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Student Applications / ACCEPTED: Virtue Marie Hir
« Last post by Ella Galanis on 15/04/2018 at 22:37 »
Congratulations! This application has been accepted. Term begins on 1 May 2018.

Hogwarts School Accepted / Re: Virtue Marie Hir
« Last post by Ella Galanis on 15/04/2018 at 22:36 »
Dear Miss Hir,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

Term begins 1 May 2018. Currently, students have gathered at Camp Loki, and we encourage you to spend your summer there. Should you choose, you may also visit our Elsewhere board via the Floo Network to visit or purchase school supplies.

Yours sincerely,

Ella Galanis
Head of Ravenclaw
Hogwarts School Accepted / Georgiana E. I. Howard
« Last post by Georgiana Howard on 15/04/2018 at 20:53 »

Application for Hogwarts School


Georgiana Elizabeth Inez Howard

14 July 1942

London, England


Magical Strength (pick one):

Magical Weakness (pick one):

Year (pick two):
First, Second

There was nothing terribly exciting about the life of Georgiana Elizabeth Inez Howard.

That wasn't to say that her life was terrible or boring, because it was neither. It was only that nothing ever seemed to compare to the excitement in the stories she'd heard about Hogwarts.

The school was the place where her parents had met and fallen in love. Edward Howard, a dashing Slytherin with a penchant for mischief and Naomi Lombardi, a beautiful Ravenclaw with a romantic streak. To Georgie, the story sounded like a fairy tale, especially when her mother told it.

Her parents' fairy tale romance wasn't the only story she'd been told and that intrigued her, though. No, it was all of it - pranks and parties and strange professors and Quidditch games and spells gone wrong.

The life Georgie lived in her London home with her parents and little brother, Christopher, didn't make for as exciting of stories - in her eleven year old opinion. However, her life was wonderful and filled with love. She learned how to bake from her mother and how to play piano from her father. They read her books and and encouraged creativity. She played outside with Chris and her cousins.

It wouldn't be a fair representation to pretend her life was wonderful all the time. Georgiana wasn't allowed to have everything her way. She had inherited her father's ability to pout and sulk when things didn't go her way, which sometimes put her at odds with her parents and sometimes there were slamming doors and tears. Sometimes Christopher annoyed her and they had awful rows. It was nothing tragic, though, and Georgie got over her moods fairly quickly.

She had spent months eagerly waiting for the day she could leave for Hogwarts. Georgie was a little nervous about being away from her family for so long (even though Uncle David was there), but she was more excited about getting to experience the stories she'd heard her entire life.

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

House Request:
Not Hufflepuff

Georgiana has blue eyes and dirty blonde hair. She has Naomi's smile, but her expressions are pure Edward. Her looks favor the Leighton side of the family. She
is average height and hasn't had her growth spurt just yet.

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:

"Hello! Is Emma Birch here?"

Emma Birch wasn't a ghost here. At least, Georgiana was ninety percent sure Emma Birch wasn't a ghost. She'd heard the girl had been a student here and been murdered. James had been the same age she was now when it happened and apparently one of Uncle David's students. Surely, surely, if Emma was a ghost, someone would have mentioned it before.

Still, there were all sorts of rumors floating around the castle...

Even if Emma was really a ghost, Georgie had been in the dungeons for awhile (because she'd wanted to see the swimming pool) and she hadn't seen any ghost recently.

Her lips curled up in a mischievous grin. There was no reason she couldn't have a little fun. Georgie cupped her hands around her mouth. "Whooooo has suuuuummoned me?"


Please list any characters you have  on the site (current and previous):
Anneka et al

How did you find us?: Fate
Hogwarts School Accepted / Virtue Marie Hir
« Last post by Virtue Hir on 15/04/2018 at 04:17 »

Application for Hogwarts School


Name: Virtue Marie Hir

Birthday: 2 February 1940

Hometown:  Swansea, Wales


Magical Strength:

Magical Weakness:

Year:  THIRD, fourth




An ashtray rests on a teak table which is hewn in such a way that we should be able to almost smell the leathery scent of it through the frame.  In the ashtray rests a lone CIGARETTE, carefully rested on its edge and rimmed with true red lipstick.

Moody French jazz--Edith Piaf, perhaps--plays from the other room, from a RECORD PLAYER.  The noise of it is distinctly muffled--no less lovely but perhaps more haunting, particularly the note-quite ghost of, suppose, the clarinet and of course Perhaps Edith.  There is the sound, too, of RAIN off screen and off the patio.

A HAND comes into frame.  It has impeccable and red polished fingernails, shaped into elegant ovals.  The HAND picks up the CIGARETTE, which leaves the frame.  We hear the noise of an inhale, and then an exhale.  SMOKE enters and exits the frame before the CIGARETTE returns to its perch with a fresh coat of red lipstick.

For a while, we hear a frantic scratching, familiar to anyone in the audience who has ever written as the sound of a freshly-sharpened pencil giving birth onto a blank page.  As they are given life on the page, we can assume, we get a series of quick flashes--insight, perhaps, to what is being written with such a sudden and intense surge of passion.


A bee feasting on a red rose in the garden, birds chirp.

A ship sailing out of port, the sound of male voices; there’s singing.

Two sets of children's’ feet running down a hallway, sound of smacking bare feet on hardwood and young, careless laughter.

Raucous voices and flashes of light drift from a pub window; there’s singing.

A hand-knotted pearl necklace with golden filigree clasp falls through frame into the sea.

A quill scratching from the other side of a stately and closed office door.

A hand, resplendent with red polished fingernails, flips through a book of American prose or poetry, then moves to scratch a note we cannot read into the margin.


For some time the shot hovers.  It’s not a lazy feel but a comfortable one, as if the place here on the patio is separate from the glimpses we have just seen--as if those were a distant reality from the harbor of this one.

The scratching slows and, finally, stops.

The same HAND enters with her red painted fingernails, this time pushing an OPEN JOURNAL into frame.  The handwriting is artfully untidy.  The HAND raises the CIGARETTE once more, taking if off screen.  In the background, the French jazz on the RECORD PLAYER finishes, the only sound now left that tender scratch-scratch-pop, scratch-scratch-pop of a spun-out record.

The HAND reappears, crushes out the CIGARETTE in the ashtray, brushes a stray ash from the OPEN JOURNAL’s top page.  It leave a streaked stain that is not unattractive.


The RAIN persists.



House Request: Slytherin (99%), Ravenclaw (1%)

The first thing you’ll notice about Virtue Marie is that she’s probably noticing you.

Virtue likes to watch, likes to know, likes to figure out.  Don’t mistake her, though, for some noble pursuer of knowledge for knowledge’s sake.  That’s not what’s going on here at all.  True--as she likes to be call--is a relentless collector of human truths, for better or worse, for richer or poorer, for all that boatload of romantic bullshit.  She’s a realist, and she’s forever pushing the boundaries--yours, mostly, if she’s taken an interest in you--to find the real truth of life, those things that, ugly or ugly beautiful, make people do what they do with whom they do it.  It’s all in the name of writing--she’s going to write the next great cinematic masterpiece.  You (or some part of you, rendered of the garbage parts and polished into art) will probably be in it, if you ever catch her with her journal in the same room as you.  She says you’re welcome.

The second thing you’ll notice about Virtue Marie is that she is unapologetically cool.

She’s got other hobbies, of course, but being cool is her favorite one.  She has curated herself very carefully, from the clothes she wears to the music she listens to on her record player to the books she reads and the films she watches.  It goes beyond all of that, though.  For True, cool is a lifestyle--her lifestyle.  One of a long and illustrious line of squares, she’s determined to break free and do her own thing, on her own terms.  Everything she does oozes effortless hipness.  It’s an effort--a huge effort--but she’d never tell you that.

The third thing you’ll notice about Virtue Marie is that she’s thirteen going on twenty-one.

There’s nothing about the girl that screams girl.  She smokes cigarettes (thanks, Pax Fellwater--but that’s another story), she drinks black coffee, and she swears in elegant and interesting ways.  Combined with the fact that she’s not a small girl, and the whole cool thing discussed above, True reads as well above her age--or so, at least, she hopes.

Is she more than you bargained for?  Absolutely.  Is she totally worth it?  She’d roll her eyes if you even had to ask.

Puberty has been kind to Virtue Hir.

For one, it shot her up to five foot seven, making her tower over most her classmates of any gender and fit in much better with the older crowd.  For another, it (combined, probably, with her pension to over-indulge on french fries) has rounded her out nicely; she’s got that whole soft, hourglass thing going on.  Perhaps most importantly, it’s given her a rather nice pair of bosoms, though True would argue they’re almost more trouble than they’re worth.  Almost.

Either way, it’s definitely been a confidence boost.

Otherwise, Virtue is fairly average, though, of course, she’d argue otherwise if pressed.  She has dark brown hair that falls naturally in curls, and dark brown eyes that are neither too small nor too large.  Over the later, she sometimes wears glasses, though it’s not quite clear if it’s because she needs to or simply because she wants to.  Virtue almost always wears red lipstick (it’s a little bit timeless classic, a little bit terribly daring), and keeps her nails varnished at all times.  When she plucks her eyebrows--and you better believe she stays on top of those babies--she might over-emphasize the sharpness of the arch on her left one.  It’s her arching eyebrow.  She practiced too hard getting it to go that high and that sharp for it not to look perfect.

Option 2:

“Listen, Harry.”

His name was Hugh.

“I wasn’t staring.”

She was absolutely staring--was doing much more than staring, in fact.  Virtue Marie Hir had followed Hugh from the entry hall to here.  How he hadn’t seen her before, she wasn’t sure.  It wasn’t like she had made an effort to conceal herself.  Hugh wasn’t even one of the major fifth years.  A secondary character at best.  An extra, really.

“And no, I don’t need help with anything.”

In truth, Hugh was already helping True, he just didn’t know it.  On more than one morning, the third year had watched the same boy disappear into the same garden for a reason until today she had not known.  Her curiosity had been mostly idle, but this morning was a Tuesday, which she thought of as a particularly boring day, and, caught in an absence of the usual suspect, she had decided that today was the day to find out what Hugh and his excursions to the outdoors were all about.

Snot, it seemed like.  Maybe she wouldn’t be needing her journal, tucked tight into the crook of her elbow, after all.

From the pocket of her sweater, she retrieved a lace-trimmed handkerchief.  Embroidered in red and a dainty little script in the corner were the initials v.m.h.  Slowly, square by rich cotton square, she unfolded it.

“But it looks like you could use mine.”

She wasn’t offering.  Not yet.


Please list any characters you have  on the site (current and previous): Tallulah and the Rest

How did you find us?:  On dial-up internet, uphill both ways.
Student Applications / ACCEPTED: Digby Walter Robbins
« Last post by Ella Galanis on 10/04/2018 at 18:17 »
Congratulations! This application has been accepted. Term begins on 1 May 2018.

Hogwarts School Accepted / Re: Digby Walter Robbins
« Last post by Ella Galanis on 10/04/2018 at 18:09 »
Dear Mr Robbins,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

Term begins 1 May 2018. Currently, students have gathered at Camp Loki, and we encourage you to spend your summer there. Should you choose, you may also visit our Elsewhere board via the Floo Network to visit or purchase school supplies.

Yours sincerely,

Ella Galanis
Head of Ravenclaw
Student Applications / ACCEPTED: Barron de Homem-Christo
« Last post by Ella Galanis on 10/04/2018 at 13:09 »
Congratulations! This application has been accepted. Term begins on 1 May 2018.

Hogwarts School Accepted / Digby Walter Robbins
« Last post by Digby Walter Robbins on 09/04/2018 at 21:45 »

Application for Hogwarts School


Name: Digby Walter Robbins

Birthday: March 26, 1942

Hometown: North Yorkshire, England


Magical Strength (pick one):

Magical Weakness (pick one):

Year (pick two): Year 1 Preferably. Year 2 is my second choice.

Digby was the first born to Walter and Patricia Robbins. The Robbins family was one of the most un-magical family trees England had to offer. Digby was raised as a country boy. The family business of sheep farming had been passed down for generations, and Digbys’ parents had no interest in breaking tradition. His parents, uncle, two cousins, grandmother and little sister all lived under the same roof, in a crowded yellow farmhouse. He shared his bedroom with his two younger cousins. He loved them liked brothers and found them just as annoying as siblings would be at times. The kitchen would consistently smell like oatmeal raisin cookies, and wind chimes on the porch could always be heard clanging softly. Digby’s young life consisted on growing up on the farm, helping his father and uncle with tending the sheep and various other chores after school.

Loving the outdoors and all its fresh and sometimes horrendous smells, the boy found himself hanging in the barn attic more often than his own bedroom. He made friends with the barn owls that nested in the attic, and often found himself passing the time drawing up there or playing his harmonica. Otherwise he was jumping hay bails with his cousins or playing on the old tire swing they made on the old tree outside the barn.

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

House Request: Where ever the sorting hat sees fit.


Digby is a relatively clumsy boy, which is average for his age. Very disorganized, looses things often. Loves to draw and doodle, take pictures and play instruments. Anything new and artistic is a passion. Hates being bored or not having something to do which often causes him to get into trouble. He is relatively spunky and is not afraid to push buttons. Loves the outdoors and the little creatures that belong there. Hates being cold. Hates Winter. Can be moody on his worst days but is generally an upbeat energetic child.


Digby's most prominent feature are his three dark misshapen beauty marks that appear on the tip of his chin and two below his right eye. His skin is toasted tan from constantly being outdoors and his chores on the farm. His hair is thick, curly and dirty blonde and his eyebrows are thick and bushy. Despite being relatively active and healthy, his face has a plump roundness to it. His eyes are a handsome almond shape and warm-amber honey brown in color.

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.


“How dare they not believe me.” Digby murmured to himself as he trudged through the dungeon corridors like a soldier. His back-pack, which he had forgotten to unzip in his rush to the dungeons, bounced behind him carelessly as he stomped. The mouth of the bag opened wide, like a hungry Venus fly trap, revealing its inner contents; first year text books stuffed with unorganized notes, A quill and ink jar with a cap that was not closed properly, and a loose bag of snake fangs from potions class. All three of which were dangerously close to toppling out of the wide unzipped lip of the bag, with each determined strut the boy made down the corridor.
“I’ll show them,” he continued to murmur. Clutching an old camera that he borrowed from Hogwarts library. He had sent a letter to his muggle-born cousins, describing the castle. The moving paintings, the floating candles, the ghosts. And they didn’t believe him! How dare they call him a liar, he had hardly ever lied to them before. Just once, when the tire swing hit his mouth and knocked out a loose baby-tooth and they asked if he cried, which Digby denied poorly. But besides that, he had never lied to them and he was insulted.

That’s how the boy had found himself in the dungeon of Hogwarts that evening, hunting for a ghost. He had made a bet with his cousins that if he mailed them a picture of a ghost he would get their deserts for two weeks of the summer. So of course, the stakes were high.

Hearing a voice, Digby stopped in his tracks. miss interrupting the Gryffindors question, Digby believed he heard. “hello? Emma Birch here.” In a moment of excitement and adrenaline. Digby lunged out and snapped a picture of the Gryffindor. A bright clash and a snap of the cameras mechanism filled the corridor. Only when the light dulled did he notice the girls red and gold badge.

“Ugh. Gryffindor? You’re not Emma Birch. You’re not even a ghost.” Digby groaned, rolling his eyes.


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Hogwarts School Accepted / Re: Barron de Homem-Christo
« Last post by Aubrey Kedding on 09/04/2018 at 02:05 »
Mr. Homem-Christo,

Congratulations, your application to Hogwarts School has been accepted. Term begins 01 May, 2018. Currently, students have gathered at Camp Loki. Your admission is joint for both the school and Camp Loki, and we encourage you to spend your summer there. Should you choose, you may also visit our Elsewhere board via the Floo Network to visit or purchase school supplies. We look forward to seeing you at the School.

Aubrey Kedding,
Gryffindor Head of House
Hogwarts School Accepted / Re: Barron de Homem-Christo
« Last post by Barron de Homem-Christo on 09/04/2018 at 01:54 »
Name: Barron de Homem-Christo

Birthday: May 5

Hometown: Dublin, Ireland

Bloodline: Half-blood

Magical Strength: Conjuring & Summoning

Magical Weakness: Transfiguration

Year (pick two): Second Year; Third Year

Ballsbridge, Dublin.

On what was arguably the loveliest street in one of the most upscale areas of Dublin city, stood a languish, Elizabethan manor. The front area of the house boasted a courtyard, lined with crisp, brilliantly green grass, and in the very center stood a large playing fountain. It was a lovely place to grow up, Barron de Homem-Christo thought, gazing out of his bedroom window with a sudden realisation that soon this wouldn’t be home anymore. A sleek car peeled into the driveway, and Barron pushed himself away from his bedroom balcony. His mother was back, and he had good news to tell her.

In a liquid-smooth swirl of silks and furs, Antonia de Homem-Christo flounced into the grand dining room as Barron entered from the kitchen. It was nearing the evening, and a warm red light from the setting sun tumbled through the French doors that overlooked the tidy, quaint courtyard in front of their home.

   “Mon petit!” Antonia exclaimed, her willowy figure paused at the threshold as she slid her sunglasses down her nose and away from her face. Barron jerked forwards instinctually and marched across the glossy mahogany floor to give his mother a kiss before she could scold him for being timid.

   “How was your flight, mum?” He asked in the light, sing-song voice that had made him the unfortunate target of his brothers’ taunts. Theodore and Bastian were tall and brave, with hardened, calloused hands from years of playing Hurling and Quidditch - just what you’d imagine two fifteen-year-old boys to be. For all their brawn and chaos, Barron was the opposite.

        Gentle and sensitive, Barron was a little bird, likened in the very image of his statuesque mother, who was only too happy to foster the feminine ways of her youngest son, and treat him as she did Barron’s two younger sisters, Phillippa and Demelza. Manicures, ballet, charms and afternoon tea. Antonia assured her youngest son that it didn’t matter he wasn’t like other boys, that he was special and creative and had an exquisite eye for interior design. “But you mustn’t tell your father.” Antonia would stress, her French accent dominating her English.

   “Ghastly.” She responded, tucking her sunglasses into her Hermès bag. “You’d think they’d know how to serve a decent cocktail in first class,” Antonia brooded, her heels click-clacking as she walked over to a couch and dropped her bag on a pillow, “but that’s the Spanish for you.” She added, collapsing into the plush cushions. “Has your ‘Ogwarts letter come, mon chéri?” Barron grinned, suddenly alight with excitement as he scrambled to the dining table to brandish the acceptance letter with a proud flourish. “I can do conjuring and summoning there, can’t I?” Barron asked eagerly, climbing up onto the couch next to his mother. He tucked his legs beneath him, getting comfortable, the familiar smell of his mother’s perfume instantly calming his rapid heartbeat. Antonia cuddled her son, nodding in reply. 

   “Are you sure you won’t consider Beauxbatons?” Antonia asked. She knew the answer, Barron had given it dozens of times now. “Theodore and Bastian will be going back, and I so adored my time there – “

   “It’s because Theo and Bastian are there that I cannot go.” Barron said firmly, still in the tight clutches of his mother’s embrace. “You know this, maman.”

   It was no secret to Antonia that her oldest sons could be quite brutish and dominating – mirror images of their father, though she couldn’t deny that her husbands’ unpredictable and unbridled aggression is what attracted him to her. She daren’t say that to Barron, though. “Your father loved Hogwarts, I suppose.” She reasoned, with a suitable amount of melancholy in her voice. “And at Hogwarts you will be the most beautiful boy.”

Barron detangled himself from Antonia’s ever-tightening hug with a laugh. “Handsome, mumma. Boys are supposed to be handsome.”


House Request: Slytherin

There’s seldom anything that Barron enjoys doing more than telling people about his extensive list of hobbies; ballet, violin, painting, drawing, reading, crochet, origami. He loves to create beauty wherever possible.

Having been coddled by his mother from a very early age, Barron is quite self-centred and arrogant, however it seldom comes from a place of malice. It is just the simple fact that everything should be about him, quite frankly. And when Barron finds himself not the centre of attention, it can be hard to get him out of a bad mood.

The trials and tribulations of others is of little interest to him, which has certainly affected his abilities on acquiring friends. The fact that his best (and only) friends are currently his sisters and his mother touches a nerve, and Barron is determined to make friends who appreciate and worship him at Hogwarts. Every goal that Barron sets out to achieve, he succeeds, and at Hogwarts it will be no different.

Barron is pale and willowy, with aristocratic good looks that undoubtedly came from his mother, a Beauxbatons alumna. At average height, Barron has striking grey eyes, full plush lips and a mop of carefully styled brunette hair, that he swears he doesn’t actually style at all (he’s also a total fibber).

Despite not having a wand of his own quite yet, Barron often borrows his mother’s wand to try out cosmetic charms on himself, at varying levels of success.


Option 2:

That rat of his was in for it now.

The gray little rascal had disappeared from his clutches at breakfast. Again.

Before Hugh even knew what was happening, Merlin had shot across the floor, somehow managing to avoid all the feet walking across the hall and had escaped through the open doors.

Which meant that Hugh was now stomping through rows of flowers and other various flora, searching for the small creature. It was like the rat knew Hugh was allergic to most flowers. Merlin always chose to run to the gardens whenever he got away from Hugh. It was as if the rat did not want to have him for an owner.

Hugh had named his pet Merlin because he had hoped the powerful name would give the rat more incentive to be more than a rat. Not that he expected Merlin to change into a wizard or anything, but rats were just so...useless, for the most part. With a name like Merlin, Hugh thought it might give the rat purpose.

The only purpose Merlin seemed to have was getting away from Hugh as often as possible.

As the fifth year trudged into the second row of flowers, not taking much care to avoid trampling the first row, he felt the first sneeze building up pressure in his nose and behind his eyes.

"You blasted rat! Where are you?"

He pulled apart a section of bright red flowers; he didn't know what they were called because he despised flowers, and ducked his head low to peer into the depths of the flowerbed. It was moving closer in proximity to the flowers that finally did it. Hugh took in three great breaths and then let out an almighty sneeze. It was strong enough to disturb some of the dirt on the ground before him.

Groaning, he stood up again and wiped his nose on his sleeve. It was as he was turning his head, his nose running up and down his arm, that movement in his peripheral vision caught his attention. Normally one who preferred to put his best face forward, Hugh was a bit embarrassed to be caught wiping his runny nose on his robes.

Nevertheless, Hugh put on his best haughty voice. albeit a bit thickly with his plugged nose and said, "Can I help you with something? It is not polite to stare."


“It’s called ballet.” Barron announced pompously, relaxing his Demi-Plié to look at the two gawking first year girls. It was like they had never seen someone en pointe before!

The first years jumped, looking frightened and confused. Barron had been at Hogwarts for two weeks now and hadn’t done any dancing to his dismay. After breakfast, he enlisted the services of two timid little first years to be his adoring audience in the courtyard – the perfect stage for his breathtaking rendition of des Grieux. However, the two tiny girls had barely said a thing, and Barron was yet to see a single tear from either of them. The cheek!

“Alright, you can go.” Barron grumbled, his shoulders sagging in dejection. His hopes of finding a doting audience in this school were fading quickly.

Lost in his melancholy thoughts, Barron didn’t notice the heightening sounds of Hugh’s frantic searching. It was only until the almighty sneeze from the fifth year that Barron snapped back to reality and spotted the boy in the bushes, looking filthy and dazed.

“Can I help you with something? It is not polite to stare.”

Barron wrinkled his nose in dismay. “Nor is it polite to have snot all over your school robes.” Beauxbatons students wouldn’t be so messy and unrefined, he thought plaintively, before mentally shaking away such snobby thoughts that were no doubt subconsciously inherited from his fussy mother. He wouldn’t make friends by being an elitist.

“Do you…” Barron eyed the glossy smear as it trailed down Hugh’s sleeve and resisted the urge to dry-wretch, “want a tissue?” It was the most helpful he could be in this instance; from the older boy’s hollering moments ago, Barron assumed he was looking for a pet of some sort, but joining the boy in trudging around in the dirt was just going too far.

Philanthropy is hard.


Please list any characters you have  on the site (current and previous): Charlotte Anais Nin

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