Hogwarts School: A Harry Potter RPG

CHARACTER INFORMATION
Character Name: Bastien Liam Darling

Gender: Male

Age: 26 12/12/15

Education: 
Hogwarts – Gryffindor ‘34

Residence:
13 Darling Road, London

Occupation
Healer at St. Mungo’s – Spell Damage

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?
St. Mungo’s

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: 8
• Divination: 8
• Transfiguration: 8
• Summoning: 8

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

Please list any other characters you already have at the site:
Locksley/Ellwood-Luxe/Ricardus/Cadwallader/Darling Crew

Biography: (300 words minimum.)
If his life were a fairy tale, he would be Cinderella.

The male version of Cinderella, of course.

He didn’t know that much about fairy tales; he was a man. It just so happened that the story of a girl who lost her mother early in life and was subjected to cruelty by her stepmother after the death of her father had been one of his mother’s favourite fairy tales.

The copy he had was in French but he had learned early to speak and read his mother’s native tongue. It was a simple way to feel connected to the woman he couldn’t remember. It was also a way to aggravate his stepmother who didn’t know the language and seemed above attempting to learn it. Speaking French to her got him in trouble more often than not, though no punishment had ever made him stop. It was his way of rebelling against the woman his father thought could replace what he had lost.

He had been only two when his mother died along with, what he was told was, his baby sister. It seemed wrong, somehow, that even with magic so many women and infants could still die during childbirth. He often wondered what the point was of having all these special abilities that Muggles didn’t have if they couldn’t prevent things like that from happening.

His mother’s death was the reason he decided to become a Healer. He wanted to help stop what happened to him from happening to other families. His mother’s death was also the reason he never did all that well in school. Bastien would do enough to pass classes; he only ever strived to be average. If he was average it wouldn’t hurt as much when he couldn’t help people. Because, although he wanted to help, he knew that not even the most magically adept person could always conquer everything. Some things were just inexplicable.

Two parts of his story differed from that of the book he had read hundreds of times. One, his father was still alive. Head of the Darling clan and important Ministry employee, his father didn’t always have time for Bastien. When his stepmother started having her own children Bastien was pushed even farther to the side, despite being the Heir to his father’s name. The blonde woman, whom Bastien considered more a monster than an actual human, wanted her own son to rule over the family. As a result of this, Bastien had never been close with his half-brother, Henry. The loss he felt at Henry’s death – dead after the first bombing attack on London – was still heavy. Bastien couldn’t disregard family so easily, even if they were only half his blood. He had learned far too early that life was precious and could be extinguished in one fell swoop.

Now it was left to him, if he so chose, to fight the game of Heir with his second youngest half-brother, Xavier. Sometimes Bastien thought he might just give it all up. He didn’t need any of his family’s money or their influence. He was happy doing what he was doing. He didn’t want to fight with a fourteen year old over something that didn’t feel that important in the grand scheme of things.

Sometimes he pictured what his stepmother’s face might look like at the news that he renounced his title. That always renewed his interest in being the next Head of the Darling family.

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.

Roleplay Response:
A hand ran through damp hair as he rushed through the pedestrian traffic of Diagon Alley.

Bastien wasn’t the most domestic of people and sometimes he forgot to stock the icebox with proper food. When he thought about it, it was probably better than spending the money on it and letting it rot. Not only would he still not have anything to eat when he finally got the chance to eat at home, but it would also leave a stench around his flat.

Not having any food also meant that he was hurrying off to the Muffin Man for some sort of a lunch only minutes after stepping out of the shower because he had to eat something before work. Occasionally, he grew tired of the food in the St. Mungo’s cafeteria. The food at the Muffin Man might not actually be homemade but it was closer than what he usually had.

Finally, the sea of people parted and Bastien took the moment to speed up, only to be jerked to a sudden stop a second later. Apparently there was a reason this part of the walk was clear.

“Merlin’s fog watch, my heel is broken! Help!”

Bastien had to smile at her choice of words. He couldn’t recall ever hearing that phrase before.

The woman had managed to part the crowd by nearly breaking her ankle when her shoe got caught on the cobblestones. It seemed like a lot of work, being a woman. He had thought just a few minutes ago that he had it rough; having to shower and then rush out the door with his hair all tousled and unbrushed. He couldn’t imagine having to put those things on his feet almost every day.

“Here, let me help.”

A charming smile, a slight twinkle in his grey eyes and his hand was held out for her to take if she wanted help standing.

“That’s one way to part the crowd.”

OTHER
How did you find us? A unicorn blessed me.

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→ CHARACTER INFORMATION.
Name: Isolde Caressa Castillon

Birthday: 14 March 1924

Hometown: Chelles, France

Bloodline:
Pureblood

Magical Strength (pick one):
Charms

Magical Weakness (pick one):
Conjuring & Summoning

Year (pick two):
2e Annee (preferred) or 1e Annee

Biography:
Somewhere, a clock was ticking.

Ticking away the seconds, minutes she had remaining. Soon her maman would return and to be caught here would be disastrous.

Outside, the trumpeter swans that Sorel, her mother, had felt the need to purchase for the lake, were sounding off again and Isolde sighed. They were pretty, just so unnecessary. Pushing blonde hair off her face with the back of her hand, green eyes glanced up and out the window in front of her. All white, with just a spot of tan on the top of their heads and a black beak, the six swans were gliding across the lake; their feathers ruffling occasionally and spraying water everywhere.

Her mother had always had an eye for opulence and grandeur. Something Isolde had never shared with her. Nor had Alyssia, her older sister, and because Alyssia had never seen eye to eye with their mother, she had been forced to move out upon graduation.

Neither of Sorel’s daughters would be content with what she wanted for them; a marriage to some well-known, wealthy Pureblood. There was nothing wrong with that, Isolde felt, but she wanted something more than to just be a housewife. So had Alyssia and that dream had been strong enough in her older sister to keep her from giving into just to stay in the home she had grown up in. Alyssia had moved across the channel to England to pursue her dream of being a dancer and now Isolde was unable to see her.

Resentment towards her mother still ran rampant within her.

Eyelids blinked rapidly for a few seconds as she came out of her reverie. Her head turned back to her work; she had to finish this piece before Maman returned. Art was a respectable hobby in her mother’s opinion, but a young lady should not want to make a career out of sculpting clay. It was such a messy way to spend one’s time.

Isolde didn’t care. She loved the feel of the wet, pliable material in her hands, between her fingers, even under her fingernails. Nothing felt as wonderful as taking a shapeless mound of loam and giving it life; turning it into whatever came to mind. It was just unfortunate that she didn’t have all the materials available to her as she did at school. It was rare that she was able to get even the clay at home. She had to hide it well and use it before it could be found.

Today she was making something for Alyssia. A swan, in fact. Writing letters were their only means of communication with everything that was going on over there and Isolde absolutely had to tell her sister about the newest absurd thing their mother had thought to buy. Once it was ready to dry she had a safe hiding place behind a couple of loose stones in the fireplace in her bedroom where she would let it dry before sending it off.

The beak and rest of the head was the hardest thing to shape so that’s where she had started, once the basic outline of the body had been complete. The wings and other portions weren’t nearly as detailed and wouldn’t require too much effort. In case Sorel came home unexpectedly Isolde wanted to be able to have the most detail done as she could while being able to view her subject.

The clay was thick and sticky beneath her fingers and it was also gray, but a simple color charm would turn it to purest white when she wanted. A thumb gently pressed into the surface, her forefinger coming to rest beneath it and pulling slowly on the gray mass to extend it out from the whole; shaping the beak. Her tongue was sticking out slightly from between her parted lips, she often found herself doing that while she sculpted.

This was what she missed when she wasn’t at school; the freedom to just relax and mold something from nothing. Clay was an easy medium to work with, not like painting where it was sometimes hard to hide even the tiniest imperfection. With clay, it was usually only a matter of smoothing the piece out and starting again. Isolde liked challenging herself and often tried to create an entire sculpture out of one piece of clay. Perhaps it wasn’t all the hard, but depending on what was being created, it could prove rather difficult.

It took near an hour, but eventually Isolde stepped back and cast a critical eye over her work in progress. It was well on its way to being done, however the eyes still needed a bit more work before she moved on to shaping the wings.

A quick flick of her head upward again came just as one of the swans began trumpeting again. It was also at that same time she heard some of the house elves scurrying to the front door. Her mother had returned early.


→ ADDITIONAL INFORMATION.
Note: This section is optional, and is up to you to complete.

Ecole Request:
Studio arts. Sculpture lycée.

Communaté Preference: Charlemagne

Personality:
Focus and driven, Isolde doesn’t let distractions divert her away from what she really wants to do. She’s quiet, yet friendly. People sometimes see her as a pushover; that’s the last thing she is. Once they get to know her it’s easy to see she won’t do anything she doesn’t want to. Because her mother is so controlling she does challenge authority a bit if she thinks something isn’t being done right or could be done better some other way. For the most part, she is respectful. The centre of attention is not where she wants to be. She’s loyal to the friends she does have, but she doesn’t have that many because a lot of the time she would rather just work on art than talk to people.

Appearance:
Long messy blonde hair that’s generally tied up haphazardly to stay out of the way as she’s working or just let loose to tumble over her shoulders compliment her green eyes; both characteristics of most of her family members. There’s a dash of freckles along her nose and cheeks, though they aren’t easily noticed most of the year. It’s the summer sun that brings them out in full force. Her height is a little above average and she generally tries to hide this by wearing mostly flat-heeled shoes.

→ SAMPLE ROLEPLAY.
 

The dining hall was a loud, calamitous thing. Students sat scattered through the vast room, speaking various languages, laughing, and simply having a gay old time. A group of students towards the front of the hall sat huddled over a pile of sheet music. Black notes melted on to the off white parchment, splaying out a secret language, only readable to those who carried the gift. Another group sat watching a tall, thin upperclassman parading around her new ballet point shoes in awe. There seemed to be a group in the hall for everyone.

Everyone except Hilary, that is.

Poor Hilary stood soaking in the scene before her with a slight grimace on her face. Before coming to Beauxbatons, she had been overjoyed to begin studying magic, but now as she waded through her third week at the school, she felt lost in a sea of strangers. It wasn't that she was shy, no. Indeed, she even tried to reach out to some students. It was more that everyone seemed to already have their own clique, and Hilary felt so very unwelcome in all of them.

On her plate, she fidgeted with an assortment of vegetables and a delicate pork chop. That was the nice thing about Beauxbatons. Despite the many cold-shouldered students, the food was still incredible.

With a hefty sigh, Hilary strode into the dining hall. As she did, she let her mind wander to what life at the academy might be were she royalty. The students would bow at her feet! And of course she would only ever don the most elegant of robes, decorated in sequins, rhinestones, and laced with frills. All of the girls at the school would fawn over the level of grace she exhibited. Hilary would make wonderful royalty, yes that was certain.

Though, lost in her fantasy, Hilary failed to notice the leather bag lying at the center of the walkway. Failing to notice the bag in her path, naturally caused her to trip, spilling the contents of her plate all over the student sitting just beside the bag.

"Oh! I'm so sorry!"

---

Isolde was ignoring everyone again.

Or perhaps they were ignoring her and she just didn’t know the difference anymore. It wasn’t like she made a lot of effort to interact with her peers. Her maman might not think her mature or responsible enough to make her own decisions; Isolde felt differently. Something always seemed to keep her apart from other kids her age. It was probably her. After all, they seemed to be able to interact with each other just fine. It was her that had the problem. Maybe she was too mature for them.

Beauxbatons was a school that allowed students to delve into almost any area that they wanted. Sometimes she didn’t understand why so many of them were still able to find time to pull pranks or gossip or do nothing at all. Most of them had the opportunity to study what they loved and yet they often wasted it. Isolde didn’t and that had to be the biggest difference between them all.

Her drawing pencil was set down on the table as she reached for her fork to spear a couple of carrots. She wasn’t all that hungry. It was important to eat while she had the chance because she was sketching a new design and there was a good chance she would forget to eat for quite some time after this. That was how focused she could become while working. The sketching wasn’t what she usually did before making a sculpture, she only kept the sketchbook with her for when inspiration struck and she wasn’t able to get working on it right away.

After a few bites from her carrots, the pencil was picked up again and Isolde gazed down at what she’d drawn so far, green eyes perusing every little detail of the statue she wanted to create. It wasn’t an extremely complicated statue, but she was adding some intricate, cross-stitched type patterns near the base that might be difficult once she started working with the clay.

There was a clatter and a thud, then, and Isolde suddenly found herself covered with various bits of food...and gravy. There was a wet, slapping noise to her right and, slightly stunned, the blonde turned to find a pork chop on the bench next to her.

The murky brown of the gravy was dripping onto the table from the ends of her hair as she turned to look at the scene behind her, lips a straight line. Before she had a chance to say anything, the girl whose food she was now wearing shouted out an apology.

Instantly, Isolde felt bad for her. The other girl was the one sprawled out on the floor of the dining hall and yet she was worried about how Isolde would react. It was polite of her to apologise, but someone shouldn’t have left their bag just lying there. She glanced around for the culprit, though it would be near impossible to tell with almost everyone in the school here eating dinner. All the tables were close to full.

She stood from the table and bent to hold out a hand for the girl to take. “Please, don’t worry. Accidents happen.”

→ ABOUT YOU.

Previous Characters (if applicable): Calla, Kath & Co.

How did you find us?: goooooogle

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→ CHARACTER INFORMATION.
Name: Beaumont Aldric Castillon

Birthday: 15 February 1926

Hometown: Chelles, France

Bloodline:
Pureblood

Magical Strength (pick one):
Charms

Magical Weakness (pick one):
Transfiguration

Year (pick two): 6e annee or 5e annee

Biography:
Beaumont was not an only child, but it often felt that way. It was no secret to anyone in their household that between him and his two older sisters, Alyssia and Isolde, that their mother loved him the best.

Some people might question why their mother favored one child over the others, but Beau wasn't a very inquisitive child and he didn't really need to know why. Being spoiled suited him just fine.

Currently, Beau was walking hand in hand with his maman down a street in Wizarding Paris. He didn't know the name of the road, he didn't need to. She would never let go of him in such a public setting. They were out to buy some new sets of robes today. Maman kept telling him he was growing much too fast for her liking. Beau didn't mind. He got new things every time he grew the slightest bit.

It was a sunny day, just the kind of day Beaumont liked. He liked feeling the bright sun shine down on his fair hair and warm his skin. These were his favorite days to go out into the large gardens on his family's estate and either draw or take pictures. Beau loved nature. His bedroom was full of drawings, some colored in, others left in the gray shading of a pencil. His mother hung everything he made somewhere in the house. Several of the spare bedrooms featured his artwork exclusively.

The shop bell dinged overhead when they entered, Beau still being pulled along by his mother. He'd been gazing up at the sun when she had turned and she'd had to yank on his arm a little to get his attention.

"Darling, you musn't look up at the sun. It's bad for your eyes." She smiled gingerly down at him and smoothed his bangs back from his forehead.

There were a few other shoppers around and Beau gazed around at them while maman went to find the shop owner. Surely, she would persuade them to get Beaumont to the front of the queue. Maman always got her way and dawdling in a robe shop would not be her idea of a good time.

His mother's voice was rising steadily from the back room and the sound made Beau's cheeks blush slightly. The other patrons and some of their children began looking in his direction. Beaumont tried not to pay any attention to the darkness of their glares, but it was hard not to feel slightly humiliated by his mother.

Maybe it wouldn't be such a bad thing if he tried to gain a little independence from maman.

→ ADDITIONAL INFORMATION.
Note: This section is optional, and is up to you to complete.

Ecole Request:
Studio Arts.

Communaté Preference: Charlemagne.

Personality:
Generally a quiet boy, Beau is a good person for someone who has led such a spoiled life. A little naive, he thinks that most people have lived the kind of life he has. Adjusting to life away from home will be difficult for him because he is used to getting what he wants. It will take Beau a long time to realize that getting what he wants won't come so easily at school. He isn't forceful enough to demand what he wants. Others will find it relatively easy to take advantage of and manipulate him. Beau is helpful, sometimes too helpful. He'll avoid confrontation at all costs because he wants everything to be simple and uncomplicated. Beaumont may have his mother's looks, but has more of his father's disposition on life.

Appearance:
Beaumont is blonde-haired and green-eyed like his two older sisters and their mother. He isn't hefty as one might expect of a little boy who has had his every whim indulged every day of his life. He is still rather skinny and short, but there is a slight lankiness to him that suggests he'll grow to be tall one day.

→ SAMPLE ROLEPLAY.
You come across this post on the site. Please as your character. Remember, you can only roleplay your own character's actions!

Dinner was not Beaumont's favorite time of day. Everything was still so new to him here and there were just so many people, he was overwhelmed a lot of the time.

This time was probably the worst. Almost the entire school in one area at one time? It was terrifying for someone who didn't have a lot of friends. Beau wasn't sure why he didn't have many friends. He had the best of everything and he was a Pureblood. He felt as though he should at least know some other Purebloods, even if they weren't friends exactly.

A heavy sigh escaped him as he looked away from the large crowd of people and down at the pieces of broccoli that remained on his plate. Vegetables weren't his favorite food, of course, but he liked most of them. Broccoli, however, did not fall into that category. Carrots, peas, beans, all those he could tolerate. Broccoli, there was just something about it that he couldn't stand.

Still, he had always been a good boy, raised by a mother who didn't appreciate when food remained on his plate. So it was with a grimace that Beaumont picked up his fork again and stabbed it into a piece of broccoli. He was far from a violent child, he was just hoping for the broccoli to feel a little of his pain.

Before anything reached his slightly open mouth, something clonked him on the head followed by something wet dripping down his hair. It was slimy and fell into his eyes, some even got into his mouth which had stayed open in shock of what had happened.

The tray that had hit him in the head clattered to the floor and several of the surrounding groups went silent. Beau's face lit up with a bright red flare as he could feel eyes fall on him. This was not going to make him any friends. All the other students would avoid him now, probably even come up with silly but hurtful nicknames based on this incident.

He heard words behind him from a stranger, but they didn't register. Beau was too mortified. His blonde hair had some sort of gravy in it. On his lap sat a rather sad-looking pork chop. Around his feet a mix of vegetables was scattered.

"I-I-I...I have t-t-to go." He stumbled over his words which was even more horrific because he did not usually stutter.

Without another word, Beau pushed himself up from the table, sending the pork chop and some bits of gravy flying in several directions. He didn't stop to apologize to anyone it might have hit, just made a beeline for the exit.

→ ABOUT YOU.

Previous Characters (if applicable): Calla Locksley & co.

How did you find us?: Goooooooogle.

CHARACTER INFORMATION
Character Name: Rafe Sebastian Müller
Gender: Male
Age: 24 (12/12/12)

Education: 
Eisenstab for three years-expelled
Beauxbatons for one year-expelled
Hogwarts (Gryffindor house) two years-expelled
Graduated from Salem

Residence:
Haute-Marne

Occupation:
Chauffeur

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?
No.

Requested Magic Levels: (see here on how to do this)
If you want levels above the usual 32 total, please read the roleplay instructions carefully upon scrolling down.

• Charms: 8
• Transfiguration: 12
• Divination: 5
• Summoning: 7

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

Please list any other characters you already have at the site:
Calla Locksley, etc.

Biography: (300 words minimum.)
It was true the Rafe had been a difficult child. He had never tried to deny it. As a child, he had had too much energy, never able to stay still for very long. This often resulted in lots of broken items around the house. Patience was never a word he would use to describe his mother and remembered numerous times when she would come stomping into a room, stringy strands of hair flying from her up-do and her cheeks flushing red in anger at him for accidentally knocking something to the floor in his exuberance. Perhaps if he hadn't been left alone so often, perhaps if he had been a child his mother wanted instead of a mistake, perhaps then things could have been different. Perhaps he would have been a more well-behaved child if he had gotten attention for more than just being in trouble.

His mother, Carla, had a taste for Muggle men. Never a very talented witch, she seemed to feel more comfortable with Muggle males instead of their wizarding counterparts. Rafe had watched over the years as she went through so many boyfriends he lost count. She would be gone all night, off visiting the local Muggle community, and there were some times when he wouldn't see her for days.

Being neglected did have its perks...until it was time to start attending school. Carla was only too happy to ship her son off for most of the year. School for Rafe, however, wasn't the easiest. He had never had boundaries before and he found it difficult to follow rules. It had taken expulsion from two schools before his mother deemed him a hopeless case and tracked down his Muggle father. The day he met his father was the last day he had seen his mother. Rafe had heard from her occasionally over the years, but that was the extent of their relationship.

Barett took Rafe in, but life in the Muggle world was not much better for Rafe than it had been in the Wizarding world. His father paid little more attention to him than his mother had and Rafe continued to cause trouble in school, getting expelled from school after school.

As a result, Rafe was a loner. He didn't have friends nor did he want friends. Instead he lost himself in vices he picked up over the years. Drinking, smoking, cars, women in those rare instances he actually felt the need to be close to someone. There was nothing complicated and no disappointments in those activities.

Rafe answered to no one and he planned on keeping it that way for as long as possible.

Roleplay Response:
A drag on his cigarette and a breath out; Rafe watched the smoke billow into the night air before him. It slowly dissipated as he leaned back against the building he was standing outside of and the cold air washed over him.

It felt good, the cold air biting at his skin. It was much more preferable than being inside which was filling up with patrons. He had not had enough to drink yet tonight to make conversation with strangers. He hadn't decided if he was going to go home with one of the pretty females inside. Go home with them because Rafe never brought anyone to his flat. That was too personal for him.

Something grabbed onto his sleeve suddenly and he immediately jerked his arm away, instinctively. Touching Rafe was not a good choice. He had been in many fights because someone had simply bumped into him.

He turned, deep scowl on his face, ready to threaten whomever had had the audacity to touch him without permission-and found a tiny creature staring up at him. Surprise replaced anger and his eyebrows rose. What was a little girl doing out here alone at this hour? She wasn't alone exactly, she was talking about the pet or whatever that was with her.

There were very few people in the world who knew less about children, especially one this size, than Rafe. He couldn't even guess her age. All he knew was that she was not an infant. Those couldn't walk or talk yet. Could they? He scratched his head as he stared down at her blankly. Rafe had no idea what to do with her.

Was her mother inside? Was she possibly one of the females he had just been thinking about going home with? Suddenly that idea wasn't so appealing. Sighing, Rafe knew he had to do something. He could at least bring her inside and tell one of the people working she was lost. "All right, come on, then."

Pushing away from the building, Rafe stepped forward toward the entrance. He wasn't sure if this young girl had been abandoned but he knew what that felt like and if he could prevent someone else feeling that, most especially a child, he would. Shooing the girl onward without touching her, Rafe said, "Let's see about finding your mother."

OTHER
How did you find us? Google

Name: Zeke Wyatt Idlewilde

Name of Hogwarts or Elsewhere Character: Calla Locksley and company

Birthdate: 4/28/58

Year: Fifth

Hometown: Idlewild, South Carolina

Bloodline: Pureblood

Magical Strength (pick one): Transfiguration

Magical Weakness (pick one): Divination

Previous Education: Zeke has been at Salem for his entire education

Biography: There wasn’t much that Zeke Idlwilde cared about. He didn’t care that he was the heir to one of the oldest Pureblood families in America. One of his four younger brothers, or even his little sister, could have the title; it made no difference to him. Zeke’s father, Wyatt Idlewilde, worked in the Magical Law division of the American Ministry of Magic and expected Zeke to follow in his footsteps. Zeke had no desire to do what his father wanted. In fact, Zeke went out of his way to do everything against his father’s wishes. Frustrating his father was a source of amusement for Zeke. It had started when he was very young because Zeke had never liked following directions. There had been a particular incident when Zeke was nine that had sealed itself in his mind as the moment when he realized he didn’t want to be anything like his father.

One of his older cousins had dared him to try a cigarette. Zeke, never one to back down from a challenge, took the thin, papery tube and placed it in his mouth without hesitation. Once the tip was lit and he took that first inhalation of toxins, he almost threw up. His coughing fit lasted for a few minutes, but once the gagging had subsided and he was able to breathe again, he continued smoking. Which was when his father had caught them. He’d been threatened with the Cruciatus curse, but had ended up being bruised to a pulp instead. Zeke hadn’t stopped smoking since that day. When the time had come for him to choose a society to join at Salem, Zeke’s father had done everything in his power to make him choose the Pawn Society. Wyatt had even tried bribing the Heads of Salem to force Zeke into the society. In the end, it was Zeke’s choice and though he didn’t particularly have an interest in science or healing, he’d chosen the Knight Society because it seemed the furthest from what his father wanted.

There was one person Zeke had been close to. His grandfather, Jonathan Idlewilde, had been the one person to treat Zeke as more than someone expected to follow the family line; even though he had once been the head of the family. His grandfather had taken the time to teach Zeke things, not just what he would need to know to as the Head of the family. Jonathan had allowed Zeke to have fun as a child, telling Zeke’s father to leave the boy alone and allow him to actually have a childhood. His grandfather had been the one to teach Zeke about the family history. It didn’t matter much to Zeke, but he had listened to his grandfather anyway because he had always respected him more than anyone else.

The Idlewilde’s originated in a wealthy part of Southern Devon in England. They were a prominent Pureblood family, made mostly of males. One generation, the first-borns were twin boys. Growing up the two always competed with each other. When it came time for one of them to become the new Head of the Idlewilde family, the older twin was the choice their father had left in his will.
In a fit of jealousy and pride, the younger twin emigrated to America along with his wife and young son. Once there, they settled in South Carolina. They even formed their own city, Idlewild, and soon established themselves as a prominent part of the American Wizarding community.

Zeke sometimes wondered what his life would have been like if his ancestor hadn’t left England for America. One thing he knew was that he wouldn’t be an heir. The thing he wondered most about was what kind of childhood he would have had. Would he have been allowed to play with more children, instead of just the ones his father allowed him to? Would he get along better with his own brothers because they wouldn’t be competing to be the Head of the family? Despite Zeke’s insistence that he had no desire to be in charge of their family, his brothers, particularly the second and third oldest, didn’t believe him. They thought him to be putting on some kind of an act. It actually made Zeke a little sad that his own brothers didn’t trust him.

When Zeke was ten, his grandfather died. It wasn’t unexpected, he’d been sick on and off for a year before he finally passed away. Still, Zeke had been heartbroken. The one person who’d always been there for him was suddenly gone; Zeke would never see him again. It was also not long after his grandfather’s death that Zeke’s father started punishing him for the slightest indiscretion. It was as if he felt he needed to make up for all the times his own father had stopped him from punishing Zeke. It was also at this time that Zeke really started to close himself off from others, letting almost no one past the walls he’d built up. One day his father would realize that Zeke was not the right choice to lead the family. It might not be until the day Zeke left his family home and never returned, but it would happen one day.

THE BASICS

Name:
Arielle Rose Wilder (Born 15/9/60)
Arielle doesn’t mind her name, but she lets her close friends call her Elle. She likes nicknames and gives them to her friends.

Secret Phrase:
Tibbles’ Beard of Power

Former Character's Name (if you had one):
Calla Locksley

CHARACTER DETAILS

House Request:
Arielle is a lion at heart. It isn’t obvious when first meeting her because she is usually soft-spoken, but she is a force to be reckoned with when she wants to be. She may not speak up right away when she thinks something is wrong, but she won’t just stand by and watch for very long. She’s wanted to be a Gryffindor for as long as she could remember. Most, but not all, of her family have been Slytherins and she’s never really felt connected to most of her family. She disagrees with the views her parents take on blood purity and  with their insistence that only Purebloods should be allowed to lead the Magical Community. Arielle finds her parents rather ridiculous and tries to be as different from them as possible.

Year: 
1st, then 2nd.

Bloodline:
Pureblood

Magical Strength:
Transfiguration

Magical Weakness :
Divination

Biography:

Arielle sighed to herself as she shut the door of her bedroom in the Manor home she’d lived in her whole life. She leaned back into it, letting her head rest against the dark, ancient wood. The lock clicked into place without her having to move a muscle. This had been one of the first signs that she had inherited the magical ability of her parents. Arielle had been six, almost seven, when it first happened. She hadn’t mentioned it to her parents. Even then she avoided them as much as possible. As a result of not telling them, her mother and father fretted over Arielle for the next year. She hid her magic from them. She listened to them discuss what they would do with her if she were a Squib. It solidified her already hardening heart against them. Her magic finally exposed itself to them when she lost her temper and a mirror over the fireplace shattered. Arielle had had quite enough of their talk of shipping her off, like she wasn’t their daughter, like she couldn’t hear what they were saying about her.

She was eleven now, though, and as she looked around her room, she resented them even more. Her room felt cold, and not just because it was a manor house and always seemed to be cold, even at the end of July. Her room felt cold to her because her parents only allowed her to display artwork that they approved of. Which meant only moving photographs, of course. Arielle’s walls were therefore lined with family photographs and posters of Quidditch teams she couldn’t identify and didn’t care to. Quidditch was of no interest to her. Arielle was an artist. She liked painting and drawing and taking photographs. It wasn’t allowed in her house, though, as her parents deemed it too Muggle-like. They would not allow Arielle to put up her snapshot of a little boy tossing a ball to his puppy, or her painting of a gorgeous, early summer sunrise. She wasn’t even allowed to display her drawing of her two younger twin brothers, just because it didn’t move.

Arielle pushed herself off of her door and walked over to the fireplace. She listened quietly for a moment, head tilted back toward the door. No one seemed to be walking past her door so she pushed her long, blonde hair out of her eyes and removed a couple of loose bricks from the mantelpiece. Arielle couldn’t remember how she’d found this hiding place. It wasn’t as if she had gotten tools and knocked the bricks loose herself. That definitely would have been overheard. It didn’t matter, really, how she’d found it. It was perfect; just the right size for her little collection of artwork. She reached in and pulled out a small, rectangular, black leather pouch. It was about the size of an average book, though not as thick. It held mostly her photographs, with a few drawings. The space wasn’t big enough for any paintings, so she’d stopped painting altogether when her father had thrown the one of the sunrise away.

Arielle just didn’t understand why they couldn’t let her enjoy her little hobby. It wasn’t as if she was going to make a career out of it. Although, if they kept pushing her get over her “Muggle tendencies” she just might find a way to. Her grandmother had understood. Her mother’s mother, although she was a pureblood, didn’t have such notions of blood status as her daughter did.

Her mother’s parents lived in the same village as Arielle and her family. They resided in Aberystwyth in Wales. Arielle always found it rather odd that her Muggle-hating family lived in an area that was mainly Muggles. Arielle loved it, though. She would go out during the day and just sit in the center of town and watch them go about their daily lives. She would take photographs and draw them doing simple things. After a day of people watching, Arielle would go over to her grandparents and tell her grandmother about her day. Her grandmother would listen as Arielle would describe how she felt capturing a moment on film. That was what Arielle loved so much about Muggle photographs. You could capture a single moment in time, even if it was a mundane moment, and it would be there forever. The people she photographed would never know she’d caught the moment when a young girl with red pigtails had tied her own shoes and was beaming proudly up at her parents who were clapping excitedly for her. Arielle had caught many little moments in time and she cherished each one of them.

Just a little bit over a year ago, Arielle lost her one solace. Her grandmother passed away, leaving Arielle feeling empty and alone. She retreated into herself even more and began defying her parents more often. She began sneaking out at night to take photographs of Muggles in their nightlife. Her favorite one of these was a man bent down on one knee holding something out to a woman who was covering her mouth with her hands; eyes wide as saucers. Arielle became rather good at sneaking out of the house undetected. In the past year she spent as little time as possible inside her house.

When her Hogwarts letter came, Arielle began packing that very day. Her little brothers were excited for her. Liam and Owen, who were six, couldn’t stop talking about how their big sister was going to Hogwarts. She tried to smile at them. She loved her brothers, dearly, but she was afraid they were becoming too much like their parents. Most of their excited chatter consisted of them demanding that Arielle tell them everything about the Slytherin common room when she came home for the holidays. She was terrified about what thoughts of blood purity would be put into their heads in her absence. All she could do was pull her mouth into a straight line and nod at them, while silently wishing she be placed in Gryffindor. She perceived Gryffindor as the exact opposite of Slytherin and she wanted to be as different from Slytherin as possible.

Arielle put away her collection and replaced the bricks. She would take her art with her as it was one of her most prized possessions, but she would wait until the day she left to pack that into her trunk. Crossing her bedroom she took a quill from her desk and put an ‘x’ through today’s date on her calendar. There was just over one month to go before she would be at Hogwarts.


ADDITIONAL INFORMATION

Personality:
Arielle is rather easygoing, but she is far from a pushover. She will normally let others take the lead, but will step up if needed or if she thinks the current person in charge is not doing the job adequately. She may seem to some as a brooding artist-type. She doesn’t mean to be this way, she is just usually to busy with her own thoughts. She is friendly and with close friends she is very open and outgoing. It may take a while for her to gain trust in someone, but that shouldn’t deter people from trying. She does want to make friends. Even if only a few.

Appearance:
Arielle is a little short for her age. She has blonde hair that is usually down and wavy. She has blue eyes, like her beloved grandmother. The rest of her family has green eyes, so Arielle loves her blue. She loves the colors blue and red. They are the most common colors she wears. She doesn’t normally dress all that girly, but she does enjoy getting dressed up now and again. She wears some jewelry; earrings and some bracelets. There is one piece of jewelry that she is never without, however. Her grandmother left her a diamond pendant in the shape of a heart. It was a wedding gift from Arielle’s grandfather. Her grandfather wasn’t exactly pleased to give it to Arielle, but he respected his wife’s wishes. Arielle takes excellent care of it and is often found playing around with it when she is deep in thought.

SAMPLE ROLEPLAY
Option I:
Blimey, the Great Hall was packed. It seemed like everywhere a guy looked there was some clown waving around a House banner or yelling about the game.

'Can you believe it?' 'No way!' 'This must be the biggest upset in Hogwarts Quidditch history...'

Stupid Quidditch.

James flopped into an empty seat at the end of the table, shoved an empty plate out of the way, and let his head sink onto his crossed arms, squishing his freckled nose down flat against the tabletop. He wasn't sure why he'd even bothered to come here, since he definitely wasn't hungry. He'd probably never eat again, in fact. He didn't deserve to eat. He hadn't stopped in the locker room to change out of his muddy, sweaty uniform after the game either, because he was pretty sure he probably didn't deserve to be clean too; and anyway he couldn't stand to see the looks on his team mates' faces after he blew their chance at winning one of the biggest games they had ever played.

Just one lousy shot. That's all it would have taken. If he could have just got that one stupid foul shot to go through that one stupid hoop, they could have won and he wouldn't have been the biggest blockhead in the entire school.

As if to prove the point, half the people at the next table suddenly broke into a loud victory chant. James pressed his face further into his arms to hide the bright red blotches he could feel creeping up his cheeks. That was it. He was just going to have to run away and move to Nova Scotia. He'd just cost the three-year-in-a-row Champions the Quidditch Cup! How do you ever live that one down for crying out loud? He was only a second year and he was going to spend the rest of his life as 'that dumb cry-baby kid who dropped the Quaffle!'

It felt like every set of eyes in the room was boring into him, and James couldn't stand it anymore. He jerked himself back up from the table and stomped right back out of the Hall the same way he had come in. As he stormed into the quieter hallway outside, he could hear footsteps somewhere behind him. James rounded on the sound and began to shout, his brown eyes shining with tears. "WHAT! Haven't you ever seen a loser before? Why don't you just take a picture!"


Arielle didn’t understand the big deal that Quidditch seemed to be. Everyone inside this school seemed to be obsessed with it. The only value Arielle saw in it was the opportunity to take pictures. She did enjoy capturing the crowd cheering on their particular house or friends from another house if their own wasn’t in the current game. Taking pictures of the players was a little more difficult as they were moving at such high rates of speed, but it didn’t stop her from trying.

She had just brought her camera back up to her dorm room and was making her way back down to the Great Hall to get something to eat. She was on the staircase and could hear the tumult of voices pouring out of the open doors.  As Arielle was just entering the Hall, a boy came pounding out, his face a mix of anger and sadness. Arielle almost thought she could see tears in his eyes. She recognized him from the game. Arielle had taken a picture of him just as he’d mounted his broom when the game started. He had looked happy, excitement flushing his face with color. A completely different look from the one he had now. Apparently he was on the losing team.

Not one to meddle unless she saw something wrong being done, Arielle continued into the Hall. Arielle, for one, didn’t like to be bothered by strangers when she was upset and so even if she thought she could help this boy, there were probably other people he would rather talk to than some random girl.

Only a couple of steps later, though, and his voice caught her attention. "WHAT! Haven't you ever seen a loser before? Why don't you just take a picture!" This stopped Arielle in her tracks. She didn’t search for confrontations, but she didn’t avoid them either. It was very obvious this boy was directing his fierce outcry at her.

Arielle turned around. She wasn’t angry with him. She understood being upset. Of course, she’d never get upset over a silly thing like Quidditch, but she wouldn’t judge him because of this. “Actually,” she said calmly, letting him know she wasn’t trying to provoke him, “I did take a picture of you. It was rather a nice one, if it turns out. Not all of them do. Something with Muggle technology not always working in the Wizarding World.” She was mumbling a bit now. She cleared her throat, “Anyway, if it does turn out, I’d be happy to give it to you. You looked rather happy in it. Maybe it could help to remind you of the good parts about the game?” She smiled softly at him, hoping he wouldn’t get any angrier with her.