hogwarts au :: semi-advanced rp discussion

O L I V E R " O L L I E " F R E Y R
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[image error] [image error] [image error]  ℼ  twenty-nine × defense against dark arts × half-blood × head of [house] ℼ

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insert fitting song lyrics here for use


He's the type of person everyone wants to talk to. Laid back, easy to smile, easy to laugh, it's a disarming, relaxing air which comes with the devilishly good looks and a killer smile. It seems he's always willing to help, always willing to laugh at your terrible jokes, to diffuse the tension by giving another half-smile and telling you with warm, honey-filled eyes that it'll be okay. And you believe them. They all do. Disillusionment such as this is what he lives for.

Because it's not okay. Ollie would know. His once sharp smile has been dulled by melancholy and grief spattered upon him like paint, the old, stale stench of pain never quite rubbing off the back of his mind no matter how hrad he tries. They juxtapose the eyes so full of life and wit, and he knows that he will forever be haunted by the demons always threatening, always looming, the storm clouds and low flickers of lightning. He'll be the first to be hit, if he doesn't run for cover soon.

But running is something Ollie has yet to do. When the storm crashed, he was his own greatest casualty, and after picking up the pieces, it seems as if the glue didn't stick quite right for within, Ollie is a different beast. No longer the optimist, although no one can tell. What did life teach Ollie? That everyone is hiding something. Everyone is hiding demons, all trying to cover cracks and breaks with more paint, whatever shade or texture it may be, it's still paint. A mere mask, a mirage, a disillusionizing facade, nothing more. Sharp and pointed, Ollie cuts right past your bullshit and zeros in on the ugly corners you try to hide with fake plants and elaborately set-up furniture. He's not just a genius, she's observant, quiet and easily unnoticed until the moment she walks into the classroom and demands the attention of everyone in the room with charisma, grace, and and an otherworldly radiance.

. jamie dornan
. eddie redmayne
what even is he
help

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they'll either want to kill you, kiss you or be you

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(Female :: Seventeen :: Seventh Year :: Slytherin)

It was the first of September. Two children stood on the edge of the tracks, alone in the center of the bustling crowd, waiting for their new lives to begin.

Hogwarts, the girl whispered, unheard but to her brother, testing the word out on her tongue. It sounded right. Just as this, all of this, seemed right. Now was their moment. Now was when they could leave behind all those unhappy years where they only had each other, and start again at Hogwarts, this school of magic, this new world.

She learned quickly. She learned their first lesson when they didn't know the answer to the first question they were asked, which in itself answered the question. They were told by the smirking boy standing at the door to their carriage that they were scum, that they shouldn't be here, that they didn't belong here. That he was better than them, he owned them.

Her next lesson was a promise. A promise that she would pay for the bright red blood pooling on the floor of the carriage, dripping from the boy's nose. The blood that looked no different from their blood, yet was somehow still vastly different.

The next lesson came when she sat down on the stool at the front of the school, everyone watching and waited as a hat was placed on her head. She waited, desperate to prove that she belonged here every bit as much as everyone else. Slytherin. Everyone turned to watch the small girl marching with her head held high toward the table where the purest of them sat. She didn't know, then, what was to come. But she was told, later. Told as she stood in the green common room, clutching her brother's hand as tight as she could, afraid to let go, as if letting it go meant letting him go. She was informed that she would never be accepted at Hogwarts. No pure-bloods would accept her because her blood wasn't pure enough, and the other houses wouldn't go rushing to her aid. No good muggle-born would be placed in Slytherin, after all. She was alone but for her brother in a castle full of people.

As the years went on, more than a few 'hate crimes' were committed against her. She was easy, after all. She was young, she was alone, and she would never tell a soul. Who would listen? She was the perfect victim. But she learned other lessons, in school. She particularly excelled in wandwork, hexes. She learned to fight back.

Now, in her seventh year at Hogwarts, she has acquired a certain respect around Hogwarts. She's survived. Survived seven years of pain. And there are three time of people at Hogwarts. Those who see her beauty (for she's no longer the first year who marched over to the Slytherin table) and want her, more than anything. Those who want to take her down, the mudblood girl who dared to mudify their house's purity and stand there looking proud doing it, and those who are jealous, who wish they could be as brave as her, as ambitious and cunning, as willing to do whatever it takes to stand on equal ground with the pure-bloods.

She's not afraid anymore. She's not afraid to defend herself, and her brother for that matter. She cast cast a perfect hex is she needs to, and if it comes down to it, she can still throw a wonderful punch.

She is still alone, but she is not alone and afraid anymore.

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( B E N J A M I N E R I C S O N ) male × half-blood × gryffindor × 16 × fifth year
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There was a time when Benjamin Ericson was more than content being a follower. He felt he was meant to blend in, to be identified as part of a pack and not an individual, to succeed at the art of obeying. His mother left only five months after Ben was born. The doctors diagnosed her illness as postpartum depression. She diagnosed her illness as witch, a brand seared into her like some malignant tumor, another mark of her failure, of her abnormality. Jeanne Aethelbeorn had spent her whole life running away and not even her child could stop her from disappearing for good one day, never to return.

He was never taught how to miss his mother, so he never dwelt on the absence for long, grounding himself in his father's presence, a lifestyle that involved many strippers, cheap cigarettes and even cheaper liquor. He learned to follow his father from the pot dealer's apartment to the dressing rooms of strip clubs where he fell asleep in many a stranger's arms. Your job is to shut up and smile, his father once said, and Ben was more than happy to comply.
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( the dark's not taking prisoners tonight )

if my life's going to be a joke, i just hope it's a damn funny one.

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