Application for Hogwarts School
→ CHARACTER INFORMATION.Name: Swan Märchen
Birthday: (Birthday 14 July 1932)
Hometown: Swansea, Wales.
Bloodline: Pureblood /
Halfblood / Muggleborn / Squib
Magical Strength (pick one):Divination / Transfiguration / Charms / Conjuring & Summoning
Magical Weakness (pick one):Divination /
Transfiguration / Charms / Conjuring & Summoning
Year (pick two): Sixth, seventh
Biography: Once upon a time, there was a woman named Leda, and she was beautiful and she was wild…Or perhaps…
Once upon a time, there was a man, a prince, and he was beautiful, and he was wild…It was difficult for Swan to pinpoint the beginning of his own story, but it ws something that weighed heavily on his mind.
Leda and the Prince were so in love. The flit across the world together in a span of days, born on the wings of their hearts as they joined together.Every fable had a clear beginning, and a clear end. It told a single story, maybe taught a moral. Be faithful. Never wander. But if you didn’t know how the story started, could you ever know what it all meant? Most children could ask their parents for the story’s origins. Swan would never waste the words on a such fruitless misadventure.
Volatile, Leda and the Prince were torn by the conception of a new, more fragile life than they had been prepared for.The only thing Swan ever really knew was that his mother was always looking for her prince. Waiting for him. Knitting, sewing, never ending. Her fingers were pricked with the ends of needles as she sewed shirt after shirt, knitted scarves, turned fine fabrics into finer clothes for a person who would never show up to wear them.
“They’re for the prince,” she would say. “If I make enough, the curse will be broken. I can break the curse. I can break the curse.”
Whatever the curse had been, Swan didn’t think that it would ever be broken.
The Prince was leaving. Leda couldn't know if it had been her imagination or his words that had told her he would return. Conditions weighed upon her as she tried to fathom out the exact scenario that would bring him back to her.The tower that constituted his home in Cleve rose above the trees behind him as Swan stood, head cocked to the side, eyes closed, his feet in the water at dawn. The morning rustlings of birds and bugs reached his ears as felt the sun slowly rise above the trees. He breathed, in and out with the rhythm of the life around him. Nature spoke a language he understood better than anything else, and it had always seemed to respond to his own methods of communication. The world morphed around his fingertips, pliant and easy. A friend, never his enemy.
Seven shirts of the best quality imaginable, and he would return. Day in, and day out, she sewed shirt after shirt, weaving magic into the threads like her life depended on it. With a single-minded focus.Diaphanous in the dawn, he enjoyed his small peace. They had only just arrived at home, but Swan knew, with an ineffable certainty, that they were not staying much longer. Their trip to Rome had been fruitless, and wherever they went now, Swan knew they would meet with just as much success.
Or was it a giant beast that stole him away?His father was a coward, he wasn’t coming back. Swan would never know him. It didn’t hurt anymore—knowing his father was a monster. Knowing how broken his mother was because of him. But Swan was so young, and taking care of her was so hard. Sometimes he didn’t know how he could carry that weight on his shoulders. Only a beast would leave him with such a burden before he had been born.
Someone would have to defeat it, but who if not the prince? He was the savior, and she was just meant to wait, wait, wait…Rolling his left shoulder in the day’s breeze, he felt the pain of it was less today. Injuring it at a very young age trying to care for his mother, it never seemed to have healed properly. It ached and he recalled the many times he had been with this or that relative. How they had helped him. How they all knew him by the way he moved and the way his eyes trained upon them. Swan never spoke if he wasn’t required. Brevity was his strongest inclination. He could say the most with the fewest words, but only when none wouldn’t suffice.
The stories were all mixed up in her head. Her head was all mixed up in the stories.Swan spoke best when he spoke not at all. Words were wind, and wind was more useful elsewhere. He thought and spoke in impressions and sensation, though he could grab snatches of word if he wanted. Snatches of Italian here, French there, German at his center. But nothing was as vital and inherent as his own thought.
Leda was undone…Swan strained to spread his wings, to feel the soft swell of air beneath them.
Walking into the tower, he caught his mother’s eyes. The eyes that had once been so full of light and life but now housed sorrow and a far off pain. They locked eyes and he changed his body language, subtle but purposeful.
“Yes,” she said, as if in agreement. “Yes, you’re quite right. Swansea. Grandmother. Yes. Just let me finish your father’s shirt. This might be the one.”
Leda muttered as she stitched, and Swan moved by her side, ever dutiful.
Every fairy tale ends well, if you know where to place the end.→ ADDITIONAL INFORMATION.Note: This section is optional, and is up to you to complete.House Request: Ravenclaw
→ SAMPLE ROLEPLAY.Please reply to one of the Sample Roleplays below.Swan always liked flowers. He tended them, planned their lifespans according to their environment. Chose every single plant according to the season and the soil and all the things that affected its growth. Care and careful consideration. What else mattered?
Enjoying the silence, Swan felt very much at peace. At least, he had until a bumbling, stumbling snot-nosed kid ruined the perfect solitude of the moment. The sound of his voice penetrated his privacy so completely, Swan couldn’t help but let his eyes latch onto the stupid kid.
And the kid noticed. Addressed by the kid, Swan responded in his usual way: he crossed his arms and tensed his jaw. Narrowing his eyes, he made sure they bore into the destructive force that was ruining the aesthetic of the garden. His eyes flicked to the flowers, and then back up to the kid, as if to say,
What is wrong with you? Respect the flowers.
