Hogwarts School: A Harry Potter RPG

CHARACTER INFORMATION
Character Name: Malcolm Reinhart Haines Jr (Called Mal)
Gender: Male.
Age: 32.

Education: 
Six years Salem (Pawn Society), one year Hogwarts (Gryffindor).

Residence:
London Muggle Flat, run down, cheap, ugly, just enough room for one, and in probably the worst building to let in town—cobwebs, leaky ceiling, cracked walls, squeaky floor, bugs, bad neighbours. He can afford better. He doesn't.

Occupation:
Former Auror (Five Years), current Unspeakable in the Death Room(Seven Years)

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?
Ministry of Magic

Requested Magic Levels:

• Charms: 12
• Transfiguration: 12
• Divination: 14
• Summoning: 8

Do you wish to be approved as a group with any other characters? If so who and for what IC reason?
No.

Please list any other characters you already have at the site:
Robert Fowler, Melanie Green.

Biography: (300 words minimum.)
America. Land of the brave and free. Celebrate history by being intolerant and terrible to everybody. Paris, Texas, 1942. Population, 18k roundabouts. The same year the real swing of the second World War hits. And a single teenage mother pops out one baby and decides by golly to keep it because she carried the darn thing for nine months and she might as well reap her varied and vast rewards and have her son. Father was a soldier what went off to war and never came home, and Verity Haines was going to keep  her son named after him, Malcolm Rieinhart Haines Jr started off day one as being the worst name you could have given your son during WWII and by the age of three I was vanishing for long periods of time, able to tell when bullies were coming in elementary school, and when a group of kids decided to beat me up for being scrawny and scruffy and short as hell with a German middle name, I lit one of their heads on fire. Just his hair—he came out of it just fine—but from that point on I was the kid nobody messed with.

Eleven years old, get the letter in the mail. Send-away school in Massachusetts for special students, but we were poor and my mother worked at the laundromat and I wore hand-me-downs from the neighbours and there was no way she could send me. Of course, it was Salem, so the letters just kept coming until she replied, saying there was no way I could attend because of financial issues and for them to kindly screw off and leave us alone, please.

So they came to get me, because my mom was so painfully a Muggle in hindsight it's almost funny, and dragged me off to my first year in school. I was a problem student from day one in the halls, detention, getting in good-old-fashioned fights, but I did all right in all my classes. And my mother wasn't the least bit proud because I'm from Nowhere, Texas, and in Nowhere, Texas if your kid was weird like I was you didn't talk about it. So I stayed with friends in the summer and avoided her and home and when I was sixteen Hogwarts decided I had the makings of greatness and dragged me over there for my last year of school. I managed all right, and right after got snapped up into being an Auror. Lost my fingers while I was doing that, freak paper cut accident—nothing as magnificent as some of the things you hear about. Five years working day to day in the law enforcement and then one day, bam. Come down to Level Nine, your presence requested. Bring your wand and clean out your office. You've been promoted. Now just keep your trap shut.

Secrets all have to come from somewhere. Mine come from a veil in an empty room and the title Unspeakable. From things I swore in the dark of night, and the shouts I hear in my sleep.

Roleplay:
Reply as your character to the following:

Mr. Grunch smirked as stepped into the shadows beneath the overhanging eaves at the side of the street. There was a sort of alcove here, where two buildings came together, and the wall was set back just a couple of feet to make space for a drain from the battered lead guttering. It made it difficult to see if anyone was standing there until you were almost on top of it, and the shape of the roof up above cast an almost permanent shadow even then.

There were a number of such places along Knockturn Alley and Mr. Grunch knew them all.

Seeing nobody was nearby, he quickly cast the concealment spell that would obscure his features, making him unrecognisable, just a blur beneath the cowl of his thick, but worn, robes. He knew his target, had identified them some time before, as they entered the Alley. He had shadowed them, discretely, and now, he knew, they were heading back out again, towards the safety of the better lit Diagon Alley.

He heard the footsteps approaching. This was it, then. Just before they reached the alcove, he stepped out suddenly in front of his target, wand raised and ready.

"Give me all yer galleons, and any jewellery yer got! Don't try to hide nothin', 'cos I'll know, right? Do it now!"

Roleplay Response:
Mental alarm bells, ringing. Great. The walk to and from work, if not work, was generally quiet, and Mal had felt a sort of buzzing in the back of his mind the moment he had left from the Ministry to Diagon Alley to pick up some ingredients he needed for a potion at home, and he had taken a detour to figure out what it was that was setting off his senses like this, and stopped in at some restaurant, ordered something he didn't choose to eat and then shuffled out, hands in the pockets of his coat, head bent and eyes almost closed. He could taste it at the back of his throat. Hear shuffles. But he couldn't pinpoint it—except that it was somewhere nearby.

That was the thing with relying on your senses. They only did so much. Wrapping his hand around the shaft of his wand in his pocket, rubbing his thumb on the much-worn wood, Mal fished in his other pocket for a toothpick and stuck it between his teeth and set off again, skirting the edges of shops, watching out from the brim of his hat. He was short and scrawny, he looked like good prey.

Taking a roundabout path to get back out of Diagon Alley, heading more toward his flat, through the edge of Knockturn, Mal saw out the corner of his eye, the dark alley that he was about to pass through, could smell dirt and danger. It was probably a mugger, no need to concentrate to get that, and Mal slouched more, ready to jerk out his wand and did the moment the man stepped out, brandishing his wand, silent shouts of Stupefy and Levicorpus ringing in his head, not waiting to even finish listening to his stupid tirade about money and jewels, neither of which Mal had on him in the first place, and watching the mugger hang there, suspended a good three feet off the ground, stunned, slowly getting more red in the face—he would manage to get down soon enough, as soon as the Stupefy wore off.

Let him sit like that for a while.

Sheathing his wand in his sleeve once more, Mal started whistling some crappy song from some Muggle musical, elbowed his now-helpless and stunned attacker in the side for fun, and walked by, slouching in the shadows, wondering just how stupid some people were.

SHOPKEEPER QUESTIONS
Answer these questions only if you are applying to be a shopkeeper as well.

Shop name: Type your response here.
Shop Description (200 words minimum): Type your response here.

What purpose will this shop serve other than selling things and being the home of your character? Why would people want to RP there just for fun?
Type your response here.

OTHER
How did you find us? Google | TopSites | Recommendation | Facebook | Tumblr | Other