Hogwarts School: A Harry Potter RPG

CHARACTER INFORMATION
Character Name: Florencia Carmen de la Cruz y Estrada.
Gender: Female
Age: 29
Blood Status: Muggleborn

Education: 
Beauxbatons Academy of Magic

Residence:
Fluctuates. Barcelona, Spain or London, England.

Occupation:
Curse-Breaker

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:

• Charms: 13
• Divination: 6
• Transfiguration: 6
• Summoning: 7

Do you wish to be approved as a group with any other characters? If so who and for what IC reason?
No.

Please list any other characters you already have at the site:
Esther Harlow, Easton Warwick, Gordon Bourne III, etc.

Biography: (300 words minimum.)

The street was illuminated by the flickering light of thousands of candles. People stood shoulder to shoulder, together as a community. The cobblestones seemed to hum with the memory of the centuries-old rhythm of the processions that have passed over them.

Flor, in her best dress—red and collared—stood wide eyed in awe, her hand clasped tightly in her mother’s. The overwhelming scent of incense, wax, and roasted chestnuts surrounded her. In the distance she could begin to hear the solemn drumbeat reverberate through the narrow ancient street, accompanied by the mournful strains of a saeta—a traditional Spanish lament—sung from a wrought iron balcony above.

Anticipation climaxed as the first float came into view. Flor immediately jumped to her tiptoes, her small body straining to see through the people who had gathered in front of them.

Strong hands suddenly took hold of her right underneath her arms. A laugh, so free and silly, tumbled out of her as she was picked up, her father grinning. He placed her on his shoulder.

From her new vantage point, she could see the magnificent paso, carried on the shoulders of costaleros—barely visible beneath the ornate drapery—sway gently with each purposeful step through the cobblestone street. The life-sized wooden sculpture of Christ adorned the float, painted with such detail it seemed to almost breath, crowned with thorns that glistened in the dusk’s light. She could hear her mother begin to whisper a prayer.

Her mother told her that Semana Santa was where everyone could forget the hunger and depression that the end of the Second Great War brought and focus on the only thing that could save them. Faith. Christ.

The Nazarenos marched solemnly toward the Plaza Mayor. Clad in long, flowing robes of deep purple and white, their faces hidden by pointed hoods and a large golden crucifix held between them. The gravity was not lost on her. In the face of this, Flor believed her mother.

---

“Mami, no!” she screamed, her face swollen and wet with the tears that streamed down her face.

Flor fell to her knees, hand outstretched as she pleaded. Her mother stood in the kitchen, her face stoic, and her eyes… they looked at Flor like she was some creature. It made her chest tighten and hurt; she couldn’t breathe.

Upstairs the sound of strong footfalls could be heard. She knew it was her dad with a bag in hand, likely shoveling clothes aimlessly inside. She was not allowed to travel upstairs to stop him.

She didn’t understand what was happening. One moment they arrived back home from the shops, Flor upset that her mom would not let her get what she wanted. Her mother responded by prohibiting her from going to dance class this afternoon.

Flor had been so angry. Felt the way her face heated, her jaw clenched tight. She had been staring at her mother with clenched fists, and then, everything shattered. The cups, the lights, the windows; a cacophony of glass exploding apart. Someone screamed—was it her? Her mother?

Pieces cut into her knees. It hurt. It didn’t matter. “Please,” Flor panted.

Ella está endemoniada.

She was to be sent away.

---

“Who are you?” The nighttime sky was pitch black. The only sound that could be heard was the whistling wind and Florencia’s breath, quick and terrified.

Woken from sleep from a sudden pop noise by her door, Florencia, dressed in her long white sleeping gown, was only able to scramble out and grab the oil lamp from her bedside table. She held it aloft now, the flame wavering with the shakiness of her hands. The warm light illuminated a figure, tall and in black robes, at the door. A man with a black beard.

Sor Teresa was not far, if she screamed the Sister would be here quickly. Florencia swallowed roughly and prepared.

”Calm yourself, child. I am not here to harm you. Only to help.” The man took a step forward to be more clearly seen in the light. He had light blue eyes and a slight, easy smile. She calculated the distance and figured she could reasonably toss the flame at him, and it would be distraction enough for her to slip by. ”I am here to take you from here. Is that not what you want?”

Florencia’s eyes narrowed. Did she want to be here? No. The room was completely bare beside the single cot in the corner. The door locked to keep her inside. After yet another transgression, Florencia had been sent to this solitary room for reflection and repentance. She hated this place. That did not mean she would go away with a stranger. “Get out.”

The man shook his head. It was at this time Florencia noticed a piece of parchment in his hand. He held it out for her to take. ”There is a place where the gifts you have will be accepted. A school. It is called Beauxbatons.”

---

Her feet were set an equal measure apart. Unmoving. Once upon a time this act would have had her heart racing and her palms sweaty. But this was a practiced dance now; the movements ingrained, the anticipation solidified into a calm focus. 

Florencia bowed low, her hand sweeping back with tradition. The room fell quiet around her. Them. 

She caught a final glimpse at herself in the polished floor’s reflection, her expression determined, eyes sharp.

”Begin.” A voice commanded.

Red sparks hurled toward her. Florencia felt the heat of the magic kiss her cheeks. Instinctively, she raised her yew wand, and the spell collided with the invisible magical barrier she conjured. Florencia moved with fluid grace, her wand an extension of herself. Without hesitation, she directed her wand at the boy–her opponent–who stood opposite her. “Stupefy!”

The thud of his body made her chest sing. As soon as she knew she won, Florencia's body loosened, a smile unfurling upon her lips. "Henri," she chided playfully. "Get up."

---

She thought she would never be back here.

Dawn draped the familiar streets in soft gold and lavender hues. The city was eerily still, too early for anyone to be awake, especially in Spain. The silence was punctuated by her own shaky, broken breaths. Every limb felt weighed down with lead. Florencia staggered through the familiar streets, keeping to the stretched shadows that bounced between the townhomes.

With every step her chest felt like it was being ripped open a little more. Her hands instinctually clutched the white bundle of cloth nestled in her arms. Her stomach churned, a nauseating whirl of dread and sorrow.

She couldn’t do this.

She couldn’t do this.

She couldn’t—

The door opened.

In front of her stood a practical stranger. A woman who she hadn’t seen since she was nine. The memory she had was shattered by greying hair and deep lines that etched themselves into once-plump cheeks. But it was still…“Mami,” she whispered, her voice a fragile crack, unfamiliar and strained. Her vision blurred as tears sprang forward, her eyes burning. 

(Standing there, vulnerable and raw. Like she wasn’t a witch. As if she hadn’t discovered her own power. As if she had missed this—)

Florencia blinked rapidly, willing herself to regain composure. She hadn’t come here for a tender reunion.

“I need you to take him.” Her voice regained the strength she had meant to project. Without waiting for her mother to respond, she thrust the bundle into her arms. “Please.” The hardest part was letting go.

---

”This isn’t a job for the weak, girl.” Throkkor crowed, his voice reverberating through Gringott’s halls. As he spoke, he flashed his dagger-like teeth in a humorless grin. “You may die. And if you are injured, we bare no responsibility.” Long, boney fingers curled around the edge of the heightened wooden desk. Leaning forward, Throkkor loomed over her, casting a dark shadow across the space.

The goblin’s beady eyes bore into her. “Do you understand?”

“Yes. I do.” Florencia signed her name in ink.

---

_{paso = float
costaleros = float bearers
Semana Santa = Holy Week
Nazarenos = religious brotherhood who participate in Holy Week
Ella está endemoniada. = she is possessed by a demon}

Roleplay: 
Option Two -
The snow had been falling steadily all morning and it didn't look like it was going to stop any time soon. Joshua Campbell scrunched his face up in a frown as he lifted his gaze to look to the sky. Snow. It really was quite a bother.

And it certainly didn't make it better that Diagon Alley seemed to be getting more and more crowded. Joshua sighed and pointed his wand at the large box that was currently placed on the doorstep of his shop. He had to get going. He had an order to deliver.

"Wingardium Leviosa!" The elderly man muttered and watched the box hover in the air for a moment. Honestly, did St. Mungo's really need that much tinsel? And with glitter of all things? He sighed again. If it hadn't been for the rather convincing stamp on the order, he would have been likely to believe it had been a prank by one of those orphaned rascals living up there.

Oh well, there was no point in waiting. Joshua deftly stirred the box down the doorstep and out onto the street, carefully levitating it above the heads of the crowd.

"Coming through! Coming through!" His voice sounded over the chatter of the crowd. "Keep out! Move ahead! Go on!" This was going way too slow. People were in the way and walking like they had all day! He huffed. Luckily the road was down hill.

"Coming through! Coming th--- arrrgh!" Joshua let out a loud shout as his feet suddenly slipped in the snow and sent him, the box, and several long strands of tinsel tumbling into the person who had been walking in front of him.

"For Merlin's sake!" Joshua muttered angrily as he hurried to his feet again, red and gold tinsel now decorating his black coat. "I am so sorry! This blasted snow!" He looked apologetic at the person he had crashed into.

Roleplay Response:
Snow. It really was quite beautiful.

Florencia turned her face up to the sky as the flakes lazily drifted down. They sprinkled white into her hair, dampness onto her cheeks.

Two months. That was how long it had taken for her assignment in Egypt. Sweltering heat, sand everywhere, and an absurd amount of booby traps. Years ago, she had held a deep sense of reverence for the birthplace of recorded magic. The damp ruins and charmed skeletons had lessened the appeal.

She adjusted the satchel on her shoulder, the item she had been sent to find nestled within and awaiting delivery to her employers. Through the fall of snow, she could make out the tall Roman columns of Gringotts Bank in the distance. 

"Coming through! Coming th--- arrrgh!"

Florencia stumbled as something behind her suddenly slammed into her back. “Madre mía!” She spun around, her eyes flashing with irritation. A strand of tinsel had landed on her head and hung down in her face. She blew it off with a huff. “Watch next time.”

She intended to whirl around and leave. Intended to go back to her business. That was until she realized the bag that had been on her shoulder was suddenly gone. She swore her heart stopped in that second. No, no, no, no.

“You,” she spoke accusingly at the old man. Florencia drew her wand. “You made me lose my bag. Now you help me find it.”   

---

^{Madre mía = my goodness} 


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