Hogwarts School: A Harry Potter RPG

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→ CHARACTER INFORMATION.

Name: Bracken Edmond Thomas

Birthday: September 17 1940***

Hometown: Buxton, Derbyshire

Bloodline:
Halfblood

Magical Strength (pick one):
Transfiguration

Magical Weakness (pick one):
Conjuring/Summoning

Year (pick two):
Fourth, Fifth

Biography:
He was an investor, she was an herbologist - can I make it anymore obvious?

They met at an Appleby Arrows party, bonding over their lack of attachment to the aforementioned slumping team. Rest assured that as they drew ever closer in the corner of a gathering otherwise colored cheerful and pale blue, the undertones of grumbling between Hubert Thomas and Ethel Densfeld slithered their way to intrigued chuckling and coy smirks. Three and a half years and a century's worth of familial drama later, a poorly-attended ceremony united Hubert and Ethel in marriage until death would they part.

First came Laurel, bright eyed and spirited. She hadn't quite reached three when baby brother Bracken came along, darker hair and eyes in stark contrast. Named, of course, with flora in mind, the Thomas children grew up in a cottage in the countryside of Derbyshire that was ever adorned with greenery, snaking vines and vibrant flowers and leaves of every shape and size blanketing the home, an enchanting forest of their very own. They were very different, Laurel and Bracken. Rare were the moments of tranquility during the earlier years. Where elder sister bathed in golden sunlight, younger brother preferred to play in the dirt. She tried hard; talent and laziness kept him barely afloat, a level at which he seemed to thrive. It was responsibility versus mischief that laced through the shouting and wars. Hubert better appreciated his daughter while Ethel found endless endearment in her son, though much effort was spent to obscure those lines. Such was the nature of things, for a time.

Tragedy struck with much-accursed abruptness in Bracken's ninth year. An untimely duel broke out between colleagues outside of the greenhouses where Ethel worked, and an errant spell blasted through the glass to inflict ultimately fatal injury. Densfeld family having long abandoned her, she passed with her three dearest folk around her bed. Like the plants she so adored, the remaining family paled and withered in the wake of that loss.

Sister at school and father spending extra time in the office, Bracken found himself starkly alone. But with a schnoz for trouble and pervasive sarcastic charm, he found a place in the nearby muggle town. Bloodied noses, hiding in shrubbery and colorful lies built his legacy - until it was his turn to be booted off to school. And, once old enough, baby brother Bracken was expected to work when at home.

→ ADDITIONAL INFORMATION.
Note: This section is optional, and is up to you to complete.

House Request: I do not have a specific request; however here is my input. I do not think any house perfectly represents Bracken, some moreso than the others. He seems to entirely lack the cunning and resourcefulness characteristic of Slytherin, and the hardworking and loyalty of Hufflepuff. He boasts creativity, intellect and wit, though is not much for pursuing knowledge unless he has a vested interest, for a better case in Ravenclaw. Also he is headstrong, daring and reckless, though anything coming across as chivalrous from him is certainly a circumstance of flirtation. He might find a fit in Gryffindor as well.

Personality:
To choose a side of his brain, right versus left as they say, better developed would come to the splitting of hairs. He is rather intelligent and socially functional (depending on your perspective...) but also has a resonant knack for the creative. However, there can be no question about what he prefers. Adamantly an artist, most of his scholarly talents go wasted. Largely it is well-nourished laziness that hampers his abilities, derived from a sense of complacency unmatched across the universe. That he does take interest, and therefore finds motivation, for something in academia is not unheard of - specifically he has a curiosity for how things have come to be, history and origins - but most professors will never see his most dedicated work. Instead his attentions lie on beauty and form and fluidity and dreams.

To his bones Bracken is sarcastic and playfully self-deprecating. Able to laugh at his reflection? He does it every morning, howling like a wolf. Make no mistake, like every teenager he is conscious of the opinions of his peers and strives for their attention, if not approval. Giggles and the rolling of eyes are his preferred currency. However he likes to win the awe of the crowd too, willing to slink under ropes and over lines when he knows others dare not - balance is meant to be toyed with, is it not? Girls and fun, not the earning of respect, turn his gears. For the most part he can come off as charming, or at least come off as stupidly trying to be, thanks to a habit of surrendering control to his witty tongue instead of his brain. Thus, he has a penchant for finding trouble. On a serious side of things, when any unease rolls through, his tendency is to seclude himself, emotionally if not also physically. This guarded nature is directly from his father's book.

Keeping an open mind has certainly been a strength of his for a while now. He is not really bothered with the standards of others, adhering to his own pitifully low ones, but that isn't to say he'll go professing this or that in front of the wrong crowd - at least not on purpose. While willing to listen and letting most anything slide, he still does not, per se, care about anything quite as much as that within his own skull. Friendships and harmony and that rubbish are valued; however he's not out to save the world and in a pinch he's certain to have his own slimy back before anyone else's, besides maybe his dearest friend or family.

Appearance:
Bracken spends little time grooming himself in the morning. The tuft of hairs around the cowlick on the back of his head is almost always sticking over the back of his head, though generally everything is kept short enough to uphold society's measures of a presentable boy without needing much care. Darkness on his head contrasts the pale hue of his complexion, a creature raised under cloudy English skies. Bones aching from growth spurts, he is filling in a fairly tall shape, lean like a green bean. Bracken is built perhaps better for agility and reach than power. Overall he possesses no real distinguishing features, favorably looking without needing to do much of anything.


→ SAMPLE ROLEPLAY.
You come across one of these posts on the site. Please select one & reply as your character. Remember, you can only roleplay your own character's actions, not Evangeline's or Hugh's.

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.

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Blues and greens splattered over his fingers, face and trousers. Such was the costume of an artist, and on he went. The stones assembling the sturdy albeit drafty dungeon corridors made for a poor canvas - the dragonfly flitting through the waves of his mind had so much more vibrancy and clarity than his creation there on the frigid wall - but, unlike so much of the rest of the school, were also scarcely adorned with jabbing portraits who, he had painstakingly come to discover, had no reservations about tattling on his hobbies.

Piping hot air streamed out of his nostrils in a disgruntled huff. The warmth crashed over his hands, and only then did he realize how stiff and sapped of heat his fingers had grown. A pocketwatch ticking the tune of time manifested in his open hand, the left. Almost two hours had passed!

He stepped back and rubbed his hands together, inhaling his work in full for the first time since his brush broke ground on the piece. Yes, the lines as they carved over and then between stones were jagged of sorts - but he almost liked it. Far from his intention, the rendition seemed nearly to project his large and colorful dragonfly through space, a still image of the hazy speed that the creatures so deftly maneuvered with in flight. Obscurity opened the door for interpretation, after all.

But amidst his appreciation, noise from around the bend in the corridor yanked his sights elsewhere and he descended back to reality. He needed to start that composition probably an hour ago, needn't he...

"Hello? Is Emma birch here?" a voice brimming with conflicted youth squeaked. Was Bracken Thomas the ghost of Emma Birch?

Well, he was certainly adaptable.

Wasting no time, Bracken made to throw his voice down the hall. "WHOOOO GOES THERE?" he moaned in as high of a pitch as he could go, saved from any pubescent cracks this time. And for no logical reason, he quietly picked up his tin can of indigo paint, crept to the very corner, and heaved the contents.

→ ABOUT YOU.

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