→ CHARACTER INFORMATION.
Name: Cleo Coriandor
Birthday: February 14th, 1928
Hometown: Oostende, Belgium
Magical Strength (pick one):
Conjuring and Summoning
Magical Weakness (pick one):
Year (pick two): 5th or 6th
Although Cleo was born on Valentine’s day, this sentimental, mawkish holiday has never quite suited this feisty witch. Her parents, Edward (Eddie) and Beth Coriandor met while studying at the Beauxbatons Academy of Magic in France where Beth became pregnant as a mere 5th year. She followed through with the pregnancy and birthed Cleo whom Eddie gladly accepted as his own. It wasn’t until Eddie and Beth married and retired to Belgium where Beth grew up, that Beth decided to have another child. This time Beth grew ill and passed away along with Cleo’s sister in childbirth. Eddie spiraled into depression and severe alcoholism, forcing Cleo to fend for herself more often than not.
Cleo brushed strands of hazelnut hair from her face as she glared out the foggy window, her eyes carefully affixated on a single spot on the yellow grass that lie before her. A puddle of half and half appeared to be lying in the center of the field of yellow, breaking up this smooth glossy object from the dying strands of grass. She lingered a moment longer, the grey craters she called eyes fixated on the rectangle.
In an instant, she lept from the pale blue couch and flung open the heavy oak door, her bare feet hitting the concrete with a loud “smack”. She let out a shriek as she daintily tip-toed through the damp grass to the spot where the cream rectangle lie. Picking it up in a singular swift motion, she flew across the cold grass and back through the frame of the opened door.
Cleo rolled her fingers across her pale forearm and palmed the letter that lie before her, the perfectly pressed crimson seal not yet broken. Her chest rose before quickly dropping again as her eyes darted from her position on the couch. She did her best to ignore the boxes piling up in every corner of the paint-chipped room, as she allowed her toes to touch the cool wood below. She dug her neatly trimmed fingernails under the sticky red substance and ripped forth the cream-colored paper underneath. Silence filled the dimly lit room and words entered her mind. “You have been accepted to Hogwarts School for...”
This was it.
She wouldn’t have to worry about petty schoolmates, or muggle studies, or work, or drunk fathers.
This was her out.
→ ADDITIONAL INFORMATION.
Note: This section is optional, and is up to you to complete.
House Request: Gryffindor
Fiercely independent and slightly rebellious, risks make Cleo go weak in the knees. She loves the opportunity to be spontaneous and adores a good adventure (even when it may involve a bit of trouble). She is careful not to offend anyone although she strongly dislikes being bound by rules, and always has new ideas that can often completely consume her. She tends to be idealistic and slightly impatient with others. She knows what she wants and is extremely passionate about creating and amazing experience for herself and those around her.
→ SAMPLE ROLEPLAY.
Cleo brushed brunette locks out of her eyes as she stifled giggles. She’d never been very competitive when it came to quidditch and found it to be simply ridiculous how into the game some people had gotten. Enjoying the ambience was one thing, living the loss was another. She really only attended the games as a chance to socialize, but with all her friends upset about the game, Cleo was left to her lonesome as they sulked. She often wandered and didn’t quite know where she would end up, but upon entering the great hall it seemed like a great time to grab a bite.
She floated past tables of screaming fans adorned in bright colors when a boy with his head down caught her eye. He was strangely familiar.
Must have taken the loss pretty hard.
She thought to herself as she glanced around the tables for food she might be interested in choosing. She wasn’t particularly hungry, but could always use a bit of fruit to perk her up before finding something fun to do. She shook her head at the amount of sweets perched upon the metal plates. She reached across a platter of biscuits to grab a maroon apple about the size of her fist and threw it in the air just above her head, catching it as it fell. It took all her willpower not to swap the crunchy fruit for a chocolate tart or marzipan cake. She adored the chance to indulge in something sugary, but with the sheer mass of people upset, it seemed inappropriate to celebrate with a treat.
Then again… what harm could a biscuit do?
She scanned the room for onlookers, before briskly sweeping a peppermint biscuit under her coat, gripping the apple in her exposed hand. Nothing more to be done here.
Cleo pressed the crisp core of the apple against her pale peach lips as she advanced to her room, her black flats pittering as she walked. She was engulfed in thought, when suddenly a boy in front of her began to shout.
"WHAT! Haven't you ever seen a loser before?”
His voice echoed across the corridor before silence settled. It took Cleo a moment before the introspection ceased. A pair of chocolate eyes stared back at the girl. He was so familiar.
“I...I beg your pardon?” She managed to muster, stuttering as she struggled to grasp what was going on. She clutched the biscuit under her coat and examined the boy. She recognized him from the table.
“Why don't you just take a picture!"
Cleo hesitated a moment. Her stomach flipped. She wasn’t an outwardly emotional person, and sometimes struggled with confrontation. She hated the feeling of fear situations like these forced into her. She could easily leave, make a run for it and never have to deal with this kid, but for some reason she couldn’t manage to shake his face. His eyes were sad and filled with tears. She couldn’t leave.
“I’m not looking for a picture.”
She muttered, allowing her thin lips to curl into a half-smile as she closed her eyes for a long moment.
“I have some friends that are expecting me, so I cannot do much, but I can offer you this biscuit.” She pulled out the delicacy sheepishly, holding it out in the palm of her had for the boy. She shrugged.
“I know it seems silly, but they always make me feel better.”
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