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Archived Applications / Gordon Bourne III
« on: 21/08/2022 at 16:33 »Before you begin, please make sure you have created
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an account in your character's full name, and make sure you have read and understand the following:
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Should you have any questions, please contact an Administrator.
Application for Hogwarts School
→ CHARACTER INFORMATION.
Name: Gordon Frederick Bourne III
Birthday: 30 October 1950
Hometown: Wandsworth, London
Bloodline: Pureblood
Magical Strength (pick one): Divination
Magical Weakness (pick one): Conjuring & Summoning
Year (pick two): 5, 4
Biography:
NULLA
He cried.
And cried.
And cried.
Loud wails ricocheted off the walls, a shrill innate need to be found, to be held, for his mom. But she was gone, wasn’t she? A baby so tightly wrapped in a baby blue blanket left under harsh light, alone. Somewhere else a woman he would never know laid, empty like everything that she was had been sucked out and only a shell remained.
His father stood at her bedside stock-still, alone.
He cried.
IV
His toes dug into the wool and silk fibers as the young boy extended himself. A bright red brick held with just the tips of his fingers. Silence seemed to bounce off the walls; a force that pressed on him, that pricked at the back of his neck.
“—Master! P-please come, your Father w-wishes to see you.” A frail house elf dressed in a ratty piece of cloth appeared suddenly with a loud pop!.
The block jumped right out of his hand. Down it fell, and all he could do was watch it. A sharp breath was sucked in as it dropped uncontrolled into the large stack of similarly colorful bricks. The crash seemed to reverberate, and all at once everything came down. Yellows, blues, greens, all scattered across the floor.
A wave of emotion crashed into him; overwhelming and unrelenting. Heat climbed up his neck, his cheeks, it reddened his ears until all he could see and hear was red. He didn’t know why. Couldn’t stop it.
The rush gnawed at him. Gordon’s face scrunched up suddenly. His small hands balled into fists.
Without a word he picked up that red brick and threw it across the room. Glass—a vase he would later learn—shattered and its pieces flew across the room. He picked up another: green. Gordon threw that one, and the next, and the next, his aim wild and his vision blurry.
“No!” Crash! “No!” Crash! “Noooo!” His chest heaved. Nothing else could come up, it was like something was stuck in his chest.
Loud, commanding footsteps cut right through the red. A new sensation seized him. Fear. Gordon couldn’t move though. The boy stood stock-still, his limbs tensed and coiled. A loud drumming rhythm in his ears picked up tempo and made his entire body pulse with it.
His father came around the corner fast. Gordon’s throat closed at the sight. The man’s own fists were clenched, eyes dark and furious. Already he was hit by the overwhelming stench of cinnamon.
The distance closed faster and faster.
He squeezed his eyes shut and braced.
VII
Imposing stone pillars split through this level and vaulted the ceiling higher than he has ever seen. Grey-blue eyes darted to take it all in. Dark robes and suits rushed every direction across the mosaic floor; his pace faltered.
A strong hand cupped the back of his neck and threatened his spine straight and his feet moving.
Swallowing hard, Gordon obeyed and turned his gaze to the small space in front of him. He and Father were meeting Grandfather in the man’s office. It was the first time he crossed into the Wizengamont; the trip had been laid out to him as an expectation. A chance to acquaint the boy with where he would be. To parade him in front of true authority.
His starchy white shirt itched but he didn’t dare move a finger to relieve it.
Gordon kept his trained face void of any emotion as the pair arrived in front of an old oak door. It opened to reveal a tall man—taller than his father—dressed in inky black robes, silver hair slicked back, eyes a familiar cold grey. The grip on the back of his neck tightened.
Ushered through the door, the boy was finally let go to stand at the back of the office. Dull tones of his namesakes came together. Gordon didn’t move. Wouldn’t dare it. His muscles tensed relentless as he concentrated at making himself still.
Silent.
Boiling.
XI
Gordon had been looking forward to Hogwarts since he was four. A chance to get away, to breathe. (To fulfill the stories he already built with the girl next door. His friend. How they would be able to finally be without the heavy presence of their fathers breathing down their neck.)
But of course, it couldn’t be that simple.
Control. That is what it always came down to. Father exercised it on a whim; to test its powers, limits, and to show him who held it. Gordon felt his chest ache as his mind wandered back an hour, to when he stood in front of the man and was told to open the crisp envelope handed to him.
Elation had hit him then, thinking it the acceptance letter he had dreamed of. Confusion swam in his eyes when he opened it up. DURMSTRANG INSTITUTE OF MAGICAL LEARNING. When he looked back to his father, the man’s eyes were daring him to say something untoward. The threat was in the veins that popped in flexing hands.
He had run upstairs wordlessly. The paper lay crushed between his fingers.
His breathing came in faster now. A familiar burn lit the sides of his face, a rush of red. “No,” he growled, his grey eyes flaring darker. “No!” The closest thing to him—a lamp—ended up in pieces across his wall.
Gordon kicked the end of his bed before collapsing on top of it.
…
When the first day came, he had run through the sharp wind to be the first at the owlery. A letter they promised to send in hand.
He sent it. And another, weeks later.
The girl next door never did write him back. Not once.
(He didn’t care.
Of course not.)
XV
His split lip stung fiercely as he stepped outside. A bruise had formed under his eye, but it did nothing to deter the sharp smirk that contorted his lips. Teeth bared. Eyes wild.
Corralled outside as the ‘adults talked’. It hadn’t even been that bad to deserve such a reaction from the school. A smart mouth met a smart end. Not the first time, either. Gordon paced through the grass, his neck cracking as he flexed his chin sideways. An intoxicating rush seeped through his muscles. It was impossible to stay still.
The creak of a metal door swung his attention.
His smirk fell at the sight of Father stalking toward him. His spine straightened instinctually. Though, he didn’t flinch, not even as a demanding hand met the back of his neck and forcibly turned him around to walk out of the gates. Teeth dug sharply into his tongue, another pang of angry heat hitting his face, as he desperately clawed for restraint.
”Idiot boy. Useless.” His father had sneered. ”Looks like you will have what you wanted.”
A transfer to keep expelled off his record.
Hogwarts.
linking backstory w/ Tala approved by player.
→ ADDITIONAL INFORMATION.
Note: This section is optional, and is up to you to complete.
House Request: Slytherin
Personality:
Quick-tempered and sensitive. Simultaneously feels suffocated by his father's (and grandfather's) ambition for him and likes the idea that he could have some power from it. (Finally achieving his dad's approval is both and ache and a disgust.) Will follow the rules and then act out the next day. Uses others to get what he wants. Extroverted yet will push people away the second they seems too close. Has very little self-control or self-awareness.
Appearance:
Hit a growth spurt early and is finally filling in. Broad with lean muscles from
→ SAMPLE ROLEPLAY.
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 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."
Roleplay Response:
The only time he was ever in the gardens was to use it as a shortcut. And when he crossed, he crossed.
A purple flower was crushed underfoot as Gordon stepped through the planted rows. Dirt caked to the soles of his shoes. Undeterred grey eyes remained fixated on a doorway situated straight ahead. His stomach growled.
He had lost track of time.
The walls had turned suffocating. A constant wave of stone and people, the latter typically being an annoying gaggle of voices that Gordon had to bite down words for. He loved to push a boundary but being forced out of two schools in a year would be a bad play all around. So, he ran. First to the lake, and then to the Groundskeeper’s hut, and back.
Sweat dripped down his brow as he ducked under a low branch.
"You blasted rat! Where are you?"
A stray red flower flew in front of his foot. Gordon stilled; his eyes flashed in the direction the bud had come from. The booming sneeze that followed narrowed his gaze further. Crouched in the grass and pulled weeds was a sniffling boy that looked near his age. Gordon’s lip curled as he watched the other boy rub snot on the sleeve of their robes.
"Can I help you with something? It is not polite to stare."
His blood was at a low simmer.
“Good thing I ain’t tryin’ to be.” He glanced to the castle situated straight ahead and then back to the kid. A slow grin slipped over his face. Yeah, he had time.
Gordon walked closer to stand right in front of the lad, his chin held high to ensure he stood at his full height. “How about you help me?”
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