Hogwarts School: A Harry Potter RPG



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→ CHARACTER INFORMATION.

Name: Ariadne Sarai Saadeh

Birthday: Oct. 21, 1950

Hometown: Godalming, Surrey, England Rhinebeck, NY, USA

Bloodline: Pureblood

Magical Strength (pick one): Divination

Magical Weakness (pick one): Transfiguration

Year (pick two): Fourth + Fifth

Biography:

The morning they left New York had been the worst of her life. It’d been a long time coming, and of course she’d known for at least…four, five, six months? But she thought she’d have more time to adjust. It all felt so sudden.

The constant hum of the train, usually so soothing, had no effect on her now. She couldn’t afford to nap under these circumstances, not when she was steeling herself for the fresh hell that lie ahead with her maternal grandparents. Her gaze flitted to the dreaming boy who sat across from her, shoulders slumped, Qita purring contentedly in the cage by his side.

Ariadne wanted to be angry at him, but the feelings just weren’t there. Still, she couldn’t understand how he’d remained so calm throughout the whole ordeal. Then again, he always was more Wedlock-Wells than Saadeh. He looked like them, acted like them. Tall, proud, towheaded, judgmental. Yeah, he'd fit right in - this wouldn't be nearly as devastating for him as it would be for her.

“Endy,” she finally said, her voice just slightly above whisper-volume. When he didn’t answer, she repeated his name and jostled his arm.

His bright blue eyes snapped open quickly. “What is it? I’m tired, Ariadne.”

“How much longer, do you think?”

She hated to ask, but she needed to know how much time she had left. He pursed his lips and shrugged. “Maybe another hour.” She must have blanched, because his aggravated expression gave way to something like big-brother empathy.

“It won’t be as bad as you’re imagining it will,” Endymion ventured. “Mom will be waiting for us when we get there. You’ll get used to Godalming. I spent plenty of time there as a kid - nobody cared about my accent, by the way - and who knows, maybe you’ll like Hogwarts better?”

Fat chance, she wanted to say. But she nodded her head in resignation. There was no point in arguing. Their mom had left a few days prior, giving them an extra week to say goodbye to the rest of the good Saadehs. Ariadne missed them terribly. And she missed her father too, even in spite of her bitterness.

But he was out of the picture now, and that life was over. She had to keep moving forward.

→ ADDITIONAL INFORMATION.

House Request: Surprise me!

→ 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."

Response:

The school wasn’t as impressive as Monique made it out to be. The hall was great, for sure, but the dreariness that hung over the grounds (was it really so glum, or was she just biased?) felt like an omen of worse things still to come. But breakfast was good. The bacon and eggs were warm and filling and Ariadne genuinely enjoyed the meal, though she couldn't say she enjoyed dining alone - that experience had made her feel like a total loser.

She rose from the table, tucked a loose curl behind her ear and, dusting the crumbs off her robes, walked briskly out of the Great Hall to scope out a new campus hideout - maybe the library?

She didn't make it very far before she spotted this strange boy rummaging through the beautiful flowerbed not ten feet from her. He looked about her age, perhaps a little older. He seemed to be searching for something, when suddenly - oh, gross.

Of all the things Ariadne didn’t need to see, she really didn’t need to see that. She felt herself drawing inward, arms tightening at her sides in a visible display of repulsion as the boy turned to face her, looking pretty embarrassed.

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

She normally wouldn’t have said anything, especially when she felt as insecure as she did at Hogwarts. She could have just ignored him and walked away, or even apologized for staring. And she might have! But she was already in a mood, and the boy’s snotty remark - no pun intended - roused some mien of rebellion in her.

“First of all,” Ariadne started, her accent catching on that pesky last syllable, “Bless you, and you’re welcome. Second of all, didn’t your mother ever teach you to, I don’t know, not wipe your disgusting snot on your clothing?”

Maybe a little harsh, but not unusual. She was from New York, after all.

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