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Atticus Brightmore

    (22/12/2018 at 04:28)
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Application for Hogwarts School


Name: Atticus Brightmore

Birthday: September 16, 1943

Hometown: Upper Flagley, Yorkshire, England

Halfblood (there’s a muggle in there somewhere a few generations back)

Magical Strength (pick one):

Magical Weakness (pick one):

Year (pick two): First, Second


“Atticus, darling, take this tray out to old Mrs. Weatheroot and then we should be ready to go.”

Dora Brightmore slide a wooden tray into Atticus’ arms, her hands fluttering back to the cluttered countertop and continuing her work. Backing out through the swinging kitchen door, teacup clinking gently in it’s saucer on the tray, Atticus entered the narrow rectangle that made up the dining room of Rabbit Hill. “Breakfast, Miz Weatheroot,” He announced, setting the tray on the little table occupied by a bespeckled grannie, bundled up in shawls and scarves despite the August heat.

“Thank you Attie, you’re a dear boy.” Her quavery voice and familiar, embarrassing, nickname for him, was accompanied by a lifted hand - which Atticus knew fixed to pinch him on the cheek - he deftly sidestepped further embarrassment by quickly setting out her morning coffee and poached egg and scooping up the empty tray.

“Gotta run Miz Weatheroot! Mum’s taking me to Diagon Alley today for my school stuff.” He was already backing away. “Oh Attie! How exciting! Hogwarts already? I remember when you were just six years old and - well, I was passing through her for the Christmas holiday you know, heading north to see that useless brother of mine, you remember hearing about Bernard, don’t you - and your Father had just gotten you your first toy broomstick-”

Atticus was nearly to the kitchen door, still backing away with a fixed smile and a bobbing head. “I know, Miz Weatheroot! I know!” He called across the room to her, “Gotta run though!”

He ducked back through the door, an exaggerated sigh escaping him the second the door swung itself closed. “If everyone in the county doesn’t know the story about when I got my first toy broom by now then Miz Weatheroot has failed in her life’s ambition.” He complained, untying the half-apron from his waist and chucking it on the counter. “Oh, you know she’s just very fond of you...she’s practically watched you grow up in all of her years coming here.” Dora replied mildly from the sink where she was directing dishes into the hot soapy water with her wand.

“Wish that pirate guy was more of a regular than old Miz ‘Root.” He muttered, dragging his finger through a pile of flour on the counter idly. “Just because Mister Briner had a peg leg-” His mother started, “And a hook hand?!” Atticus interrupted. and a hook hand,” Dora conceded, drying her hands as the dishes washed themselves behind her, “Doesn’t mean he was a pirate.”

Atticus swiped his hand through the pile of flour, sending it up in a small white cloudburst. He knew that arguing with his mother about the realities of pirates staying at their Inn was a moot point and took satisfaction knowing that the fat gold galleon Mister Briner - suspected pirate and excellent tipper - had given him at the end of his stay a few weeks prior was now sitting heavy in his pocket, ready to be spent that afternoon in London.

His mother was muttering to herself, patting her pockets and fussing with her hair “Alright. Midge is popping in here to finish up breakfast cleanup and checkouts for me...Have I got the school checklist? Check. Oh I do wish your father didn't have to work today...Gold...Where’s my pocketbook? Here it is. I s’pose we’ll eat while we’re there-” “At that ice cream place? Please?” Atticus perked up. Dora smiled at him fondly, “It only seems right, a celebratory lunch for a special day?” She reached out and smoothed down his hair affectionately and Atticus grinned.

“Well, I think that’s everything. Oh, your Dad left you a bit of spending money-” She handled over a little pouch that clinked promisingly. “Now I can get that Puddlemere United jumper I saw the Quality Quidditch Supplies catalogue!” Atticus shoved the money into his pocket to join the single gold galleon and handful of sickles and knuts he’d saved up in tips over the last few weeks.

Dora stood by the large hearth. Opening up a small ornamental jar she took a pinch of the sparkling powder within and tossed it into the flames, which doubled in size and turned a brilliant emerald green. She stepped into the fire and, noticing the sudden hesitation on her son’s face. “C’mon, Attie,” Dora held out her hand with an encouraging smile.

Atticus, bolstered by his mother’s easy confidence, stepped into the floo.

“Diagon Alley!”

The only child of Dora and Winthorp Brightmore, who found each other later in life, Atticus Brightmore had the rare privilege of growing up knowing what true love looks like.

His mother had always dreamt of a house filled with people - and though she had intended for those people to be her many children and family members, having more than one child was not in the proverbial cards, so she found a different way.

The Inn at Rabbit Hill had been in operation for 133 years when Dora and Winthorp Brightmore bought it, dilapidated and failing, from its previous owner and fixed it up. Serving witches and wizards (and the very occasional muggle who wandered in by accident) the Inn, located in Upper Flagely, served as a stopping point for many travelers through the years. Dora managed the Inn as Winthorp maintained it, and several other small properties in the county that they rented out.

The work was hard, and never quite stopped, but it afforded the little Brightmore family a comfortable lifestyle and provided no end of novelty in the stream of colorful guests who stayed with them.

Winthorp Brightmore had attended Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry (Hufflepuff house) and Dora Brightmore, the daughter of a ministry ambassador, had attended both Hogwarts for a time and later Ilvermorny, in America (Ravenclaw, and Puckwudgie, respectively), so it was no surprise when the owl bearing Atticus’ acceptance letter arrived in late summer.

Both parents mourned the idea of losing their son to school for months at a time - so much that Dora even considered homeschooling the boy; but it was the promise of Christmases at home (the Inn crowded with new and familiar faces, as always) and long summer holidays (where Winthorp and Atticus would travel south to camp out for a week and watch Puddlemere United - their favorite quidditch team - during their training season) that helped soothe the sting of separation.

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

House Request: Gryffindor

Possessed of a friendly demeanor, Atticus is an outgoing, genial boy. Growing up in an Inn he has skill beyond his years in interacting with people of just about any background or attitude. His tendency to look to his parents (particularly his mother) before acting, speaks to a deeper dependence on them, which will be tested in his first time away from them both as he begins school.

Atticus is of average height and weight for a boy his age. He has green eyes and short brown hair and by all accounts favors his mother far more than his father in looks - if that trend continues he cannot expect to be a very tall man, something he is still too young to be very concerned about. Athletic in the coltish, uncoordinated way most young boys tend to be, he is equally clumsy, often sporting a bruise or scrape. 

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.


Potions had been a no-brainer during class sign-ups. How often did Atticus help his mother out in the kitchen of Rabbit Hill? Ingredients plus water plus fire equals potion, right? Or food...or dessert. Unbidden, Atticus' stomach rumbled and he massaged his torso.

One more class until lunch, if he made it to class, that was; Because all of a sudden Atticus realized that he was not in fact walking down the usual corridor - the one that was torch-lit and gloomy, this one was just gloomy. The boy's pace slowed and he glanced behind himself, slowing to a stop just before a break in the corridor. Left or right? His mother always said it was best to stay put when lost, but staying put would just ensure that he would miss class entirely and surely she wouldn't agree with that...

Mind made up to take the left turn, Atticus pulled out his wand and tried to remember the charm to light it. His footsteps echoed with a hollow sound and a voice answered the noise; "Hello! Is Emma Birch here?"

Atticus whirled around with a yelp of surprise, wand aloft, eyes shut tight in a wince as a shower of scarlet sparks shot from it before he could answer, exlaim, or otherwise say anything at all.


Please list any characters you have  on the site (current and previous): Edmund Wolffe, Cecelia Bramston, Genevieve Woods

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* Ella Galanis

    (22/12/2018 at 22:30)
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Dear Mr Brightmore,

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

Term begins 1 January 2019. 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