#sample application

OUT OF CHARACTER:

NAME & PRONOUNS: Karli (she/her)

AGE: 31

TIMEZONE: CST

ACTIVITY LEVEL: The once a week minimum activity requirement won’t be difficult for me, especially with summer coming up. I work in mental health in education, so I’m about to go on summer break, which is why I made this rp during this time!

ANYTHING ELSE: N/A - bring it on, baby!

CHARACTER DETAILS:

NAME: James Charlus Potter

AGE: 24

GENDER, PRONOUNS, and SEXUALITY: Cis-Male, He/Him, Heteroflexible. So far, James has only dated woman, but now without a partner he’s attached to, who knows what’ll happen? He’s comfortable with giving affection - no toxic masculinity here as he hugs his friends and can be found cuddling them even when they’d rather push him off. While there’s been nothing romantic about it yet, James might be more flexible than he lets on. However, he’s also got stupid straight boy vibes, so he might just be hopeless.

BLOOD STATUS: Pureblood

HOUSE ALUMNI: Gryffindor

ANY CHANGES: Nothing, I wrote it!

CHARACTER BACKGROUND:

PERSONALITY: 

The first thing people often notice about James is that he’s extremely outgoing. He’s often at the center of attention - laughing with people, joking around, enjoying those eyes on him. What people notice less are the moments where he shies away from that - slinks off with his friends to do something he actually cares about. James is really good at staying positive. He’s friendly and charming and a lot of people like him - but there’s only a handful of people he can truly be vulnerable around. Without the Marauders, he likely would’ve grown up with a lot of “friends” but not really any friends. He’s an extrovert-introvert - people only see the one side of him because that’s the side he shows, but he really gains his energy from being around his people. It’s rare for him to truly let someone in but, when he does, they might be surprised to learn what they do about him.

He’s loyal - almost to a fault. Extremely biased towards the people he loves, it’s hard for James to see their faults. This leads him to being overly forgiving to his friends - something he’d done for Sirius after the prank in school, not realizing how hurt he must’ve made Remus feel at minimizing Sirius’ behavior. In canon, James’ trust leads to his and Lily’s demise. Convinced that none of his friends could be the spy, he dies for it - and he’ll very likely have problems within this set-up as well. While others are convinced there’s a spy, James has a hard time believing any of them (except maybe fucking Snivellus) would be that. And he definitely doesn’t think it’s any of his friends. He doesn’t understand why either Sirius or Remus would blame one another - they’re the Marauders! He can be too trusting in that way.

James can be naïve. He doesn’t understand his own privilege, while also relying on that privilege. Because of this, he didn’t listen when Lily said he had something to worry about with dating her. He’d thought it would be fine because he said so. His blood status kept him safe and therefore he wasn’t ready for it when he was captured. 

James is confident, oftentimes nearing arrogance. Having grown up with his expectations and wants met, he assumes he just knows what will happen next. He loves fiercely - holds on tight. It’s sometimes hard for him to let go of something he should let go of. An emotional person, he often wears his heart on his sleeve. This doesn’t make him the best dueler, as he tends to give away his next move to his opponent, but it makes him a good friend. It can also hurt him - when he’s struggling, it’s bad. It takes a lot to make James just shut down, but when he’s sad, it’s easy to tell. Sometimes, his emotions make him impulsive and reckless. 

BRIEF OVERVIEW OF FAMILY: 

(Note: I do not follow the guidelines of Pottermore’s backstory for James or his family.)

Charlus and Akari Potter met late in life, long after Charlus’ years as an eligible bachelor were over. He’d given up, at that point, hopes of finding a suitable wife and had poured himself into his work at the Ministry of Magic’s Department of International Magical Cooperation. He’d met Akari during his work in Japan, her upbringing far from his own, and had fallen in love with her. They were old enough, they’d thought, and decided not to wait. Married within just a few short months, Charlus had taken her back to England with him to live at the Potter Estate, tearing her away from her country, her entire family, and all she’d ever known. With him working and her at home, it wasn’t long before their first – and only – son was born. It had been a hard pregnancy due to Akari’s age and the healer recommended against trying for a second. It did not matter to either of them – James was enough. A pureblood son who was brilliant and charming and handsome rolled into one.

James had a rather lonely childhood, however. Living without close neighbors and with all of his parents’ friends having kids much older than him, James found ways to pass the time on his own. His mother taught him from home, where he learned the basics, such as how to read, write, and do arithmetic, along with an introduction to magic. She had a spirituality about her that came from a long line of her family back home. She told him about Japanese mythology - how the Gods in the stories valued empathy and emotions, leading to a life where one understands that they are part of an interdependent society. She’d talked of a different sort of importance rather blood status – and his father agreed. Or he’d said he did. It was the more polite thing to do, of course. Prejudices were less becoming in more recent days – what with new laws and rights for muggleborns. Back in Charlus’ day, Hogwarts had barely allowed them into the school, after all. But Charlus could not understand what the whole fuss was about. There had already been changes in the world – why were some groups calling for more?

As James grew older and gained insight from peers, he started to create his own sense of right and wrong. Still, it was hard to see his parents’ faults, especially the father whom he looked up to so much. It’s why he could ignore the subtle look of concern on Charlus’ face when James brought home Lily for the first time after graduation. It was hard for him to believe that his dad might think like some of the people James was fighting against - even if he wasn’t acting on it. Prejudice was hard to combat. The blinders he had towards his father’s own prejudices - though subtle, unintentional - didn’t come down all at once, but rather more slowly. Not even after Charlus’ death (old age and disease didn’t go hand-in-hand), and then Akari following close behind, could truly break it down.

For his own part, the only inkling of prejudice James has really experienced was meeting Lily’s sister and brother-in-law back when they were still together and things were still good. Vernon had stared at James with narrowed eyes, asking him just what he was. Confused, James had answered human, not realizing that the man was talking about his race in a very bigoted way. It was the first time he’d even felt a fraction of what Lily had felt.

It wasn’t until James was trapped in that dungeon below some Death Eater’s house (he’s still not sure where he was being held) that he really examined what led him to get to that point. With nothing but time, James had reflected on the numerous overheard comments about him and Lily - his father’s friends often saying James was just in a phase or commenting on how young wizards often experiment before the real thing. It forced him to consider that maybe his father himself hadn’t been as perfect as he’d thought - that the world was full of prejudices that he wasn’t even aware of. Now that James is out of captivity, he understands things more than ever before, but that doesn’t mean the subtle messages he grew up with aren’t still swimming around in his unintentional actions.

OCCUPATION: 

James is unemployed - or, as he’d call it, a full-time Order member. When his father died, he inherited the vault at Gringotts and it’s enough money to keep himself - and sometimes Remus or other people he cares about - living comfortably. He would prefer to devote himself to the cause, rather than sit at some stuffy job he could care less about. He has no idea what he wants to do after the war (if he makes it; he’s more aware of his own mortality than ever before now) and figures he’ll just cross that bridge when it happens.

LIVING SITUATION: 

James lives in a cottage at Godric’s Hollow. When he’d “died,” his family’s estate had been sold off and the money was placed in his vault at Gringotts since there was no one else that had been established as benefactor. But his family had another location - a smaller, less expensive place in one of the Wizarding World’s hidey holes.

Since he’d been sharing a flat with Lily before his disappearance, he’d said fuck it when she’d broken up with him and moved out, letting her do whatever she wanted with the place. Godric’s Hollow was already there. Good enough for him. It’s scarcely decorated - definitely a bachelor’s pad - but he could care less.

While it’s technically his “home base” of sorts, James rarely spends much time there. He’d never admit it out loud, but being alone feels scary since getting back from captivity. He’d prefer to be where people are - and, more often than not, finds himself crashing on random couches of Order members, despite having enough money to really buy whatever he wanted.

ORDER OF THE PHOENIX: 

Before his disappearance, James was on the up and up of leadership within the Order. He wasn’t the best dueler of everyone, but he was good - especially when fighting next to Sirius. That wasn’t why James had gotten the responsibility to lead missions, however. The older Order members had recognized his ability to bring people together like no one else. Just look at his friends, they’d said. Without James, they would’ve all been floundering, people who might have not belonged anywhere. 

James found strength in rallying members, keeping things positive. His surety made people feel reassured, helped them fight better or agree to things they might’ve not before. He knew they were doing the right thing here - he knew the Order would come out on top, even when things weren’t going well. That confidence helped others sink just a little less, made them more hopeful, and that was just as important as the ability to fight on a battlefield.

Even now, after his return, he truly believes in the Order. While he might not have joined strictly for the cause, he does believe in it - and that desire to stop Voldemort has become stronger than ever as he barely made it back alive. The problem is that, now that he’s back, he no longer really has a place. Where he’d once been a leader, others have taken over - Peter, for instance, where the hell did that come from? - and the older members who had once trusted in James are worried that he’s actually on the brink of breaking. He doesn’t know how to prove to them that he’s fine - he’s ready for more - because there are some days where maybe he doesn’t feel fine at all.

RELATIONSHIPS:

(I’m writing these off the basis of the bios, but anything can be changed with player portrayals, ideas, and through plotting. This is just a basis to start!)

Before his capture, his closest relationships had been with Lily Evans, Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, and Peter Pettigrew. Lily and him had been fighting, sure - with Lily worrying about their blood status difference and what it might do to him - but nothing they couldn’t work out, James was sure of it. But now, with her digging her feet in on those feelings and going as far to break up with him, it’s much more complicated than that. He still loves her, but he also hates her, and those two things are ever contradicting. His broken heart sometimes leads to him doing stupid shit or saying mean things, but he’d also like her to come to her senses and just be with him again.

At least he still has Sirius. His best friend is ever loyal (there’s a reason his animagus form is a dog) and, while things are going well between him and James, it’s still not the same without the others. Sirius and him always had a bit of different relationship than James had with Remus or Peter - and, since Sirius is always there for him, it still feels solid. But Sirius is also slipping into a place where James can’t follow and he’s taking Lily with him. James will never understand this Dark Magic thing. After all, it’s the same magic that had tortured him for months!

As for Remus and Peter, he’s not angry with them the way Sirius is. But James had unintentionally chosen a side anyway by spending the most time with Sirius. He doesn’t mean to - he still loves Remus and Peter - but he’d come back to this mess! Peter is suddenly busier than ever, while Remus is retreating into his shell. James, who had acted as the glue once upon a time, has no idea how to get them back as a unit.

The Marauders aren’t the only group in his life anymore. Going through torture brings people together and he finds himself sticking with the four other captives more than he’d planned. They understand that things are so different now. He knows the way they sound when they cry or scream or even take a shit, for Merlin’s sake. There’s not much they can’t share anymore. Gideon had been the stable one - the oldest, the calmest, the voice of reason - while James had taken up the role of determined dolt. The hot head who would offer himself up in someone else’s place whenever he could, goad the Death Eater’s into choosing him by making fun of them. Marlene had been the smartest of the group - she’d given them all advice on what to say, how to handle their torture sessions, how to not sink into their own minds. And Emmeline - poor Emme, who had only been in the Order a few short months before being taken. James knows what people say about her - that she’s weak, broken - but fuck all if they think he won’t hex them if he hears them say something about Emmeline to his face. She’s stronger than she looks - she’d survived, after all.

Not everyone understands James, of course. Lily’s people have chosen a side. James always got along with Dorcas Meadowes back when Lily and him were together - and it’s not like they don’t like one another anymore - but Dorcas is definitely Lily’s friend and it shows. And apparently another friend has returned, too. Suspiciously timed, Severus Snape joined the Order shortly after James “died.” James knows exactly what Snivellus is doing - can see right through him, even if others can’t.

There’s also Dirk Cresswell, who James doesn’t know very well, but who had apparently watched Benjy Fenwick die while on search for James - who can’t look James in the eye for some odd reason. James doesn’t know what to make of it all, but Dirk seems like an alright guy. And Caradoc Dearborn, who looks at James as though he’s an idiot, but also is the owner of the best pub in the Wizarding World. Caradoc is one of the members making the decisions, so maybe it would be in James’ best interest to prove Caradoc wrong about him.

OOC EXPLORATION:

SHIPS/ANTI-SHIPS: 

While I have a special place in my heart for James/Lily, I ultimately ship chemistry. This is war and things are stressful and strained - and James and Lily aren’t even together. I’m seriously open to explore whatever feels realistic and right in that moment. James is a free agent right now and I wouldn’t be surprised if he buries himself in someone else, if only to forget about the horrors of his torture and the war as a whole. It could also mean James never finds someone else. I’m here to explore all types of relationships, so I’m not really fussed about the shipping. I just want to see what happens!

INTERPERSONAL STRUGGLES: 

James isn’t James Freaking Potter anymore, but that’s who he’s used to being. People view him differently after his disappearance and he doesn’t know how to make of it. His goal was to get back - and he didn’t really think about what he’d do if things changed after doing so. He hadn’t expected things to be so different. For him to be so different. He’s trying to be the same person he’s always been - and sometimes it’s easy, while other times it feels really fake. 

Without leadership in the Order, he doesn’t know what else to do. He doesn’t have a job - or even a girlfriend or a solid friend group anymore - so the added time he has isn’t good for him. He’s always trying to jump in to help whenever he can, getting angry when people don’t trust him like he used to.

I’m open to James fucking up - for him to making mistakes that hurt others, either physically because of something wrong he does in battle, or emotionally because of something he says. His temper is shorter now than it used to be and he’s pushing any feeling he had about his disappearance to the wayside. If he says he’s okay, then it’ll be easier to actually be okay, right?

WHAT ARE YOU MOST LOOKING FORWARD TO? 

I made it so that’s what brought me here! What I’m most looking forward to is that exploration of nothing being black or white. Without having the Death Eaters being playable (outside of the spies), there can’t just be a simple “these are the bad guys, these are the good.” I want to see some interpersonal conflicts - especially with James, who is suddenly returned after “dying” and has no idea where he fits. I’m also really looking forward to doing realistic war-related things… such as character injuries, deaths, being taken into questioning, missions, you name it!

PLOT DROP IDEAS (OPTIONAL): N/A. I have plot drop ideas, but I will be saving that for admins duties and official plotlines.

IN CHARACTER –– DETAILS:

LABEL: Yarrow

NAME: Cian Callaghan

AGE: 23

PRONOUNS: they/them

FACECLAIM: Tom Holland

IN CHARACTER – EXPANSION:

PERSONALITY: 

If you asked them what they were like, they would tell you: I’m normal. Just… normal. Average. Boring. Uninteresting. In truth, what they are is STUBBORN to the core, insistent on their own average-ness. They are BRIGHT, yes, and observant, picking up on things others don’t all the time. They are INOFFENSIVE, generally well-liked, insignificant enough to slip through any crack, to blend in with any group, and they are ADAPTIVE, fitting seamlessly into their circumstance as needed. But they are also willfully ignorant, made stupid by years of forcing themself to forget. When they fear that they are losing control of their life, they can be CRUEL and petty, thoughtless, selfish. Some, probably, would call them COWARDLY, but they call it self-preservation: after all, if you’re stupid enough to play with fire you deserve whatever burns consume you.

3+ DETAILED HEADCANONS: 

They are a strange child, from the start. Unusual behaviors, a general aura of unease. Their mother knows, knows in her heart that this isn’t her child, isn’t her baby, and she never forgives them for it, no matter how hard they try. They are a strange child, beautiful but sharp, and silent. They never cry. They learn to speak much later than they should. Their father is enraptured by them, but their mother– she never accepts them as her own. Leaves, when they’re only six, and they are too young to understand why, but old enough to know that it is their fault. And so they do their best to act like everyone else, not to stand out, to be everything she would have wanted so that their father will not leave, too, so that they won’t be abandoned again. They push down every urge to act unnaturally, pull back anything that might garner them extra attention. They learn to ignore the strange things they see, the way the rich learn to ignore beggars on street-corners; a part of the world, unacknowledged for long enough so as to be forgotten entirely. They become, at great cost and with great effort, ordinary. And they refuse to let go of that victory, once it is theirs.

Their interest in old folktales, faerietales, old stories– it’s purely academic, of course. Purely theoretical. After all, faeries aren’t real. Faeries aren’t real, they tell themself, up late in the library during their undergraduate years, writing papers on the kinds of fears that faeries represent, the way the fictional bounds between this world and the next are lines designed to frighten children into behaving and keeping them from stepping out of line. Faeries aren’t real, they tell their examiners, of course, and graduate with honors and accolades for a keen and discerning critical examination of the place of faerietales in historic Irish culture. Faeries aren’t real, they tell themself, late at night as they walk through the arts block and swear they haven’t seen anything out of the corner of their eye, as they convince themself it’s just the research, just the lack of sleep, just the fact that all they’ve thought about for a handful of years is faerie stories. But the feeling follows them everywhere they go, and when they think about pursuing graduate research in some other field of literature – poetry, maybe, or anything else – they find they’re unable to piece together the thoughts they need to do it. Faeries aren’t real, but they cannot bring themself to think of anything else.

There is a club, one night, their friends tell them, a weird place they found one drunken night. It’s their birthday, and it’s time to get out of the library and do something fun. The accede, reluctant, to the demands, get drunk enough to shake the unsteady feeling, the swell of dread in their stomach, and they go. Drunk enough to ignore the unsettling feeling of crossing over from one place to another, drunk enough to ignore the looks they get as they move through the dance floor. When they lose track of their friends, someone else finds them, curly-haired and bright-eyed and barefoot, and he dances with them, touches their cheek, says: that’s so cute. You don’t even know, do you? and they don’t remember any of the night, past that, don’t remember finding their friends, don’t remember going home, don’t remember anything until they wake up at home, sick and desperate and shaking, a pounding in their head, like they’ve just witnessed something horrifying, something antithetical to their very being. But that’s what does it: that’s what gives the otherworld the passage it needs to seep into their life, to force its way past their carefully built defenses. That night, that touch– that’s when they start to feel the pull.

2+ AMBITIONS/GOALS: 

Cian’s primary goal is to keep away from the otherworld entirely. They are unconcerned with the politics of the Seelie court, unaware of the murders and everything else going on, and forcefully so: all they want is to be normal and to not be a part of any of this.

But, of course, some goals are hopeless, and theirs most certainly is. So, in the absence of that, what they have is this: they will not let someone manipulate them into being a pawn in a larger game; they will not be thrown out as bait between faeries looking for a bit of fun, or thrown to the wolves just to make someone else feel pain. They will keep this life they have built in tact, no matter what the cost, no matter who they piss off.

BONUS SECTION: TROUBLED TIMES, TROUBLED THOUGHTS. 

Yarrow. Used to staunch the bleeding. The great hero Achilles was said to plaster it over his wounds in war and keep fighting. Cian is not Achilles, not a hero or a soldier or a prince. Cian is the yarrow in his wounds, a stubborn coagulant, unmoving and unmoved. They will let nothing surprise them, will let nothing show, even when the weight of their entire facade of a world is coming crashing down around their feet.

001. OUT OF CHARACTER,

NAME/ALIAS + AGE. ↳ I’m Dea, eighteen, and my three favorite films are The Mummy, Moulin Rouge!, and Dead Poets Society (with Brother Bear rounding out as my closely-lagging fourth). I like to think they adequately spell out my character, if anything, representing the very core of my soul. (Evie O’Connell was my first crush and forevermore the love of my life, if that makes my personality any clearer.)

TIMEZONE + ACTIVITY. ↳ PST, and as for my activity, I try to be online as often as I can, and that’ll be a lot easier now that we’ve transitioned into the summer season. However, I still have work and that’ll take up a decent portion of my time, though I try to be as transparent as I can in terms of letting you all know when I’ll be absent from the main and such, and will continue to be so when game-play begins. Hopefully I manage to achieve the right balance between the main and James’ account!

TRIGGERS + PRONOUNS. ↳ I go by she/her, but have no problem with being referred to as they/them. Regarding triggers, visuals of excessive gore are pretty much the worst of what I can take.

002. IN CHARACTER INFORMATION,

MUSE DESIRED. ↳ Ballast & James Sirius Potter.

            JAMES, a gentle curse, an exhale, soft and affectionate and incapable of being said without a smile tugging at the corners of one’s mouth. spit in vexation, cursed in crimson-tinged anger, sighed in misled adoration, hiccuped in between gut-wrenching laughs. your mother whispers it (worry creasing lines on her otherwise youthful face, fingers twitching, longing to reach out to stroke your head like you loved when you could still fit in her hands) when she thinks you can’t hear and yells it (anxiety toppling into frustration, showering you in the spitfire that scorches in the center of her belly, distinct to the windswept fire of ginny weasley) when she knows you can’t hear anything but. your father, eighteen years of experience hardly denting the habit, sounds out the syllables of your name with a reverence (half respect for the father he never knew and half tender disbelief for the son he still can’t believe he had a part in creating) and groans them with an age-old tiredness (his scar may not pain him any longer, but you sure do). the very utterance of your name is followed by an exuberant eye roll, high in fashion with both your sister and brother. james, james, james. does it belong to you?

            SIRIUS, a bullet of a name. there are more legends than facts surrounding your namesake, and god, when did they become yours to swallow? you may not carry his blood (pure, black, rotten to the core) but your pout is sculpted from the same lips as his; your hair is as monstrously notorious and decadent; that gruff bark of laughter rings oh-so alike, except he was the grim and you’re a puppy; a leather jacket, illusory with the phantom heat of his flesh, and you can’t quite decide if the weight is a comforting warmth or if it burns, heavy and scathing. i mean, really ⏤ is it still just as funny when your telltale “sirius is my middle name” line is matched with a wince?

            POTTER, both a tragedy and a blessing. out of your unlucky lot, perhaps this is the worst card. your blood is tinged with the greats, the giants of wizarding lore, potters, and weasleys, and evans’ (singularly gifted witch that she was), and just about everything fucking else in between, because sometimes practically the entirety of the wizarding world wants to snatch their own piece and more the pity, you let them. resentment curls in your belly, curdling and hot, warring with the warmth of your love, the kind that seeps tender heat into one’s aching muscles, like the gentle caress of curling inside a bath, of a candle’s gentle flare in the center of your darkened home, rain softly wailing outside. it makes you want to weep; it makes you want to cry and scream and claw yourself inside out; it makes your heart want to burst from love, from bone-chattering laughter, from adoration, from responsibilities to ghosts, from the weight of it all.

            (  B A L L A S T  ), the solid stone beneath, the foundation everyone can’t help but stand upon. (and that’s it, folks, lmao.)

FACE CLAIM. ↳ Xavier Serrano.

GENDER + ORIENTATIONS. ↳ Cis male, he/him, and bisexual biromantic.

DATE OF BIRTH + BLOOD STATUS + YEAR. ↳ Born OCTOBER 30TH, 2005, as a HALFBLOOD, and currently enrolled as a SEVENTH YEAR at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

            This birth date falls under the SCORPIO star sign, in addition to being the day before Halloween, also known as the death day of his grandparents. Irony is a sharp bite to the ass, and this one particularly stings. He’s on the very edge of spilling into the sorrowful night, one brimming with the ghosts of old, beasts of legends, terrors lurking in the encompassing shadows. What is better: to be on the precipice of disaster (everyone sharply aware of just how close he came to being a masochist’s wet dream: firstborn son of Harry Potter emerging into the world on the night of his parents’ anniversary of being murdered; oh, our hearts are positively aching in bittersweet agony) or to narrowly miss another chance to align himself with the ghost who will forever haunt him?

            The exact date was chosen carefully, for the image of James being born in the high tide of the ever-haunting month, on the edge of leave-strewn and rust-tinted November and swarmed in the absolute magic that encompasses October, is one that is so wholly him. One might imagine him in the sweetness of spring, chaste and rosy and so heartwarmingly raw. Or perhaps in the heat of summer, where he is gold, gold, gold, and so unnervingly bright, it blinds you with its scorching radiance. Even winter could be his home, with its stark bitterness and empty promises of warmth and protection in a candle-lit home, cold snow blanketing all life. Yet, the season where leaves dance in the swirling winds and ugly beasts emerge into the night with the beauty of the divine is the one that holds his heart in its grip; fall, fall, fall, and he does.

            Moreover, this analysis cemented his star sign completely ⏤⏤ attracts people by: depth and allure, emotional bonding, safeguarding and undying protection, intellect and mystique, loyalty and slowly revealed vulnerability, ability to inspire inner confidence &  loses people by: antagonism, control and possession, withdrawal and reactivity, emotional coldness and emotional paralysis, self-righteousness, disconnecting privacy, staunch defence of personal ideologies.

HOUSE + ANALYSIS. ↳ GRYFFINDOR, and it almost seems a disservice to the gods above, to the spite burning in his blood and scorching his mind, begging to be contrary just for the sake of a rebellion, a piece of him that deviates from the path he was destined to crawl. Why couldn’t he be different? Why did his heart burst with the same roaring pound of a lion’s and bleed with the same passion and obnoxious sense of self? Courage was a pillar he conquered within his first breath, and nerve was the fire to his blood’s gasoline, lighting up with a stunning vengeance. But, oh no, these are not the grounds upon which his sorting was based on ⏤ if anything, his undying belief in morality, of all stupid things, is what so clearly planted him within the lions den. Even more so, it’s the fact that he values morality above all else, not the details of his beliefs. That dogged perseverance has the capability of swallowing him whole.

FUNCTIONS. ↳ DUELING CLUB & THE BONES CLUB, both sought him out, and though resistance tasted sweet, a part of him was soft for it, the idea of being apart of something other than within the barracks of his family. There’s a feral part of him, hunger aching in his bones, and it’s sated, buzzed on a high, when he’s in the midst of dueling for the fucking hell of it (spells teasing, a flirtatious back and forth of fatal proportions, a dark curiosity licking its paws in the corner, waiting to pounce, and god, does it fill him) or scheming in the dark, four heads weaving together, morbid mischief and jest galore reigning in their souls. The day that a bewitched note appeared in every page of every book he touched, flirting with him to join a club of bones (stupid fucking name, was the first thing out of his mouth in that beginning meeting of his, some years ago now) and daring him to chase (something? anything? everything?) was the day that some fragile chip of him sealed its way back on.

003. WRITING + EXTRAS,

INTERNAL ⏤ CHARACTER ANALYSIS. ↳ Because I’m lacking in time (entirely my fault, yikes, I know), I’ve chosen to highlight three individual aspects (headcanons) of his character as a whole in an attempt to puzzle together a tangible picture of who he is, and through the evulsion of these facets, other details and factors of his persona will become present (or at least that’s what I’m angling for, fingers crossed). Essentially, these are the corners of his character that breathed something a little more divine than life into him, conjuring him in a different light and contorting that light into something blindingly magnificent. 

            RELIGION, something that struck me as i was writing some part of the application above is my constant use of the word god, spitting out in my writing with a vicious ease. this isn’t my own, natural, guttural utterance of the word, but rather the voice of james, spilling out like an unwelcome grease. it started out as a small rebellion, more to himself than anything else, for isn’t it always? ⏤ something to distract himself, purge himself, from the person he is. he’s not a complete idiot, you know; he knew of a god, several of them, upon which muggles called upon, prayed upon, ached upon. magic was his god; his father, his mother, his grandparents, all of his blood family and all their friends; the titans of the wizarding world boiled down to human form, glorified and shining beyond belief; they were gods, or at least, they were treated as such. merlin was the force above them all; and circe and nimue and the founders of hogwarts and everybody else deemed a little bit special. well, perhaps the muggles had something better, and so, he checked. a copy of the bible was snatched by his hands, and the pages were devoured. greek myths were no longer fantasies, but reality; after all, if magic could existed, why couldn’t they? he scoured for any and all gods, learning the way of the old world and diving into cultures and religions with a swimmer’s finesse. he stuck to the idea like an indulgent tar, clinging to the idea with no small desperation; perhaps if there was a god(s), as the muggles proclaimed and spat, then who he is was no mistake ⏤ he was meant to be the firstborn of harry potter, meant to carry the weight of ghosts on his back, meant to feel a crumpling in his bones, meant to burn with a love for his family and yet freeze over with most others. it was out of his hands, yes, finally, thank god. for nearly the first time in his fifteen years of life, he breathed with ease, unfiltered and soft and free. and then, short of a blissful month later, he fell. not unlike a fallen angel, nor unlike a star toppling from the sky, crashing and burnt and dust. there was no fate or destiny of god above, watching and waiting and pulling strings like a grand and demented puppeteer. now, he spits the words, sarcasm denting every syllable, even in earnest. 

            JEWELRY, ever since he can remember, he’s liked the glint of jewels. the way they encompass a color, almost swallowing you alongside with it. the intricacy is unfamiliar to his own fingers, and yet they still grasp to hold it. there’s no explanation or reason behind it all, transparent and easy to receive. a cut, blood red ruby adorns a gold chain on his chest, and a sister piece sits on his finger as a ring, both a gift from his mother. he loathe to take either off in any case, and often treasures them as closely as his wand. moreover, he’s not been known to reject a little smear of matching lipstick, though on occasion it’s been used as a paintbrush for some doodle on his cheeks rather than lined on his lips. he has no qualms with revealing that shard of himself, and the swarm of deep red on golden flesh is quite the sight to behold, anyway.

            GOTTA DO MORE, GOTTA BE MORE, not all characters have an original muse, but mine was definitely charlie dalton from dead poets society, as well as the more obvious character parallel of neil perry. james was written and created for this verse with neither in mind, and a great part of my entire outlook and analysis of him was already set in stone by the time i rewatched the film, but then, it just hit me. the specific mannerisms of charlie’s character are so apparent in james, from his facial expressions to the false bravado and desperation to seek something a little more in life and shatter himself in the process, and of course the advice that would strike james just as severely as it did charlie: “sucking the marrow out of life doesn’t mean chocking on the bone.” moreover, this entire scene perfectly encapsulates a part of james that simply cannot be said through words, which is why it works so well. the loyalty that charlie holds, gritty and strong and unparalleled, is one that lives on within james as well. and then there’s neil perry, who is the brightest light with a heart of gold, passion and soul simply dripping off him in excess, yet is shackled down by the weight of his parents, though not in the same way as james. a darkness feeds off of him, deep inside and caving him in, and that is so true to james’ character. there are plenty more parallels to go over, but those can be dissected at another time (an actual detail-by-detail parallel analysis has been in the works, i can say). 

(And because I haven’t said much else, I’ll just add in this snippet of his character that I wrote a little while ago in response to a question!) To me, James is a highly emotional character who nearly bursts from the zest that breathes within him, but can almost be accused of being a masochist because he so forcefully attempts to swallow that down and play the role of one unbothered by life in whole. He has a great respect and fierce loyalty toward his family, yet this is what so severely hurts him, for in the times that he can’t help but resent the expectations that so massively fall on him, it tears him up inside, which just creates and perpetrates a vicious cycle. The Burrow is one of his favorite places to be, for sure. He’s at a standstill in life where he has no idea what he’s bound to do once he leaves the life he’s known for seven years, desperate to both leave and stay. He isn’t committed to academics in any way (for now), but that doesn’t account for his caustic wit. He’s wonderfully complex and contradictory, but he’s also a massive sweetheart, and I can’t help but simply think of heat in relation to him. Like he’s just That Person that constantly has warm, almost hot, skin and you don’t know how in the dead of winter that’s possible. He’s definitely an anchor, and that’s where my decision of ballast originates from.

EXTERNAL ⏤ CONNECTIONS + POTENTIAL PLOTLINES. ↳ I’m going to wait on divulging on any specific skeleton character connections in mind for fear of inducing any bias, though here are some plotlines I’d like to uncover.

            Something that I’m very eager to explore is the contrast that James feels in relation to his family, and how that positively tears him up inside. It’s likened to a battle of the heart versus the mind: who he truly is and who he feels he can’t be, in fear of sacrificing his soul in the process. Essentially, I want to push him to the breaking point, shattering his senses into some mangled ball of shit that he must sort out. He’s in desperate need a breath of fresh air, and he’s been suffocating for years.  Moreover, he’s never really faced this mass of contradiction within him, always turning a blind eye and swallowing it down, scorching his throat in the process and nailing his heart right through the center. And when he must, all hell will break loose, and what can I look forward to, if not that?

            James is a golden light that may dim, but has never been blown out. Until now. I want to see him untethered and catastrophically scratched, the golden, youthful and scarlet blush of his flesh waned and stark against the image of who he is. What will cause this, lead to this, pioneer his destruction? Furthermore, he’s a seventh year as this school year starts, and that means his ass is out in less than a year, and he is absolutely unsure of what awaits him once he’s left these halls. I want to plant the seeds of possibility, and what may come of them. 

OUT OF CHARACTER:

Name: Roman Age: 24 Pronouns: they/them Timezone: EST Activity: pretty high, I’m usually able to do a few replies everyday unless work really kicks my ass, in which case it will be every other day, but I’m always around on mobile for messaging! Triggers: [redacted]

BASICS:

Character name: Edward “Ted” Morgan Tonks Gender and pronouns: genderqueer, they/them Date of birth: July 1, 1955

There are some things that have always remained, and they do truly still believe in the power of looking to the stars for guidance, something that their parents taught them from a young age. Because of this––or because of the stars themselves––Ted embodies all of the traits of a Cancer. They’re emotional and sensitive, and get extremely attached to others. Matters of family are of the utmost importance, and they’re loyal above all to those they care for. At times, they can become selfish and moody, particularly when suffering a perceived lack of understanding from the outside world. Since their time in Azkaban, the negative traits of their sign have been significantly more pronounced than before, the good being pushed to the wayside.

Occupation: the High Justice

Their parents used to joke that they would never be able to settle on a career, that they’d forever be content to float along in life, jumping from one job for another, never staying for too long, always switching from interest to interest. It was like that for a while, anyway. Before the end of the war, they had dozens of odd jobs, everything from potioneer to palm-reader, never for more than a year, and they were happy. But things changed, and once they did, they hadn’t been expecting to ever have another job again, in all honesty, considering they assumed that being sentenced to life in Azkaban meant just that.

But Lily Evans has other plans.

This position was quite literally made for them. They feel certain that if they had refused Lily’s offer years ago, when she came to them in their cell that day, she would have found another muggleborn to fill the position, but with the way things went, with everything they had both been working towards, with the promise she had them make when she managed to have them pardoned, she did this for them. No, that’s not true. She did this for herself. They were just lost and desperate enough to willingly do exactly what she wanted from them. It was all worth it if they would be allowed to raise their child, after all, even if it meant turning into something they wouldn’t have had the capability of becoming before.

And so they took up the gun for her. Using a weapon so supremely muggle, they pass judgement for the Minister. How fitting that they now dispense justice to those who wronged the world, when the reason they became who they are is because of making that same choice ten years ago.

Former Hogwarts house: Hufflepuff Boggart: Dora receiving the Dementor’s Kiss

It changes, but every time it’s changed it’s held one thing in common. Their boggart has always shown someone they love in danger. When they first faced a boggart in school, it was their family; later it was Andromeda, then Andromeda with Alice and Frank. Now the scene they see is of their child suffering the very fate they had come to fear after years among the Dementors. They stay away from boggarts when they can help it.

PERSONALITY

+Tenacious: Since childhood, Ted has been persistent in everything they do, determined and committed. They’ve never been one to hide their opinions or take the easy way out of things, willing to fight for what they believe in, although usually in their own way and not necessarily what others would expect.

+Devoted: They are fiercely loyal to those they care about, devoted to the point of being willing to do nearly anything to keep them safe. This trait led to their downfall, but it’s also kept their family safe from harm since then. They like to think that their dedication to the people they love is what keeps them from becoming a monster, but it’s also caused them to do things they never thought themself capable of.

+/-Emotional: Once, their sensitivity manifested itself in their empathy, in their willingness to be free and open with everything they were feeling, and to help others do the same. Sometimes, that’s still the case, but mostly now, it’s seen in their inability to regulate their emotions at times. They can go from detached and cold, to deeply emotional in the snap of a finger, and often times can’t control themself in those moments, leading to a lot of anger.

+/-Persuasive: They can convince most anyone of anything, really, knowing just how to connect to other people to make them believe they’re truly empathetic and have their best interests in mind. This used to be genuine. Now, it’s more of an act, a way for them to seem more human, more approachable, despite the indifference they feel most of the time.

-Paranoid: Being betrayed by the love of your life changes how you view other people, and ever since Andromeda made the choice to turn them in for their revenge, they’ve been unable to look at most others with anything other than paranoid suspicion. It’s difficult for them to let people in now, unable to give their trust as freely as they did even during the war, because of the constant worry that they’ll be betrayed again.

-Detached: Living surrounded by Dementors for any amount of time changes a person, and living surrounded by them for five years takes away so much that it’s impossible to remain the same as you were before. Before, Ted felt everything deeply and sincerely. They wore their heart on their sleeve, and weren’t afraid to share their feelings no matter what. Andromeda used to joke that they sounded a lot like children’s storybook, with how eternally optimistic they were, how wholesome and full of love. No longer. It’s been so long since they’ve felt much of anything, besides anger. The utter detachment they show in the face of emotion makes them an excellent executioner.

HISTORY

1. It isn’t planned. Anyone with eyes can see that.

They’ve been together since sixth year, but only in secret, hiding their relationship from everyone but their closest, most trusted friends, not even formally living together yet––Ted in Weymouth at their parents’, Andromeda back in London––still planning how best to break the news of their relationship to her family. But that doesn’t mean that both of them aren’t ecstatic when they find out, only a few months after graduating, that they’re going to have a baby. That’s enough for Andromeda to make the choice, and soon enough they’re their own family, married on the beach in Ted’s parents’ backyard two months after Nymphadora is born.

The first few years together out in the open are blissful, so much so that at times they’re almost able to forget the betrayals that Andromeda suffered because of them. She has a new family, after all, one full of love and acceptance and affection, everything that she wasn’t allowed before. And they share that love with their two closet friends, an unconventional relationship to say the least, but one that feels a lot like home to Ted.

2. But war is hard on them. Ted can tell that something’s not quite right with Andromeda, a slow chasm forming between them, but one they can’t seem to do anything about. There are more arguments between them as time goes on, usually about the right course of action, whether it would be safer to run away and live their lives anywhere else, and sometimes Ted wonders if Andromeda regrets her decision. But they always agree that they should stay, even though as the years move forward they suspect it’s not for them, but for her family, for the off chance that they might take back what they did to her, that she might be able to have both lives.

She makes it clear that she doesn’t believe joining in the fighting is worth it. To risk losing them or Dora isn’t worth it, she says, but they suspect it’s something else. Still, they feel the same; they want nothing more than for their family to stay safe, their child to grow up with both parents, in a home as loving as what they’ve managed to give them so far. So they support the Order from afar, and live their lives, watching Dora learn and grow and blossom, all of the best parts of both of them wrapped into a child.

3. There’s this growing unease in their chest, though, as things continue, as they see the pain and suffering of people like them at the hands of people like their wife’s family, and it makes things even more difficult. They want to do something, but they know they can’t, not with Andromeda and Dora to think about. Still, there’s less playfulness between them, more worry shared, more grave looks as the news gets worse and worse, with no sign of a change even as Dora approaches their Hogwarts years.

The attack is the final straw. When they receive the news about Alice and Frank, it feels a lot like something deep within them has broken. And when the healers tell them that Frank will likely never wake from the coma he’s been tortured into, for the first time in their life they truly understand what it means to hate.

Something in the back of their mind tells them that if it had been someone else, they wouldn’t have done what they did. Something tells them that if it hadn’t been her sister, if they hadn’t felt Andromeda slowly slipping away, back toward her family, they would have found a way to move forward. But Bellatrix Lestrange doesn’t let that happen; she taunts them, leads them into taking bait that they should’ve been able to see past. And when they confront her, they do the only thing that felt appropriate. They wrap their hands around her neck and tighten their grip until they see the life leave her eyes.

And then they go to Andromeda and Alice. They look their wife, the love of their life, the mother of their child in the eye, and they tell her that they killed her sister. That they don’t regret it. For a second, they think she might understand. She knows how evil her sister is, everything she’s done; she destroyed Alice’s life. And yet...

It isn’t a surprise when Andromeda makes her choice, when she chooses her family over them, over Dora, over Alice and Frank, though they wish it is. They wish that they don’t expect it, when they see the look in her eyes when they tell her and Alice what they did, they wish that in that moment every single discussion about her family didn’t flash through their mind, the suspicion that, all along, she was just waiting for an excuse to go back to them. But they know as soon as the words leave their mouth that it’s over.

So they leave, take Dora to their parents, drop them off at the little house on the beach they had grown up in, telling their parents that it might be a while before they could speak to them again, but that they want them to keep Dora safe, raise Dora as they had raised them. And then they go back to their flat and wait.

When two aurors they don’t recognize appear at their door, without Andromeda, they feel nothing. When they take them away, no sign of Andromeda in sight, not even offering the courtesy of a real goodbye, a real explanation of what it was that made her choose the family that had abandoned her over the family that had loved her, they feel nothing.

They only start feeling again once they’re sentenced to life in Azkaban.

4. Azkaban changes them at their very core, and it doesn’t take long for it to start happening. No matter how hard they try to resist the feelings, it’s as if they’re watching their happiness slip away moment by moment. The longer they’re in the presence of the Dementors, the fewer happy memories they can recall. They realize it’s happening only a few weeks into their sentence when they wake up and realize they can’t remember clearly what Andromeda’s smile looks like.

After that, memories seem to leave them more quickly.

They’re a goldmine for the Dementors, after all, full of memories of a happy childhood, a beautiful marriage, a life full of love at every turn. So much unadulterated joy, so much for them to feed off of. They can tell that the Dementors like them, from how often they seem to stay by their cell, especially at first. And soon enough they’ve forgotten what it was like to hold Dora for the first time, the feeling they had when they married Dromeda on the beach, the first time Frank had told them he loved them, what Alice’s hair smelled like when they held her close after sex. Every happy memory slipping away.

It doesn’t help that they have a constant reminder of Andromeda in the cell next to them in the form of Sirius Black.

In all honesty, they don’t know how they survive with their sanity for so long. But as time goes on they wonder if maybe it would be better if they lost their mind, too. That way they wouldn’t be able to think about everything else they’ve lost as well. After years, Ted begins to wonder if they’re even capable of love any longer. They wonder if they’d recognize Dora if they saw them, if they’d be able to laugh at their father’s jokes still, if they could smile at Alice. Worse, they realize it doesn’t matter, because they’re alone, and they’re going to be here alone for the rest of their life.

5. That’s not true, though, because five years into their life sentence, Lily Evans appears at their cell door, telling them that she’s found a way to get them out, if they give her something in return.

She wants them to help her fight, help her change things, finally bring justice to all of the others like them, whose lives were destroyed because of Voldemort and his sympathizers, who were hated for their very being. It’s not a hard choice, even though they never were much of a fighter before. Between a lifetime of misery, or fighting for freedom, there’s no question of it.

Five years isn’t a long time, but it feels a lot like a small eternity has passed once they’re on the outside again, a full pardon granted by the Ministry for ridding the world of someone as evil as Bellatrix Lestrange. Everything is different, in the world and their own life. Suddenly, they’re living in a new home without Andromeda, with a thirteen year old child who they barely know, having missed the last five years of their life. It takes some time to relearn how to be a parent, this time on their own, but they think that that’s the one thing that Azkaban didn’t manage to take from them. Everything else is much harder, though, when they feel nothing like themself anymore.

So they focus their energy on helping Lily achieve everything she sees for the future, not for any real passion for the cause at least at first, but more because they have no idea what their life is now otherwise. She sees them as a powerful symbol, a weapon of sorts, and if that gives them something to devote their life to, then they don’t mind being just that.

And it seems to work, on both accounts. They start advocating for Lily’s vision, speaking about their experiences during the war and right after, and things build. It’s a good distraction from the emptiness that they can’t quiet shake from Azkaban, the acute detachment they feel from the rest of the world now. At least they feel like they’re making a difference for Dora’s future.

6. They aren’t happy, but they notice it’s easier to ignore the dark thoughts, somehow, despite the fact that they dispense cruel justice for a living now.

It’s not a surprise when Lily becomes Minister, but for some reason before that moment it hasn’t quite hit them what that will mean for them. In her eyes, their promise hasn’t been kept yet. In her eyes, they have a bigger job to do.

When they’re given their position in the new Minister’s administration, Ted feels strange. Is this what happiness felt like, ten years ago, before it was taken for them? They don’t think so. This is purpose. And this is the opportunity to take the anger they’ve felt in the pit of their stomach since they were released and do something useful with it. 

They tell themself that they’re creating a new world, a better world.

They make the decision to erase certain specifics from their parents’ memories, a decision that they’re still not completely comfortable with, but one they know they have to make if they want to allow their parents to have a happy life. They make them believe that they were wrongfully convicted for the murder, that Andromeda didn’t leave by choice, but disappeared, and that their position in the government is on the Wizengamot. Lying to their parents is difficult––as a child, they never hid anything from each other, their parents their closest confidants––but they know it’s for the best. And they’re surprised to find that Dora seems to agree.

That’s when they start to worry, when they start noticing more and more that Dora seems to have somehow inherited all of the worst parts of them, of Andromeda, too, that they’re more genuinely interested in Ted’s position under Minister Evans than they are themself. But it’s difficult to know how to change it, or if it needs changing at all.

This is a brave new world, after all, and they’re well aware that if things went back to how they were, neither of them will survive.

INTERVIEW

How far would you go to protect those you care about?

At least that one is an easy question to answer, because Ted has answered this very question over and over again in their own mind, since before the war. “I would do anything to protect the people I care about. And I have. I’d die if it meant protecting the ones I love,” they nod, as if that’s that. To them, it is.

If you stood in front of the Mirror of Erised right now, what would you see?

They know exactly what they’d see.

They’d see themself with Andromeda, Alice and Frank, with Dora and Neville, a big, strange, happy family. It feels a little like treason, to admit that they’d see Andromeda standing there with them, arm around their waist, head tucked against their shoulder, considering who she went back to. It feels a little like treason to admit that they still have their wedding ring, sitting in a little box they keep right next to their bed, that in the middle of the night when they can’t sleep they put it on again, and try desperately to remember what it felt like to hold her. So they push that thought aside, and lie. It’s almost too easy to lie now.

“I’d see myself and Dora, safe, happy. Maybe off in a little house down in Weymouth on the beach,” they say, and it’s not exactly untrue, considering it’s something they’d very much like to have. Does it sound too much like they’re unhappy, though? They’re worried it does, always paranoid that they’ll make a misstep, end up back where they were. So they go on. “We are safe and happy now, but things are...stressful at times. I wouldn’t mind a bit of peace, if only temporarily. A vacation, of sorts, really.”

Do you believe that anything is predestined?

“For a long time, I thought so. I thought things were written in the stars. Hell, I still do a lot of the time; old habits die hard. But the stars didn’t say anything about it ending up where I am, my tea leaves didn’t tell me, my palms didn’t say any of this. So now I guess I believe that, to an extent, our lives may be outlined by the universe, but our choices can change it in a heartbeat. Take that as you will, I guess,” they finish with a shrug, an uncharacteristic indifference. Or rather, an indifference that wouldn’t have been normal of Ted Tonks talking about anything related to divination ten years before.

Ten years ago, where did you see yourself today? What would you tell your younger self, if you could?

“That’s a cruel question,” they say with a little laugh, an edge of humorlessness to it. They shift in their seat, though, their discomfort with the question clear.

When they were younger, they had never been one to look to the future, more content to live in the moment and enjoy their time in the moment. But Andromeda had changed that. She had made them excited to think about the future, and by the time they had had Dora, there was little more that they did as they were falling asleep each night than think about what their future as a family would be like.

They saw happiness in their future, then.

And now they’re not even certain they’re capable of true happiness any longer.

“I guess I saw myself still with my wife, didn’t I? I definitely didn’t see myself having been to Azkaban because of her,” they say, voice flat, disconnected. “If I could tell my younger self anything, I would tell myself not to get so comfortable. To open your eyes, and see what’s happening in front of you, and do something to change it, even if it meant temporary pain. There were so many warning signs for what was coming. I ignored them all in favor of trying to have a happy life; it was selfish. And it didn’t work. It just made everything more difficult.”

EXTRAS

inspo tag

patronus- Since Azkaban, Ted is no longer capable of producing a corporeal patronus, but it used to be a German Shepard, who looked like their childhood dog, Lancelot

wand- 12″ pear, unicorn hair, very flexible

amortentia- the ocean breeze, fresh blueberry muffins, something flowery that reminds them of nights with Andromeda, Frank and Alice

likes: summer, English beaches, rose tea, Herbology, Sunday roast, weed, psychedelics, Joni Mitchell, classical music, Freddie Mercury, sleeping naked, poetry, tattoos, spending time with family, 80s power ballads, swimming, stargazing, campfires, forehead kisses, cuddling, being outside in the rain, being barefoot, astrology

dislikes: the middle of winter, close-minded people, vodka, straight people, black coffee, aggressiveness, being alone, waking up early, cold showers, the color orange, birds, conformity for the sake of conformity, cauliflower, hypocrites, having to wear suits everyday, deadlines, hats, small spaces

headcanons

Ted is as blind as a bat, and can’t see anything clearly without their glasses. Unfortunately, they also have a tendency to lose their glasses, which results in a lot of clumsiness, a clumsiness that Dora has inherited. Because of this, they’re very good at minor healing charms, especially since they had a tendency to walk around barefoot more often than not when they were younger.

They bisexual as fuck, and also polyamorous. They grew up on the principle of free love, and practiced just that when they were younger, physical intimacy common with their friends and lovers alike. They’re the one that initially suggested the idea of polyamory between them and Andromeda and Frank and Alice.

The dozens of muggle tattoos that cover their arms and chest started when they were a teenager, and they still add to them now. They have tattoos for Dora, for their parents, tattoos for Alice and Frank, a rare ivy that Frank grew winding up their bicep and the flower that sprouted from it only at night blooming on the cap of their shoulder. They still can’t bring themself to cover the very prominent Andromeda constellation on their forearm, the stylized portrait on their chest.

They have a rather large collection of pistols that they use for their job, most of them decorated with intricately beautiful filigree. In all honesty, guns used to terrify them; their parents are hippies at heart, and raised them in a very anti-violence house. But a lot has changed for them since then.

No matter what happens, Ted always makes certain to be home in time to make and have dinner with Dora while she’s home from Hogwarts. Before Azkaban, dinner was a big deal in their family, always a family affair, the three of them, and at times Frank and Alice as well, gathering together to laugh and share their thoughts. That hasn’t changed, even if it’s just the two of them now.

On a similar note, they still do enjoy cooking; it’s one of the few things they can still find some happiness in. Most of their memories of cooking with their family growing up, and then cooking for Andromeda after Hogwarts, meals shared with Frank and Alice, are faded or tainted now, but they’ve made new memories with Dora since then.

They’re also still very genuinely interested in astronomy and divination, never quite able to break the habit of looking to the stars for answers, searching tea leaves for what is to come. They have dozens of decks of tarot cards, and specific cups dedicated to tea leaf reading.

dora

Dora is currently a 17 year old seventh year at Hogwarts, a Hufflepuff just like Ted was, but with a mischievous streak beyond theirs during their childhood.

The summer that they moved back in with Ted after their time in Azkaban, Dora came out to them as nonbinary, and started using they/them pronouns as well. They had already come out to Ted’s parents, as well as Alice.

They love using their abilities as a Metamorphmagus to explore their gender expression, but have pretty much settled on a look, mostly changing their hair instead of their overall appearance nowadays.

They’re very interested in following a similar career path as their father, a strong believer in fighting for justice in any way they can. Part of them is considering becoming a hit-wix, but Alice has been trying to convince them to become an Auror like her.

Despite everything, they look back at their childhood with fond memories, having inherited the optimism that Ted lost. They remember the time they had with their parents together happily, and only wish there had been more of it, but they liked growing up with their grandparents, liked hearing about how similar they were to Ted when they were their age, liked growing up on the beach their father had. And they’re thankful that they have them now, that they only missed a few years, no matter how vital, because they know that things could’ve been much worse.

In Ted and Andromeda’s absence, Alice became something of a mother-figure to Dora, especially once their Hogwarts letter came in the mail, and their muggle grandparents were a bit out of their depth. Even before, they had seen Alice and Frank as a second set of parents, ever present figures in their life as they grew up, and once Ted was in Azkaban, Alice became their greatest connection to the wizarding world. She took them shopping for their books and supplies, she helped them prepare for Hogwarts.

⤜ Name/alias: Rose ⤜ Pronouns: She/her ⤜ Age: 25 aka cue the Quarter-Life-Crisis. ⤜ Timezone: UTC + 2:00 (aka Eastern European Time Zone) ⤜ Activity: I think it’s a solid 7. ⤜ Best form of contact: Cami’s Tumblr account. Lurker extraordinaire. I’m there even when I’m not. ⤜ Any Triggers? None that are permitted in this roleplay. ⤜ How did you find Vieux Noyés? Aaaaah funny story… ⤜ What drew you to the RP? … Getting the chance to create this world with the two best co-mods on the planet. ⤜ What is one subplot/element from the Plot page that you are particularly looking forward to seeing in this roleplay? One of my favourite plots from our Plot page is the one involving the Salem witches impinging on the territory that belongs to the New Orleans Coven. The latter might be down and out for the time being, but I don't think it'll stay that way for long and I'm very excited to see whether the witches of New Orleans can become a power to be reckoned with and rebuff Salem's intrusion.

⚜ Desired Character:

⤜ Name of Character: Quentin Herrera, né Adrian Flores.

⤜ FC? Bob Morley

⤜ Biography + Connections: 

Adrian Flores Quentin Herrera ⚜ Werewolf ⚜ 26 ⚜ The Sentinel ⚜ ISTP  

When I am silent …

He’s staring down the barrel of a gun, pupils dilated in disbelief. It’s not the first time he’s had a gun pointed at him, but it is the first where the intent is to kill.

- “You’re a loose end, Adrian. You know we can’t allow that. Maybe if you’d opened your eyes, been a little smarter…”

- “I won’t talk!! I swear! I won’t tell them anythin’!!”

- “So they all say. I’m sorry, Adrian.” There’s a click as the safety latch is flipped off the trigger, and in that moment, his adrenaline kicks into overdrive - But rather than fear, he feelsrage. Not at their callousness - that’s part and parcel with the job description - but at their greed. Hasn’t he given them enough? Repaid his father’s debts twice over, run competition out of business, extended the trade’s reach like tentacles throughout the city? He doesn’t sleep, he barely eats, he doesn’t dream, his good arm is broken in three places from ‘old lessons learned’ (because ‘don’t shoot the messenger’ is a lie they tell you when you’re young and dumb and still think you can quit)…

So when the gun goes off, anger is still coursing like a tidal wave through his system, blood pounding in his ears. Fear doesn’t come until later, when he’s on the run; fear comes with the realization that he’s killed a man. He doesn’t stop running for weeks, months - and though he changes his address and his name, he knows that death is a stain that cannot be washed off this new slate he’s grappling for. Which is why when every bone in his body breaks down one night only to be replaced by matted fur, claws and yellow eyes - Adrian figured he was paying for his godless crime. It wasn’t far from the truth; an explanation he only got months later when setting up camp in the Bayou of New Orleans.

           {He was young; but he knew his own soul, it was precious to him, he guarded it as the eyelid guards the eye, and without the key of love he let no one into his soul.}

Werewolf… Because apparently his life wasn’t complicated enough. It’s yet another gory image to the dreams that have started up again as his insomnia gives way to a disturbed sleep. In his nightmares, he doesn’t know which is worse; when he pulls the trigger or when he doesn’t; blood paints his vision red either way and he wakes up drenched in cold sweat.

But Adrian - or rather Quentin, as he goes by these days - is trying to leave the past behind. If there’s one silver lining in this shitty story it’s the fact that neither the law nor the gang has caught up with him. At first he feared a trap; every street corner implied a surprise-attack, every siren’s wail was the police coming for him. But as the months crawled by, that tiny, deceptive flicker of hope lit up within him again.  What if this really was his fresh start?… Maybe he could do it right this time. No drug-peddling, no mafia, and no blood money. He’s taken up a job as a bouncer for a local club,Ampersand, because it’s well aligned with the few talents he picked up while selling drugs; looking for signs of impending trouble, and muscling his way out of it. It’s not a job Quentin loves, but it pays the bills and even leaves a little bit left-over. It doesn’t amount to much once he’s finished paying for his mom’s antidepressants; but given that he has to stay away for her own safety, covering her medications seems to be the least he can do. Besides, if it wasn’t for the fact that the gang took her husband’s life and then reduced that of her son’s to shambles - she wouldn’t have needed them to begin with. But that’s one of the many thoughts he prefers to keep stashed away in a corner of his mind that he doesn’t mess with much. Because he’s gotta focus. Maybe one day he’ll manage to make something of himself and escape the shithole of a city that gave birth to him. Maybe then he’ll be able to get back in touch with his family and really get his mom the help she needs… It’s a dream that stands in stark contrast to the ones he sees at night, but he has to start somewhere, right?

                                                    … I have thunder inside of me.

Web of Connections

Lydia Martin: If escaping both the justice system and the criminal underworld was his first lucky strike, landing a job as Lydia Martin’s part-time bodyguard is certainly his second. It’s no thanks to the snarky redhead, of course, but instead to her mother, who insisted on upping security for the family while hosting public events. He doesn’t get why someone of Mrs. Martin’s status would insist on hiring ragtag no-namers like him instead of some quality muscle, but he isn’t about to question it. Besides, the job’s been easy enough so far, as long as he keeps his senses tuned to the world around him - while simultaneously pretending to be blind, deaf, and dumb where Lydia’s forked tongue and she-devil antics are concerned.

Jackson Kenner: ‘Trust’ isn’t a word Quentin throws around lightly; not after what he’s been through. But Jackson’s come closer to earning his than most. He’s answered all of his questions on being a werewolf; including the ones he never really voiced. And the man exudes a kind of raw honesty that’s hard to come by these days. He won’t admit it aloud, but the more time they spend together, the more he feels as though Jackson is the brother he never had. Quentin wants no part in a war - not after he’s waged one his entire life - but if push comes to shove he’d throw his lot in with Jackson. It’s the least he can do for the person who’s become his makeshift family in New Orleans.

Jenna Sommers: He first took note of the unassuming highschool teacher at the library, while getting frustrated over the paltry results of his research on lycanthropy. Miss Sommers was seated a few tables away, tutoring students in what he guessed was History. It wasn’t a topic that had interested him much in highschool; he’d barely scraped by with a C - much as most of his classes. But listening to the passion with which Miss Sommers explained the relevance of the Past, Quentin couldn’t help but wonder whether he’d been too quick to dismiss it. He’s run into Jenna a few times since then and even spoken to her once or twice. She is down-to-earth, and lacks the matronly air that had him avoiding teachers in his youth. He wants to ask her whether she’d ever be willing to tutor him, but he’s never summoned the courage to ask. Besides, what good would it do for a dumb kid like himself anyway?…

Isaac Lahey: Jackson was the one who first told him Isaac’s story; the witch ritual, the intention to sacrifice him for their own self-serving ends, the way the boy had killed the woman wielding the blade rather than lay his head down on the chopping block… There are just too many parallels between Isaac’s story and his own past in a gang. They’re both loners, by nature or by necessity; neither of them can afford the luxury of trust. Because of that - or maybe in spite of it - Quentin wants to help the skittish boy in the hopes of saving him many months of fear and the anxiety of having to shoulder the weight of his burden alone. But Isaac’s been persistently difficult to locate, let alone approach. Which is why when Quentin found out that he was relying on a witch for shelter and a roof over his head, he couldn’t understand it. What would ever compel him to trust a witch again after what he’d endured? Quentin suspects foul-play and intends to get to the bottom of it - even by sticking his nose into business that doesn’t concern him; a tendency he’s normally happy to avoid.

Katherine Pierce: Where stories of Isaac’s past have came to his attention, Quentin remains hopelessly in the dark where Katherine Pierce’s infamy is concerned. The brunette has been trying to cozy-up to him on the nights where he’s working at the club - and she doesn’t seem inclined to take ‘no’ for an answer. He doesn’t know what the hell she sees in him; it isn’t as though bouncers reek of class or wear a uniform. Besides; with her sensual build, sly good looks and come-hither personality, he bets she could snap up just about any guy - or girl. He can’t exactly shake Katherine on the job, but the more he finds himself smirking in response to one of her tongue-in-cheek remarks, the less Quentin finds he wants to rebuff her. Little does he know what those dark, laughing eyes have in store for him…

Plot Teasers:

Quentin’s tentative relief as he settles into his new life will be short-lived once his old debts catch up with him — from both sides of the law…

This lone wolf may soon discover that he isn’t so alone after-all, as familial ties reveal themselves in unexpected places…

On the soundtrack of his life: I’ll Be Good - Jaymes Young (x)

⤜ Personality Traits: (+) Honest, Hard-working, Unpretentious (-) Distrustful, Intolerant, Moody.

SPECIES, FACTION AND AFFILIATION INFORMATION:

⤜ What is your character’s species? Werewolf

⤜ If supernatural, what is their level of experience with their abilities? Triggered within the past year, not very experienced - packless, ie; omega.

⤜ Is your character affiliated with any of our factions? No.

⤜ Why do you want this character? A I’ve always been a fan of trying my hand at characters that are different from the ones I’ve played in the past. Quetin is pretty much Cami’s opposite in so, so many ways. Supernatural, distrustful, more of a lone wolf, not the best conversationalist, wary of everyone… Etc. I just want to see what kinds of trouble he can get up to in the Quarter.

⤜ What are your future plans for this character? I want to work on immersing Quentin into New Orleans and entangling him with the rest of the cast. It’s the last thing he wants to do; get involved, build connections - for all he knows, New Orleans is just a pit stop to his final destination. But that’s exactly why I want to have him forcibly build roots. Also, no matter how much he wants to stay out of trouble, I think he’s drawn to it because it’s really all he knows. It’s his instinct to keep an eye out for danger and tells himself he’ll run in the opposite direction if it comes too close. But because he’s been the victim one-too-many times before, it’s difficult for Quentin to turn a blind eye when it happens - or when he sees other victims in the making. More often than not, he gets involved. One day, he’ll pay for it.

⤜ Put yourself in your character’s shoes. Give us a few lines to describe a day in the life of your character… Where do they live? Where and how do they spend their time?

Quentin lives in a fairly rundown single-bedroom apartment just on the outskirts of the French Quarter. He could probably afford something he’d be less embarrassed to show to a guest, but a) he’s not planning on any guests and b) he’s trying to save up some dough. There’s no illusion about it; he knows the money from his drug-dealing days will dry up soon and it’s extra stress he doesn’t need on his shoulders right now. He used to be an early-riser, back when PTSD and withdrawal symptoms weren’t this big a problem. These days it’s hard enough for him to get three decent hours of sleep in a row - let alone wake up early to face the day. It’s part of the reason why he figures working as a bouncer isn’t costing him much. So he’ll drag his ass out of bed sometime after noon and try to get some type of physical activity in to out-compete the constant lethargy in his muscles. If there’s one plus to werewolf physiology it’s certainly that a little goes a long way. If he’s feeling antisocial - which is most days - he’ll follow it up with day in; updating himself on the news (both local and in Chicago), do his best to keep tabs on the stories that don’t make it onto the news regarding the Mafia’s extensive activities - and try his best not to alert anyone onto his digging. Hours fly by nursing his anxiety in this way - or maybe his obsession - before he remembers putting in a call to his mom to make sure she’s okay. Their conversations usually leave him feeling guiltier than not, and he’d hate to admit that it’s often with relief that he ends the call right before going to work.

On days when he’s had just about enough of his four walls, Quentin seeks out the pack in the Bayou - Jackson’s, specifically. He does so carefully, constantly wary of being followed and hoping that he’ll find the Alpha as close to alone as possible. Sometimes they’ll train together, sometimes Jackson will answer his questions - or sometimes they’ll just sit in companionable silence over a drink or two. He likes those nights best. If he isn’t at work, at home or in the Bayou, Quentin is usually in a meeting with Mrs. Martin, answering an inquisition regarding Lydia’s safety and whereabouts, or in attendance at some glitzy event he doesn’t want to attend. Very rarely, he can be found poking around Tulane University or the local library, thumbing through books he wishes he understood. In the evenings he’ll put on the tv and watch something mindless until he blocks out his thoughts and dozes off for the night.

⤜ Give us three headcanons regarding your character of choice.

1) Quentin’s has a petty thievery habit that he can’t quite shake. Things that won’t be missed; Carol Lockwood’s tattered copy of the Great Gatsby, or a french menu he swiped out of a too-expensive restaurant that Lydia was visiting. He can’t really explain why he does it, other than a fleeting curiosity in the objects when he first sees them, but as a result Quentin has a stockpile of random shit at home.

2) Quentin has GAD, or generalized anxiety disorder. It’s yet another of the many side-effects resulting from his years as a drug dealer; with the fear of constant shakedowns hanging over his head. The fact that his brother spent time in prison and that he himself is still under Emilio’s thumb only exacerbated his symptoms over time. It’s subtle for the most part, manifesting itself in the odd tick or repetitive behavior – but it can become quite severe when he’s under stress, and has led to a panic attack more than once before.

3) Quentin’s favourite movie is Slumdog Millionaire, and his favourite book is S.E. Hinton's The Outsiders. He hasn’t had the chance to read too many books in his life but he’s damn near certain this would be his favourite even if he’d read every book in the universe. There was just something about being a Greaser that made him feel like he could relate… Like S.E. Hinton knew exactly what she was talking about. The only thing that changes each time he rereads the book, is which character he relates to most at that particular point in his life. Ponyboy when he was little, Two-bit when he’s stealing, Johnny when he’s breaking down and Darrel, when he has something to look up to.

⤜ What are some plots you’d like to explore with your character? Quentin’s distrust of the witches and the vampires is growing, especially because he sees (or imagines) too many parallels between them and the mentality of the Mob he’s running from. He’s heard of too many abuses of power, and he hates how both set of supernaturals have something about keeping up appearances. I think he’s going to make enemies fast in both camps, and I’m totally here for it. I’d also like to explore a plot where he actively attempts to get back on track with his education (something that's privately important to him) and see where academic life takes him. Lastly (for now!) I want to see whether being a packless wolf brings on pressures of its own as different Alpha powers begin to oppose each other in the Bayou and the threats - both internally and externally - increase.

⤜ Para sample:

This isn’t his scene, not remotely. But if Lydia’s mom wants to pay him fifty bucks an hour to stand in a corner and watch over her daughter, it’s no skin off his back. There’s alcohol floating around and that makes this whole thing a little easier, although it’s been months since he’s really felt the buzz. Jackson mentioned something about werewolf metabolism once, although he isn’t sure he was listening to the details. Now, as he reaches for a pricey shot of whiskey, he wish he’d listened better.

Quentin spots Lydia as he brings the glass up to his lips, briefly makes eye-contact with her before she goes back to pretending he isn’t there. He doesn’t care, he prefers it that way. She’s easier to monitor when she isn’t trying to get a rise out of him or batting those eyelashes with enough emphasis to get him fired. Green eyes, like bayou leaves or the underbelly of a dragon… That, combined with the flaming red hair is as effective as a stop sign.

His eyes travel over to her stepdad, Mr. Lockwood, who’s busy laughing too loudly at his own joke. The dad has a smile that makes him want to kick over a garbage can in his path. A smile made of razorblades. And then there’s Tyler, a few feet away. Tyler looking rich and shiny like a… Well like a douchebag, really. It’s enough to have him knocking back the rest of his whiskey without a second thought. On the bright side, he’s not paid for their security. Father and son could spontaneously combust and he’d still go home with a paycheck so long as Lydia kept away from the flames. On the downside, there’s still three more hours left to this social soirée. He wants to go for another drink but doesn’t in case he’s being monitored. Instead, Quentin finds himself in the empty gallery.

It’s been four minutes, maybe five when he feels the unmistakable sensation of a metal barrel to his spine. The boy stiffens immediately; body one long, taut string. If he moves, he’s dead. Muscle memory knows how this works. “What the fuck do you want?”

“Is that any way t’ welcome an old friend? Huh??” The gun is whipped twice against his external oblique and the werewolf buckles forward in response to the throbbing pain.

“Leave me alone, I’ll-”

“- Or else what? Think you can kill me too? There’s a lotta people coming for you, Flores. And the things they wanna do to you, kid…” There’s a slick, wet sound as he sucks the saliva in between his teeth. “Let’s just say I wouldn’t wanna be you. But the new Don wants me ‘o give you a choice. Calls it amnesty. All you gotta do… Is kill Carol Lockwood. ”

And there it is again, that tidal wave of rage that rises within him without warning. He doesn’t know if he’s angrier at the thug or at himself for foolishly hoping the Mob’s mercy would come free of strings. In a flash he’s rammed one elbow into the man’s stomach and turned to shove his knee where it’ll cause the most damage.  “You’re gonna regret that!” The other snarls just as he dives for the gun. It goes off with a deafening bang and misses Quentin by a hairline. Conversation stops in the adjoining room and within seconds his assailant is gone, leaving a crumpled heap on the ground, and a broken window in his wake.

The next thing he knows Lydia is rushing in, closely followed by a bunch of other well-to-dos. The sharpness to her whisper is unmistakable; she’s furious. “What the hell are you doing?? Who was that?… Nothing to see here, people, just a clumsy little slip! Back to the foyer!”

It takes him a good minute to regain control of his vocal cords as the crowd disperses. “Nobody.” His voice is hoarse, and when he grasps the back of a chair in order to help himself up, the tremor in his hand betrays him. “It was nobody.”

⤜ Would you like to be considered for another character if not accepted as your primary choice? No.

⤜ Have you read the rules?: Yes

OUT OF CHARACTER:

Name: Christine Age: 24 Pronouns: they/them Timezone: GMT Activity: medium/high -- I’m a full time grad student but am usually on to do replies at least every other day Triggers: [redacted]

BASICS:

Character name: Billie Arthur Weasley Gender and pronouns: transgender woman, she/her Date of birth: 29 November, 1970 Occupation: Curse Breaker Former Hogwarts house: Gryffindor Boggart: muggles, she’s heard, call it claustrophobia, the sense of the entire room closing in around you, pushing in until you can’t breathe, but for her, it’s just strange, now -- when she was younger, her boggart had been a giant, oversized spider, its legs clickclacking as it moved towards her, but now... ever since she returned to England, it’s the feeling of being trapped, of not being able to breathe, of being buried alive.

PERSONALITY

A true Gryffindor at heart, Billie is courageous and a little reckless, and despite a fairly laid-back exterior, she’s always searching for some kind of new adventure. However, before all else she is principled and determined, never compromising her own morals or beliefs or desires for anyone else’s sake. She always sees the best in others, even when it means she ends up expecting too much or misjudging someone’s motivations. When she doesn’t get her way she can be incredibly obstinate and hold grudges.

HISTORY

one. She grows up surrounded by war. You wouldn’t know it, though. She’s eleven when the war ends, just starting her first year at Hogwarts, and the only influence of the entire thing on her life is a double funeral, the second-hand black dress robes her mother leaves on her bed the morning before, a dreary churchyard in Ottery St. Catchpole. She didn’t know her uncles Gideon and Fabian well -- at one point, her mother had been close to her older brothers, but the war had pulled them apart when the twins joined the Order and Molly distanced herself in order to keep her children safe.

She never thought it stuck with her; a simple fact of the world was that the world had been at war when she was young, and that then it had been over. That war happened, it ended, and things got better. She’s sheltered from it; which, she thinks now, is exactly what her parents wanted. What business does an eleven year old have, understanding the intimacies of war? Only, not every eleven year old is so lucky.

two. Hogwarts is easy, when she puts her mind to it. She likes learning, she makes friends with ease. She is the kind to set her mind to work easily, to get things done well, and she takes to magic fast, particularly adept at Charms and Defense Against the Dark Arts. Her life there is, for all intents and purposes, simple; she becomes a prefect; she becomes Head Boy. She plays quidditch, for two years, and then leaves the team after a repetitive stress injury in her shoulder  in sixth year makes catching difficult and Keeping impossible.

This is not the interesting part of her story.

She meets and exceeds the expectations before her; that’s just what is done. She is driven, but not to anything in particular. Not by anything in particular, except that she is the eldest, and she is to provide a good role model for her brothers. People -- her parents, her professors -- set expectations in front of her and she does the only thing she has ever known to do. She feels a vague discomfort, sometimes, that she doesn’t understand. She kisses a few girls. She kisses a few more boys. She is generally well-liked, generally unobjectionable. But she discovers no great passion; she feels restless, for seven years.

She looks through a list of possible post-Hogwarts jobs and the required OWLs and NEWTs to get there. She thinks Curse Breaker looks fun, looks adventurous; it’s a job with a tangible goal, and it’s very, very far away from England.

three.  Molly is... well, a bit suffocating. Even with six other siblings, Billie’s Hogwarts years are filled with the constant fretting and doting and scolding, a mother’s love, sure, but honestly, a bit much, what with the Bill, darling, don’t you think it’s time for a haircut, and we’re so proud of your OWL scores, dear, only-- don’t you think Curse Breaker is a bit... well, dangerous?

It takes moving to Egypt for three years to give her the space she needs to be anything other than the child her parents wanted, the brother her siblings looked up to. The Curse Breakers she works with are a rowdy lot -- overachievers, like she had been at Hogwarts, but mellowed by time and adrenaline and the easy skillfulness with which they navigate the cramped tombs and sidestep certain death. Young and beautiful and reckless and brilliant, they inspire her, teach her how to be a little more free than she’d ever let herself be.

One, in particular, a handsome wizard a few years her senior with hair dyed and shaved like he ought to be in a muggle punk band, takes a liking to her, and Billie Weasley falls in love for the first time. Around everything else, they spend hours lying in bed talking about the world, about their world views, and he’s a strong believer in reinventing yourself without the influence of parents who expect too much of you. She doesn’t know if she agrees that her parents expected too much of her, but she does start thinking about the places where her heart doesn’t meet their expectations of her.

four. She comes out to Charlie, first. They were always the closest, their shared drive for adventure keeping them in a lockstep through most of their childhood. She came out to him first, too, when she came out as being bisexual, at sixteen, and that feels... harder, than it is now. Harder than it is to write him a letter saying, Charlie, I’m a girl.

She doesn’t know, for a long time, how to tell the rest of her family. Charlie accepts her without question, of course he does, he’s always been the type. Fred and George couldn’t care less, tell her she’s got to make her name something that still begins with B or else all those jumpers will go to waste. Ron doesn’t seem to notice that anything is different; he’s much the same as their father, that way, adapting in a slow and halting way to pronouns and the like, harmless and well-meaning. Percy thinks it’s all daft, rolls his eyes, doesn’t speak to her much at Christmas.

Ginny, eight and lonely, is ecstatic to have a sister, insists on braiding her hair and sharing her jewelry and talking about boys late at night and all the things she’s always wished she had someone to do it with. Billie humors her, holds her close, doesn’t let her notice that when she presses her face close into her sister’s hair, there are tears in her eyes.

Molly... tries, bless her. Not hard enough. But she tries, in her own way. It’s almost enough not to hold it against her. It’s enough to pretend not to.

five. She comes back to England after three years in Egypt. Temporary leave, they call it, but what it is is a bloody desk job. She can’t be trusted to do her job anymore. No, there was a tomb, just outside of what was once called Thonis, a tomb they weren’t supposed to go into -- too dangerous, one of the senior curse breakers had said, forget about it. He’d wanted to go in anyway, asked her to come, and she’d thought: it’s not safe. And in the tomb, there was a trap he didn’t notice, a rogue curse. The Healers tell her it severed his jugular, that it likely took several minutes for him to bleed out, alone in there, before he stopped breathing.

What she hears is: if you had been in there, you could have saved him. If you hadn’t been a coward, he would be alive.

She comes back to England a shell of the person she was when she left, a hollow thing. She moves back into her bedroom at the very top of her parents’ tall, tall house. It had been Percy’s, after she left, so he could have a room to himself; she doesn’t redecorate.

It is the first time she sees what has become of Britain. The first time that she, as an adult, fully wraps her head around what her world has become. And about what she has become, in her parents’ shadow. She goes to work every day, at a little desk in a back office in Gringotts; she reads the paper, every day. Starts to see the news about executions. Adjusts without much difficulty to the presence of muggles in their formerly closed-off world (he’d been a muggleborn, showed her his Sony Walkman and a handful of CDs one of their first nights together, told her about telephones and televisions and tele-everything, and it’s all she can think of when her dad buys one of each, every gadget he can get his hands on, a brand new Macintosh Classic that costs enough that Molly swats him across the head with her Witch Weekly when he tells her how much he spent).

She drifts.

six. No one can be stagnant forever. It festers.

It turns from depression to resentment, before she realizes it. And one day, sitting silently at dinner with her parents and Ginny -- it’s September, and Ron’s eleven now, so he’s started Hogwarts, and Fred and George and Percy too, and Charlie’s still in Romania with the dragons -- she snaps. She isn’t listening to the conversation but her father says something banal about an argument he overheard at work, something about the executions and the Minister, and her mother says well you wouldn’t want to get involved in all of that, save your own skin while you can, and something inside of her breaks.

She doesn’t remember what she shouts, hands shaking, as she stands up from the table, but when she thinks about it, it sounds a lot like maybe if you stood up for anything in your bloody joke of a life and she doesn’t mean it at the time but when she finds herself sitting in a pub in Diagon Alley an hour later next to Mary MacDonald, she thinks maybe she did mean it.

She thinks maybe there’s got to be more to life than saving your own skin. There’s got to be something worth fighting for, some adventure just around the next corner if only you’re willing to stick your neck out and take a risk.

She thinks maybe, maybe, there’s a reason the hat put her in Gryffindor after all.

INTERVIEW

Describe the recurring dream you’ve been having lately.

    ‘I’m, ah. I’m in Egypt again. Merlin, this is going to sound so bloody cliché. Right, Bill, bloody buried alive, how original--’

She runs a hand through her hair, then gets fed up halfway through, extracts it, pulls an elastic off her wrist and loops it quickly through the long mass of red, missing a few strands here and there.

    ‘Right, sorry. Ah, so I’m in Egypt, headed down into one of the tombs, and the tunnels are narrower than usual, like, barely broad enough across for me to stand without scraping my shoulders on the stone of the walls, so I can’t have my wand drawn as I make my way through them. And every time I reach the end of the hallway, there’s a fork, and every time, no matter which way I turn, it’s the same bloody hallway -- I can tell, the hieroglyphics are the same. But when I focus on the hieroglyphics to see if I can read them, to see if they say anything, they’re, well, they’re not hieroglyphics. They keep changing. First they’re, dunno, cyrillic probably? Then they’re Chinese characters, then they’re English but the letters don’t make up real words. And every time, as soon as they turn to English I hear someone screaming, from down the hallway, and it’s someone I know, but I can’t run because the hallway’s too narrow, and I can’t reach them because every time I turn I’m in the same hallway, and I must just exhaust myself, running in circles like that, because every time I wake up, I’m out of breath, and I never remember who it was screaming when I try to think about it...’

She’s quiet, for a moment, then clears her throat and leans back in her chair, only just realizing that she’s moved to the edge of it, dug half moons into her palms where her nails have grown too long for that kind of nervous gripping.

    ‘Sorry, bit morbid. But, er, that’s... been once or twice a week, now, for the past couple of months.’

What’s the most convincing lie you’ve ever told yourself?

    ‘That one person can’t make a difference. My mum used to say that kind of thing a lot, you can’t change the world on your own, all that. I think maybe she felt guilty, sometimes, after her brothers died, that she hadn’t done anything to help. Or maybe it was the opposite, maybe she was still mad at them for putting themselves in danger to try to make things better when they would’ve been safer at home. I don’t... know, for sure, why she did anything she’s done, but what I decide to do matters and if I keep hiding forever because I think I don’t matter, that I’m better off saving my own skin, I’m going to end up like her.’

What has been the most beneficial aspect of the Statute of Secrecy being abolished? What about the greatest deficit?

    ‘Well, my dad’s pretty chuffed about it, isn’t he? I’ve got to admit, having some muggle things around the house have been pretty nice -- the telephone, CDs, pencils are bloody brilliant. Muggle fashion’s amazing, too, much better than robes and all that. But, in all seriousness, I think we’ve gone about things all wrong -- none of this is about trying to make two worlds that have been separate for all this time coexist. It’s about building a world that works for everyone, even if that means starting from scratch. And I don’t think it’s working, this way. I don’t think it’s enough.’

Ten years ago, where did you see yourself today? What would you tell your younger self, if you could?

    ‘Ten years ago? I was twelve, I saw myself becoming a professional quidditch star, just like every other twelve year old whose ever ridden a broom. I know that’s not the point of the question or whatever, but it’s true; didn’t exactly have a remarkable sense of self at that age. What I’d tell myself, though? That’s a better question. Would’ve been bloody convenient to have realized I’m a girl before all of that puberty business, wouldn’t it?’

EXTRAS

inspo tag

details:

    wand: maple, unicorn tail hair, 11″, sturdy

    amortentia: sun cream, cider, cinnamon

    patronus: falcon

future plot ideas:

one of the things I’m primarily interested in exploring with Billie is the idea of a blind idealist who sees a sort of heroic, dramatic way of “revolution” or “saving the world” as the only way to make a difference or do something important; there’s a tension between her and Molly -- whose existence is a much quieter, more practical thing -- that I’d love to see come to a head, and see how that affects her interactions with characters like Atticus and Mary, for whom things like revolution are unavoidably a life-or-death situation. I want to see her realize she’s not entirely right in her worldview, to be forced to see things from the points of view of some of the other characters and have to come to terms with the fact that these things she believes with her entire heart aren’t necessarily as true as she thinks they are

expanded personality:

MBTI type: ENFP, the Campaigner

The Campaigner personality is a true free spirit. They are often the life of the party. More than just sociable people-pleasers though, Campaigners read between the lines with curiosity and energy. They tend to see life as a big, complex puzzle where everything is connected – but see it through a prism of emotion, compassion and mysticism, and are always looking for a deeper meaning. Luckily, Campaigners know how to relax, and they are perfectly capable of switching from a passionate, driven idealist in the workplace to that imaginative and enthusiastic free spirit on the dance floor, often with a suddenness that can surprise even their closest friends. Being in the mix also gives them a chance to connect emotionally with others, giving them cherished insight into what motivates their friends and colleagues.

enneagram type: type Eight, the Challenger

People of this personality type are essentially unwilling to be controlled, either by others or by their circumstances; they fully intend to be masters of their fate. Eights are strong willed, decisive, practical, tough minded and energetic. They want a lot out of life and feel fully prepared to go out and get it.

zodiac sign: Saggitarius