Hogwarts School: A Harry Potter RPG

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→ CHARACTER INFORMATION.

Name: Barron de Homem-Christo

Birthday: May 5th

Hometown:

Bloodline: Halfblood

Magical Strength (pick one): Conjuring & Summoning

Magical Weakness (pick one): Transfiguration

Year (pick two): Fifth; Fourth

Biography:
“Ah, mon petit, I must admit I do miss it here.” Antonia de Homem-Christo sighed as she escorted her fourteen-year-old son out of the entrance hall of Beauxbatons Academy, which loomed behind them like a chateau from a fairy-tale.

“I will too.” Barron confessed, feeling contrite after kicking up such a fuss about leaving Beauxbatons. His mother smiled and squeezed his shoulder.

It was early afternoon, and the courtyard was bustling with students getting ready to bid farewell before the summer holidays, exchanging addresses to write and boasting about exciting summer plans ahead. Professors and parents of graduating seventh years were clustered together under some blooming cherry blossom trees, waiting for the end of the day to arrive.

In the middle of the courtyard, a fountain the size of a small pool played joyously, with stone cherubs pouring babbling water into the dancing blue below. Barron had often taken advantage of the famous fountain, having heard the rumours of its beautifying abilities whispered amongst the girls at school.

Antonia had given up trying to convince Barron to remain at Beauxbatons for the next three years – he wanted so desperately to return to Hogwarts. It had been two years since he transferred schools - he had gotten his way and had attended Hogwarts for his first and second years, however that summer before his third year, the entire family was uprooted to France for his mother's work. Now, two years on, Barron was eager to return to Hogwarts to see out the rest of his education. Beauxbatons had been rewarding, however Barron struggled with the varying languages and often found himself lagging behind in classes.

Barron stopped to bid adieu to a group of fellow students, their words tumbling out in French and Dutch, demanding letter correspondence now that Barron will be so far away. Antonia felt a swell of pride, realising her son had more friends than she feared.

Maybe he was ready to go back to Hogwarts.


→ ADDITIONAL INFORMATION.

Personality: There’s seldom anything that Barron enjoys doing more than telling people about his extensive list of hobbies; ballet, violin, painting, drawing, reading, crochet, origami. He loves to create beauty wherever possible.

Having been coddled by his mother from a very early age, Barron is quite self-centred and arrogant, however it seldom comes from a place of malice. It is just the simple fact that everything should be about him, quite frankly. And when Barron finds himself not the centre of attention, it can be hard to get him out of a bad mood.

Appearance: Barron is pale and willowy, with aristocratic good looks that undoubtedly came from his mother, a Beauxbatons alumna. At average height, Barron has striking grey eyes, full plush lips and a mop of carefully styled brunette hair, that he swears he doesn’t actually style at all (he’s also a total fibber).


→ RETURNING STUDENTS.


Link to your last levels request (if you never posted one, link to your last accepted student application): http://hogwarts-school.net/sortinghat/index.php?topic=8095.0

Number of New Levels Requested: 6

New Levels Request: C3D3T3S5

How your character kept up with their studies: Barron attended Hogwarts for the first two years of his wizarding education. At the beginning of his third year, he was transplanted to Beauxbatons Academy of Magic, fulfilling the wish of his mother who implored him to attend, if only for a few years. Now, beginning his fifth year, Barron is returning to Hogwarts to see out his education.

→ 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 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.

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Barron didn’t want to panic. This most certainly was not a disastrous situation. Just give it time, he reasoned. Everything will fall into place.

Sure, Hogwarts wasn’t as pretty and statuesque as Beauxbatons. Not too much of a problem. He had known that from the beginning.

There wasn’t a bewitched beautifying fountain at his disposal like at Beauxbatons, slight issue there.

What was a non-negotiable option, however, were Barron’s sleeping quarters. From the moment Barron laid eyes on the locale the Slytherin common room, a nervous panic had taken root in his belly. He had plain forgotten how eerie and unkempt the Slytherin common room was, how the dungeons didn't agree with his sensitive complexion one bit.
 
At the academy, he slept under a window that looked over a picturesque courtyard, with views stretching all the way to distant mountains and valleys. At Hogwarts, Barron was subjected to the wet and chilly dungeons that saw not a lick of luxury.

It was monstrous.

‘You wanted this.’ Barron thought stubbornly, refusing the impulse to contact his mother and admit she was right.

Barron had just exited the common room and was walking delicately in the direction of the corridor to the upper levels. The dingy floor was lopsided, and he had already tripped twice. Just as the terrifying thought of what this humidity was doing to his hair, it happened again. Barron’s shoe struck a stone that jutted out at a strange angle, and he stumbled forwards, grasping a wall to stop his fall. His breath was coming out in cold pants, a looming realisation that this was his home for the next three bloody years. In his state of quiet panic, he didn’t hear the first year approaching from around a bend.

“Hello! Is Emma Birch here?”

The voice made Barron’s body jerk in shock, just barely concealing the yelp from his lungs. “Merlin!” He cursed, marching forward and rearing on the poor girl.

“Do you mind? I don’t know who this Emma dunce is, but maybe she’s hiding from you for a reason. Now, move!”

Barron was too flustered and agitated to mind his manners, and the girl was his only available target in that moment. He marched past her, bumping shoulders as he went, and tripped once again before disappearing from view.

→ ABOUT YOU.

Please list any characters you have  on the site (current and previous): Mana Ash, Charlotte Anais Nin

How did you find us?:

Name: Barron de Homem-Christo

Birthday: May 5

Hometown: Dublin, Ireland

Bloodline: Half-blood

Magical Strength: Conjuring & Summoning

Magical Weakness: Transfiguration

Year (pick two): Second Year; Third Year

Biography:
Ballsbridge, Dublin.

On what was arguably the loveliest street in one of the most upscale areas of Dublin city, stood a languish, Elizabethan manor. The front area of the house boasted a courtyard, lined with crisp, brilliantly green grass, and in the very center stood a large playing fountain. It was a lovely place to grow up, Barron de Homem-Christo thought, gazing out of his bedroom window with a sudden realisation that soon this wouldn’t be home anymore. A sleek car peeled into the driveway, and Barron pushed himself away from his bedroom balcony. His mother was back, and he had good news to tell her.

In a liquid-smooth swirl of silks and furs, Antonia de Homem-Christo flounced into the grand dining room as Barron entered from the kitchen. It was nearing the evening, and a warm red light from the setting sun tumbled through the French doors that overlooked the tidy, quaint courtyard in front of their home.

   “Mon petit!” Antonia exclaimed, her willowy figure paused at the threshold as she slid her sunglasses down her nose and away from her face. Barron jerked forwards instinctually and marched across the glossy mahogany floor to give his mother a kiss before she could scold him for being timid.

   “How was your flight, mum?” He asked in the light, sing-song voice that had made him the unfortunate target of his brothers’ taunts. Theodore and Bastian were tall and brave, with hardened, calloused hands from years of playing Hurling and Quidditch - just what you’d imagine two fifteen-year-old boys to be. For all their brawn and chaos, Barron was the opposite.

        Gentle and sensitive, Barron was a little bird, likened in the very image of his statuesque mother, who was only too happy to foster the feminine ways of her youngest son, and treat him as she did Barron’s two younger sisters, Phillippa and Demelza. Manicures, ballet, charms and afternoon tea. Antonia assured her youngest son that it didn’t matter he wasn’t like other boys, that he was special and creative and had an exquisite eye for interior design. “But you mustn’t tell your father.” Antonia would stress, her French accent dominating her English.

   “Ghastly.” She responded, tucking her sunglasses into her Hermès bag. “You’d think they’d know how to serve a decent cocktail in first class,” Antonia brooded, her heels click-clacking as she walked over to a couch and dropped her bag on a pillow, “but that’s the Spanish for you.” She added, collapsing into the plush cushions. “Has your ‘Ogwarts letter come, mon chéri?” Barron grinned, suddenly alight with excitement as he scrambled to the dining table to brandish the acceptance letter with a proud flourish. “I can do conjuring and summoning there, can’t I?” Barron asked eagerly, climbing up onto the couch next to his mother. He tucked his legs beneath him, getting comfortable, the familiar smell of his mother’s perfume instantly calming his rapid heartbeat. Antonia cuddled her son, nodding in reply. 

   “Are you sure you won’t consider Beauxbatons?” Antonia asked. She knew the answer, Barron had given it dozens of times now. “Theodore and Bastian will be going back, and I so adored my time there – “

   “It’s because Theo and Bastian are there that I cannot go.” Barron said firmly, still in the tight clutches of his mother’s embrace. “You know this, maman.”

   It was no secret to Antonia that her oldest sons could be quite brutish and dominating – mirror images of their father, though she couldn’t deny that her husbands’ unpredictable and unbridled aggression is what attracted him to her. She daren’t say that to Barron, though. “Your father loved Hogwarts, I suppose.” She reasoned, with a suitable amount of melancholy in her voice. “And at Hogwarts you will be the most beautiful boy.”

Barron detangled himself from Antonia’s ever-tightening hug with a laugh. “Handsome, mumma. Boys are supposed to be handsome.”

→ ADDITIONAL INFORMATION.

House Request: Slytherin

Personality:
There’s seldom anything that Barron enjoys doing more than telling people about his extensive list of hobbies; ballet, violin, painting, drawing, reading, crochet, origami. He loves to create beauty wherever possible.

Having been coddled by his mother from a very early age, Barron is quite self-centred and arrogant, however it seldom comes from a place of malice. It is just the simple fact that everything should be about him, quite frankly. And when Barron finds himself not the centre of attention, it can be hard to get him out of a bad mood.

The trials and tribulations of others is of little interest to him, which has certainly affected his abilities on acquiring friends. The fact that his best (and only) friends are currently his sisters and his mother touches a nerve, and Barron is determined to make friends who appreciate and worship him at Hogwarts. Every goal that Barron sets out to achieve, he succeeds, and at Hogwarts it will be no different.


Appearance:
Barron is pale and willowy, with aristocratic good looks that undoubtedly came from his mother, a Beauxbatons alumna. At average height, Barron has striking grey eyes, full plush lips and a mop of carefully styled brunette hair, that he swears he doesn’t actually style at all (he’s also a total fibber).

Despite not having a wand of his own quite yet, Barron often borrows his mother’s wand to try out cosmetic charms on himself, at varying levels of success.


→ SAMPLE ROLEPLAY.

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."


REPLY


“It’s called ballet.” Barron announced pompously, relaxing his Demi-Plié to look at the two gawking first year girls. It was like they had never seen someone en pointe before!

The first years jumped, looking frightened and confused. Barron had been at Hogwarts for two weeks now and hadn’t done any dancing to his dismay. After breakfast, he enlisted the services of two timid little first years to be his adoring audience in the courtyard – the perfect stage for his breathtaking rendition of des Grieux. However, the two tiny girls had barely said a thing, and Barron was yet to see a single tear from either of them. The cheek!

“Alright, you can go.” Barron grumbled, his shoulders sagging in dejection. His hopes of finding a doting audience in this school were fading quickly.

Lost in his melancholy thoughts, Barron didn’t notice the heightening sounds of Hugh’s frantic searching. It was only until the almighty sneeze from the fifth year that Barron snapped back to reality and spotted the boy in the bushes, looking filthy and dazed.

“Can I help you with something? It is not polite to stare.”

Barron wrinkled his nose in dismay. “Nor is it polite to have snot all over your school robes.” Beauxbatons students wouldn’t be so messy and unrefined, he thought plaintively, before mentally shaking away such snobby thoughts that were no doubt subconsciously inherited from his fussy mother. He wouldn’t make friends by being an elitist.

“Do you…” Barron eyed the glossy smear as it trailed down Hugh’s sleeve and resisted the urge to dry-wretch, “want a tissue?” It was the most helpful he could be in this instance; from the older boy’s hollering moments ago, Barron assumed he was looking for a pet of some sort, but joining the boy in trudging around in the dirt was just going too far.

Philanthropy is hard.


→ ABOUT YOU.

Please list any characters you have  on the site (current and previous): Charlotte Anais Nin

How did you find us?: Facebook!