Hogwarts School: A Harry Potter RPG

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→ CHARACTER INFORMATION.

Name: Wittington "Witt" King

Birthday: 21 August 1950

Hometown: London, England

Bloodline: Halfblood

Magical Strength: Divination

Magical Weakness: Transfiguration

Year: First (preferably!), Second

Biography:

Witt had just turned four when he learned that, though he might be younger than Monty, he was certainly the more clever of the two.

Uncle Charlie had been explaining that Monty would need a broomstick to fly (which even Witt, still dragging his dragon stuffy around by the tail, knew). He'd seen the exact moment when something clicked into place in his sister's blue eyes, sending her clambering up the stairs, only to leap off the edge without a care in the world—

(—and that was the thing about Monty, wasn't it, always thinking about the flying, and never the landing—)

—only to tumble into Téo's arms. He didn't think Monty ever knew it had been Witt who tugged on their cousin's sleeve and pointed determinedly at his sister just before she took a nosedive, an expression written across his still babylike features that very clearly said she's at it again.

———

Witt had been five (but almost six, as he pointed out every day at breakfast) when Monty had taken it into her head to play Muggle baseball. Never mind that she didn't know how to play Muggle baseball, which is exactly what he'd tried to tell her, trailing her to the lot where the boys were playing, nearly jogging to keep up with her determined strides.

"Monty, don't," he said, fingers wrapping around her forearm, as if that had ever stopped her before.

She pulled away with a flash of teeth—he hated when she smiled at him like that, as though half-apologizing for whatever trouble she was about to get them into, but too riled up to stop herself—and Witt rolled his eyes.

His jaw tightened. Téo wasn't there to save them this time, and Witt could only wince as the ball cracked against his sister's face. "Monty!" he yelled, taking two steps forward, but she was already back on her feet.

Later, after she'd sent the baseball sailing over the fence, Witt held a bag of frozen peas to Monty's swollen eye as his sister grinned back at him.

———

Witt had been five (but really, truly, very nearly six) when their daddy's small stash of dung bombs went missing.

"Montgomery King!" Mum's hands were on her hips, eyebrow arched pointedly at his sister—whose face, for once, was a picture of puzzled innocence.

"It wasn't me, honest!" Monty had said.

Hazel eyes widening, Mum had looked to Witt instead, his toothy smile as feral as Monty's ever was. "Wittington," she'd huffed, the last syllable landing on an almost-chuckle.

Daddy's eyes were bright as he gave Witt a thumbs up, and Monty looked at him as though he were a new game whose rules she hadn't quite pinned down.

When the Muggle boys showed up for their next game of baseball, they smelled like they'd been rolling in manure.

———

Witt was seven-and-three-quarters when Monty's letter came. He'd been in the garden with Ms. Carol, fingers steeped in the dirt he'd come to associate with his parents' occasional absences—and it was nice, he thought, to help something grow when they were gone. Their work was important, he knew, but the first shoot of green finding its way to the sun was a different kind of important, like Mum's slow smile after Witt said something especially clever.

He'd heard a voice, a gentle susurration woven through its syllables that he'd come to associate only with Téo. He'd peered around the brick corner of the house at his cousin and his sister, silent and still as Téo settled her jacket across Monty's shoulders. Witt could nearly feel the weight of it himself, but only sunshine spread warmly across the back of his linen shirt, turning his hair to molten gold.

"I got this," he murmured, the words both a sigh and a promise.


→ ADDITIONAL INFORMATION.

House Request: Gryffindor!

Personality: Witt is as bold and brave as his auror parents, but manages to temper his sister's pure recklessness with forethought and cleverness. He feels he has a lot to live up to—which he has every intention of doing, mind—but is intentional about where he puts his energy and effort. Witt's as ready as Monty to leap into the unknown; he's just wise enough to look first.

Appearance: Witt has tousled blonde hair that he can't seem to keep neat and his father's bright blue eyes. He's slighter and smaller than most boys his age (so far, anyway) and favors slacks and buttoned shirts and neatly-pressed robes, making him often seem the more put-together of the two King siblings (a fact which he never lets Monty forget). His voice is clear and insistent, as though he's never afraid to speak up, but measured, too, a sign that he thinks before he speaks.


→ SAMPLE ROLEPLAY.

Option I:

Witt had felt rather sorry for the girl. He hadn't been there when the dare was given, but he'd heard about it after the fact—it was not what Gryffindor was all about, he felt sure, and so after shooting the group of girls a scathing glare Monty would have been proud of, he'd taken the winding staircase that led down to the dungeons himself, following in Evangeline's wake.

It was a bit eerie down here, he had to admit, with torchlight casting flickering shadows across the flagstone floor. Dark alcoves lined the corridor here and there, swathed in darkness that the flames scarcely reached. He pulled his robes tighter around himself but didn't slow his steps, forging determinedly ahead.

He was a King, after all. He was hardly afraid of shadows.

It was with some relief that he heard faltering footsteps ahead of him, and a wavering question that seemed to echo in the silent expanse of the dungeons.

"Just me," he said, taking a few steps closer to Evangeline so it didn't seem as though he were lurking in the shadows. "Witt. I thought maybe you could use some company."


→ ABOUT YOU.

Please list any characters you have  on the site (current and previous): Euphemia Vane, Sebastian Petrocci, Hector King, etc. etc.

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