Hogwarts School: A Harry Potter RPG

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→ CHARACTER INFORMATION.

Name: Rocío Valdés

Birthday: December 17, 1956

Hometown: Boyle Heights, Los Angeles, California

Bloodline: Muggleborn

Magical Strength: Transfiguration

Magical Weakness: Divination

Year (pick two): 5th, 4th

Biography:

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Even two floors down, Rocío could hear her mom yelling—another night, another fight. The sounds of Boyle Heights after dark barely masked it. Car horns blared in the distance, and the thumping rhythms of cumbia spilled out from the auto garage down on the corner, mixing with the echoing clang of metal as Pancho worked late. Sometimes he let her help. Maybe she’d go there.

Rocío leaned her head back against the cracked doorframe she was curled up in. The floor was grimy, smelled like wet cigarettes and mildew. But it was better than the apartment. If she waited long enough, her mom would storm out, and Rocío could slip back in and crash on the couch.

The door she was leaning against creaked open suddenly, and Rocío nearly toppled inside, catching herself just in time with her feet braced against the other side of the doorframe. She looked up to find Doña Josefa standing there; her face lined with age but still fierce, like an old warrior. She wore a faded floral house dress and her gray hair pulled back in a tight bun. Rocío could practically feel the judgment in her squinted eyes.

“Mija,” Doña Josefa said, her voice carrying that stern, no-nonsense tone Rocío was all too familiar with. She sounded mad, but not at Rocío—this time, at least.

Rocío tipped her head back, feeling the scratchiness in her throat. “Hola, Doña Josefa.”

“What are you—” The older woman cut herself off, clicking her tongue in that way she did when she disapproved. Before Rocío could protest, Doña Josefa hustled her inside in a whirlwind of Spanish and gardenias. Rocío let herself be pulled into the warm, familiar smells of the apartment, where a pot of frijoles simmered on the stove, and the walls were covered with images of La Virgen de Guadalupe and framed photos of long-gone relatives.

It was always better in here.

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Rocío shoved the apartment door open, only to hit resistance. Her mom wasn’t home—that much was obvious—but something was blocking the stupid door. With a scowl, Rocío rammed her shoulder against it, forcing it open and sending a cascade of unopened mail flying across the linoleum floor. She stumbled into the living room, ankle-deep in envelopes.

“God, what the—” she muttered, kicking through the sea of paper. Of course, her mom hadn’t checked the mail. Rocío had been doing it since she was five, and even then, it was usually just threats from the landlord or the utility companies.

She made her way into the tiny kitchen, ignoring the growl in her stomach. The hunger didn’t gnaw at her like it used to. There was always something in the neighborhood—Johnny from the bodega would slip her extra rice, and Doña Josefa made sure she didn’t go hungry.

What she couldn’t get for free, Rocío just made it free.

As she chewed on a cold tortilla, Rocío nearly jumped out of her skin when she heard a voice behind her. Turning, she saw it was just Doña Josefa, who had let herself in like she always did.

“Ach, nina. Don’t you open your mail?”

Rocío scowled, setting the skillet she’d instinctively grabbed back down. “Why bother?”

Before she could take another bite, Doña Josefa thwacked her on the arm with one of the unopened letters. Rocío cursed under her breath, rubbing her forearm. “Ay, está bien. Lo siento, Doña Josefa.”

“Enough of that. You’re going to get out of here, mija.” The older woman’s tone left no room for argument, and Rocío found herself nodding, even if she wasn’t quite sure what Doña Josefa meant.

A few days later, Rocío was on a bus to Massachusetts, the sights and sounds of Boyle Heights fading into the distance as she left behind the only life she’d ever known.

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The door screeched open, a groan of protest from the worn hinges. Rocio kicked it shut, her duffle bag thumping against her leg. The smell that hit her was a sickly mix of sour garbage and stale cigarettes, making her stomach churn.

She hesitated, her hand hovering over the light switch. A flicker of movement caught her eye. A half-empty bottle, propped against a stack of dirty dishes, seemed to wobble. Rocío took a deep breath and flipped the switch.

The room was a disaster, but that was nothing new. She rolled her eyes and went to work, picking up the mess that had accumulated since she’d left for school months ago.

Five minutes in, her mom suddenly popped up from the couch like a jack-in-the-box, looking as haggard as ever. “Rociíta, is that you?”

Her jaw clenched, a tight knot of pain burrowing under her ribs. She hated that nickname. Ana Valdés rarely used it since she’d gotten older than eight. Roughly shoving an empty tin can in the garbage bag, she rolled her eyes. “Oh, you’re alive. Must be my lucky day.” She tossed another can—black beans, at one point—in the bag. “Didn’t expect you to be vertical. What, run out of—"

Her mom cut her off with something sharp in Spanish, but Rocío ignored her until she heard a name that made her pause. “Wait, who’s Henry? England?”

Later, after her mom staggered out for another night of who knows what, Rocío headed to Doña Josefa’s to ask about Ilvermorny and whether it was even possible to go if her mom dragged her across the Atlantic. But when she got there, the door was unlocked and there had been no response when she called out.

In the end, even Doña Josefa had left her. Just like everyone else.

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Consecuencia - Consequence
mija - dear, sweetheart
Hola - Hi
frijoles - beans
La Virgen de Guadalupe - The Virgin Guadalupe/Mary
Entumecimiento - Numbness
nina - girl
Ay, está bien. Lo siento - Ay, okay. I’m sorry
Evitación - Avoidance



→ ADDITIONAL INFORMATION.

House Request: Slytherin

Personality:
Likes pushing all the buttons to not only see what people are really like, but to push them away from her. Used to looking out for herself and herself only, trusts nobody, out for her own survival. Fully expects and always on guard for the bottom to fall out. Puts on a brutal, sarcastic front to survive and lashes out when threatened (does find intimacy, friendship, love of any kind very threatening).

Mixed points: likes to have fun, very clever, especially with science/potions.

Appearance:
Long, dark wavy hair. Misleading doe-eyes that are usually too sharp, too dark, always looking for trouble and opportunities. Has learned to use her appearance as both a weapon and armor. Usually has a holier-than-thou glower or dangerous smirk that says she’s got better things to do than play nice.


→ SAMPLE ROLEPLAY.

Roleplay Response Option 2:

Rocío leaned against a nearby tree, arms crossed, watching Hugh’s attempt at Pied Piper. Dark brown eyes narrowed with the kind of amused ridicule she usually reserved for idiots and the well-meaning tourists that stumbled their way into Boyle Heights on the weekends.

"Can I help you with something? It is not polite to stare."

“Wow, Hugh. Charming.” Rocío’s hand went to her chest in mock offense, but the smirk on her lips didn't budge. “I was just here, you know, stopping to smell the roses.” She looked around at the trampled flowers. “Or what’s left ‘em.”

She pushed off the tree and took a slow, deliberate step toward him, eyes flicking to the mess he’d made. “Can’t say I blame the rat for bailing. If I had to pick between freedom and you snotting all over me, I’d make a break for it too.”

Rocío gave him a once-over, eyebrow arched, then shrugged like she was doing him a favor just by sticking around. “But hey, maybe if you sneeze loud enough, he’ll feel bad and come scamperin’ back to you.”

A beat. “I’m kidding. Some cat probably ate him.”



→ ABOUT YOU.

Please list any characters you have on the site (current and previous): Monty King, Billie Dragomir, Tala Bellestorm, etc. etc.

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