Knockturn Bound - Archived Applications

WW Adult Application: Jameson Clarence Ziegler

Tue, 01 Sep 2026 08:00:11 +0000

General Information

Character Name:
Jameson Clarence Ziegler

Type of Character:
Adult

Age:
19

Date of Birth:
22 November 1903

Blood Status:
Muggleborn

Residence:
England, America

Family:
Loralei Ziegler (mother)
Eugene Ziegler (father)
Melinda Ziegler (twin sister)

Occupation:

Personality & History

Personality:
As a young lad, Jamie was loud, brash, and practically bouncing off the walls. He never listened to his parents or his teachers. School was dull, and he hadn’t the attention span for books and studying. Instead, he was out getting into trouble with the fellow gangs of neighborhood rapscallions.

Now, Jamie has outgrown his rabble-rouser self. Mostly. He has the self awareness to respect authority and act like a civilized member of society, but he still carries the echoes of his rambunctious childhood. He enjoys small thrills and is still drawn to the wild side of life. And of course, Jamie’s worst and most chaotic ideas come to him when he’s inebriated. Regardless, he’s always one to enjoy a good laugh, joking around with others.

His childhood wasn’t perfect, and his fraught relationship with his absent yet critical father has molded Jamie into a sort of people pleaser. He has a hard time saying no to people for fear of disappointing them, and he has a lingering feeling that he’s not doing enough with his life.

Jamie is quick to act, and still has trouble sitting still. At times, it may seem like he doesn't have a care in the world. But Jamie cares deeply, and will lay down his life for his loved ones. Blondie packs a punch– being from a “No-maj” family, Jamie prefers his fists over hexes or jinxes, any day. Consequences be damned. He wears his heart on his sleeve, with everything– especially romantically, as he falls for people easily and often. Hasn’t quite found that fabled true love connection, though…

Lastly, Jamie isn’t known for being the sharpest tool in the shed. The obliviousness can land him in hot water from time to time, but he does his best. That doesn’t mean he’s a complete dunce, though. What he lacks in book smarts, he makes up for in other areas; he can be pretty perceptive when he puts in effort. He’s a rough-around-the-edges working boy with a heart of gold. What’s not to love?

History:
When Jamie and his sister, Melinda, came into the world, it was more of an accident than anything. It wasn’t any fault of Jamie’s mother, the saint. Loralei Greenspan was nineteen and swept into a shotgun wedding, which only happened because Eugene Ziegler’s father was the head of a prominent factory in the area. There were appearances to be kept up, even if Eugene was only a lowly second son.

Luckily, the growing city of Portland, Oregon provided more than enough stimulation for the two growing children. Jamie was free to run amok, with Mel trailing behind. Plenty to distract them from their father favoring the bottle over his own family. As Jamie got older, his father appeared less and less. The brunt of the household fell on his mother. When his father did choose to appear, it was mostly to get angry at something trivial, or to reprimand Jamie for not being manly enough. Jamie tried his best to take it in stride, but his father’s words and his mother’s tears left more scars than he thought.

Despite the hardship, Loralei loved her children with her whole heart, and did her best to support them in everything. (Even when Jamie had her at her wit’s end…) She was there for some of Jamie’s best memories. Most notably, of course, the day that Jamie and Mel got their letters from the Ilvermorny School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. And oh, what a day. Jamie had first used magic after a nasty spill in an old brewery yard (don’t ask). Split his chin right open, but it had healed up by the next morning. He hadn’t thought much of the incident after that, but to know that it had been magic? Magic was real, and so were wizards, and he was a wizard, and so was Mel!

At Ilvermorny, Jamie was promptly sorted into Thunderbird House, and so began some of the best years of his life. Post-graduation, he and Mel returned to Oregon. Jamie had considerably mellowed out by now, but that thirst for adventure hadn’t left him. He was more restless than before– he wanted to see the world, meet new people, live life to the fullest. Imagine his excitement when a job offer came out of the blue. It was from a friend of a friend of his father’s, and it was to go work in England, of all places. Jamie knew factory work like the back of his hand, so that was no big sweat– but this opportunity was too good to pass up. Portland was the same old city that it had always been, his mother was doing all right for herself, and his father could care less. So why the hell not?

Jamie hopped on the first boat headed to London. Mel was by his side, as always, having found her own reasons to go across the pond. Jamie was glad for that. It was nice to have his sister along for the ride, just like when they were kids. Now, he’s settling into London life, ready for whatever The Old Smoke throws at him.

Prompt Response:
(Magic + Muggle)

This night had been somewhat of a mistake. Jamie was six drinks deep, and his head swimming like nothing else. Somehow, he had stumbled out of the speakeasy's back door and managed to sit down on the small set of steps. The air out here in the alley did little to relieve his drunkenness-- but who cared?

"You only turn eighteen once," Jamie said aloud. “I do what I fuckin' want."

To emphasize this point (to himself), he yanked his wand out of his coat pocket. "Heh. Been a while, old girl. Do you still have it in you?" He waved it in a lazy circle, muttering a spell under his breath. A nice shower of golden sparks shot out of the tip. It was like the Fourth of July.

"Ha!" Jamie snorted. "Gorgeous girl, I guess so." God, he missed Ilvermorny. The professors there were stuck-up snobs, but at least it wasn't a boring place. And the weather in Massachusetts was similar enough to Oregon.

"There you are!" The door swung open with a bang. "What the hell are you doing out here, Ziegler? We're missing you at the bar." His buddy Frank stepped out, just as a plume of fire shot out of Jamie's wand and ignited a stray pile of newspaper.

Fwoosh!

That was not ideal.

"Holy shit!" Frank yelped, looking from the wand to the rapidly spreading fire. "How-- what--"

Jamie sprang upwards. "Help me put it out!" He rushed to stamp out the flames. Frank, still flabbergasted, joined in. With good effort, the fire eventually puffed out, though not without a fair bit of sputtering and thick smoke. It seemed almost disappointed to go.

The two young men stood there, panting.

"All right... So, I definitely just saw you torch that with a stick," Frank said, point-blank. "Care to explain?"

Jamie made a strange, squeaky coughing noise in the back of his throat, not unlike a car engine failing. "Oh, that?" He started. Act natural, Ziegler. Cool as a cucumber. "That-- that was nothing."

Frank raised an eyebrow. "Nothing?"

"Yup," Jamie nodded. Time to double down. When in doubt, deny, deny, deny. "Nothing. A fluke. A trick of the light-- Look, Frank," He took his hands off of his hips and held them aloft. "You're drunk, I'm drunk, we're both absolutely pickled. Didn't you swear you saw Clara Bow when we first got here?"

Frank opened his mouth. Closed it. Then he sagged like a deflated balloon. "Yes..."

"This night has been wild for everyone," Jamie concluded. "Whatever you saw, no matter how scary, it'll be gone by morning. Now," He grinned widely and comandeered his friend by the shoulders, back towards the door.

"How 'bout we get back in there and keep the party going? Bet I can find you a doll who's even peachier than Clara..."

Miscellaneous

Other Characters
Reyna Durand

How did you find us?
Eli!

Student Application: Lucas Ekoumé

Sun, 30 Aug 2026 22:21:30 +0000

General Information

Character Name:
Lucas Ekoumé

Age:
14

Date of Birth:
27/07/1907

Blood Status:
Pureblood

Residence:
London, UK

Family:
Michel Ekoumé (father)
Emmanuelle Ekoumé (mother)
Clarisse Ekoumé (little sister)

Personality & House Preference

Personality:
Lucas is many things all at once—a charmer, the black sheep, a troublemaker.

Born into a family that valued purity above all, he never seemed to care about it, much to his parents’ dismay. He’s a lazy student with a bad tendency to talk back to his teachers or disappear from class, a world-class prankster, and an arrogant kid who has been spoiled and is used to getting his way. This makes him particularly rebellious and gives him a tendency to get in trouble.

He’s charismatic, talented when he cares to show up, and actually really smart—even if he tends to use said intelligence to do the wrong thing. Not only that, but he's pretty chivarlous for his age.

Lucas is also a pretty courageous boy—sometimes to a fault. If he needs to protect his friends, or his little sister, he will jump right in. In general, he's not the kind of boy who thinks much of the consequences until after the fact. And, normally, it's still worth it to him.

He's deeply loyal to those that matter to him, considering his friends and family.

History:
Lucas was born as the first of two siblings in a rich Cameroonian family that spent their days between their motherland and London, where he was born and raised.

His mother has always claimed to have ties with Cameroon’s aristocracy, while his father comes from a long lineage of pureblooded businessmen. They were both raised under the idea that purity meant status, and they hoped to pass that onto their children.

However, Lucas, from a young age, showed a deep disinterest in anything that had to do with the family business. The idea of spending the rest of his life taking care of the family name seemed unappealing even for a little kid, and they never got him to agree with their purist ideals.

Because of this, Lucas was quickly deemed the black sheep of the family, and his parents’ hopes shifted to his younger sister, Clarissa.

Still, the damage had been done. He was, after all, raised in a rich family with workers ready to attend to every single one of his whims. Because of this, despite his good intentions, he grew up spoiled, and perhaps a little more malicious than one would’ve expected.

By the time he was eleven and received his Hogwarts letter, he had pulled every possible prank on both his family and his staff.

Unlike his sister, who seemed happy around her family, Lucas took it as an opportunity to move away from the claws of his parents and develop his own worldview, causing trouble for everyone involved along the way.

During his stay at school, he was quick to make friends and join the Quidditch team the moment he was old enough. Popular among his peers, and pretty unpopular with those who held purist views, Lucas breezed through the first years of his education.

Despite his lacking grades and his attitude in some classes, he managed to earn the love of some of his teachers thanks to his big personality, making him a name that has been whispered around the hallways more than once.

House Preference:
Gryffindor, Slytherin, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw

Year Preference:
Fourth

Prompt Response:
Lucas was idly staring at his teacup with a bored expression on his face.

Outside, a storm was unraveling. It crashed violently against the big crystal windows of the Great Hall, causing the girl who was sitting beside him to gasp every time it did. He, on the other hand, barely reacted.

He was still in his Quidditch uniform, a modern, sleek broom leaning against the bench. The weather was so bad they had canceled practice; and, out of all the miseries in the world, Lucas couldn’t imagine one worse. He sighed.

Then, as he was about to take a sip, someone approached him.

He turned around, just slightly. Catching a glimpse of an agitated Lovelace, his frown was replaced by a boyish grin.

“What’s up?” he hummed.

Lovelace’s eyes were wide, her blonde hair tousled. He raised an eyebrow.

“So, I’m in a little bit of a pickle,” she said, the words coming so fast they tumbled over each other. “I missed Herbology, and if I don’t have a good excuse, then they’ll give me detention for the millionth time and—”

Lucas raised a hand, cutting her off.

“You know what you need,” he said slowly, leaning forwards as if he was about to tell her some secret about life that was too precious for the other students to hear. “A great excuse.”

He gave her a look. The kind of look that said this was not a favor, but a deal.

“And I’ll provide you with one. Let’s go, we’ll talk with the professor and I’ll cover for you.”

He rose to his feet, then clapped his hands. “Come on, Lovelace. Chop, chop.”

Miscellaneous

Other Characters
Katerina Nikolau

How did you find us?
Amber

WW Adult Application: Katherina Neaera Nikolau

Sun, 30 Aug 2026 14:44:52 +0000

General Information

Character Name:
Katherina Neaera Nikolau

Type of Character:
Adult

Age:
19

Date of Birth:
27/10/1904

Blood Status:
Pureblood

Residence:
London, UK

Family:
Agni Nikolau (mother)
Giorgios Nikolau (father)
Maria Nikolau (step-mother)

Occupation:
Classical Pianist

Personality & History

Personality:
Katerina is, by all means, a complicated girl.
She has never experienced familial love in the way others might’ve, and that has left a permanent scar on her heart that has many times acted as an anchor. Desperate to be loved, Katherine has engaged in a series of bad relationships—each one more problematic than the previous one. Even when she managed to find someone kind hearted, her own actions and the pressure she experienced from her father managed to burn them to the ground—yet not without her spending more energy than it would’ve been reasonable trying to fix them.

Having grown up extremely privileged and simultaneously extremely neglected, Katherine wore her strength like an armor. Moody and difficult, she was always trying to prove she was the one calling the shots in every room she stepped in. Only recently—and mostly thanks to her friends—she has been able to show the sweetness that hid under layers of bitterness.

Despite having changed—for the better—along the years, she remains capricious, perhaps too blunt even when she’s trying to be caring, and with a harsh sense of humour. She’s kind hearted, but she hasn’t renounced who she is at her core to soften and fit the image of rehabilitation it would’ve been expected of her. She is who she is, and has learned to be proud of it, even after leaving some of her unhealthiest habits behind.

Another important thing about Katerina is her artistic streak. She started with piano as an emotional outlet—the only thing she didn’t do to impress her father, but for herself—and eventually made it her career. She appreciates art of all kinds, from cinema to sculpture, and likes hanging out at museums in her free time.

She’s not particularly accustomed to the Muggle World. She has slowly unlearned the prejudices imposed by her father, but there’s still a lot she doesn’t understand—or even respect. This said, she makes an effort when it comes to art, as her career can’t be tied down to the magical world if she expects it to be successful.

Because of everything she has gone through since she was a little girl, Katerina carries a deep, unexplored grief with herself. When she was a teenager, it was the main force that caused her to act out and be as unpredictable as she was. Now, it feeds her art.

History:

Katerina was born as the only daughter of Georgios Nikolau and his wife, Agni.

Georgios was always a controlling, difficult man with misogynistic views. So, when Agni had her first child, Katerina, he immediately started pushing for a second one, hoping to get a male heir to his enormous empire of banking an economical speculation, wholeheartedly believing Katerina would not be up to the task due to her gender.

After years of trying, and despite the numerous health issues that every miscarriage gave Agni, Georgios kept pressuring. At some point, the woman simply snapped. Completely detached from Katerina—probably due to unexplored mental issues—she simply packed her bags one morning, never to be seen again.

This left Georgios alone with his daughter, who was eleven by the time and was getting ready to start her first year at Hogwarts—as they had moved to England when she was around six for business reasons. His wealth and connections made it easy for him to remarry, but his second wife faced the same issues Agni had once faced, leaving her unable to provide the precious heir Georgios craved for.

Despite this, Georgios never thought of turning towards his daughter. She, who made incredible efforts time and time and again to impress him—from excelling at Quidditch, to perfect grades—was always met with an unsavory reaction.

This, at some point, caused Katerina to look for the love she was lacking somewhere else. This is where her relationships started—all with boys, despite her knowing, or at least suspecting, she was attracted to girls as well—and none of them ended up doing her any good. Even when she was being treated poorly, Katerina stayed. She believed that if she did, someone would finally love her the way she had always craved.

Now, at nineteen, she has finally graduated Hogwarts as a Slytherin alumni. After graduation, she managed to get accepted at the Paris Conservatoire, where she studied piano upon her return to London.

Prompt Response:

It was late at night, and Katerina was sitting alone on a bench, staring at the sky.

The trees had long been swallowed by the darkness, leaving her figure barely recognizable in the night, if not for the soft glow of the cigarette between her glossy lips.

She tilted her head up, just slightly, and exhaled the smoke. Her dark eyes followed it as it twirled over her head, meandering until it disappeared. Katerina sighed, tapping the cigarette. The ashes fell onto the ground, right on top of a pile of dry leaves.

There was a stillness to the night, she noted. One that perfectly meshed with the restlessness she felt in her heart, allowing her to slow down. Her thoughts were a knot—confusing and hard to understand. She shook her head a few times, as if it would somehow clear her head. It didn’t.

She heard the breeze before she felt it on the bare skin of her shoulders, the rustling of leaves anticipating what would be a cold flash of wind. Almost like divine intervention, her cigarette went out. Katerina cursed under her breath.

Looking around, she made sure no one was near. Then, she slid her wand out of her boot. With a silent, graceful tap, it reignited the flame. Her shoulders relaxed. She laid her back against the bench’s cold wood, closing her eyes, and then—

“I saw that.”

The voice was chirpy. Irritating. Katerina looked up, batting her long eyelashes. As if constructed out of thin air, there was a small woman standing in front of her. She didn’t need a second look to identify her as a Muggle. Chewing on her lower lip, she managed to keep the instinct to curse again restrained.

“I don’t know what you mean,” she said, her voice a tad more innocent than it usually sounded.

The woman narrowed her eyes, hidden under thick coke-bottle glasses. It took everything in Katerina’s power not to look her up and down. The comment about her choice of clothing sat on the tip of her tongue, like a bomb about to explode.

“You used that… that stick to light up your cigarette.”

“Did I?”

“You did.”

Katerina massaged her temple with her long fingers, perfectly manicured nails at the end of every single one of them. She gave the woman a look, as if she had pointed out something obvious.

“It’s a lighter.”

“Doesn’t look like a lighter to me.”

“Well, it is. I bought it in Nafpaktos. That’s in Greece. It’s a specialty over there.”

She could notice that her perfect pronunciation had thrown the woman off. She didn’t look very bright. The kind of person to believe something just because someone well-spoken told them so and then never think about it again.

Her lips curled up into the faintest of smiles. She had counted on that.

“Oh, I see. Well, it’s very pretty.”

Katerina rose to her feet, smoothing her skirt.

“I know. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to get home.”

Miscellaneous

Other Characters
n/a

How did you find us?
amber <3

Student Application: Reyna Villamor Durand

Fri, 28 Aug 2026 09:06:00 +0000

General Information

Character Name:
Reyna Villamor Durand

Age:
14

Date of Birth:
26 April 1909

Blood Status:
Halfblood

Residence:
England, Australia

Family:
Lovelace Durand (half-sister, 3 years apart)

Personality & House Preference

Personality:
Reyna has always been a bit off the walls. When she was younger, she was terribly inquisitive, always asking strange questions and wanting to know everything about the world around her. When verbal answers failed her wanderlust, Rey took to the great outdoors, always coming back covered in mud or with a new creature friend.

This energy has quieted down a bit as she's reached adolescence, but Rey is still not one to conform to the straight and narrow. She could be considered tomboyish-- not just because of the bobbed hair. Rey isn't fussy about her appearance, or afraid of getting her hands dirty. She’s also been known to steal her father’s suit jackets here and there.

She's tough, witty, but has a tendency to be blunt and even coarse at times. This can be trouble, especially since Rey has a stubborn streak, and doesn't like admitting she was wrong.

That doesn't make her fiery or impulsive, though. She does look before she leaps, contrary to popular belief. Rey knows how to read the room, and keep her confidence. It takes a lot to fluster her. She's playful, and loves to laugh and share in laughter with others. Friend-making comes easily to her, and she'll kill to protect her loved ones.

Rey's upbringing and background has made her resourceful. She knows that you have to be able to adapt to whatever life throws at you, and that good things take time and effort. She wants to know that she's earned this life, but in the back of her mind, there's always a worry that she could be abandoned again, or that her circumstances could change as quick as the wind.

History:
Reyna was the product of a whirlwind romance during a dazzling getaway to Manila, in the Philippines. Rey spent her early years basking in the sun, getting lost in the market, and trying to tame the local civet population, among other things.

Memories of the past often slipped out in the quiet, muggy evenings. Mayari, Reyna's mother, would sit, chin in hand, would wax poetic about a roguishly charming gentleman from Australia who had swept her off her feet. Like the fireflies that wove between the trees, the two had been drawn to each other's warmth and light.

Rey never listened much to these tales, no matter how her mother insisted that Rey would experience the same one day. Why? Why go on and on about a man who clearly wanted nothing to do with either of them, no matter how handsome he supposedly was? You couldn't really live off of dreams and memories.

And unfortunately, reality soon crept in. Mayari had always had a bit of a lingering cough, but she had never given it much thought. She could work well enough, and anyway, doctors were costly to see. Her condition worsened over the years, and by the time she finally scraped enough money to get treatment, it was no use. The tuberculosis was too advanced. She passed away that September. Reyna was five years old. The situation couldn't have been more dire. A child alone, the city barraged by typhoons and severe flooding.

Salvation came in the form of a father. Too late? Perhaps. But what choice did Rey have? She followed her father to England. The man seemed to have finally gained an interest in his progeny now that he had a proper wife. And he was charming, indeed. Able to finesse peoples' money right out of their pockets, with nothing but his quick fingers and silver tongue.

It fascinated Rey, because here was a surefire way to make your way in the world. So what if it was a little dishonest? Most of the folk her father schemed against were rich and wouldn't miss a few pinched pennies. He was ever so confident about it, and didn't let anything rattle him. Maybe he was more interesting than Rey had first thought.

They bounced from England to Australia, now with the addition of darling little Lovelace. The two girls were absolutely inseparable, and Rey was glad to teach her younger sister all that she had learned. The next couple of years were happy, if not chaotic. The Durands were a large family, wild, and rambunctious to boot. But amid the jumble of cousins, aunts, and uncles, Reyna managed to finally find her footing again.

It was hard to shake the outsider label, though. Rey looked enough like her new family, but her accent, her favorite foods, and most glaringly, her illegitimacy... And her inability to perform magic as she got older.Not to mention that no matter how she tried, she couldn't muster up any magic. Oh, she tried, all right. Rey felt a need to prove that she still deserved to be at her father's side, and yet with each passing day, she could feel his attention waning.

One night, after a heated discussion about Reyna's mother, it finally happened. Rey was sitting outside on the porch, head still spinning. A firefly flew close to her, just as she opened her mouth to sigh. Rey sucked in a breath, surprised, and ended up swallowing the little sucker whole. But then, the firefly's light spread from her throat all under her skin, so that Rey, dumfounded, was glowing from the inside out. A beacon in the night. The door cracked open, and there was her father, just as spellbound.

That settled it, then.

When it came time to return to England, strangely, she was excited. Especially since she was to attend magic school, of all things. It was proof that she had a place somewhere, where she could make something of herself, instead of drifting from place to place.

Rey has thrived at Hogwarts, truly. And this year, Lovelace is finally set to join her at school. Good riddance to those stuffy old Javors. They don't know real fun, so Reyna is all for showing her little sister the ropes, just as she always has.

She just hopes that it lasts, this time around.

House Preference:
Hufflepuff, Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Slytherin

Year Preference:
Fourth

Prompt Response:

(Hogwarts Letter)

The morning air smelled like rising dust and the eucalyptus fumes outside. It was still cool enough to sit on the floor by the window without perishing of sunstroke, so that was exactly where Reyna planted herself.

The other children were sound asleep. Normally, Rey would have loved to go around waking up her many relatives, and lead the charge to the breakfast table, but it was far too early for that. And besides, she had purposefully chosen this time to be alone.

She'd been thinking. More than usual. She didn't like it when the thoughts in her brain got too heavy or complicated. Made her temples hurt, like that time a tarantula had gotten tangled in her hair. But no matter how hard she tried, Rey couldn't shake the unease building at the base of her neck, and then some. That fight with her father a few days ago– it had boiled over, but things were still tense between them. Then again, when were things not tense with that man?

"There's something come in the mail for you."

Speak of the devil. A familiarly gruff voice broke the blissful silence, followed by the creaking of the floorboards. Rey turned around to see a letter thrust into her line of sight.

"I was out at the letter-box," Her father mumbled. "Looks important, don't it?"

“Looks very important.” echoed Reyna. She furrowed her brow and reached out for the creamy white envelope, with its glossy red wax seal.

Her father shook his head and held it aloft. “Wait.”

Reyna huffed, more of a low growl, really. “What is it?” She dropped her hand and crossed her arms over her chest, glaring.

“Whatever’s in here– you don’t go ‘round telling it to the others,” Her father said, fixing his daughter with just as stern of a look. “And especially not Lovelace.”

“Sounds stupid,” Rey shot back, instantly. “She’s only seven. Just because you don’t ‘approve’ of her either–”

”Reyna Durand.” The crease between his brows tightened, like crumpled paper, before smoothing out just a smidge. He held the letter out to her. “I’m in earnest.” He watched Rey take it. Hesitated. “Please.”

“Fine.” Rey sighed. It really was too early for this nonsense. She tore open the letter without a second thought. The pristine parchment fell in tatters upon the floor, followed by bits of smushed wax. Her eyes flew over the inked words, indents still tangible in her palm, and they grew wider and wider by the second.

Dear Miss Durand… Hogwarts… Witchcraft, Wizardry…

Rey’s heart bobbed up into her throat like a duck coming up for air. She looked down at the letter. Then back up at her father. Then the letter again. His gaze was burning holes into her forehead, and she didn’t want to deal with that at the moment.

“This is… real?” Rey murmured. “You’re not pulling my leg?”

“Yes. I mean, it’s real.” Her father sighed. “Knew this might come to pass, eventually, but so soon…” He rubbed a hand over his chin, expression quite unreadable as he muttered to himself. “The term starts in September. It’s in Scotland… but we were already planning on heading back to England, anyway....”

“Wait!” Reyna exclaimed. The parchment crinkled as she gripped it tightly. “I don’t get it. How– how am I– a witch? I thought I couldn't-- How is this possible?”

"I'm not sure... sometimes magic takes a bit of time. But you are my daughter, Rey. Don't you remember the fireflies that evening?" He cracked a lopsided smile. “Oh, don’t give me that look. This is good, you’ll see. You’ll be around other children like yourself. It will be loads of fun.”

A beat. Her father nodded to himself, as if he too was accepting the whole idea. “I’m glad it’s you first, Rey. I’m proud of you, I am. I meant what I said the other day, I am really going to try harder, and– oof!”

Rey threw the letter aside and flung herself into his arms. He smelled like old leather and cigar smoke, but she pressed her face into his shoulder and held on for dear life. She was whole, not broken, or damaged beyond repair. There was an inexplicable warm feeling spreading from the pit of her stomach out through her fingertips, like a-- a sunlower blooming madly, somewhere wild, open and free.

Miscellaneous

Other Characters
N/A

How did you find us?
from Eli!

Student Application: Lovelace Durand

Fri, 21 Aug 2026 22:56:00 +0000

General Information

Character Name:
Lovelace Durand

Age:
11

Date of Birth:
22 November 1910

Blood Status:
Halfblood

Residence:
England & Australia

Family:

Personality & House Preference

Personality:
Although kindness and being gentle are at Lovelace’s core when she knows how to achieve them, it can be hard for others to see or believe that. Those inclinations are frequently overshadowed by her mischievous nature, which is never intended to be harmful. She hasn’t entirely discovered yet that people can’t always immediately understand her intentions. She also has serious issues with not following every impulse she’s ever had, on top of a general inability to consider consequences or outcomes she hasn’t already been warned about. After all, why would she waste time thinking about what could happen when she could instead just find out? Worse, even when aware of the possibility of a bad outcome for herself, she will often plow ahead regardless, whether on a whim or to help out a friend. That’s not still the case if she’s aware that someone else might get harmed in the process, as that possibility will keep her from a whim. When aware of another person’s feelings and how she might negatively impact them, she will also stop in a way that she wouldn’t for herself, as someone interested in finding out how every feeling will impact her. She’s also always looking for the next thing to do that she can excel at and is more than happy to work towards becoming the best she can be at something she loves, regardless of how hard it might be (or how hard she might fail.)

History:
No one in Lovelace’s family was excited about the prospect of bringing her and her twin into the world. In Lovelace’s case, this opinion is never likely to change. Their parents were forced to marry each other, their grandparents were incredibly disappointed to not be able to arrange a more beneficial marriage, and they also all had to deal with at least one tiny little hellraiser. The uncouth, though charming Australian man with no connections or upsides to speak of, who seemed to have very little interest in either of the children, seemed like a waste of space. His interest in Lovelace was piqued just as she was starting to grow out of her terrible threes and was incensed by a bully on a playground, so kept the bully’s favorite toy floating just out of reach.

Suddenly, her father had a wonderful idea; her twin would be the heir to the family fortune, changing their name and allowing them to be raised entirely by the Javor family, while Lovelace would be taken to Australia to be raised by her father’s family, the Durands, until she was ten. Lovelace’s mother, who always seemed to find Lovelace much more difficult to deal with than her twin, was only too happy to agree, adding in a request that as soon as she was old enough, the Durands also teach her decorum, respect, and how to behave.

They failed on all three asks, primarily because they were too busy teaching her how to con, distract, swipe, and steal anything that wasn’t nailed down. They like to think they could’ve taught her all that hoity-toity stuff if they’d wanted to. Her father made sure she knew how to at least pretend to be respectful and well-behaved—mostly just how to keep much more still than her body naturally wanted to, and how to maintain eye contact with a polite tone.

Lovelace’s father also kept hinting at things to come, telling her she was bound for great things and had a bright future. Lovelace might’ve believed him, if it wasn’t for the fact that the family had made her play soothsaying parts so often. She’d been instructed to tell others the exact same thing. She still hasn’t come to understand that her family might perhaps have been doing anything wrong, or having her do anything wrong. They told her they were just doing the things they needed to to get by, so she believed them wholeheartedly. They were, after all, the only adults in her life that seemed to find her worthwhile.

By the time she had to go “back” to England, she couldn’t remember it and was incredibly unenthusiastic about the prospect. She had made friends all over the places her family had lived in Australia and couldn’t help worrying about whether any of them would keep in contact once she’d jumped to that tiny little island. And where would she even move to once her reputation in an area had been burned? Scotland?! Swim to Ireland?? The only things she could be comforted by were that her father would be going with her and that she would get to meet her actual twin. She had a slightly older half sibling that she and the family had called her twin, but she thought that wasn't the same.

And, it wasn't. The year she spent living with her actual twin was one spent coming to the realization that having been born together didn't really mean all that much when you'd been raised in such different environments. In Lovelace’s opinion, her fake twin had been much more in sync with her, wasn't half as quiet, and understood how hard it could be to make a living in a way her biological twin just couldn't. She missed the family she'd grown up with and the way home felt with them; her new home was filled with an oppressive silence. Her new family wanted her to be just as mute outside of responding to questions that required answers. She was punished for giving her opinion if it didn't match her family's or when she asked clarifying questions.

After a few days, she was begging her father to take her back home. He would only respond cryptically, leaving her to discover a friendly ear that would respond sensibly: a stray kitten she had found when trying to get lost in (or maybe off of) her new family’s property. The family tried to separate the two, which never seemed to work out. Both seemed to feel a vested interest in reuniting, with the kitten mewling until she had returned to Lovelace’s side and Lovelace searching for her relentlessly, always seeming to be able to find her when she could focus just right. By the time Lovelace and her twin got their Hogwarts letters, the family had reluctantly decided to ignore this aspect of Lovelace’s impropriety, but only because the presence of her kitten tended to keep her from acting out in a way nothing else could.

The letters were a surprise to all and initially brushed off by this side of the family until Lovelace’s father returned home for the day and explained that he was a wizard. Furious at her father for not having told her about any of it sooner, Lovelace vowed not to go then refused to speak to him for days. This ended when he took her to a spot on the property far enough away from prying eyes to let her go as wild on his childhood broom as the clumsy, cheap thing would let her. It was enough: Lovelace was flying. Doing barrel rolls and loop-de-loops, falling off when she tried doing jumps on it while riding it like a surfboard. The prospect of being able to ride a broom without having to worry about someone seeing was more than tempting enough to get her on board, even after her father had made her promise not to pull any of the family cons on her fellow students. Fortunately, her fingers were crossed when she’d sworn it.

House Preference:
Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Slytherin, Ravenclaw

Year Preference:
First

Prompt Response:
Well aware that she was supposed to be Trying Very Hard not to get kicked out of the very nice school her father had never had a chance to go to, Lovelace considered her friend’s words in a breath. That done, so now she’d at least be able to tell her father that she had considered his wishes before getting herself expelled, a sloppy grin formed on her face as she nodded her head enthusiastically, “A’course, mate, like you’ve even gotta ask!” she responded, patting them on the shoulder gently before considering how exactly to throw any suspicion off her friend.
After a few moments’ consideration, the sloppy grin widened until she looked like the Cheshire Cat one of her aunts had read about to her and she began a swaggering walk toward the professor that had just discovered her friend’s prank. “Sorry Miss—nope, Professor, sorry, old habit. Sorry Professor, I really, truly had no idea that was anything but a normal boomerang—someone must’a switched mine out, I think!” she said, jumping up quickly to try to catch it as the Ever-Bashing Boomerang started back towards the victim. She made a note to ask why her friend had picked this student, though it was mostly just in case she didn’t feel like it was a bad enough revenge-prank.
Although Lovelace had always been a fairly good athlete when she liked a sport, this boomerang seemed to really dislike the student it had flown past her to hit again. Lovelace moved closer and as it began to move away again, Lovelace crouched slightly, raising both hands like she was in goal. This time, as she jumped to catch it and it smacked her arms and hands mercilessly, she was able to pull it to her body and hug it to her tight, grimacing at the fight. “You knew I’m from Down Under, right? Can’t just leave Australia without your boomerang, y’know?” she continued, doing her best not to grunt or express pain beyond the grimace. She figured the punishment would only be worse if the “perpetrator” also admitted to the prank having been painful. A thought occurred to her and her shoulders straightened slightly as her eyebrows raised, “I do promise never to let anyone else touch my boomerang ever again, though, Professor!”

Miscellaneous

Other Characters
NA

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WW Adult Application: Nora Suk Yeung

Thu, 20 Aug 2026 01:51:44 +0000

General Information

Character Name:
Nora Suk Yeung

Type of Character:
Adult

Age:
26

Date of Birth:
1 February 1897

Blood Status:
Muggleborn

Residence:
London

Family:
Hong “Charlie” Yeung - father, deceased
Honora Yeung (née Gallagher) - mother
Michael Yeung - brother, closest in age
Kathleen Yeung - sister
Margaret Yeung - sister
Joseph Yeung - brother

Occupation:
Trauma Specialist at St. Mungo’s

Personality & History

Personality:
Nora is, on the surface, exactly the person you’d want in the room when something’s gone wrong; she is calm, unhurried, and absolutely sure of her own hands. Patients trust her almost on instinct, before she’s even said a word, because panic has never once looked good on her. What most of them don’t see is what is underneath that calm: a woman who doesn’t do well with stillness. Quiet rooms leave too much space to think, so she doesn’t leave herself much of it. She picks up the extra shift, stays until the ward is empty. Rest, for Nora, has never quite felt like rest.

She doesn’t let people in easily, and she’s not sorry about it. Trusting the people closest to her cost her almost everything once, and she is not eager to hand that kind of access out twice. Colleagues can work beside her for years and come away knowing her hands better than they know her. But it isn’t coldness; it’s caution that never fully stood down. The few people who do get past it get the real thing: a loyalty that is unwavering but not loud.

The warmth she does show rarely looks like warmth; it looks like dry, deadpan humor dropped at the worst possible moment. It catches people off guard because she’s otherwise so contained. It’s usually the first sign that someone’s actually gotten close to her.

But she isn’t only serious. With frightened patients, especially children, the humor turns fully sincere: silly voices, ridiculous wagers over who can hold still the longest, whatever it takes to pull a laugh out of someone too scared to notice the pain. She’s also got one entirely unserious weakness: cheap, dreadful romance novels, the sort sold wrapped in plain brown paper, which she reads without a shred of shame. Perpetually single, she finds the drama written on the pages more than enough to be spared it in real life.

Where her father let things slide, Nora doesn’t. Wrong information, sloppy assumptions, a name said carelessly; she fixes it, immediately, without much thought for how it may land. To people who don’t know her well it reads as prickly, perhaps even cold. To the ones who do, it’s just Nora being Nora: precise because the alternative is letting something stand that isn’t true, and she’s watched what that costs.

History:
For a full year before her parents married, the neighborhood asked itself one question: what on Earth did Honora Gallagher think she was doing. Nora, when she came, was the answer.

Honora’s family kept a boarding house two streets back from the Liverpool docks, the kind of place that took in whoever needed a bed and could pay for it (usually dockhands between berths, men off the Blue Funnel ships waiting on their next posting). Hong stayed there three times before anyone noticed he’d started finding reasons to stay a fourth or fifth. He fixed the back step. He learned which of Honora’s brothers took his tea strong and which one didn’t take milk at all.

By the time the whole street had an opinion about it, Honora already had hers. And married him anyway. Her family didn’t disown her for it, but something in the parish went quiet around her for a while. It was the kind of quiet that never fully goes away, just gets absorbed into the walls of a house until no one remarks on it anymore.

Everyone called him Charlie. He never corrected it.

Nora came first in a house that was already good practice at being stared at. She was the oldest of five by the time she was old enough to realize that meant something specific. Charlie was always gone for months at a time on the Blue Funnel run, Honora managing a boarding house and a growing brood at once. Nora was old enough by seven or eight to be handed a baby and told to mind it while the stew didn’t burn itself.

She learned early what a room sounded like right before it went wrong; a cry that meant hungry against one that meant hurt, the hush before one of the lodgers’ tempers turned. Nobody taught her to triage a room. She just always could.

The letter came when she was eleven, addressed in green ink to a girl who had never once done anything stranger than everyone assumed all children did, until she had. Charlie read it twice and then looked, of all things, pleased; some old family instinct that made room for the uncanny without needing to name it or fear it. Honora didn’t have that instinct. She had a rosary and a mother who’d have called it something closer to a curse than a gift, and for a long time she said almost nothing about it at all, which was its own kind of answer.

It was Charlie who took her to buy her wand, and Charlie who wrote to her every few weeks all through school, ordinary letters about nothing: the weather off the coast of somewhere, a joke one of the crew told, how her brothers were getting on. He was the reason home still felt like home from as far away as a castle in Scotland.

Nora was sorted into Ravenclaw within about four seconds of the hat touching her head, which she never found surprising. She’d been reading rooms and solving them her whole life; a house that valued that instead of just needing it felt, for the first time, like being seen rather than used.

Charlie died when she was still a girl. The letter had arrived in her mother’s handwriting, a sign she knew couldn’t be good. Never once had the woman bothered to write to her while she was at Hogwarts. When Nora went home, her mother was melancholic, almost lost. The letters continued when she returned to school, but they got shorter and shorter, then less regular, before stopping altogether.

Her brother Michael, the second born in the family, was the one who kept communication going. The others seemed to have shared their mother’s point of view, and often silence filled any room she walked into.

As she grew older, it became clearer to her that she was no longer wanted at the house she’d grown up in. She never knew if she’d been quietly told not to return, or if she’d unconsciously decided she didn’t want to. Perhaps it was both.

What she took from that, she turned into a drive. When she graduated Hogwarts, she was accepted into the Collegium Medicorum Magicae at St. Mungo’s. She’d found magic consuming, and buried herself in it. What held her more was the damage it could do: the wounds, the wreckage, the aftermath that a curse left behind. Reversing it, undoing whatever had been done, felt like the nearest thing to a miracle she’d ever seen.

Michael still writes to her, and keeps her updated on what her other siblings are doing. Her mother’s health seems well, so Nora knows there is no reason to return home. Anytime her brother mentions the baby of the family, Joseph, she buries herself more in her work at the hospital. It is common for her to pick up shifts on the ground floor in an emergency when needed. Mostly so she isn’t alone with her thoughts too long. It doesn’t escape her that Joseph has no real idea who she is.

Prompt Response:
It was meant to take four seconds: in, out, no witnesses, the kind of thing she’d done a hundred times without anyone the wiser. A boy had collapsed hard on the curb just outside Purge & Dowse, before he had even made it through the door. His mother’s scream was loud enough to draw a crowd before Nora even had her wand clear of her sleeve.

She did what she always did – assessed, moved, fixed. A quick stabilizing charm stopped the bleeding, his mother gratefully folded over him, and the whole thing over before anyone thinking clearly would have caught it.

But the man with the delivery crate was staring at her the way people stared at things they were about to talk themselves out of. “I saw that,” he said when she straightened up and started for the door. “I saw what you did. Your – your stick – it –”

“Bit of a shock, seeing a child getting hurt like that,” Nora responded, brushing the comment off. “Gave everyone a fright.”

But the man wasn’t going to give up that easily. “That’s not – I know what I saw.” His voice was a bit shaky, like he was trying to talk himself out of what he saw. “Light came out of that thing. Blue light. And the cut just – it just closed up.” He balanced the crate on one hip, briefly forgetting he was working while he tried to work the situation out.

Nora wanted to laugh, but knew it would make things worse. There was a certain tone people took when they’d seen something and knew, on some level, that saying it out loud was going to cost them their credibility. She knew that tone; she’d grown up around men who talked about the war like that, about things they had seen that nobody wanted to talk about at home.

“There wasn’t a light,” she said, and let just enough puzzlement into it. “You’ve had a fright too, by the sound of it. Boy went down awfully fast.”

“I’m not –” He stopped and looked at her properly for the first time, like he was trying to work out whether she was in on it or just as confused as he wanted her to think. Nora let him look. She’d had a great deal of practice being looked at and giving nothing back.

“Go on and put your crate down before you drop it,” she said, not unkindly. “You’re pale as a ghost.”

He did as she suggested, mostly, she suspected, because his arms had started shaking and he needed somewhere to put the excuse. By the time he’d straightened back up, the boy and his mother were gone through the door, and there was nothing but pavement to argue with.

“I know what I saw,” he said again, quieter, mostly to himself now.

“I’m sure you do,” Nora responded, and meant it more kindly than he’d ever know, and went in after them before he could decide to believe himself.

Miscellaneous

Other Characters
Roisin, Morgan, etc

How did you find us?
Somewhere

Student Application: Cai Gwydion Blackwood

Wed, 19 Aug 2026 07:35:39 +0000

General Information

Character Name:
Cai Gwydion Blackwood

Age:
11

Date of Birth:
16/08/1912

Blood Status:
Halfblood

Residence:
With Wesley, Catrin, Gareth and Elowen Blackwood

Family:
Rupert Blackwood (grandfather) & Emery Blackwood (grandmother)
Wesley Blackwood (father) & Catrin ?? (Mother)
Gareth Blackwood (brother)
Elowen Blackwood (sister)
Cai Gwydion Blackwood, yours truly.
Gideon Blackwood (uncle) & Roisin Byrne (aunt, married-in). Aunt Elizabeth died in 1917.
Fiona Blackwood (cousin)
Theodore Blackwood (baby cousin)
Archer Blackwood (uncle)
Hayes Blackwood (uncle)
Lavinia Blackwood (aunt)

Personality & House Preference

On the upside: Cheeky, independent-minded, charismatic, witty, defiant.
On the reverse: Reckless, attention-seeking, unrepentant, provocative, impulsive.

It went like this.

Cai put a rock in his slingshot and set an acorn down on the table outside. There was a window behind the table, but he was sure he wouldn't miss it. He'd been practising his aim the whole day while Mam was trying to cope with Elowen's hissy fit and Gareth was being dull, reading out in the yard. Dad was away, which was why the slingshot had come out in the first place. Dad had no confidence in him at all. "Cai," he'd say, "put that away. You'll hurt yourself." Hurt himself? Hurt himself? That was just insulting, that was. A slingshot only fires the one way, so how could he possibly hurt himself?

Mam had heaps of confidence in him. Mam said things like "Yes love," and "of course love," without really looking. Today she'd said, "go and play outside, love," before she'd messed up his hair. Everyone always messed up his hair.

He took a few steps back and considered aiming at Gareth instead but thought better of it. Elowen was more fun to set off anyway, only she'd gone and set herself off already, judging by the screeching between her and Mam. If they kept going like this, the two of them were far more likely to break that window than he was.

The smooth pebble he'd found sat perfect in the pouch. He'd picked it out special. He squeezed his tongue between his lips and took aim.

Aim small, miss small, that's what they say.

THWACK!

A smashing hit, even though he'd missed!

You should have heard the sound of the glass going into a thousand tiny pieces. Glorious, it was. It'd stopped Mam and his sister fighting, too. Oh, now they noticed him. Mam's head snapped round and her eyes went to slits. Cai's face went slack, mouth agape, pretty blue eyes slightly wide - the picture of innocence. It usually worked...

"Caiden. Gwydion. Blackwood! To your room, now!"

For an hour he'd been stuck in his room, bored to tears, and they wouldn't let him out till supper. Dad wasn't going to be pleased. Cai had thought about tying the bedsheets together and going out the window and down to the coast, and then he'd swim the channel and go to France and survive on cheese. They probably wouldn't understand him, mind. There weren't very many people who could speak Welsh.

Anyway. He'd decided not to go to France today. He was hungry, and supper wouldn't be long, and next week they were off to Diagon Alley and he'd have his own wand, and he didn't reckon he could make it all the way back from France in a week, even being a very good swimmer.

History:
Aye, he was born this handsome, thanks for asking. August the 16th, 1912, to be exact. His real name was Caiden Gwydion Blackwood, but everyone just called him Cai, as though no one could be bothered with all of him. "Caiden, please stop poking your sister," just hadn't got the same ring to it as simply "Cai!" and a thwack on the back of the head.

His mam was called Catrin and his dad Wesley, and it was them and Gareth and Elowen he lived with. They all lived together in a shop and his room was up in the attic. Downstairs they sold fancy men's clothes to esteemed people and haughty children, but sometimes his dad's friends came over to help out in the basement, sorting stock. His dad's many friends were nicer than his dad's customers, mind, but they all had that annoying habit of messing up his hair. He must have had a sign on him somewhere saying "please ruffle", because everyone did it without asking. He'd have been a very rich boy by now if he'd thought to charge for it.

His older siblings Gareth and Elowen were twins, and they were nothing alike, but Mam and Dad liked the pair of them better than him regardless. He'd known that since he was about six, because he kept getting Gareth's hand-me-downs. Better than getting Elowen's hand-me-downs, he supposed, her being a girl and him not being caught dead in girl's clothes. No good, they were, and Gareth's fitted him fine. He'd just like something of his own someday, that's all.

One day Mam told him about when he got born and how it was a surprise to her, finding out she had him. Well. That settles it, doesn't it? They were trying to be nice about it, but really he was just an accident. Which was strange, because he knew how babies were made and it seemed very hard to do that by accident, even though his parents were wizards. Maybe he was a mutant, the result of some witches' brew. Cai thought it'd be fantastic if he was and it'd explain his wicked ways that no vicar had managed to beat out of him yet.

When he turned ten he was fairly sure they were going to sit him down and tell him he was adopted. He'd worked most of it out already in his diary, see. He was actually Robinson Crusoe's secret son, only Crusoe had to put him in a basket when he was little because the island was being attacked by indians. So he was from a remote island, really, and only adopted for the time being. That's why he'd climbed the roof to their house once, not because he'd been bored and starved of attention, but because he had wild blood pumping through his veins and Robinson Crusoe was going to pick him up in the hot-air balloon he'd been building, and they'd fly off back to the island where he belonged, and they'd hunt their own food and make campfires and have a jolly time.

He told Elowen all of this and she said it was a good story, which at the time he took to mean she thought it was true as well. Picture his disappointment when all he got for his tenth birthday was a toy broom with a weak charm on it that fizzled out after a month or so.

According to Mam, Elowen used to carry him round everywhere when he was little and was very fond of him. They used to play and laugh a lot, and he remembered being terribly upset when she first went off to Hogwarts and he had to stop home. She was still nice to him sometimes, but she'd gone very serious of late and had taught him all the synonyms for idiot in the dictionary, by virtue of calling him each of them at least the once.

These days he got on better with Gareth who was a bit dull, but very sweet with it, and never afraid of giving him a cwtch when he needed one. Elowen said he was too big for cwtches. She was probably the only person alive who thought him too big for anything. Dad said he was even smaller than Gareth had been at his age and then Cai had spent a few weeks spinning tales that he was the cursed child of a burrowing gnome family with terrible magical powers. In truth he'd gotten rather worried he might get stood on or sat on when he went to Hogwarts, but Gareth kept telling him he'd be fine and he wasn't that little. Mam said he'd grow if he ate more spinach, which is leafy and disgusting, but he'd been slogging through heaps of the stuf ever since. Gareth had said they'd have spinach at Hogwarts too, which was a relief.

He was very keen on going to Hogwarts. Uncle Gideon was the deputy headmaster, so he could tell people off if anyone called him little. Or he could just run away, being very, very fast. He'd been doing track since he was nine and he was good at athletics besides. He could do a running wall backflip, for example, or even just a standing backflip, and he could do far more cartwheels than Elowen, which annoyed her something rotten. He liked swimming and riding too, so if it turned out he was a rubbish wizard, well, he could always be an athlete instead.

Uncle Gideon had been telling him more about Quidditch. He'd got him a better practice broom for his eleventh birthday, which had been driving Mam and Dad mad. He'd been evicted from the back yard, the pair of them convinced he'd smash into a window. Apart from their stinging lack of confidence, having to practise on the field just outside town had been a blessing. They'd have confiscated the broom and grounded him for a month if they ever knew he was doing loop-the-loops and corkscrews out there, but since he hadn't broken any bones yet, they'd never know, would they?

He'd practised all summer and he'd be trying out for the team as soon as ever he could. He'd make a good chaser, he reckoned, or a seeker, maybe a keeper. Probably not a beater, for the same reason he wasn't doing rugby: the spinach hadn't started working yet. He'd have to ask Uncle Gideon if he knew of a growing potion.

Fiona, his cousin, would be going to Hogwarts at the same time. He'd have to ask her how many cartwheels she could do.

House Preference:
Gryffindor

Year Preference:
First

Prompt Response:
The professor’s cane made a brilliant whooshing sound as it cut through the air. “What’s this?” she demanded to know.

We were all stood in a drafty corridor near one of the inner courtyards. Nobody said anything. “No one?” asked the Professor. One of the confusing things about adults is that sometimes when they ask you a question, they don’t actually want you to answer. Everyone stayed silent and nothing happened. Then, for a while, nothing continued to happen.

The professor tapped the cane against the wall. “Who painted this?”

The pointy end of the stick rested on a colourful mural, haphazardly painted, somewhat resembling the Professor if she’d been made out of wax and partially melted down. Helpfully, the creator had written her name next to it to prevent any misidentification. Underneath it was written: “The hag of Hogwarts”, which eliminated about half the class for the simple reason that there wasn’t a girl in first year with sufficiently poor penmanship.

The cane made that whooshing sound again as it came off the wall. Now the pointy bit was threatening the assembly. “Haven’t you got anything to say? Either I will have an answer or we’ll all freeze out here. Your choice. What about you Mr. Chatsworth? Or you Ferntumble? Wipe that stupid grin off your face Tompsett!”

The professor looked like she was about to skewer him, which would have been impressive. Tompsett was a barrel of a boy and you had to seriously wonder if her cane could make it all the way through him and out the other end.

Owen Chomley stood up very straight, his hands folded behind his back, stained with black and blue paint. Cai had noticed from the start that Owen had been unusually quiet. Soon enough the Professor’s murderous glare would land on him, and then he would surely crack. Already, Cai could see the dimples on Owen’s cheeks from how hard he was biting down on them, trying to keep a straight face.

The math was simple. Chomley had been in trouble before, it would only be a matter of time before the Professor got ‘round to grilling him and put him in his tenth detention. Maybe he’d finally get expelled. He might like that actually, to be the first student in history to be expelled over bad artwork, but that wasn’t allowed to happen. Chomley was a chummy friend. And what good were friends if they didn’t stand up for you?

“I did it,” Cai said suddenly. The Professor’s head snapped toward him, and for one glorious moment Cai felt like Moses as the sea of students in the rows before him parted with a gasp. Uncle Gideon wouldn’t be happy to see him in his office, but he didn’t have the threat of expulsion looming over him.

“You?” The professor sounded surprised. Owen was throwing him an urgent look, but Cai didn’t mind him. “Yes Professor.”

“You scrawled this?” The pointy end of her cane was now an inch from his face. “I have to say Mr. Blackwood I am most displeased. Defacing school property, writing vulgarities…”

“Well obviously I wasn’t done yet,” said Cai.

The cane made a very small whooshing sound as it came down on his shoulder. Not a strike, more of an insistent tap. Then it snaked around his neck and pushed him forward. “You will go straight to the Headmaster’s office and tell him exactly what you have done. You will wait there until class has completed and woe betide you, Mr. Blackwood, if I don’t hear a sincere and profuse apology from you then. Go. The rest of you, back to class!”

Miscellaneous

Other Characters
NA

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WW Adult Application: Mateo Wesley

Sun, 02 Aug 2026 23:12:15 +0000

General Information

Character Name:
Mateo Wesley

Type of Character:
Adult

Age:
20

Date of Birth:
31 October 1902

Blood Status:
Halfblood

Residence:
London

Family:
Mother: Rosita Manuela Wesley (nee Arriola)
Stepfather: Thomas Joseph Wesley
Siblings: Chester Rafael, Louisa Julieta

Occupation:
Logistics Coordinator for Goodman & Sons Trading Company

Personality & History

Personality:
- charming, perceptive, reliant, dependable, keeps his word once it’s given
- sharp tongue and instincts, adept manipulator, gifted conversationalist, good judge of character
- fiercely protective, loyal, butter-soft core, shell of stone
- rarely allows himself vulnerability, slow to trust
- meets violence with unsettling composure when necessary, ignores the part of him that feels unsettled by that; violence is a tool, never entertainment
- calm under pressure, difficult to rattle, unafraid to act
- doesn’t ask for help, deeply uncomfortable being cared for, struggles to believe he deserves kindness
- doesn’t drink

History:
Chapter I — Rosita Manuela Arriola (1902 - 1912)

It was a short winter affair, a beautiful, exciting stranger who swept her off her feet amid the never-changing, same-old rut of her small, Catholic village somewhere deep in the rural landscape of Andalusia, Spain. A few weeks of life and love and passion until one day — he vanished. To her, he’d been the most intoxicating, most electrifying thing to happen. To him, just another stop on the road.

She waits and longs in vain. He doesn’t come back. After another few weeks, Rosita discovers she is pregnant.

Her family reacts with disappointment and shame; the gossip spreads fast, and soon, Rosita finds herself the subject of whispered conversations, pitying glances, and harsh judgment. Despite her father’s desperate efforts and her mother’s pleading prayers, no one is willing to marry a disgraced woman already carrying another man’s child. Isolated, scrutinised, and humiliated, Rosita sees no future left for herself. Without telling anyone, she gathers what little money she has and boards a ship bound for England — as far away as she can afford to go.

She arrives in London alone, unable to speak English, carrying no more than a small suitcase and the child growing in her belly. Penniless, she finds refuge through a Catholic charitable home offering shelter to vulnerable women, and, surrounded by strangers who expect nothing in return but honest work, Rosita slowly begins building her life. She learns enough English to find employment — sewing, laundry, cleaning — and on the night of 31 October 1902, gives birth to her son Leopold Mateo.

For the first two years, life remains difficult but hopeful, and Rosita works tirelessly, determined to provide for her son and give him the best she can afford. It is through the local Catholic community that she eventually meets Thomas Wesley, a quiet, hardworking factory labourer, gentle and earnest, merciful where life had been cruel. He asks no questions, casts no judgement — "Let him who is without sin cast the first stone”, and he lives by that. Rosita and Thomas marry, Leopold adopts his step-father’s last name, and for a handful of years, happiness seems evergreen.

Chapter II — Thomas Joseph Wesley (1912 - 1916)

But happiness proves fleeting. Work at the factory grows increasingly uncertain; wages sink while prices rise, and feeding his family becomes a burden that steadily weighs heavier on Thomas with each passing year. When Chester Rafael is born in 1912 and three years later Louisa Julieta, living gradually makes way for survival. Struggle finds its way back into the Wesley family’s life, and festers. It starts as a drink after a long shift, then gradually becomes two, then three, and invariably, the bottle begins to replace the gentle man Rosita once married. Frustration turns to bitterness, bitterness to anger, and eventually anger finds its way home.

At first, it’s only shouted words and slammed doors. Then broken plates, then torn skin. Rosita learns to recognise the warning signs, learns to endure and tiptoe. The children learn to make themselves invisible, learn to hide and obey. But Leopold never does. Fiercely protective, he places himself between his stepfather and the rest of the family whenever he can, earning as many blows as he prevents. And the older he grows, the more steadfast he gets.

When his Hogwarts letter arrives, Leopold doesn’t want to go. The little he earns as a newspaper boy isn’t much, selling the evening print on street corners and train stations, but it helps. Helps stuff the hole Thomas’ drinking keeps digging deeper. Helps keep anger and violence at bay. But his mother insists. Begrudgingly, he relents.

Sorted as a Ravenclaw, Leopold excels less through diligence and studiousness than instinct. Resourceful, sharp, and observant, he discovers that words can open doors just as surely as magic can. He learns how to charm, negotiate, flatter, and deceive, how to read the people around him and how to manipulate his way into opportunities, out of trouble, and toward whatever he needs or wants.

And holidays at home teach him hardness. They teach him reality is harsh and unforgiving, cramped and ugly. They teach him hungry stomachs care little for star constellations and wand movements, that silence can ring louder than drunken screams, and that personal desires die in the face of survival and protection. They teach him to take a blow without crying, to stand between danger and those too small to face it themselves, and to bury fear so deeply it no longer shows upon his face. It slowly erases the bright, cheeky and curious boy, and leaves a teenager in its wake that is forced to become an adult long before his time.

At fourteen, after his third year at Hogwarts, Leopold decides not to return to school. Holiday after holiday, he watches his mother’s hands grow rawer from work, his father drunker and more aggressive, his siblings thinner and more reserved. He can’t watch it any longer. His father doesn’t care; his mother reluctantly relents. She needs the help — she knows it. She feels guilty for it every day. Leopold, though, is determined. Taking on every job he can get his hands on, he vows to be a better man than his stepfather was. Eventually, Leopold adopts his middle name, Mateo — one name for home, one for the rest of the world.

Chapter III — Victor Edmund Goodman (1916 - 1923)

Money, however, comes by the hard way. The jobs he finds are simple yet demanding and relentless. Employers see only a fourteen-year-old boy desperate enough to accept whatever wage is offered, taking advantage of cheap labour by paying miserable coin. Unloading carts, carrying coal, warehouse labour — anything Mateo can get his hands on, he accepts, but it barely makes a dent. Still, he shows up every day, and it is that determination and resilience that eventually steer him into the maws of Victor Goodman’s organisation. An ordinary and respectable trading and shipping business on the surface, layered with spells to keep the muggles away, and beneath it a well-organised smuggling ring for all things magical and illegal.

A young man by the name of Jack Doyle notices him — the boy who always asks for work, who seems to know London’s streets like the back of his hand, who asks few questions, the boy who doesn’t shy away from hard labour. He presses a small parcel into Mateo’s hands, gives him an address, a time, and a handful of instructions. The job takes less than an hour; the pay exceeds anything he has earned in an entire day. The next day, he returns.

At first, the work is simple. Deliveries and pick-ups, nothing more. But he proves reliable. He is always on time, doesn’t ask questions, doesn’t steal. Slowly, Jack pulls him further in and jobs begin to evolve. Soon, Mateo no longer carries letters and packages across town. Soon, he attends meetings, learns about the inner workings of Goodman’s dealings, understands the stakes and risks, and stays anyway. The money has already changed his family’s life; he can’t let go now. And as the years pass, the network quietly becomes something else entirely. Education. Family. A place to belong and trust. He learns the value of loyalty, of silence, of reputation. He learns which debts are paid in gold and which in blood; he learns to hone the skills Hogwarts had already begun to shape. The men around him begin to see what Jack had seen from the beginning: someone remarkably composed under pressure, quick on his feet, difficult to intimidate, and possessed of an instinctive understanding of people. Over time, Mateo finds his place among these men. Camaraderie, friendship, respect.

Again, jobs begin to change. Collecting debts, delivering warnings, standing behind someone else while difficult conversations unfold, and eventually, handling them himself. He discovers that words solve most problems, and when they don’t, other means come more easily than he liked. Each crossed line becomes easier than the last.

He crosses the last one the day Thomas pushes too far. The pleas and screams can be heard from down the street, and as Mateo rushes into the small flat to find his father stood above Rosita, fury in his eyes, fist balled, he snaps. In a matter of minutes, Thomas lies dead upon the floor, and Mateo is the one to stand above, hands slick with blood, cold to the core but void of regret. Jack Doyle is the first person he seeks out. He doesn’t ask questions; he simply takes control, and by morning, the death has become an unfortunate event, the witnesses have become uncertain, and every trace that might have condemned Mateo has quietly disappeared. Victor Goodman knows before the sun has fully risen.

And from that day forward, Mateo’s place within the organisation changes. No longer merely a reliable pair of hands, he becomes someone entrusted with the sort of work that cannot afford mistakes. He is promoted to Logistics Coordinator by the time he is 20, organising incoming and outgoing shipments, overseeing warehouse inventory, planning delivery routes, and coordinating with suppliers and clients. Beneath that, he has become Senior Operative, the part of his job that decides which crates contain contraband, that alters manifests, and that arranges covert deliveries. And when someone doesn’t pay, when someone becomes a problem — he handles that too.

Chapter IV — Alice Ravenstone (May 1923)

A new job waits for him, an unconventional one. A special assignment Victor doesn’t lose many words over, just enough to make the objective clear. Get close to Alice Ravenstone, find a way to make her break ties with the family, and disappear with her before anyone has the chance to stop her. It’s no work he’s used to, nothing that requires fists or fear, but still the very skills that have carried him this far. The opportunity presents itself in May of 1923, during one of Hogwarts’ Hogsmeade weekends. To him, she’s little more than a face attached to a pureblood name, a generous sum of money, and a job he doesn’t ask questions about.

Prompt Response:
The head of your department made clear that a meeting is mandatory, and you are running late

His half-smoked cigarette hit the cobblestones in a spray of embers, hurriedly snipped from his fingers as he made for the door, already moving before the swirl of apparition had fully dispersed.

The damn Irish had kept him longer than anticipated, going back and forth without coming to any conclusion whatsoever, despite their agreement from last month. Things had changed, they’d claimed; transportation was uncertain and demand lower, they needed dates and amounts changed.

Unfortunate for them, none of this was Mateo’s or Goodman’s problem. Agreed was agreed; no adjustments. The longer they sat on these Ashwinder eggs, the riskier it was for them, and how the Irish handled their shit wasn’t part of his job. They would take all they’d ordered, and they’d pay; he would make sure they understood. In private. Mateo knew what they thought they’d done today, setting up this meeting in public for all of London’s docks to see, thinking they’d get away with it.

Mateo had let them believe that.

Later tonight, he would get that sorted.

Now, he was running late for his meeting with Goodman, though. It wasn’t any of their usual scheduled ones either, but an unexpected request to find the man in his office at three-thirty sharp, mentioned in passing earlier that morning and with no further explanation. He’d wondered, but he hadn’t asked. Likely just another job that needed more careful handling than the usual, something better discussed in confidence. He would find out now anyway.

With a delay of ten minutes, Mateo rapped on Goodman’s office door before stepping through. “Apologies, boss,” he said as the wood clicked shut behind him and he lowered his head in a respectful nod. “Small inconvenience; it’ll be handled. You wanted to see me?”

The man behind the desk smiled, gesturing for him to sit. “Mateo,” he greeted him with even warmth, leaning back in his chair and making no sign he took offence to the tardiness. “Sit. I have something for you.”

Miscellaneous

Other Characters
Maevie Golding and Co.

How did you find us?
a kind elf took me by the hand and led me here

Student Application: Fiona Maeve Blackwood

Sat, 01 Aug 2026 04:50:59 +0000

General Information

Character Name:
Fiona Maeve Blackwood

Age:
11

Date of Birth:
1 April 1912

Blood Status:
Halfblood

Residence:
With Gideon & Rose Blackwood, and Lavinia Blackwood

Family:
Gideon Blackwood (father)
Roisin Blackwood (mother)
Theodore Blackwood (baby brother)
Unknown (biological father)
Lavinia Blackwood (aunt)
Evander Barlowe (half-brother)

Personality & House Preference

Personality:
Fiona is, by most accounts, a very easy child. She says please and thank you without being reminded. She tidies up after herself. She is cheerful in the mornings and helpful at mealtimes and if you ask her how she is, she will tell you she’s fine. She’s learned that being easy is a form of currency and she has always been good at spending it wisely.

What’s underneath the agreeableness is a magpie; she loves anything that catches light: glitter, sequins, stained glass, foil sweet wrappers pressed flat. She loves bright colors in combinations that probably shouldn’t work. She loves making things, the messier the better, and has an attention span that is genuinely impressive when something has captured her interest and nearly nonexistent when it hasn’t.

She notices things, too; actively files them away, knows before most people when a room has shifted or a mood has changed. It's why people-pleasing works as well as it does for her.

She is eleven years old and has a baby brother now, which is wonderful, she will tell you, if you ask. She means it, mostly. She doesn’t examine the part of her that doesn’t fully mean it.

Along with all of this, is a certain impressionableness. She has spent the last couple of years living at Hogwarts with her mother and father since they both work there and has developed knowledge that a lot of others will probably find useful. Always the people-pleaser, she rarely says no even if she knows it will get her in trouble.

There is a certain pride within her that she hasn’t fully found a name for yet. She does not want to be the child who is ungrateful, who doesn’t appreciate what she has been given. She performs contentment well, and mostly she believes her own performance.

History:
Fiona looks at her life in two eras: the Byrne Era and the Blackwood Era.

Before the Blackwood Era, it was just her and her mother. And later, sometimes, her half-brother Evander. Things were sometimes great and sometimes not. She enjoyed having him around despite the age gap between them; it was nice to have a playmate, even an occasional one.

Before Evander, it was lonelier. She never knew her father. Her mother told her she didn’t need one, that they weren’t all that great. Rose spent long hours at the Minsitry, leaving Fiona largely to her own devices: her stuffed animals, her art supplies, the quiet of a flat that belonged mostly to one small girl. When her mother did come home, she came home buried in case files, and Fiona learned early to be scarce. The case files were usually accompanied by a dark red drink, which made her mother sleepy.

That changed in 1920 when her mother announced the two of them were moving to Hogwarts and that she would be the new head nurse. Fiona was eight and thought living in a castle was perhaps the most exciting thing to ever happen to her. Her mother seemed to think so too, and was happier; Evander was there with his father, so she got to see him more.

In the spring, when Hogwarts held a carnival, some very bad things happened. Fiona didn’t know the full story, but she remembered the students not having class for a little bit. And then came Easter break; Mr. Blackwood invited her and her mother to his house where she got to meet his sister. They went to the zoo, baked, and even celebrated her ninth birthday.

That was when things began to change for the better. She knew that she wanted Gideon to be her dad; he already treated her like she was his and her mother was happier than she’d ever seen her before. Clearly her mum had been overexaggerating about men in general.

In the summer began the Blackwood Era. Fiona and her mother moved in with Gideon, and an engagement followed shortly after, in which she proudly began calling Gideon daddy. When term began in the fall, her mother was the Hufflepuff Head of House and she sometimes spent time with her Aunt Lavinia to keep her busy.

The wedding was in June of 1922, and exactly a year later, Teddy arrived. At first she was truly excited, and while the baby was perfectly content with his life, the little girl felt something growing inside of her that she couldn’t shake. It wasn’t fair that she got to see a baby come into the world already belonging to a family when it took her so long to have a full one herself.

But if you ask, she smiles and says her life is perfect.

House Preference:
Slytherin

Year Preference:
First

Prompt Response:
The day your character got their Hogwarts letter.

She’d been asked to fetch the muslin cloth from the sitting room, which was easy enough except that the sitting room had become something of a secondary nursery over the past six weeks and finding anything in it required a small excavation. Fiona moved aside a folded blanket, a rattle, two cloth animals she didn’t recognize, and what she was fairly certain was a second nappy bag, and there, underneath all of it, was an envelope.

It had a milk stain on the corner. She almost put it back.

Miss Fiona Blackwood

The name drew her attention, written in beautiful script that was not her mother’s or her father’s. Fiona turned it over. The seal was made of red wax, and she knew the symbol on it immediately; she had lived inside the walls the seal represented for years now. She knew what this was.

Fiona’s hands were not exactly steady as she opened it, her blue eyes reading it once, then twice, then a third time with her lips mouthing the words this time as if to confirm she was seeing this correctly.

Of course her letter from Hogwarts would be coming; she’d been checking the post every day for weeks and not seen it yet. She’d begun to think that something was perhaps wrong with her, maybe somehow she didn’t have magic and wasn’t going to be returning to the school she’d already fallen in love with in the fall.

Fiona squealed once and clutched the parchment, along with the attached supplies list, to her chest and went to find her parents.

They were both in the kitchen, her father at the stove preparing lunch, and her mother holding a sleeping baby to her chest, patting his back gently. Fiona barged in. “I got it, I got it, I got it!” she exclaimed loudly, shaking the papers.

Her mother turned her attention to her as the baby began crying from being awoken abruptly. “Not now, Fe, he’s sleeping,” she scolded, sternness in her voice.

The girl’s face fell as she looked to her father, hoping he might share in some of her excitement while her mother tried to shush the baby back to sleep.

Miscellaneous

Other Characters
Roisin, Galen, etc

How did you find us?
No clue

WW Adult Application: Polly Mortimer

Fri, 17 Jul 2026 06:56:18 +0000

General Information

Character Name:
Polly Mortimer

Type of Character:
Adult

Age:
34

Date of Birth:
17 February 1889

Blood Status:
Muggleborn

Residence:
Shirley, Southampton

Family:
Polly Mortimer is quite blessed to have both her parents alive, living out in the countryside. They are both Muggles, alongside her younger brother who lives in London.
Polly is married to a Muggle as well, whom she lives with and is aware of her status as a witch.

Occupation:
Caretaker, Transfiguration master

Personality & History

Personality:
*Analytical
*Caring
*Cautious
*Unwavering
*Lawful
*Empathetic
*Indulgent
*Methodical

History:
TW: Alcoholism and war-time PTSD

Polly has always adhered strictly to the law and rules. She always understood that they were in place for the protection of the people. This lawfulness pervades her whole self, save for the rare occasion where she breaks or bends and feels guilty as a result. Polly ultimately believes that it is her duty to serve the community.

Polly feels emotions quite deeply. She has an unyielding wealth of empathy for all persons magical or not, and would help out anyone regardless of her own problems or priorities.

Growing up, she became engrossed with puzzles and any type of broken machinery or tool. She would spend hours upon hours attempting to fix miscellaneous objects, and would even go as far as to break things just to fix them. No matter how long it would take her, she would assess and obsess over a problem until it could be solved.

Growing up in a working class Muggle family was tough. Her father worked long hours in a factory, and to this day has a persistent cough that leaves him fatigued. Her mother would pinch pennies, offering to do laundry and chores for the more well-off families within their city.

Prior to receiving her Hogwarts letter, Polly would often help her mother on these jobs. When not working with her mother, she would pursue a meager education at the hands of the local Muggle church. Her clothing growing up mostly consisted of the second hand school uniforms, and her younger brother wasn't much better off.

Most of the time, Polly's mother would find work at an estate or home anywhere from a few days to a few weeks. If the household held any children Polly's age, she would do her best to either stay out of the way of their daily activities. There was only one time she felt a true bond with one of the children.

It was just after her eighth birthday. The young girl had been diligently assisting her mother on a deep cleaning of a particularly aristocratic home. The youngest of the family was a young boy, just a little older than her. The two would ditch their respective chores and studies, and play together. The boy didn't care that Polly had patchy and dirty clothing, and she didn't care that he had an attitude towards his uptight and distant father.

The young boy held a burning desire to get his father's attention, and would often act out. The two were inseparable, until one day...
Polly had found a busted telephone within the home. The eight year old girl was convinced that she could fix it up brand new. She found a quiet part of the parlor in the home, and got to work on the machine. She demonstrated her work-flow to her friend, who seemed more interested in the end result and not so the much the process.

It was towards the end of a working day that Polly successfully repaired said machine. Her friend had expressed his pride in her, impressed by her skills.

"I believe in you!" He exclaimed, and promised to present the telephone to his parents at the first opportunity. The young boy promised that he would try to convince his parents to hire tutors and educators for her, so they could study together.

Polly was shocked beyond belief, that her friend would do so much for her. Her mother tried to settle her down, afraid to get her daughter's hopes up. The two would argue relentlessly over the coming days, as the little girl just couldn't fathom the possibility of anything going wrong.

It happened a week later. During a shift at her friend's house, she finally got to meet the stern and distant parents that employed her mother. Nothing could have prepared her for the devastation that was to occur: Her friend, whom had sworn to boast of her skills, presented the telephone to his parents, and lied.

He claimed that he had fixed it.

Anger and confused raced through Polly. How could he have lied to her? To steal her accomplishment? All rational thought left her mind, and in her rage, the windows and light bulbs of the house shattered.

Glass flew everywhere as she screamed and cried. The family accused her of being possessed by the Devil, but before any drastic measures could be taken, several people magically appeared baring wands and strange robes.

Polly and her mother would later come to learn that they were members of the The Department of Magical Accidents & Catastrophes, from the Ministry of Magic. There were Obliviators who came and meddled with the mind's of the aristocratic family, and Reversal Squad Members who repaired the shattered glass fixtures and tidied up the home to it's previous state.

To ensure the entire debacle stay hidden, Polly and her mother were instructed to have pretended that they had never been employed there. A member of the squad remained following the whole incident, and explained the bottom-line truth to Polly's whole family, save for her little brother:

That she was a Witch. She had performed Accidental Magic in her childish fit, and in a few short years, receive a letter regarding her acceptance into Hogwarts.

At Hogwarts, she had been a Hatstall. It seemed to go back and forth between Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw. The young Polly couldn't find herself satisfied with being only one, and not both.

"Can't you be kind and fair, and intelligent? Why must it be divided? How can I choose only one House to embody?" She would argue back, with a scrunched up face. The Hat made a decision following the nonstop questioning.

"Why don't you bring some of that warmth to the House of the Eagles?" It chuckled at her, before ending the internal discussion.

"RAVENCLAW!"

Her Hogwarts career was spotted with the usual school-age shenanigans: Studying lots at the Library, spending Winter Holidays at the Castle with her friends, and even the once in a blue moon Detention.

Her childhood hobby of tinkering had bloomed into a passion for Transfiguration. Changing creatures furs and feathers into different colors led into different animals and inanimate objects.

Don't get it wrong, she did decently at other subjects such at Herbology or Defense. But her true energy was spent at Charms and Transfiguration, and so upon graduation in 1907, she chose to pursue a Mastery in Transfiguration studies.

It was during her years of studying for her Mastery, that she met her husband.

He was a kind and silly Muggle man, who got by working for the Muggle printing press in the town of Southampton, London. Polly was smitten, and with only hours to go before their wedding on April 19th, 1913, she told him the truth: that she was a Witch.

Their love persisted and all was well.

Until the Great War broke out. When it came time for Great Britain to ask their men to go to war, Polly's husband was no exception.

With her support, he left.

The letters were rare, and for Polly, life went on. She continued studying, and eventually completed her Mastery. Her parents -finally- retired from working, her younger brother got married, and the whole time she felt torn.

When her husband finally returned, some time after 1915, he wasn't the same.

Shell-Shock, the Muggles had called it. He had frequent night terrors, and turned to drinking. The man that Polly married was destroyed, and as the years had gone by, to the present day, he only continued to deteriorate.

Some days were better than others.

To the Magical world, Polly's husband came and went, and returned happy and normal. To her coworkers and colleagues, he returned to his work at the printing press.

In the present day, Polly does whatever she can to try and help her husband. But wizarding potions don't work, and she can't schedule him a visit to the Mind Healers. He refuses to visit any Muggle doctors, and holes up in their once happy home.

Her husband has now become a problem that she cannot fix.

Polly is reaching her breaking point. Perhaps something better is just around the corner, she tells herself, and carries on.

Prompt Response:

"MORTIMER! Did you finally finish charming that telephone?" Her boss called out, as he quickly shuffled his briefcase closed.

As it happens, Polly Mortimer was running a bit late. Her boss had asked her to present a fully functioning telephone to the higher-ups. Making that happen in their magical workplace was a bit time consuming, and so the witch had shown up to the office bright and early to put the final touches on the machine.

The young adult resisted the urge to huff, and straightened up from her desk.

"Yes, Boss, I perfected it. The meeting isn't until 2pm, right?" She asked, a little annoyed. She waved her wand, performing a quick tempus charm to check the time.

2:03pm, it read back at her.

"CRAP!" She snapped her wand back into its holster, and didn't fight when her boss swept around the cubicle to grab said telephone.

"We need to go, NOW!" He urged, giving the telephone a quick look over. The blonde nodded, moving to gather her coat and belongings.

"I doubt Whickett is even there yet." Her boss commented about an annoying higher up. Polly chuckled a bit at that, agreeing quietly. As the two passed by other harried looking colleagues, Polly made sure to greet the people she liked, and to nod politely at the ones she did not. She double checked her pockets, ensuring she had everything necessary on her person.

Wand? Check. Wallet? Check. Coin pouch? Check. Notecards with her written speech that she was about to spiel to the higher ups? Check.

The witch pulled out said notecards, and as she carefully walked and dodged other workers, began rereading the details.

Whatever her boss was saying faded out, as she focused on the handwriting. It probably wasn't that important, anyways.

Miscellaneous

Other Characters
June Hargrove

How did you find us?
RP directory

Student Application: Pippa Penemue

Tue, 07 Jul 2026 07:00:23 +0000

General Information

Character Name:
Pippa Penemue

Age:
12/13

Date of Birth:
05 12 1909

Blood Status:
Pureblood

Residence:
Kent, England.

Family:
Edmund Penemue, father.
Vivienne Penemue, mother.
Fabian Penemue & Julian Penemue, twin brothers (8 years old)

Personality & House Preference

Personality:

Pippa Penemue lives for attention.

Not necessarily from everyone, but from the right ones.

Pippa doesn't simply enter a room - she arrives. At least, that's how she sees it.

She wants people to stop talking when they see her coming. She expects people to notice her. Not because she's constantly demanding attention at the top of her voice every second, but because she has grown up believing that people like her deserve it.

Silence isn't enough.

She wants people watching.

She wants girls wondering where she bought her robes, where she gets her hair ribbons.

She wants boys trying to catch her eye.

She wants first and second years whispering, "Who's that?"

If someone else becomes the centre of attention, she will find a way to reclaim it. Not always cruelly. Sometimes by making everyone laugh, or making a dramatic scene, or by loudly announcing something scandalous.

She loves being seen.

Not just looked at.

Observed. Recognised. Remembered.

Being adored is wonderful.

Being envied is delightful.

Being feared has its uses.

But being forgotten?

That would be unbearable.

Pippa believes she is incredibly mature. Having spent her childhood and first two years of education (along with her younger twin siblings) at an exclusive wizarding preparatory academy, where posture, etiquette, penmanship and presentation were held in as high regard as magical education, she carries herself with all the confidence of a witch twice her age, delighting in imitating the manners and charms of the society women she admires.

Pippa adores an audience, though her carefully cultivated poise has an unfortunate habit of crumbling whenever things fail to go her way. She desperately aspires to the grace and composure of a society lady, yet beneath the polished smile and glossy hair is a thoroughly ordinary twelve-year-old girl with a tenuous grasp on her emotions.

Every triumph is spectacular.

Every inconvenience is a disaster.

She sulks magnificently, pouts shamelessly, and is prone to dramatic declarations that her life is "utterly ruined" over embarrassingly minute inconveniences.

For all her attempts at sophistication, Pippa has not yet mastered the art of losing gracefully.

She loves to make other people look foolish.

But if she trips? A spell backfires?

She's mortified. Or she may insist: "I did that on purpose."

Or storm off in tears.

Or blame someone else entirely.

History:

The Penemues are an established pure-blood wizarding family, respected within magical society in London and Scotland largely due to Pippa's father, Edmund Penemue, whose career as a Ministry solicitor had earned him a reputation for discretion. While not considered amongst Britain's oldest or wealthiest magical dynasties, the Penemues are comfortably affluent, well-connected, and hold themselves to the standards expected of respectable wizarding society.

To his three children, Edmund is a distant figure. Not cold. Not cruel. Just... busy. Work always comes first. Politics comes second. His family comes somewhere after that. When he is come, he expects quiet, manners, and good behaviour. Pippa worships him. He barely notices.

Pippa's mother, Vivienne Penemue, is everything a society witch ought to be; fashionable, social, and endlessly charming. She has raised Pippa and the twins to believe that first impressions are everything, second and third impressions are opportunity to push your influence, and that confidence, elegance, and beauty can open doors just as readily as talent.

Praise came freely, criticisms rarely, and "no" was a word Pippa seldom heard.

As a result, Pippa grew up believing she was utterly exceptional.

What she requested, she received. Vivienne didn't intentionally spoil her daughter, she simply never gave Pippa a reason to believe the world would refuse her anything.

When Pippa was five, the twins were born, two boys, and they quickly became the centre of Vivienne's life. By this time, Pippa had begun wizarding prep school and regarded her brothers with polite indifference. While they adored her, Pippa found them loud, snotty, sticky, and perpetually inconvenient.

House Preference:
Slytherin
Gryffindor
Ravenclaw
Hufflepuff

Year Preference:
3rd Year

Prompt Response:

A heavy grey mist hung over the Hogwarts grounds as morning broke, clinging to the ancient castle that stood in grand pride against the Scottish sky. One by one, enchanted lanterns winked to life behind frigid windows while the corridors slowly began filling with students and teachers alike. Doors opened. Portraits stirred to life. Students yawned their way towards breakfast.

Another morning.

Another opportunity to be seen.

Pippa Penemue did not simply wander into breakfast. Afterall, breakfast was one of the most important events of the day. It was where new hairstyles could be debuted, where gossip could be exchanged, and reputations quietly made or ruined over buttered toast and black tea.

It was also the perfect opportunity to remind the rest of Hogwarts that, unlike the sleep-rumpled masses around her, Pippa Penemue looked positively radiant before eight o'clock.

"Morning, Princess." The sarcastic greeting cut cleanly through the morning gossip session, drawing Pippa's attention away from the animated conversation she had been in with her friends. The bench jostled as he plonked himself down next to her, and Pippa quickly skirted herself away in disdain.

'Oh. Him.'

The older boy had taken great exception to Pippa having upset his first-year sister the previous week by mocking her ridiculous haircut (clearly done by a blind house elf attacking her with garden shears).

"Nice ribbon." He added with a derisive laugh, eyeing the bow holding up Pippa's blonde hair. Conversations around them at the Slytherin table faltered. Heads turned. A few students further down the bench looked up from their toast, sensing the tension and the beginnings of entertainment.

Perfect.

Pippa's polite smile widened into something almost dazzling. Deliberately, she lifted her hand to the ribbon, as if checking to make sure it was still perfectly fastened.

"Thank you," she replied sweetly. "Mother had it made for me in Paris."

He rolled his eyes, and Pippa let her gaze travel slowly over him before settling back on his face.

"I'm sure yours is lovely too."

For just a brief moment, the table was silent.

Then Pippa's friend at her left snorted into her pumpkin juice.

A burst of giggles followed, rippling its way along the Slytherin table. Students covering their mouths as their shoulders shook. A few older students glanced over the rim of their goblets, faint smirks tugging at the corners of their mouths.

Pippa didn't laugh.

She kept his gaze. It was far more dignified to let everyone else laugh for her.

Miscellaneous

Other Characters
N/A

How did you find us?
Julia Barlowe

Student Application: June Hargrove

Sun, 05 Jul 2026 21:20:19 +0000

General Information

Character Name:
June Hargrove

Age:
12, soon to be 13

Date of Birth:
11 May 1910

Blood Status:
Pureblood

Residence:
The Riverwalk at Whitefriars Bridge

Family:
The youngest of three within the Hargrove family. Her brother was the oldest, having graduate Hogwarts several years ago, with her sister being older only by two years. Aside from her siblings and mother and father, she has only one Aunt, whom she and her sister live with.

Personality & House Preference

Personality:
Characteristics:
* Rightous
* Assertive
* Reckless
* Loyal
* Impulsive
* Unforgiving
* Adventurous
* Tactless

History:
A very young June was a very spoiled June. Born on the 13th of May, 1910, she was the baby of her family. June was doted upon by her older sister, showered with gifts by her oldest brother, and loved by her parents. She spent her childhood running around the expansive Hargrove estate, dodging the many tutors her busy parents would hire to educate their children. The Hargrove family was a fairly well-off, neutral Pureblood family within the Britain Magical community.

Even from a young age, June would go against the status quo that many young witches were set to: She refused to be quiet, sensible, or demure.

Her first year of Hogwarts had been fairly standard. Tears were shed when she finally got to join her older sister on the train from Platform 9 3/4, letters were written from her parents, and several small foreign gifts had been Owl'ed to her by her older, absent brother.

As the year went by, letters from her parents became more and more scarce. Her sister could no longer contact them as well, with both their owls always returning with their sent letters. The year was becoming increasingly dark. Fearful, the sisters kept the truth to themselves from Hogwarts staff and professors. Come the end of the year, it was their Father's older sister who arrived to collect them from Platform 9 3/4: Lady Agatha Hargrove, one of the most prolific Healers that St. Mungo's had ever seen.

The girls returned home to an empty estate. Quick as can be, the sisters were directed to pack some sets of robes and clothes and then they were gone again to her aunt’s home, the Riverwalk at Whitefriars Bridge.

The summer holidays were... quiet. June's aunt, Aunty Agatha, as she was instructed to call her, worked around the clock. She was a career-orientated woman, and so June had only her older sister for company. For several weeks, the only entertainment that June could afford was to annoy her sister constantly and cuddle with her aunt’s half-kneezle, Rory.

It was a very hot and miserable August day when June’s world came tumbling down: Her parents were being tracked and investigated on suspicions of participating in an underground magical creature poaching and trafficking ring. From there, Aurors pulled her and her sister to be questioned any times:

“When did you last hear from Lord and Lady Hargrove?”
“Were you aware of your parent’s activities?”
“Do you know where they are now?”

All of which made June angrier and angrier. The girls were not permitted to return to Hogwarts on time. June had to watch as the Aurors and Investigators tore her home apart, room by room, in search of evidence and leads. Heirlooms were confiscated. Hate and resentment grew in the young girl’s heart, and her relationship with her sister deteriorated, as the older one turned apathetic and denounced her relationship with their missing parents.

The Daily Prophet, of course, blasted this all for the Wizarding World to read.

And then, Lord and Lady Hargrove were found. The headquarters of the poaching ring were found. Evidence of their cruelty was everywhere, and the trials were swift to convict them on the highest charges possible. While the young girl was given the choice to be spared witnessing the legal proceedings, she had to see it. She could see the shifty eyes of several Wizengamot members, others who must have been involved but were not taking the fall.

With a hardened heart, June and her older sister were sent to permanently live with her Aunt. Through all of the events, her brother had disappeared. There were rumors of his involvement as well, but nothing conclusive.

And then, towards the end of what would be her second year at Hogwarts, June was allowed to return.

House Preference:
Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Slytherin, Ravenclaw (I feel that Ravenclaw just doesn't suit her in any capacity, she would rather sleep in a corridor than try and figure out a puzzle to enter the Ravenclaw common room.)

Year Preference:
2nd Year

Prompt Response:
“Hargrove. I see you're looking at courses for the next term… Don’t bother with the Magical Creatures class. I doubt they’d let you in.”, a snooty 4th year girl from her own house commented, with a wicked grin.

With a deep sigh, the brunette 2nd year looked up from her plate. Her eyes were dark, the lack of sleep evident. June’s return to Hogwarts had been fraught with nasty comments and side-eyes, judgement and pity from students and faculty. This morning she was plagued with a sharp headache to top it off.

“I don’t think it’s any of your business what classes I choose.” She snapped back, looking up at the offending student who had been leaning over her shoulder. This must have been the wrong response, as the situation only escalated further. June’s classmates watched warily, aware of just how unpredictable her mood was since she had returned to school.

“Or will the school allow you to proceed at all? After all, you were gone for sooo long… Maybe you will have to repeat your second year-”, The older girl mocked, eager for attention, twisting the proverbial knife deeper. Had June been less sleep deprived, maybe she would have come up with clever spell or the right words to de-escalate the situation. But June did not.

She snapped.

The now thoroughly pissed off brunette gripped a handful of poached egg and gravy from her breakfast, and flung wildly to the upper year student. Complete shock and anger exploded across the older girl’s face, as her previously immaculate, sleek hair was drenched in heavy gravy and egg yolk.

Shit.

And with that, June took off in a run away from the shouting and gasps of the Grand Hall.

—

There were house points lost. And detentions were assigned, as well as a Floo call being made to her Aunt Agatha. But childish satisfaction carried June through the endless rows of dirty cauldrons she had to scrub.

Of course, that satisfaction wilted once her older, strict sister found out and verbally tore into her.

Miscellaneous

Other Characters
NA

How did you find us?
The RP Directory website.

WW Adult Application: Seraphina Elowen Ashcroft

Mon, 08 Jun 2026 00:09:16 +0000

General Information

Character Name:
Seraphina Elowen Ashcroft

Type of Character:
Adult

Age:
35

Date of Birth:
9 January 1887

Blood Status:
Pureblood

Residence:
London

Family:
The Ashcrofts are one of Romania’s oldest and most quietly prestigious wizarding families, their roots stretching back generations into the country’s magical history. Based out of their ancestral estate, the family has long maintained a reputation for discretion, refinement, and an almost unnerving competence in matters of wizarding commerce and diplomacy. Their business, Ashcroft & Associates, operates internationally as a consultancy of sorts in which they facilitate arrangements, broker agreements, and provide services to a select and discerning clientele.

They don’t advertise because they don’t need to.

Dumitru Ashcroft, the patriarch of the family, has led them for decades. His authority is absolute and largely unquestioned. Under his direction the family has expanded their reach considerably, placing members strategically across Europe. The Ashcrofts aren’t loud about their influence, it’s just something that comes naturally.

Grandfather – Dumitru
Grandmother – Paraschiva, deceased
Father – Alexandru
Mother – Mirela, deceased
Brother – Victor
Uncle 1 – Bogdan
Uncle 2 – Cornel
Luminița Mirela – estranged child

Occupation:
Senior Attaché for Ashcroft & Associates

Personality & History

Personality:
Seraphina Ashcroft is not the most dangerous person in a room because she is loud or imposing. Instead, she is dangerous because she’s neither; she is small and calm and warm in the way that makes people lean toward her before they realize they have, and by the time they have noticed what they are doing it’s already too late. She has a gift for making people feel understood, which is its own kind of weapon when the person wielding it can see exactly what you need to hear.

She is precise in everything she does; her words, her silences, the way she occupies space. Nothing is accidental and nothing is wasted. She doesn’t need to fake her composure, because she simply is composed. Emotions exist in her the way weather exists behind glass; it’s present and visible if you know to look, though completely contained.

Sera is not cruel. This is important to understand about her. She has done cruel things with the clean hands of someone who believed they were necessary, justified, or simply the most logical available option. She doesn’t enjoy harm, but is unbothered by it when it has a purpose that is worth serving.

She keeps most things at arms length, but her mother Mirela is the one thing in her life where composure does not live. She does not speak of her mother, and barely allows herself to think of her. But it’s there and is the closest thing to a wound.

Arriving in Britain has cracked something open in Sera that she has kept hidden for sixteen years. She is reaching toward a daughter who likely does not know she exists, carrying history she can’t explain in a way that would soften the blow to the girl she gave life to.

History:
Seraphina Elowen Ashcroft entered the world on a gray day on the ninth of January in 1887. She was the second child and the only daughter of Alexandru and Mirela Ashcroft. She was born into a family that had long since decided what she would be before she had any say in the matter. Her brother Victor was the family’s heir, and she would be the asset. When her gift manifested early, strong and unmistakable, it only confirmed what the family had already suspected: she was valuable, and she would be used accordingly.

She grew up understanding the shape of her life the way one understands the walls of a room; her life was not a choice, but a fact. The Ashcroft world was controlled, precise, and quietly suffocating. Her father Alexandru ran his branch of the family with the rigidity of a man who had absorbed every expectation placed on him and passed them directly onto his children. Her brother Victor accepted this without complaint. Seraphina never quite managed to.

The softness in Sera’s childhood was her mother. Mirela was not a woman who defied the family openly; she was too careful for that, too practiced in the art of quiet navigation. But she chose Sera in the small ways available to her, and Sera knew it.

From a young age, Seraphina knew she would be married off. It was only a matter of finishing her schooling before she could be forced into the life of most aristocratic purebloods. When she was fifteen, she was introduced to Oleg Zdravkova and knew that the man twelve years her senior was her future. She became withdrawn as she finished school, knowing her days were numbered once she left Durmstrang for the final time.

Which is why she ran. A day after finishing her schooling, Seraphina left the Ashcroft estate and the family she’d known her entire life. The fallout would be immense, but she wouldn’t learn about that until her return much later.

She went to Paris, where she fell in love with the freedom of being away from her father’s oppression. That is also where she met Thatcher Ravenstone, another Pureblooded man that she much preferred over the one she was to marry. After a whirlwind affair, Sera found herself pregnant. She wrote to her mother before she returned, purposely not writing to her father as well.

Mirela received the letter, said nothing to anyone, and had a story ready by the time Seraphina crossed the threshold of the Ashcroft estate. A brief visit, a new assignment already arranged, nothing unusual. Mirela managed it the way she managed everything: with elegant discretion. For a month Sera was home, and then she was gone again, dispatched to somewhere remote enough that her absence for the remainder of the pregnancy would go unnoticed.

She had Luminița Mirela alone and far away from Romania. She kept the infant for seven months, long enough to understand that continuing to mother her was impossible. The Ashcroft world had no room for a child born outside of sanctioned arrangements, a child whose existence would raise questions Sera could not answer without unraveling everything. So she took the baby to Paris, to the man who had unknowingly fathered her, left her with him and his new wife, and walked away.

When she finally returned home to the Ashcroft estate, she found her mother gone.

Alexandru’s accounting of the event was clean and final, the way that he handled everything. Mirela had been unwell. It had been sudden. There was nothing to be done. Victor offered nothing at all.

Seraphina accepted the story because she had no choice. She performed grief within the parameters the family deemed appropriate and said nothing about what she suspected, nothing about what she knew, nothing about the month her mother had spent silently absorbing the risk of helping her. There was no one to tell and nothing to be done with the telling.

She found the diaries three years later, tucked inside a trunk of her mother’s things that nobody had thought to clear out. Mirela had not written explicitly, she was too careful for that, but the entries told their story anyway. The increasing brevity. The careful blankness of her final weeks. The last entry, dated four days before she died, said nothing at all except she will be alright.

Seraphina read it twice. Put it back. Never spoke of it. But thought of it often, the realization setting in that it was her fault. Her mother had been collateral damage, the sacrifice Sera made to keep her baby a secret and safe from the ways of the Ashcrofts.

The years that followed were not eventful in any way that mattered. Seraphina returned to the family, to her role, to the careful performance of a woman who had learned her lesson. She hadn’t, not really, but knew how to hide her truth.

Alexandru deployed her where she was most useful and watched her closely enough that she always knew she was being watched. She did the work. She was good at it, had always been good at it, and that was the one currency the family accepted without question. She built a reputation for precision and discretion, for delivering results without complications. She gave them no reason to doubt her and no reason to trust her completely, and that tension became the terms of her existence.

She did not think about Luminița Mirela every day. Some days she did not think about her at all. Those days frightened her more than the others, when the memories would come back in waves as she got into bed at night.

Sera thought about her mother often.

In 1922, she saw Thatcher Ravenstone’s name in the Daily Prophet along with that of his wife, and two daughters. Neither of them were Luminița. And that is what caused alarm bells to ring loudly in her ears.

She didn’t run this time. Seraphina was thirty-five years old and she had learned, if nothing else, that running solved nothing and cost everything. Instead she waited, watched, and when an assignment surfaced that required someone of her skill in Britain, she put her name forward before anyone else could.

Alexandru approved it. He had no reason not to. She had proven herself.

Sera arrived in Britain in 1922 with legitimate work to do and her own reasons running quietly underneath, the way she had learned to carry everything. Out of sight. Perfectly managed. Utterly her own.

Prompt Response:
Seraphina turned on her heel, looking up at the man who towered over her – nothing unusual there, most of them did – a cool expression on her face. She hadn’t stolen anything, she had no reason to. She had the means to purchase anything she needed to.

Instead of responding in defense of the accusation, she stuck her hand in her purse and pulled out her receipt.

She’d spent a lot of money in the shop, which made his accusation that much more ridiculous. Why would she have spent a good amount of money and stolen something at the same time? If she’d been a thief, she would have just taken everything into her bag and run.

Seraphina Ashcroft was no thief.

“I believe, sir, that you will find I am more than capable of purchasing anything I need,” she said, her voice calm but laced with a sternness that she only used when necessary.

Her eyes were on the tall gentleman who looked at the parchment, then down at her bag without inspecting it.

“These things happen,” she added, before he could apologize, because she did not want his empty apology. Someone else might gloat in the embarrassment she knew was coloring his cheeks a nice shade of pink, but she didn’t care.

“I trust you will be careful with whom you accuse of such petty crimes,” she added when she plucked the receipt from his hand. She folded it neatly and tucked it back inside her bag.

Then she turned and left, just as the man turned and huffed. She smirked as she continued on her way.

Miscellaneous

Other Characters
Roisin Byrne, etc.

How did you find us?
My brain.

WW Adult Application: Thatcher Ravenstone

Mon, 01 Jun 2026 01:34:58 +0000

General Information

Character Name:
Thatcher Ravenstone

Type of Character:
Adult

Age:
39

Date of Birth:
06 May 1883

Blood Status:
Pureblood

Residence:
Blackthorn Hall: North Yorkshire Moors

Family:
Thatcher Ravenstone was born into an old, wealthy pureblood family with ties to both the Ministry and the professional Quidditch world. His father was a well known Quidditch beater, renowned for this speed and skill. From a young age, Thatcher was raised with the expectation that reputation, legacy and success mattered above all else. Mistakes were hidden, weakness was looked down on, and emotions were secondary to achievement.

While working in Paris, Thatcher met and fell in love with Seraphina Ashcroft, a pureblood witch deep in the Legilimency field. It would have been a beneficial relationship, for him at least. They had a brief and fiery fling which ended when she disappeared, leaving him broken and jaded.

Believing that the love of his life was gone, he agreed to marry Margery Nordstrom, linking the Ravenstones to the well respected Nordstrom family. Their engagement was short, marrying just a month after Sera left. They began to build their life in Paris, Thatcher focusing on work, while Margery worked to build their home.

Six months into their marriage, Margery was heartbroken and not yet falling pregnant. While he wanted to produce an heir, Thatcher didn’t care when it happened. Six months after their marriage, Seraphina returned, leaving seven month old baby Alice with Thatcher. Giving him no choice, she fled once again, with no explanation.

Thatcher and Margery made the decision to tell no one about Alice’s parentage. Moving back to England, they arrived home with a baby in tow, surprising their families. No one doubted that the tiny baby was theirs, allowing them to raise Alice as part of the Nordstrom family.

Socially, the couple were viewed as a strong match. Wealth, status and influence under one roof. Publicly, the Ravenstones appeared to be a successful upper-class pureblood family.

Together they raised two daughters:
Alice Ravenstone, the eldest
Everleigh Ravenstone, the youngest

Thatcher was never an especially involved father. He provided well and made sure his family wanted for nothing financially, but emotionally he was distant. Most of his time was spent working or travelling for business, leaving his daughters to grow up seeing him more as an authority figure. Like many traditional pureblood patriarchs, Thatcher valued obedience, composure and respect over affection.

Occupation:
Owner and CEO of Ravenstone Flightworks

Personality & History

Personality:
Thatcher Ravenstone is intelligent, composed and highly calculating. To the outside world, he is polished, professional and well spoken. He has a reputation for being brilliant when it comes to broom craftsmanship and business. A shrewd businessman, expecting compliance and profit in all things.

In private, Thatcher is deeply controlling. He likes order, predictability and control over both his home and the people in it. Problems are dealt with quickly, quietly and efficiently. He is secretive and highly concerned with appearances. Anything that threatens his image is taken seriously and often met with anger and intimidation.

While emotionally detached, Thatcher does not see himself as cruel. In his mind, his decisions are practical and necessary. He believes he built his success through intelligence and hard work, and that protecting his company and family name justifies difficult choices.

History:
Thatcher Ravenstone is the founder and owner of Ravenstone Flightworks, a company known for producing elite racing and professional Quidditch brooms. Considered a genius in broom craftsmanship, Thatcher has a reputation for creating some of the fastest and smoothest brooms on the market, gaining wealth and status within the wizarding world.

Behind the success, however, was illegal activity.

For years, Thatcher accepted bribes to alter professional Quidditch brooms. His meddling would change the world of quidditch and affect many international tournament outcomes. The changes were subtle and difficult to detect: small enchantments to affect speed, balance, wind resistance, handling and accuracy. Tiny adjustments on their own, but enough to influence the outcome of a match when combined.

As the business expanded, Thatcher became increasingly protective of his secrets.

During Everleigh’s childhood, she accidentally witnessed her father torture of a suspected informant with unforgivable curses. After realizing she had seen too much, Thatcher used a powerful memory charm to alter and suppress her memory.

For a time, the spell worked.

Everything changed after the events of the Dark Tower. Everleigh’s trauma caused old memories to resurface. When she asked questions, Thatcher dismissed them as stress or confusion.

Fearing exposure, Thatcher eventually attempted another memory charm on his daughter. This time, it went wrong.

Whether caused by repeated tampering, the fragile state of Everleigh’s mind, or simple miscalculation, the spell caused lasting psychological damage. Everleigh’s mental state deteriorated quickly, leaving her confused, frightened and disconnected from reality, with only brief moments of clarity between panic attacks, memory flashes and periods of lucidity.

The tampering of Everleigh’s mind and abusive behavior in the home was finally discovered. Both girls were removed, Alice going to live with her grandfather, and Everleigh being sent to live in the pediatric Psych Ward at St. Mungos.

The scandal rocked the Pureblood community, but with no clear evidence of wrongdoing, Thatcher and Margery were cleared of all charges. For now, until Everleigh is able to remember the events of the past, Thatcher is clear to continue his illegal activities.

Prompt Response:
He hated the muggle world, but there were times when venturing out into the muggle areas of London were needed. Today was one of those days. The streets smelled of piss and garbage. Rats stuck to the shadows, but he could hear their nails scurrying on the cobblestones.

It was a disgrace.

He would need a hot shower when he got home, to wash off the smog and stench. Unfortunately for him, there was a muggle shop in the depths of the London ghetto that sold a specific brand of wax needed for his brooms. He had tried to replicate it, but there was something about the location of the bee hives that made this specific wax top tier.

Usually he sent a lackey to do the job, but today was his monthly visit to make sure the muggles kept their mouths shut and forgot his visits as if he were a vivid nightmare. Secrecy was paramount in his line of work. It was imperative that no other broom manufacturing company found this shop.

The bell above the door rang as he entered, alerting the owner to his presence. The weathered looking man peered at him through his long greasy hair, a mustache carrying more crumbs than anything. The old man grunted without looking up at first, scraping wax from beneath a yellowed fingernail before finally lifting his eyes.

“…You lost?” the man paused, looking Thatcher up and down. “Only folk dressed like that come round here to buy buildings, collect debts, or complain about the smell.”

Thatcher sneered at the old man, his black teeth making an appearance as he spoke. “Not lost. I’m here for my order. 25 kilograms of your wax, under the name Stone.” The old man’s eyes perked up, obviously excited at the prospect of a large payday. Too bad for him, Thatcher wouldn’t be paying the market price.

“‘Ere y’are. Twenty-five kilos o’ me best wax.” The shopkeeper asked him this every time. And every time Thatcher refused to answer truthfully. Looking over at the man with a sneer, Thatcher slammed down a wad of muggle money onto the tabletop. The man, looked over the money, counting on his fingers, computing the total in his head. “‘Ey now, thats not enuf, where's the rest?” With a roll of his eyes and a look over his shoulder, Thatcher pulled out his wand and pointed it at the man, “Obliviate.” It was a quick spell, and effective. In the blink of an eye the man was happy with his small payday and was changing the amount purchased in his ledger for a much smaller weight.

Could Thatcher afford the regular price? Absolutely, ten times over, but he refused to pay when he had the means to pay less. Whipping his wand at the boxes, they shrunk to a manageable size and weight, allowing Thatcher to carry them under his left arm. With another quick memory charm, he made sure his memory was thoroughly erased.

Walking out of the door, the bell ringing as he exited, a small child looked at Thatcher with wide wondering eyes. The grubby little boy froze mid-step, eyes wide as saucers. “Blimey…” He pointed with absolutely no manners. “‘Ow’d ya do tha’?! You a bleedin’ wizard er summat?”

With a growl, Thatcher pulled out his wand and sent a “Obliviate,” at the young child as well. As the boy looked blankly at nothing, the tall man in rich robes and shiny shoes could be heard muttering, “Yeah, something like that.” as he walked down the cobblestone street.

Miscellaneous

Other Characters
Gideon, Matilda, Everleigh, Brooks, Bernie and Bertram

How did you find us?
Faith, Trust and Pixie Dust

Student Application: Gareth Emrys Prince

Sat, 30 May 2026 23:04:02 +0000

General Information

Character Name:
Gareth Emrys Prince

Age:
13

Date of Birth:
17 August 1909

Blood Status:
Pureblood

Residence:
Outern Pembroke , Wales

Family:
Father: Haytham Prince
Mother: Lucilla "Lucy" Falkhart
Letho: houseelf of the family.

Personality & House Preference

Personality:
Raised by his father alone, Gareth has inherited much of his personality from him. He appears possessive about his possessions, which he doesn't let anyone touch. His egocentricity leads him to always feel or want to be the center of attention, but only if it's in a good light. When he receives negative attention, whether in the form of punishment or the like, he tries to shift the blame onto others because he's the perfect son; he would never do such an unseemly things.
If angered, he can become quite irascible, vindictive, and particularly sadistic. Raised in an old-fashioned family, he doesn't consider corporal punishment, or worse, to be wrong, as a way to atone for his sins.
Ambition makes his eyes sparkle. He dreams of becoming a powerful wizard and restoring the sacred House of Prince, especially after some members mixed with Muggles and dared agreeing with Nicholas Halloway's ideas.
He considers himself highly intelligent, so much so that his intelligence can border on downright arrogance.
He has an elegant bearing befitting the gentlemen of times past, masking his most ferocious and sadistic instincts.
He respects authority above all else; he recognizes those who are stronger than him and does everything to befriend them and manipulate them if possible. He despises Muggles, but even more so wizards who mix with them, or even worse, with beasts.

History:
Born and raised in Wales, in the family mansion on the outskirts of Pembroke, Gareth has always lived with his stern father Haytham and his house-elf Letho. His mother, Lucy, is almost constantly traveling, discovering and taming wild beasts. His father works in the Department of Mysteries at the Ministry of Magic, surrounded by magical artifacts, especially dark ones. His relationship with his mother has always been tense. Gareth doesn't hate her, except for her beastly odor, which he detests, but he can't stand the fact that she has chosen animals, both magical and otherwise, over family life. The marriage between the two spouses was arranged by their respective families for financial gain and to preserve blood, but the two have found their own balance. They are connected in marriage, but each one follows their own interest in real life.
Gareth's childhood was dictated by strict laws that limited the playful behavior typical of children, instead directing him toward mad and desperate study so that he could be prepared for Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, where he would surely be sorted into Slytherin or else deserve the honor of his paternal family. The same family had also arranged for him to graduate after all seven years of school and then land a high-ranking job at the Ministry, or at most with the Aurors.
Always exposed to the magical world, save for a few disgusting Muggle creatures his mother brought home, magic was evident in him from an early age and was trained to develop a talent for mastering it, both in theory and practice. Even before buying his first wand, he had rudimentary Latin and knew a few magical formulas, even recognizing a few simple nonverbal spells his father performed. There was never any doubt that he would receive his Hogwarts letter, but the events involving Nicholas Halloway and his followers made it seem unlikely that he would be sent to school, preferring instead to pursue a private education free from excessively pro-Muggle views. It was Gareth himself who chose to attend Hogwarts anyway; after all, if you have to defeat your enemy, you have to know him, and school would certainly have allowed him to come into closer contact with future friends and rivals than simply navigating Diagon Alley and pure-blood Gala.

House Preference:
Slytherin

Year Preference:
Third

Prompt Response:
It was finally that day, his eleventh birthday. He woke even before dawn, or maybe he'd never really slept through the night, he wasn't sure. He just knew that before sunrise he was already up, his arms clasped on the windowsill, watching the sky redden, hoping to hear the wings of an owl, or some other magical bird, flapping to reach him. It wasn't easy, given how wary his father's postal eagle was, but he was certain he wouldn't chase the school owl, knowing how important the letter with the Hogwarts seal in red sealing wax was. He saw a bird, but it wasn't carrying letters, and another, but it wasn't coming to him. Letho had to force him to leave the window to go downstairs for breakfast, then get ready before all the relatives arrived for the birthday party. Everyone would be there... or almost. Grandparents, aunts and uncles, cousins, distant relatives, in-laws... it would be a great celebration. Then a flutter of wings and a letter for him. He quickly grabbed it in his hands, turning it over eagerly. It had his name, the address... but no sealing wax... no coat of arms. It was from Australia, by the way. The sender was his mother, she wouldn't have time to return, but she wished him a happy birthday and then talked about spiders and snakes and kangaroos and absolutely useless things.

First came the relatives, their well-wishes, the cousins who told him about the castle, the lunches in the mansion finely decorated for the occasion. There was the cake, smiles, drunken relatives who had started telling more or less embarrassing things, but it still hadn't arrived. It was scary to think about it, after all, he had heard his father discussing with his brothers about the possibility of home schooling. But he wanted that letter. Everyone had one, why not him?

His gaze was flickering between his peers and their improvised game of quidditch, a sport he neither understood nor appreciated. Too dangerous, too much sweat... it wasn't elegant, but at least it had managed to distract him for a while, long enough for him to miss an old owl that had landed, hooting, on a perch prominently placed in the garden. He had seen it empty so many times that day that for a moment he didn't believe it was actually occupied by a new guest. A clink of a glass from an unidentified relative silenced the party, and for a minute there were only Gareth and an unfamiliar owl, a heavy letter tied to its leg. He approached it, his hands almost clumsy as they shook with emotions. He untied the letter, read his name as the addressee, then turned it over. The Hogwarts crest stood out on the envelope. It was it. It had finally arrived. It smelled of parchment, far more than a thousand others, and of precious ink. He touched it for several moments, almost as if he couldn't believe it was actually there. Then he looked around at the relatives waiting for him to open it, in what seemed like a sacred rite of passage. And yet it almost seemed sacrilegious to do so... it was so perfect.
He forced himself to break the seal, hoping that a later reparo could fix it, run his fingers over the many pages, then read the first.
"Dear Mr. Prince, We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."

It was done. He was in.

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