Hogwarts School: A Harry Potter RPG

E L S E W H E R E   A D U L T

CHARACTER INFORMATION
Character Name: Aethelreld Isaiah Cadwallader[Formerly Callum Pope]
Gender: Male
Age: 23

Education: 
Home-school [3-10]
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry [11-17]

Residence:
Originally a quaint music store, shelved between the high-rise buildings of Jazz Age New York. 

Occupation
Pianist and Composer

Do you plan to have a connection to a particular existing place (for example: the Ministry, Shrieking Shack) or to take over an existing shop in need of new management?
Nope (uwu

Requested Magic Levels:
Adult characters have 32 starting levels to distribute across these four categories (less levels can be used if you so desire, but no more than 32). The number of levels on the lowest ability must be at least half of the highest ability.

If you want levels above the usual 32 total, or a significantly uneven distribution of starting levels, please fill out and submit the Special Request form here.

• Charms: 11
• Divination: 7
• Transfiguration: 7
• Summoning: 7

Do you wish to be approved as a group with any other characters? If so who and for what IC reason?
Cadwalladers.

Please list any other characters you already have at the site:
Corentine Thorne etc.

Biography: (300 words minimum.)
Aethelreld had grown up with a myriad of interchangeable pseudonyms, many of which were reluctant decisions without his consent. He was born with an identity that glared shame and mortification that had forced him into a disposition of anonymity. An illegitimate offspring, an unintended fruit that was the outcome of empty promises and emotional devastation, after a short-lived intrigue between a guileless young woman and a despondent widower.

The young woman was Katherine Pope, wandering in the dangerous wonderland of Muggle London with dreamy eyes and a pocket full of youthful ideal. Abandoning a past that held little happy memory or experience of joy at all, Katherine travels to the promising British land that she hopes to offer her respite and a chance to attain freedom.

She was attracted to the mysterious and sad melancholy that smouldered sparkling embers in those eyes, Katherine could not help but feel the desire the close the distance between them. It was that faraway gaze full of thought that pulled her in, Katherine wanted to provide warmth and relief for those eyes that quietly pleaded. Compassion that bubbled within her compelled to render him a paradise, a haven safe from the sorrow that plagued his heavy mind.

Slow it was the process to forget her committed principles, Katherine sank into the irrevocable depths of chaste devotion. In the physical pleasure and mental elation, she forgot the pocket full of aspirations and dreams that she has yet to make reality. Everything else seemed to fade into the vacuous backdrop that blurred beyond the man that had now occupied her every thought. Nothing came to surpass his presence. It was certain that there would come a day Katherine would regret, but then she knew that the future was far from her fingertip's reach and she could only muster enough sense to entertain the ephemeral present.

Early signs of her pregnancy began to show increasing emphasis, it first brought surprise then soon after euphoria Katherine has never had the privilege to experience. Imagination conjured delusions that would come to be shattered by the harsh silhouette of her beloved at the news of Aethelreld's conception. Ardent passion that burned brightly in her heart was immediately extinguished, her chest awash with suffocating despair and dread.

Aethelreld was an adored child among his neighbors, for his angelic attractiveness and his docile nature that was amiss in the youths that ran amok the neighborhood. They were all especially fond of his musical talent and quiet helpfulness, if not perturbed by his absolute silence and emotional comatose. Most of them understood that the Popes guarded their secrecy, offering to help whenever possible as they were pitiful for Katherine's intermittent psychosis that erupted at a spastic pattern, her sweet tenderness was a well-known trait amongst her peers and earned her some favor, but the psychosis that ruined her made parents weary.

When Aethelreld was 8, he received a scar from a frantic Katherine that was pacing on the fringes of sanity, armed with a small knife after returning home one afternoon. Aethelreld succeeded to comfort her and helped her to her bedroom, Katherine blubbered rubbish and murmured a secret that Aethelreld still carries in his heavy heart today, it anchors him to a reality that he denies. His feather light steps are burdened, no longer hovering. The wound from the swipe of blade healed almost instantly without his notice, but the faint scar reminds him of the truth that he shelves deep in his old soul. Beads of rain pelt sharply on the healthy pink cicatrix that was a stark contrast to his milky skin, as he stood crowded by a morose throng. His indifference bothered most of the guests that attended the sepulchre funeral. His brows knitted together inconspicuously as shoveled dirt sprawls across his mother's nailed coffin, but his small frame is blocked by the looming wall of mourning visitors whom fail to take notice.

In the days that followed his ruminative daze, Aethelreld stayed with the affable librarian who offered to be his guardian in his mothers' absence, and was rearranging the books as he always did before. His mother often left him in the care of Mrs Knightley, the said librarian. He is visited by a stranger that speaks with a peculiar accent that his alien to him, there is awful resemblance that Aethelreld could not place and did not care to, Aethelreld is questioned by the stranger who was unable to contain the fitful surge of grief that choked his words, the underlying nuance  was influenced by his sorrow.

He was brought into a world that was completely foreign to him, but Aethelreld was not concerned, nothing seemed to bother him at all. The children in the big house did not take a liking to him, often ignored his existence and refused to offer him any friendliness of visible sort. Yet, as long as he had his music and the ideal world that only existed in his psyche, Aethelreld was at peace. He allowed his existence to fade, watched the recognition of his presence dwindle as did the precious little memory of his mother, but the secret that afflicts him with a feeling that causes a ripple in his halcyon heart.

He was sent to Hogwarts, a school of magical wizardry that Aethelreld could have only found in the fairytales and children's stories that he often retreated to, a sanctum untainted and undisturbed by  harsh truths molded by a callous world. Aethelreld earns popularity amongst the female populace of Hogwarts, he became a subject of gossip and teen infatuation. His estranged behavior towards all his relatives in the school provides fuel for virulent bavardage.Aethelreld becomes a fine young man, refined and polite, sophisticated but reticent. He graduates with outstanding appraisal.

Aethelreld returned to Muggle New York shortly after his graduation, and delved into the musical career that will earn him anonymous repute and prestige in the years that follow. He now composes and performs under the alias that was once his own true identity, Callum Pope.

[*Note:He's going to be primarily in London, but still lives in New York. He's trying to escape a certain memory that's been bothering him lately.]


 Roleplay: 
You come across one of these posts on the site. Please select one & reply as your character:


Option Two -
The snow had been falling steadily all morning and it didn't look like it was going to stop any time soon. Joshua Campbell scrunched his face up in a frown as he lifted his gaze to look to the sky. Snow. It really was quite a bother.

And it certainly didn't make it better that Diagon Alley seemed to be getting more and more crowded. Joshua sighed and pointed his wand at the large box that was currently placed on the doorstep of his shop. He had to get going. He had an order to deliver.

"Wingardium Leviosa!" The elderly man muttered and watched the box hover in the air for a moment. Honestly, did St. Mungo's really need that much tinsel? And with glitter of all things? He sighed again. If it hadn't been for the rather convincing stamp on the order, he would have been likely to believe it had been a prank by one of those orphaned rascals living up there. 

Oh well, there was no point in waiting. Joshua deftly stirred the box down the doorstep and out onto the street, carefully levitating it above the heads of the crowd.

"Coming through! Coming through!" His voice sounded over the chatter of the crowd. "Keep out! Move ahead! Go on!" This was going way too slow. People were in the way and walking like they had all day! He huffed. Luckily the road was down hill.

"Coming through! Coming th--- arrrgh!" Joshua let out a loud shout as his feet suddenly slipped in the snow and sent him, the box, and several long strands of tinsel tumbling into the person who had been walking in front of him.

"For Merlin's sake!" Joshua muttered angrily as he hurried to his feet again, red and gold tinsel now decorating his black coat. "I am so sorry! This blasted snow!" He looked apologetic at the person he had crashed into.

Roleplay Response:
Aethelreld walked calmly, shouldering past the magical crowds that donned bright colors in celebration of the holiday. His attire is a subtle combination of monochrome, the season's fluffy deluge added spots of pristine white that also found their way into his tousled hair of honeyed floss. A pair of blue depths peered from beneath immaculate brows, looking at the swirl of dismal billow that was the winter morning sky. The smell of ice wafted in the frigid breeze.

He paused slightly, his step hovering slightly over the trampled white bed of snow. The uncomfortable brush of coarse tinsel tickles his straight nose, coiling around his broad shoulders. He bows his head slightly, and the lurid red and gold tinsel fell into his gloved palm, the glare of bright color blazed against the dark onyx fabric.

Softly but with a hidden hollowness that was the terrible absence of human emotion in those words that would prickle the fine hairs on one's back, “It's quite fine.” Even and impeccably frosted, as graceful as the weightless snow that gyrated midair.

Wordlessly, Aethelreld returned the tinsel to the apologizing older man,his cold hand brushed against the leathery warmth in the exchange. He retained rapt attention as he was accustomed to in the audience of a senior, his obedient silence was eeriely offputting as he listened to the stranger's disgruntled complaint regarding the December flurry.

Once he finishes his tirade, Aethelreld did not take the initiative to enquire for his name. Aliases meant little to him and he did not expect to reunite with the older man in the future, near or far. His faintly airy voice greeted, “ Merry Christmas.”, the perpetual lack of facial expression despite its handsome detail portrayed a statuesque appeal.With a polite bow of his head, Aethelreld turns to rejoin the bevy of anonymous wizards and witches. His thoughtfully blank eyes on the trampled blanket of frost beneath him, as his monotone silhouette melded seamlessly with the sea of people.

 

OTHER
How did you find us? Google

Quote from: Aethelreld Cadwallader on 31/07/2014 at 13:48

Quote from: Aethelreld Cadwallader on 20/07/2014 at 06:21

E L S E W H E R E   A D U L T

CHARACTER INFORMATION
Character Name: Aethelreld Isaiah Cadwallader[Formerly Callum Pope]
Gender: Male
Age: 23

Education: 
Home-school [3-10]
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry [11-17]

Residence:
Originally a quaint music store, shelved between the high-rise buildings of Jazz Age New York. 

Occupation
Pianist and Composer

Do you plan to have a connection to a particular existing place (for example: the Ministry, Shrieking Shack) or to take over an existing shop in need of new management?
Nope (uwu

Requested Magic Levels:
Adult characters have 32 starting levels to distribute across these four categories (less levels can be used if you so desire, but no more than 32). The number of levels on the lowest ability must be at least half of the highest ability.

If you want levels above the usual 32 total, or a significantly uneven distribution of starting levels, please fill out and submit the Special Request form here.

• Charms: 11
• Divination: 7
• Transfiguration: 7
• Summoning: 7

Do you wish to be approved as a group with any other characters? If so who and for what IC reason?
Cadwalladers.

Please list any other characters you already have at the site:
Corentine Thorne etc.

Biography: (300 words minimum.)
Aethelreld had grown up with a myriad of interchangeable pseudonyms, many of which were reluctant decisions without his consent. He was born with an identity that glared shame and mortification that had forced him into a disposition of anonymity. An illegitimate offspring, an unintended fruit that was the outcome of empty promises and emotional devastation, after a short-lived intrigue between a guileless young woman and a despondent widower.

The young woman was Katherine Pope, wandering in the dangerous wonderland of Muggle London with dreamy eyes and a pocket full of youthful ideal. Abandoning a past that held little happy memory or experience of joy at all, Katherine travels to the promising British land that she hopes to offer her respite and a chance to attain freedom.

She was attracted to the mysterious sad melancholy that smouldered sparkling embers in those eyes, Katherine could not help but feel the desire the close the distance between them. It was that faraway gaze full of thought that pulled her in, Katherine wanted to provide warmth and relief for those eyes that quietly pleaded. Compassion that bubbled within her compelled to render him a paradise, a haven safe from the sorrow that plagued his heavy mind.

Slowly it was the process to forget her committed principles, Katherine sank into the irrevocable depths of chaste devotion. In the physical pleasure and mental elation, she forgot the pocket full of aspirations and dreams that she has yet to make reality. Everything else seemed to fade into the vacuous backdrop that blurred beyond the man that had now occupied her every thought. Nothing came to surpass his presence. It was certain that there would come a day Katherine would regret, but then she knew that the future was far from her fingertip's reach and she could only muster enough sense to entertain the ephemeral present.

Early signs of her pregnancy that began to show increasing emphasis, it first brought surprise then soon after euphoria Katherine has never had the privilege to experience. Imagination conjured delusions that would come to be shattered by the harsh silhouette of her beloved at the news of Aethelreld's conception. Ardent passion that burned brightly in her heart was immediately extinguished, her chest awash with suffocating despair and dread.

Aethelreld was an adored child among his neighbors, for his angelic attractiveness and his docile nature that was amiss in the youths that ran amok the neighborhood. They were all especially fond of his musical talent and quiet helpfulness, if not perturbed by his absolute silence and emotional comatose. Most of them understood that the Popes guarded their secrecy, offering to help whenever possible as they were pitiful for Katherine's intermittent psychosis that erupted at a spastic pattern, her sweet tenderness was a well-known trait amongst her peers and earned her some favor, but the psychosis that ruined her made parents weary.

When Aethelreld is 8, he receives a scar from a frantic Katherine that was pacing on the fringes of sanity, armed with a small knife after returning home one afternoon. Aethelreld succeeds to comfort her and helps her to her bedroom, Katherine blubbers rubbish and murmurs a secret that Aethelreld still carries in his heavy heart, it anchors him to a reality that he denies. His feather light steps are burdened, no longer hovering. The wound from the swipe of blade healed almost instantly without his notice, but the faint scar reminds him of the truth that he shelves deep in his old soul. Beads of rain pelt sharply on the healthy pink cicatrix that was a stark contrast to his milky skin, as he stood crowded by a morose throng. His indifference bothers most of the guests that attend the sepulchre funeral. His brows knit together inconspicuously, as shoveled dirt sprawls across his mother's nailed coffin.

Days later, Aethelreld whom temporarily stays with the affable librarian whom offers to be his guardian in his mothers' absence, is rearranging the books as he always did before. His mother often left him in the care of Mrs Knightley, the said librarian. He is visited by a stranger that speaks with a peculiar accent that his alien to him, there is awful resemblance that Aethelreld cannot place and does not care to, Aethelreld is questioned by the stranger who cannot contain  fitful surge of grief that choked his words.

He is brought into a world that is completely foreign to him, but Aethelreld is not concerned, nothing seems to bother him at all. The children in the big house did not take a liking to him, often ignored his existence and refused to offer him any friendliness of visible sort. Yet, as long as he had his music and the ideal world that only existed in his psyche, Aethelreld is at peace.

He is sent to Hogwarts, a school of magical wizardry that Aethelreld could have only found in the fairytales and children's stories that he often retreated to. Aethelreld earns popularity amongst the female populace of Hogwarts, he becomes a subject of gossip and teen infatuation. Aethelreld becomes a fine young man, refined and polite, sophisticated but reticent. He graduates with outstanding appraisal.

Aethelreld returns to Muggle New York, and delves into the musical career that earns his much anonymous repute and prestige. He composes and performs under the alias that was once his own true identity, Callum Pope. Aethelreld wanders Europe in his random expedition, he tries to find meaning for his life.


 Roleplay: 
You come across one of these posts on the site. Please select one & reply as your character:


Option Two -
The snow had been falling steadily all morning and it didn't look like it was going to stop any time soon. Joshua Campbell scrunched his face up in a frown as he lifted his gaze to look to the sky. Snow. It really was quite a bother.

And it certainly didn't make it better that Diagon Alley seemed to be getting more and more crowded. Joshua sighed and pointed his wand at the large box that was currently placed on the doorstep of his shop. He had to get going. He had an order to deliver.

"Wingardium Leviosa!" The elderly man muttered and watched the box hover in the air for a moment. Honestly, did St. Mungo's really need that much tinsel? And with glitter of all things? He sighed again. If it hadn't been for the rather convincing stamp on the order, he would have been likely to believe it had been a prank by one of those orphaned rascals living up there. 

Oh well, there was no point in waiting. Joshua deftly stirred the box down the doorstep and out onto the street, carefully levitating it above the heads of the crowd.

"Coming through! Coming through!" His voice sounded over the chatter of the crowd. "Keep out! Move ahead! Go on!" This was going way too slow. People were in the way and walking like they had all day! He huffed. Luckily the road was down hill.

"Coming through! Coming th--- arrrgh!" Joshua let out a loud shout as his feet suddenly slipped in the snow and sent him, the box, and several long strands of tinsel tumbling into the person who had been walking in front of him.

"For Merlin's sake!" Joshua muttered angrily as he hurried to his feet again, red and gold tinsel now decorating his black coat. "I am so sorry! This blasted snow!" He looked apologetic at the person he had crashed into.

Roleplay Response:
Aethelreld walks calmly, shouldering past the magical crowds that donned bright colors in celebration of the holiday. His attire is a subtle combination of monochrome, the season's fluffy deluge added spots of pristine white that also found their way into his tousled hair of honeyed floss. A pair of blue depths peered from beneath immaculate brows, looking at the swirl of dismal billow that was the winter morning sky. The smell of ice wafted in the frigid breeze.

He pauses slightly, his step hovering slightly over the trampled white bed of snow. The uncomfortable brush of coarse tinsel tickles his straight nose, coiling around his broad shoulders. He bows his head slightly, and the lurid red and gold tinsel fall into his gloved palm, the glare of bright color blazed against the dark onyx fabric.

Wordlessly, Aethelreld returns the tinsel to the apologizing older man, his head nodding slightly in acknowledgement of his string of apologies. With a bow of his head, Aethelreld turns to meld into the flowing bevy of wizards. His thoughtfully blank eyes on the trampled blanket of frost beneath his feet.

 

OTHER
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E L S E W H E R E   A D U L T

CHARACTER INFORMATION
Character Name: Aethelreld Isaiah Cadwallader
Gender: Male
Age: 23

Education: 
Home-school [3-10]
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry [11-17]

Residence:
Originally a lavish mansion in New York after inheriting his maternal grandfather's fortune. Currently resides in a London estate.

Occupation
Pianist

Do you plan to have a connection to a particular existing place (for example: the Ministry, Shrieking Shack) or to take over an existing shop in need of new management?
Nope (uwu

Requested Magic Levels:
Adult characters have 32 starting levels to distribute across these four categories (less levels can be used if you so desire, but no more than 32). The number of levels on the lowest ability must be at least half of the highest ability.

If you want levels above the usual 32 total, or a significantly uneven distribution of starting levels, please fill out and submit the Special Request form here.

• Charms: 11
• Divination: 7
• Transfiguration: 7
• Summoning: 7

Do you wish to be approved as a group with any other characters? If so who and for what IC reason?
Cadwalladers.

Please list any other characters you already have at the site:
Corentine Thorne etc.

Biography: (300 words minimum.)
Callum held his ungiving countenance, his frail spine erect beneath the surface of the smooth and refined linen, gamine narrow shoulders of his youthful age were relaxed but confident, alabaster spry fingers of tender velvet settled along monochrome keys. Chandelier light cast wheels of psychedelic light distorted, ring upon ring of complexity. He begins his performance with a simple tune, an easy melody for a beginner's convenience. Silken gossamer lashes quiver and light ripples in its healthy shine, teal gems glistened a dreamy glow beneath, beading bubbles of liquid clarity. Tufts of golden honey tousled, soft locks of rich floss crowned the top of his head.

A dulcet tune mingled with the brittle motes of dust in the air, lilting and divine.It was rare to come upon such finesse and talent in someone so young. All other distraction and noise seemed to subdued, filtered away to the outskirts of his peripheral cognition, he was isolated from the chaos that raged outside of the independent realm he could only call his own.

In his mind he comes awash in a sea of unrelated thought, buried words never said, observations he was never aware of making, slowly he spins the each fine fiber of conjured thought and sparks ignite from the interconnection. Every pounding synapse translate the fluid result into raw impulse that flow turgidly to his pale fingertips.

From the seamless reverie he carefully embroiders in his mind, a fine suture crafted is abruptly broken, Callum is roused from his immersed absorption. His one finger barely brushes a honed ivory key when the sudden explosion of strident noise came to burst. In all but a moment Callum was derailed and hauled out of his inner world, again exposed to the reality that was vain to his perception. As if never disturbed by the vehement intrusion, Callum rose from his seat with eerie grace that never belonged to his certain age that usually promised splindly awkwardness and childlike stumbles. It was innate, embedded in his indecipherable coded gene, as were his gentle steps that seemed to be free of gravitational rein, a quiet sigh seemed to emit from every nimble step he took. Along the flight of stairs from a distant angle, Callum seemed to levitate and bounce, as if his every footfall was pillowed or cushioned by invisible bubble.
 
He comes to face with the lissome, dimly back-lit silhouette of his distraught mother, looming shadows brought contrast that distinguished the protruding columns along her spine. Colors were drained away, leaking out the crack ajar after the door that did not quite shut in his wake. The bleached monotony was once a palette of pastel greens, but now in the sudden sombre setting,
everything felt unhealthily pasty.

Callum slowly approaches his mother's stiff profile, her distorted, fair features seemed to pause, enraptured by a grotesque trance thar reflected on the cheap mirror. Despite the dim lighting that offered no comfort that he never had a need to feel, his pristine ironed shirt retained its pure and lustrous white. Sangfroid eyes were hauntingly still pools of Carribean waters, swirling with endless teal. Blankly, he tilts his dainty head sideways, in soft enquiry.

Katherine Pope observes her son,eyes rimmed with fresh red and tired rust, her eyes comes to clash with her son's tepid pair. Never breaking the intense stare, Katherine raises a hand to her face, her voice a cracked whisper that emerged from her guttural throat that was taut with distress, pallid and bony fingers tracing tinctures that only her mind could conjure. Her figure cowers from the flickering lamplight, every fiber painfully tense in her recoil, Katherine's hands clutched her lower abdomen.

The words were incoherable, mutters that blurred just slight of range, every exhale of breath trembled and quivered, Callum struggled to understand, his gait wavering slightly, hand outstretched reaching for Katherine's delicate shoulder.

The reflex arch of pallid flesh obscured with its speed, Callum's eyes remained composed, but his pupils dilated and dwindled. There was a sting of pain, a hiss of blade, and a narrow stream of damp that strung down his left cheek, it was a streak that broke and became fallen pearls as they dribbled down his smooth chin. It was a painful sensation very alien to Callum, the moist globes greedily crawled onto the warmth of his palm. Callum sees a vibrant red sheen that was cradled in his young hand. His eyes remain impenetrably blank, devoid of any tear or vestige of human emotion, peerless crystalline remained calm.

Steel clattered onto the tiled floor, startling the hanging tension as it exhaled a quiet surprise.

Suddenly he is embraced by his mother's distraught self, Katherine murmurs sobs and apologies, her voice is remorseful. Callum feels the warm flow of blood from the incision smeared by her oaken brown locks, luminous curls of fading gradient carried globules of liquid rose. Callum lowers his lashes, and his voice resonates in the room, a placid and innocuous tone.

"Mother,you are tired." The sound is mellifluous, the simple syntax a sweet refrain.

There is a break in the streak of racking sobs
[Under Construction] 

Roleplay: 
You come across one of these posts on the site. Please select one & reply as your character:

Option One -
Amelia Nixon was many things, but she was never a pushover reporter that people could just usher away with a busy shuffle past. She was dedicated and eager to cut to the very middle of the current political tensions because she was Amelia Nixon and her articles would most certainly become front page material.

“Sir, please! It’s for the Prophet, how do you feel-“

Another one brushed passed her, the shuffling busy masses making their way through Diagon Alley for the lunchtime rush. This had been the best possible time to get people, but none of them were giving her anything to go with.

Only momentarily discouraged, the short red headed lady took a seat on a nearby bench. Her quill resting in her left hand and her notepad ready in the opposite hand. Amelia pouted, tapping the quill against her leg as she scanned the waves of people for somebody - anybody - who looked like they had something to say.

She had been dreaming of her name in bold print, Amelia Nixon: The Source of Today’s Tomorrow. She had been dreaming of the larger office and the secretaries that would fetch her the morning coffee and fetch her anything she needed. The VIP interviews and the most exclusive press passes. But all Amelia had was a page seventeen piece on the rising number of frogs in London.

Hardened by a day of no success, the reporter stood up and started to trod off down the alley. A loose stone on the cobble path caught her heel, sending the distraught girl toppling down to the ground.

“Merlin’s fog watch, my heel is broken! Help!” she yelled as she tried desperately to recover her shoe frantically in the middle of the Diagon Alley moving crowds.

Option Two -
The snow had been falling steadily all morning and it didn't look like it was going to stop any time soon. Joshua Campbell scrunched his face up in a frown as he lifted his gaze to look to the sky. Snow. It really was quite a bother.

And it certainly didn't make it better that Diagon Alley seemed to be getting more and more crowded. Joshua sighed and pointed his wand at the large box that was currently placed on the doorstep of his shop. He had to get going. He had an order to deliver.

"Wingardium Leviosa!" The elderly man muttered and watched the box hover in the air for a moment. Honestly, did St. Mungo's really need that much tinsel? And with glitter of all things? He sighed again. If it hadn't been for the rather convincing stamp on the order, he would have been likely to believe it had been a prank by one of those orphaned rascals living up there. 

Oh well, there was no point in waiting. Joshua deftly stirred the box down the doorstep and out onto the street, carefully levitating it above the heads of the crowd.

"Coming through! Coming through!" His voice sounded over the chatter of the crowd. "Keep out! Move ahead! Go on!" This was going way too slow. People were in the way and walking like they had all day! He huffed. Luckily the road was down hill.

"Coming through! Coming th--- arrrgh!" Joshua let out a loud shout as his feet suddenly slipped in the snow and sent him, the box, and several long strands of tinsel tumbling into the person who had been walking in front of him.

"For Merlin's sake!" Joshua muttered angrily as he hurried to his feet again, red and gold tinsel now decorating his black coat. "I am so sorry! This blasted snow!" He looked apologetic at the person he had crashed into.

Roleplay Response:
Type your response here.

OTHER
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