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Author Topic: Gregory Noble  (Read 314 times)

Gregory Noble

    (27/02/2015 at 21:48)
E L S E W H E R E   C H I L D

Character Name:
Gregory Noble




Parents/Guardians (Are they currently played characters?):
Father Elliot Noble, Mother Mary Noble. Both will be played

Cambridgeshire, England

Do you plan to have a connection to a particular existing place (for example: the daycare)?

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:
A million

Biography: (100 words minimum.)


When you’re born into the Noble family, rules are meant to be followed. They’re not the type of rules that are written out on a chalkboard for everyone to see, but the ones that you should just inherently know. That little force in your head that tells you if you’re about to do something regretful, the little twinge of doubt when you try to cheat on a test, that instinct to remind you what is bad and what is good.

You know. Be a good person, do what is right, learn by doing, take pride in yourself. Those things that you should just do.

My father tells us that most humans ignore this basic knowledge. That to better themselves, to set themselves apart, to stand out and bask in acknowledgement, they’ll bypass humanity. Forget what it really means to be a decent human being, really.

My father says we’re above that. We do nothing for glory or fame. We don’t need to have the acceptance of watching eyes, because they’re all just cattle and sheep, waiting to either be fed or be fed upon. Because, at the end of the day, they’re not worth it. (That last bit was my addition.)

Growing up, it was all about self discovery.

I, thankfully, didn’t have all the strictness that my siblings did. See, I was born in the middle. The direct middle, mind you, with a brother and sister on either side. I didn’t get that firm hand or the treasured babying, I was just there. I like my spot, it meant I could mess up without getting scolded, and get away with doing something outrageously fun.

I discovered a lot as a kid, but most of all I discovered a respect for my family.

I never felt that need to rebel, I never had that urge. My brother says I was too young. When we made the move from the estate in Cambridgeshire, one that we’d held for nearly five hundred years, I had barely turned seven. My brother was uprooted from his second year at Hogwarts, from friends and being a known name, from comfort and home.

Rebellion came to my brother. I saw it in him, when he was caught shoplifting twice, and when he got kicked out of Durmstrang more times than I can remember. He had pushed the boundaries at every turn, and I witnessed how destructive it was to the family. My father staying up late to write letters of apologies, attached to bottles of priceless wine. My mother parading around for dinner parties with stuffed up types that complained about the state of our dinnerware instead of the state of the world.

It’s a confusing dance to play, since we’re taught so early that the only person you have to prove yourself to is, well, yourself. But here my parents were, cleaning up mistake after mistake if only to save face. It felt hypocritical. Claim to not care about other people’s opinions, but then go ahead and perform the dance and show?

It took me a while to realize the difference.

We don’t do it to make you feel better, we do it because we know better. We know when a mistake is made, we must honor it and make it right. We know when an error is caught, it needs to be righted. We know the pride and courage in identifying a wrong. That was a hard discovery for me, one I learned a hard way.


When I was eight I pushed my sister out of a tree. It was a squabble over a Chocolate Frog Card, since she’d gotten one that I wanted and was basking in the glory of her new, fine collective. I know what you’re thinking, what a shit kid I must have been, but I wasn’t. I was just eight. But I did push my sister, and she did fall, and she did break her leg.

I remember hearing her scream and freezing up. I was so petrified, so utterly helpless in thinking I had been the cause that I lied. She fell. She slipped. I wasn’t near her. Anything to place the blame on an unknown force, instead of letting the weight of her injury rest on my shoulders. “Are you sure that’s what happened?” They’d all ask, and I never relented. Lie, save face, protect yourself. It ticked on in me like a bomb.

She was in St Mungo’s for a week, and I had nightmares every single night. I imagined her falling and hitting her head. I imagined her never walking right again. I imagined being caught and my parents kicking me out of the family. I imagined her waking up and never speaking to me again, telling me how awful I was. Because what I did was awful, and I felt awful.

It was quite a dilemma for an eight year old.

The night she came home, I shuffled to the front door as she was wheeled in, and in front of my parents and family I confessed. I remember it as a very diplomatic expression of my wrong, explaining in detail how apologetic and sincere I was in hoping she would find it in her heart to accept my declaration. My brother says I was crying so hard I had a snot bubble.

I said I was sorry. She accepted before I could even finish, and then gave me a chocolate frog. That was it. My parents just smiled and told me I was strong for telling the truth, and then told me not to have the snack until after dinner. That was it. Let me tell you, all of those nightmares and worries vanished.

I was amazed at how quickly my guilt subsided.

You tell the truth, not because it’s easy, but because it’s right.


I live by my principles, even if others see them as dated.

I was born under the name of men who wanted something better and to stand for something right. Men who needn’t fame or glory or money. A man who had pulled our family out from red labels and erased us from that history. I was born under the Head of our Name, and in a year I get to decide if it’s a name that I will uphold.

And I get to decide in the place we had once, and now again, call home.


Gregory pressed back against the park bench, crossed his legs, dressed in crisply pressed dress pants, while polished oxfords remained without scuff. The way he presented himself to the world was of an older man, sophisticated and suave, and not that of a fourteen year old. Still, he was watching his brother zip around while playing Quidditch, and sport that he only recently started to garner interest in. A free hand straightened the base of a Charvet silk neck tie, and the teen casually began thumbing through a newspaper.

His elder brother had handed it to him that morning, to keep up with the times was what he intended. Gregory found himself scouring through the funny section instead.


He looked up, raising a single brow as he peered through heavy framed glasses. What a spunky little thing she was, to address him with such directness. Gregory smiled, folding the paper two ways before setting it aside on the bench. “Not very polite to shout at strangers, Little Miss.” A playful scold,

”... Do you want to play?”

His smile widened, eyes flickering between the older boys on brooms to the wee girl so terribly frustrated with them. She reminded Gregory of his sister, with those blue eyes and pouting face.  “Okay then, what’s the game?”


Sylvianne Marceau

    (27/02/2015 at 21:56)

Dear Gregory Noble,

Congratulations, your application to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry has been accepted!

Your admission is to our Elsewhere boards, where our adult and child characters explore the many places we have to offer, including Diagon Alley and Hogsmeade. You will find many opportunities for employment for adult characters, including the Ministry of Magic for you folks interested in politics. Or the Daily Prophet, if gossip and rumors are more your style. We hope you have a great time!

Sylvianne Marceau