat. His wayward attempts at creating a patriarchy of us are just that; wayward.” Anastasia stopped her needles and, with a flick of her wand, stashed them away in a basket at her feet. “Hartley, what are you doing way over there? Come here and sit with Nana.”
Hartley got up very hesitantly. He blinked rapidly, working very hard to avoid his sister’s gaze. Slowly, he wandered over to Anastasia, making his way through his many toy brooms and cauldrons. Privilege was for granted within the Seavers family. “Come, come.” Anastasia beckoned, waving her hand in an almost impatient manner. Benjamin moved more assuredly now until he’d finally reached his Nana’s rocker. With an groan of struggle, Anastasia lifted Hartley from his underarms and placed him curtly on her lap.
“Getting heavy, my dear little Hartley. Almost seven, yes?” Hartley nodded. “Such a pretty young boy. You’ve got so many years ahead of you, unlike your father and your uncle.” She cradled his head in her arm, pressing it firmly against her breast. “Just promise Nana you won’t turn out anything like those conniving, cowardly rats of men, alright?” Hartley nodded.
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November 29th, 1935
Hogwarts wasn’t at all what Hartley anticipated, in more ways than one. In some ways, it was nice how it hadn’t been as scary as he’d previously thought. At first glance, between the massive towers turrets and the expansive existential grounds, Hartley thought he’d surely be swallowed whole by the castle and its entire student body. The fact that it hadn’t was indeed a relief. On the other hand, though, Hartley had also anticipated making a nice amount of new friends. A family besides his blood relatives whom he could share stories with, laugh with, and maybe even break a few rules with. However, it turned out Hartley had become a bit of loner in the first couple of years he spent at Hogwarts. Maybe it was something he’d done (though he couldn’t ever place his finger on what when he thought hard about it) or maybe it was because the surname ‘Seavers’ wasn’t exactly held in the highest regard around Britain.
Whatever the case, as weeks turned into months, and then into years, as they often do, it seemed more people were afraid of Hartley than he’d even met. He wanted friends, probably more than he wanted good marks in his classes, but nobody even gave him the time of day anymore. Meals alone, studying alone, down time in the common room alone. A report that Hartley hadn’t even tried to create had begun following him around the school like a poltergeist.
Today, Hartley sat over a book in the library. It wasn’t studying, but it was interesting enough, and it killed time.
How to Approach Your Reputation as a Wizard. The book went on and on about how to become a famous wizard, what it meant to be a famous wizard. It even went as far as talking about the proper placing to dine out as a famous wizard. Hartley wasn’t famous by any means, but it seemed people knew the name.
’Hartley Seavers? I hear he pushed a kid off the Astronomy Tower in his first year! And the boy was a sixth year!’ Rumors; poppycock.
’Yeah, I heard of him. I heard he turned in a report on the Unforgivable Curses and how to use them his first day of Defense Against the Dark Arts this year.’ Well, not entirely untrue. He had returned a report on the Unforgivable Curses his first day, but certainly not how to use them. What balderdash!
A sound came from the aisle one over from Hartley and he slammed the book shut, stuffing it quickly into his rucksack. Pushing out his chair from behind him, a large scuffing noise drew out from the wood against the floor, and warranted a rather nasty shush from somewhere behind him. Hartley turned around to the source of the noise and saw a girl, clearly older than him, a Hufflepuff, grow wide eyed, throw all of her things into her bag and scurry off, knocking down her own chair as she did so.
Hartley cast his gaze down to his feet. The noise from the other aisle, that threatened what he was doing in his personal time, was of no importance anymore. Whoever it was would hardly want to start a rumor about the almighty Hartley Seavers. Perhaps it was no use, trying anymore. Perhaps he ought to accept this as his fate, dreary, depressing, and downtrodden as it was...
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June 27th, 1938
“Hartley, could you come in here?” The voice rang from downstairs and, looking up from his magazine, Hartley rolled his eyes. It was always something in this house. Apparently it had become too much to ask for time away from other wizards in this household. Ignoring the beckoning, Hartley looked out the window to the left of his bed. The family estate sat perched upon a large knoll in the distance. All of the Seavers lived within walking distance of each other, and as much as it drove Hartley’s uncle and father mad, he quite liked being so close to his aunts and grandmother. Nana Anastasia was always there to salve the wound that his father was on the family name.
“Hartley! Have you gone deaf!? Come down here this instant!” The voice was much louder now and quite intense. Hartley tossed his magazine into the waste bin over by his desk and marched out of his room. Down the long spiral staircase and into the drawing room, Hartley wondered to himself why his family kept the enormous house, especially when his father hated being close to the family so much. He really was quite the twit.
Hartley turned the glass knob leading into his father’s study and pushed open the door. It took some effort as dozens of stacks of books lay messily strewn across the floor. Hartley’s father, Anjou, sat at the desk in front of what looked like a hundred or so pages of notes. His glasses were pushed back up onto his head and his head lay resting in his palm. Hartley stood there silently for a few moments, taking in the insanity of the scene before him. His father belonged in St. Mungo’s more than anything else.
“What?” He finally sputtered out, an air of disdain in his voice.
“I don’t know why you can’t respect your father, Hartley. You know I spend my days wiling away at the Ministry, to come home and work until the earliest hours of the morning on this.” He motioned to papers in front of him, his arm framing the desk grandiosely. “Why you can’t heed my call when it comes, and perhaps take a little bit of the strain off of your parent, is completely beyond me. Selfish boy. Now listen.” Anjou stood up. The wheels on his chair struggled to move backwards as they’d rusted into place from old age, but Anjou got up just fine, standing quite tall. Hartley thanked Merlin he didn’t fall, as it could be assumed that laughing at his father’s misfortune at this point in time, was probably not in the best of choices.
“I’ve been working for
years on this... project, I suppose you could call it, with your Uncles Rhodes, and I think we’ve finally got far enough in that we can get started. Obviously, for this to work, we’re going to need the assistance of all the men tied to this family, and as much as it pains me, that includes you.” Hartley rolled his eyes once more. He’d become rather fond of that gesture. “So then,” Anjou continued, “You’re step number one. Make no mistake, as incapable of achieving much of anything as I know you to be, this task is quite important. It’s not difficult, but it matters. Come July, you’ll be returning to the summer camp at Hogwarts.”
“But, fa-” Hartley started. He hated the summer camp, but Anjou cut him off assertively.
“Shut up child. You
will return to the summer camp, and whilst there, I need you to begin writing letters to your grandmother. She’ll enjoy hearing from you and won’t think much of it. However, within these letters, there are very keys pieces of information I’ll need you to include. The first of which I’ll give to you now, the rest of which will be sent by owl.” Anjou pulled a folded up piece of parchment from his breast pocket and handed it to Hartley. “Out loud, if you please.”
Hartley gingerly opened up the parchment. It was a list, scrawled out messily in Anjou’s handwriting. Clearing his throat, Hartley began to read down the parchment. “Margot; side job at Hogwarts, tutoring Muggleborns. Hota; embezzling funds from estate payroll. Jillian, Gezabelle, Arnette...” Hartley’s heart sank deeper and deeper into his stomach with each name. It was blackmail, pure blackmail. Or worse, it was-
“The start of the turnover. I’m telling you, Hartley, the men should head this family. The name has been soiled by the ignorance, and lack of grace every woman in this family has been flaunting for decades. It’s high time we took the reigns and brought this family the glory it deserves.” Hartley sighed heavily. It was embarrassing and made every interaction with his father uncomfortable, and it wasn’t that Hartley didn’t understand his father’s position. On the contrary, it made quite a bit of sense. It was rather that he, Hartley, preferred the matriarchy. He admired the strength and ambition of the women in the Seavers family, and he aspired to be like them. So then, what would his aunts, and cousins, and sisters do in this position?
“Alright.” Hartley said, in a suddenly assured manner. “I’ll do it. We’ll bring this family around, won’t we father.” A smile, twinkling with surprise, swept across Anjou’s face.
“Yes, we will.” He tousled Hartley’s hair, turned him around, and gave him a slight push towards the office door. As Hartley left the office, feel his father sweep the door shut by magic, he had his own smile. A cunning, wry smile.
”Yes, father. We will bring this family around. You think you’ve got me in your hands, but just wait until Nana Anastasia finds. The row will be one for the books and I intend on being there for it all.”[/color]
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House Request: ----------------------
Personality: --------------------
Appearance: ---------------------
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Option 2
“Oh, come now!"
Astrid Bixby’s voice carried down the corridor, the tall blonde girl not far behind. Her interviewee – or victim, depending on perspective – turned a corner and she frowned. They were always soelusive when she needed them. Sure, they would talk as if there was no tomorrow during class, but once she actually needed them to say something, they were nowhere to be found. Gryffindors.
Flustered, Astrid stopped in the middle of the corridor and stared, her parchment hanging limply from her hand. She was a good reporter, really, and she always did her best to make sure that everything she wrote was accurate. She glanced down to the quill, eyeing it with disdain. It wasn’t her fault if her quill misquoted. How was she supposed to know? It made for interesting articles, at least, and if she had misquoted the Head Boy last term as saying he had a love for stuffed animals, then that gave him personality. Astrid sighed.
A pout formed on her lips as she turned away, discouraged. The corridor was mercifully empty, though the doors to The Spellbound – the school newspaper – were ominously closed. Corbridge was a mercifully sweet editor, but Astrid was terrified of disappointing her all the same. She had to come back with quotes.
Her eyes, blue, trailed her surroundings before choosing a new path, and she turned down a new corridor. A figure was ahead, and her eyes lit up, an impossibly rosy smile blossoming across her lips.
“Hey!” Astrid called, her voice light and singsong. She trotted to catch the person, her shoes clicking on the stone floor. “Wait up! It’s for the paper!” Her legs aided her admittedly poor running, and Astrid gasped as she came closer. “What do you think about serving frog legs at lunch? Some say it’s a delicacy, but others think it’s plain gross.”If there was one person in the entire castle Hartley despised as much as the other students seemed to despise him, it was Astrid Bixby. The twerp had a lovely habit of showing up when you least desired her presence. It was impressive in the most disgusting of ways. And that awful, breathy run. Was she operating with one lung?
”Wait up! It’s for the paper!”Hartley stopped and rolled his eyes clear to the ceiling. Astrid’s shoes clacked along the stone floor, each stepping echoing out, chipping away at Hartley’s already dwindling patience with the world. He turned on his feet, his cloak sweeping along the ground, and looked up at Astrid. Her blue eyes reminded Hartley of a poorly made jell-o; wiggly and translucent. She really ought to try some eye shadow, or a paper bag.
“I know very well what you do, Astrid, but I’m busy.” Hartley said exasperated. He knew all too well that there was no stopping her.
“What do you think about serving frog legs at lunch? Some say it’s a delicacy, but others think it’s plain gross.”Honestly, were there not more pressing matters at hand? Wasn’t there turmoil? Segregation? Apparently not in Astrid’s eyes, though that should have come as no surprise to Hartley. He’d found, in the few interactions he’d had with her, that Astrid really had no perception of importance. Her priorities seemed wildly out of sorts and that, above nearly everything else, made him loathe her very presence with an unmatched sort of disdain.
“I think that frog legs, can band together, carry you up to the astronomy tower, by the thousands of course, and tip you over the edge. And on your way down, you can write a quick article;
Twelve Helpful Tips on Leaving People Who Don’t Like You Alone. One tip for every second it takes you to fall to your untimely demise.”
Hartley smiled, turned on his heel and, as he was walking away, added, “You can quote me on that, sweetheart.”
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Previous Characters (if applicable): Patrick Pevenso
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