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Cassandra Gray

    (06/01/2012 at 01:52)
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Character Name: Cassandra Gray
Gender: Female
Age: 19

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry '71
Dagworth-Sykes University – Joint Honours Italian and English '74

Lives in a flat in Dover


Do you plan to have a connection to a particular existing place (example St Mungo's, the Ministry, Shrieking Shack) or to take over an existing shop in need of new management?

Requested Magic Levels:
  • Charms: 9
  • Transfiguration: 8
  • Divination: 7
  • Summoning: 9
Do you wish to be approved as a group with any other characters? If so who and for what IC reason?

Please list any other characters you already have at the site:
Edgar Marlow, Henrietta Thistlecomb, Augusta Everington

Special Phrase: Tibble's Beard Of Power

Biography: (300 words minimum.)
Cassandra Gray was always striving to be better, and that was probably her mother's fault. Her father was the laid-back one in the family; he'd run an apothecary in Diagon Alley until he was thirty-five, and which point he'd given up his business and now worked from home, brewing complicated Potions to order for clients who, for various reasons, weren't capable of making them themselves.

This business was very successful, and was certainly one of the reasons why the Gray family lived in the considerable comfort that they did, but more importantly it meant that when Cassie was young, it was her father who was around the house all the time, who made her tea when she came home from primary school, who ran her baths and read her her bedtime stories. It still showed; even at the age of 19, Cassie was still a daddy's girl.

Her mother, however, was a different story. At the age of 19 Cassie still had no idea how to connect with Arlene, who worked in the Treasury of the Ministry of Magic. She'd been working on her career from years, from her start as a simple Galleon counter all the way up to the top ranks. It had been Arlene who'd been the absent one in the Gray household, who'd worked late and left the house early, who'd even taken stacks of parchment covered in figures and mathematical symbols on the one family holiday they'd taken a year. It was Arlene who'd always frowned over Cassandra's report card, who used the words, “Not good enough” so many times and over so many different things.

Arlene was precise, too, and that was probably where Cassie got that from. In Cassie's world, everything had to be in order, everything had its place, from her collection of hair ribbons (and Cassie had many, many hair ribbons) to all her school textbooks. Every detail of her appearance was taken care over, from the way her red curls fell over her shoulder to how her shoelaces were done up. It gave Cassie pleasure to have control over at least some things in her life.

She found Hogwarts difficult, and that was probably because she was always to eager to please. That was surely Arlene's fault too, Arlene who Cassie had spent so long trying to make proud. Still, it never quite felt like Cassie was good enough – certainly not as good as Esme Faracy. Just like Cassie Esme was a Ravenclaw and a redhead, but she was [i/]popular and boys fancied her and she was Head Girl, and people were always running up behind Cassie only to roll their eyes when they realised that the redhead in the Ravenclaw robes wasn't the redhead Ravenclaw. And even though Cassie briefly had her chance with Timothy Vartan, the Timothy Vartan, it didn't take him long to move straight on to Esme Faracy.

At least at Dagworth-Sykes, there wasn't the shadow of Esme Faracy hanging over her. Cassie took up horse-riding again, a hobby she'd let fall by the side during her time at Hogwarts, and she made friends, and she grew her hair out. She developed her fashion sense and she rented a flat with her coursemates – a student flat, of course, with all the dodgy flowery wallpaper and damp corners that that entailed, but she didn't have to share rooms with snoring Ravenclaws any more and with plenty of bows and tulle it didn't take more than a day to make it into Cassie's idea of heaven.

And she painted over all those wallflowers, too. After all, they were doing no one any good.

Reply as your character to the following:

It was impossible for Dianne to stay out of trouble. It wasn't that she was looking for trouble, it's just that trouble always managed to find her. Today she wished she could find something equally familiar but more comforting.

The five-year old girl hugged her puffskein closer to her and brushed her face in its soft fur for comfort. She had named him herself and he was always her special pet. No she was certain she had never gone down this side street before. Her anxiety increased every second as darkness fell as she walked down the road. A loud noise came to her left and she buried her face in her pet's fur completely. The scared girl bolted the opposite way slamming the both of them into the wall of the nearest building. Tottering back a few steps she found a door a few feet to her right and ran to open it. What light there was inside spilled out into the darkness and she spilled into the room.

Once in, she was caught between the impulse to curl her cloak up more tightly around her and loosen her grip on it. She wasn't alone anymore but she was now among strangers instead, which was nearly as terrifying. Her puffskein had recovered from the shock of the wall and now was purring contentedly as the girl hugged it, causing a mildly calming effect on the girl. Gathering her courage, she marched up to the nearest person, pulled on the nearest clothing hem and blurted out in a loud voice:

"I'm lost and it's dark and I wanted to know where I am but I'm not scared but I am worried that Sambundeakin is scared because he's little and needs something to eat and wants to go home."

She paused to draw a breath in her nearly never-ending sentence, "He misses my and his mommy."

To explain the scared girl held up the custard-colored puffskein. Sambundeakin the puffskein, however simply purred as if nothing on earth was wrong in the world.

Roleplay Response:

She checked her watch, tapped the dial of it thoughtfully with one neatly French manicured finger and then sighed, just lightly, under her breath. Her red hair was swept up into a high ponytail, a royal blue ribbon wrapped round it and tied into a slightly overlarge bow at the base and when she shook her head – as she did now – the cascade of curls tickled the nape of her neck slightly. Cassie wrapped one hand around the handle of her coffee cup, and then, after a slight, experimental pause, wrapped the other hand around the cup itself.

It had cooled enough now just to be pleasantly warming to her palms instead of burning them. Cassie's hands always felt cold, especially in the winter, though it was warm enough in here. Cassie lifted the coffee cup to her mouth and took a deep sip, then set it back down and regarded it thoughtfully, tipping it slightly in her hands so the liquid sloshed around the mug, which was now only half full. It annoyed her when people were late, though she supposed it was only to be expected. Her father liked to do things in his own time, which was why he'd always owned his own businesses.

Cassie herself had always rather liked structure. And besides, if he didn't hurry she was going to miss her evening lecture, Apparition or not.

She took another sip, almost choking when the waitress suddenly appeared from behind her and asked – or rather demanded, loudly – if Cassandra would like to order food yet. Having apologetically sent the waitress on, Cassandra turned towards the door and was slightly gratified by the sight of it swinging open – except that instead of the comforting, familiar shape of her father coming in, someone rather smaller came crashing in and promptly grabbed hold of Cassie's pretty royal blue dress.

Cassie looked down in horror. Children always had sticky fingers, didn't they? Cassie didn't want sticky child fingerprints all over her dress; she'd only bought it the other day.

“Um...” Cassie raised her hand, pointing down at the short form of the child next to her and raised her voice above the murmur of the patrons. “Does this –  I mean, she - belong to anyone?”

Timothy Vartan

    (06/01/2012 at 01:57)
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