Application for Hogwarts School
→ CHARACTER INFORMATION.Name: Eloise York
Birthday: 28 April 1957
Hometown: York, England
Bloodline: Pureblood
Magical Strength: Divination
Magical Weakness: Transfiguration
Year: 5th (preferred), 4th
Biography:
[
GULA]
“No, Eloise.” Her father’s voice was stern—reproachful, even—but empty of anger.
The chubby toddler fingers that had been reaching for the cake (just frosted, its pristine surface gleaming beneath the light of the candles flickering overhead) darted away as Eloise retracted them, curving against her breastbone beneath the press of her opposite palm, as though one hand were the thief and the other the jailer.
She’d reacted as quickly as if her thoughts had pre-empted her father’s words, and perhaps they had. Even at the age of two, Eloise knew better than to take what wasn’t offered. What wasn’t needed.
[
ACEDIA]
Eloise burst into wakefulness all at once, spluttering against the water dripping into her eyes, her ears, her lips. The linen of her nightgown and the bedsheets tangled around her legs were already wet through, clinging like a sheet of ice to her skin, as if she found herself in the depths of the coldest winter rather than high summer of her sixth year of life.
Her teeth began to chatter as her gaze found her father, standing perfectly erect, fully dressed in a summer suit, hands clasped behind his back in the stance Eloise was so accustomed to. He might have stood on the floor of the Wizengamot, or at a dinner party, or on the deck of a ship, for all that his expression revealed.
“It’s five past six. You’ve overslept.”
The bird chirping on her windowsill fell silent as Eloise’s feet found the floor.
[
IRA]
Eloise’s response to her hateful governess hadn’t even begun to tumble past her lips—just the suggestion of one, the intimation that she meant to say something, and loudly—when she froze, as utterly and inexorably as if she’d been caught within the silent, invisible net of a spell.
She had been. Her father’s wand disappeared into its sheath as he turned his back without another word, and Eloise stayed as she was, as she had been, brow furrowed in all of the contempt a nine-year-old could muster, lips parted on a refusal never offered, hands clenched into fists at her side.
Eloise stayed as she was, and the light shifted across the room, lengthening as morning turned to afternoon and dappling as afternoon faded into the golden hours before twilight. Eloise stayed as she was, and the library grew dim, and then dark, and then black.
Footsteps. A muttered incantation, and her father’s retreating back. Feeling returned to Eloise’s limbs, at first muffled, like the whisper of cotton, then prickling and then burning, searing, as if the blood in her veins had been frozen too, and was now sluggishly liquifying beneath the heat of a sun long since disappeared below the horizon, pumping back towards her heart.
Her fists unfurled, her brow smoothed, and her dry lips pressed together, cracked and bleeding, but Eloise stayed as she was.
[
AVARITIA]
She’d hoarded the sheets of parchment over the entirety of her first year at the castle, most slightly crumpled or worn at the edges—essays marked
Outstanding, notes passed in corridors between friends (or something very nearly like it), a clipping from
The Daily Parchment with nothing at all remarkable except the date, the first morning she’d been particularly asked to sit beside a housemate at the long table in the Great Hall.
They burned quickly in the parlor grate, her father’s gaze supervising the flames, his hands clasped behind his back as if his fingertips didn’t still bear the stain of ink.
It had been overly sentimental, Eloise realized, green eyes glossy, expression carefully neutral. To no purpose. Like a dragon sitting atop a mountain of gold it could never spend. Worse—a crow piling its nest full of trinkets, shiny scraps of metal.
Fool’s gold. Trash.
“You may go now, Eloise.”
She did.
[
INVIDIA]
“You’re sure? It was this boy?”
Her father’s hands remained clasped behind his back, as if he’d already washed them of the whole business. It was his secretary who held the boy by his shirt collar, long fingers clasped around the nape of his neck as one would a recalcitrant dog. A mongrel.
She’d sensed it in the boy right away—his complete abhorrence of the natural way of things, a disdain for law and order rooted not in
ignorance but in a kind of self-reliance, or self-confidence, or—well, some sense of
self that left Eloise feeling naked in a way she never had, her heart clenching beneath her ribcage with something she couldn’t quite pinpoint.
She’d sensed it—the freedom in him.
She’d wanted to snuff it out right away—that much she could admit in the privacy of her own thoughts—but she wouldn’t have, had it not been necessary. Had it not been true.
Eloise nodded.
[
LUXURIA]
The girl was beautiful—that much was obvious to anyone who saw her. Her hair, a red so deep it was nearly mahogany, fell in soft waves over her shoulders, and the blue of her eyes was so bright, so pristine, that Eloise thought it very like looking into the endless vault of a clear summer sky. The straight line of her nose, the high arch of her cheekbones, the sharp edge of her jaw—she must come from a particularly noble lineage, Eloise imagined, to have such a fine bone structure. Like a princess in the storybooks she had long since stopped reading.
The girl smiled, lips curving in a way that sent something spiraling into Eloise’s stomach, even though the smile wasn’t
at her, or for her.
This, she thought, must be envy. For what girl didn’t crave a beauty like that? Why shouldn’t she want such a glamour for herself?
It was an easy lie. Maybe even a righteous one.
[
SUPERBIA]
The ring on her finger was understated, simple but elegant, its facets refracting the light of the candles flickering overhead. Something in Eloise fractured.
“You’ve done well.”
Eloise inhaled sharply, the surprise written clearly across her features as her father’s gaze shifted to meet hers: the same hazel, not green or brown or blue but all of them at once. His narrowed just slightly as he amended the statement.
“You’ve done what was expected of you.”
→ ADDITIONAL INFORMATION.House Request: Slytherin
Personality:Dutiful, perfectionistic, pedantic. Prepared to pay a high cost if that is what’s required.
[
Secretive, lonely, unformed. Unprepared to risk her heart.]
Appearance:Lovely, if not particularly remarkable. Her mother’s features—long curls; wide, expressive eyes; soft curves. Her father’s coloring—dark auburn hair; a smooth, light complexion; hazel eyes. Almost always immaculately dressed, with a thoughtful, precise kind of movement.
→ SAMPLE ROLEPLAY.Roleplay Response:Eloise loved the gardens, and resented them in equal measure. She’d always felt most comfortable outdoors, and if that wasn’t an indication that they were best avoided, she didn’t know what was—if her fifteen years of experience had taught her anything, it was that comfort was best left to those who could afford to indulge in it.
At any rate, they reminded her of her mother—Elizabeth had loved flowers—and so they at once brought to mind things she couldn’t have, and things she’d already lost.
They
were lovely, though, and sometimes she couldn’t help but need to breathe the fresh air. This morning at breakfast the feeling had come over her all at once. Her nails had bitten bloody half-moons into the skin of her palms while she carefully drained the dregs of her goblet of pumpkin juice and walked sedately from the Great Hall through the Entrance Hall and down the cobbled pathway leading to the gardens, her fingers unclenching little by little as the oxygen seeped slowly into her bloodstream.
She’d only just found a secluded bench on which to sit when the boy came bursting through the foliage, scattering petals and dirt in his wake. Eloise’s nose wrinkled in faint disdain, eyebrow arching at his question.
“Nor is it polite to destroy school property, but that doesn’t seem to have restrained you.”
→ ABOUT YOU.Please list any characters you have on the site:[
Current] Euphemia Vane, Sebastian Vane
[
Previous] Sebastian Petrocci, Charley Sinclair, et al.
How did you find us?:In an ancient history book.
