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Today, I'm sharing something a little different from my usual romance stories. This piece is purely a creative exploration centered around my original character - Lucy Kay.
Lucy has grown on me significantly over the months. What began as just a name in a story evolved into a full-fledged roleplay character in a Discord server, and she’s quickly become very dear to me. The Lucy I’ve come to know has a deep backstory, rich lore, and more layers than I could possibly condense into a single introduction. She’s something special, and I’ve really fallen in love with this little nugget of a character.
This short story was originally written as a character exploration in our server, and I was so pleased with how it turned out that I wanted to share it here. It brings me so much joy to see Lucy take shape, and I hope you enjoy this small glimpse into her world.
If you ever want to know more about Lucy, don’t hesitate to reach out - I could talk about her endlessly!
(Note: The image accompanying this story is AI-generated based on how I picture Lucy, rather than commissioned artwork.)
Summary: Lucy Kay completes her illegal Animagus ritual over the summer holiday.
Word Count ~3400
Legs for Days
The first thing Lucy learned about the Animagus ritual was that it was stupid.
The second thing she learned was that attempting it under the nose of a paranoid, sharp-eyed apothecary master while working full-time in his shop was possibly stupider.
And yet, there she was.
Standing behind the counter of Wicklow’s apothecary, jaw clenched, face utterly blank, attempting to look normal while a slimy, bitter, absolutely foul-tasting Mandrake leaf resided under her tongue like a bar of soap in the mouth of a cursing child.
"You're exceptionally lacking in your usual whinging today." Wicklow grunted from the back room, the scraping of mortar and pestle carrying with his voice. "Not that I mind the bloody silence, mind you."
Lucy blinked once, slowly, resisting the urge to roll her eyes.
That’s because if I open my mouth even slightly, this entire operation goes to hell.
Instead of responding, she made a hum of agreement and busied herself organizing the front shelves, sorting bottles by size rather than ingredient because she could practically see Wicklow’s eye twitching and she found that amusing - and distracting from her present plight.
The leaf was disgusting.
She had known it would be unpleasant - everything about this absurd process was designed to test patience, something she barely had in the first place - but this?
This was downright miserable.
Not speaking for a month? Fine.
Not chewing properly for a month? Horrific.
She had spent years perfecting the ability to act completely normal while barely eating, but this was another beast entirely - literally. Wicklow had already eyed her suspiciously at lunch when she had withdrawn a single piece of toast from her pouch and then just… sat there, staring at it like it had personally wronged her until she ultimately opted to subsist on nothing but pumpkin juice for the remainder of the day.
And tea. Merlin’s bloody beard, she missed tea.
She'd learned the hard way that hot drinks were a terrible idea, nearly losing the entire month-long process to a scalding sip of Earl Grey on the first morning. That had been a close call. A very close call. She had no idea how anyone was expected to maintain this ridiculous, fragile ritual for thirty-one days.
But she would.
Because she’d lost that duel by the boathouse.
Because she’d underestimated her opponent, and she hated that more than anything.
Because when he had vanished mid-step, shifting seamlessly into a form of muscle and claws, she had barely been able to react before she was flat on her back.
And Lucy Kay did not lose like that.
If there was one thing she was good at, it was adapting.
She would endure the ridiculous leaf. She would endure every painstaking, inconvenient, infuriating step of this process. And when it was over, she would have yet another weapon in her personal arsenal.
She imagined herself shifting for the first time - sleek, powerful, dangerous. A bear. A panther. A dragon. Something that would strike fear into her enemies, something that commanded respect.
It had to be something grand.
Anything less would be a waste.
She heard Wicklow’s footsteps approaching and schooled her expression into perfect indifference as he stepped into the shopfront, narrowing his eyes at her.
"You look like you swallowed a dungbomb." He muttered, reaching for a jar on the shelf. "Not getting sick, are you?"
Lucy shook her head once.
Not yet, anyway.
"Good. I’d hate to have to put you down."
Lucy grinned, all gritted teeth caging in that damn leaf.
Not if this leaf does it first, old man.
Hamish snorted and left her to it.
One month.
She could survive one month.
She had endured far worse.
And so she did indeed endure.
The first thing Lucy planned to do when the month was finally over was eat an entire loaf of bread out of spite.
Not because she was particularly hungry - though she was, having mostly consumed nothing but juice as of late - but because she could. Because she could chew properly again, could taste things again, could drink tea without feeling like she was navigating an elaborate death trap.
The second thing she looked forward to doing was preparing for the next stage of the Animagus ritual.
It had to be done precisely at the full moon, and if one single thing went wrong - if the sky was cloudy, if she messed up even slightly - she’d have to start over from the beginning.
The entire month.
The thought made her ill, so she took every precaution possible.
Which was how she ended up perched on the roof of Wicklow’s apothecary, crystal phial in hand, waiting for the moon to emerge like some deranged imbecile conducting an occult ritual.
Which, really, she was - but no one else needed to be privy to that.
The leaf - that wretched leaf - rested on her tongue, a miserable, soggy thing, soaked in a month’s worth of suffering.
She hated it.
She had never hated something so much in her entire life as she did that fucking leaf. Even Iona herself was beginning to take second seat in her utter loathing.
The full moon shone bright and clear above her, not a cloud in sight, though, and that in itself boded well enough.
Lucy leaned forward, tilting the small phial so that it caught the pure light of the moon.
She spat the Mandrake leaf into the phial with as much force as humanly possible, watching it sink into the liquid with grim satisfaction.
She wasn’t done yet, unfortunately. Such a finicky process.
Next came the additions - the personal piece of herself, the elements that would tether the transformation to her.
She reached up and plucked out a single strand of hair, carefully placing it into the phial.
Then, the dew.
This had been its own nightmare. Finding a place untouched by sunlight or human feet for a full week in a village full of wizards was nearly impossible. But she had managed. It had taken several long, very frustrating nights of sneaking out into the wild Highlands, crawling through brambles, and swearing at nature, but she had found it - a quiet, hidden hollow, untouched and perfect.
The tiny silver spoonful of dew followed the hair into the phial.
Last, the chrysalis.
The Death’s-head Hawk Moth was rare, elusive, and most fragile. It had taken weeks to locate one and immense care to keep it intact. She had guarded it like a dragon hoarding its nest, ensuring that nothing would ruin it.
She placed the delicate chrysalis into the mixture and watched in eager anticipation as it sank beneath the surface.
The phial was complete.
Lucy exhaled nervously, staring at the small vial in her hands.
It looked… unassuming. Just a bit of moonlit liquid with a few strange things floating in it.
But it was so much more.
She had done it. Getting to this step alone was a feat, and she was quite pleased with the accomplishment. But, there was always more work to be done. No rest for the wicked, after all, and what was more wicked than illicit rituals as an underage witch?
The mixture needed to be stored somewhere dark, untouched, and quiet now…
She had already chosen the perfect place - a hidden nook beneath the floorboards of her room at the Three Broomsticks.
It would stay there until the next step.
And then, when the storm came and the lightning finally struck, she would finish this ritual.
Lucy smiled to herself, holding the phial up to the moon one last time to ensure it collected all the damn moonlight it wanted before tucking it carefully into her cloak.
One step closer.
-
And sure enough, the storm hit fast.
Lucy had been watching the sky for weeks, muttering incantations over her heart like some lovesick poet every evening, waiting for the inevitable moment where nature and her will finally aligned - and now that it had, she had about three minutes to get to a spacious patch of the highlands before she missed her shot.
She bolted out the back of the apothecary that evening, the rain slicing sideways through the alley, her cloak whipping around her ankles. The cobblestones were already slick beneath her boots as she sprinted through Hogsmeade, past shuttered shops and glowing windows, heart pounding in her chest.
No time to check if Wicklow had noticed her absence. Not that she expected him to - he was probably hunched over a cauldron, muttering insults to himself about idiot apprentices.
And anyway, she had bigger problems.
Like the blood-red phial clutched in her fist as she raced the storm roaring overhead.
By the time she reached the highlands proper, the wind had picked up and whipped around her. The storm was at its peak, lightning splitting the sky, and all she could think was, If I get struck by lightning mid-transformation, I am going to be so unbelievably pissed.
She skidded to a stop at the crest of a hill, breathing hard, soaked to the bone, and laughing a little under her breath because Merlin, this was stupid.
So stupid.
She pressed the tip of her wand to her chest, feeling the now familiar second heartbeat against her ribs.
"Amato Animo Animato Animagus."
The storm crackled in response.
The potion remained invitingly crimson in its vial.
Lucy squinted at it, turning it slightly to inspect the red liquid. She had spent months on this. Months of prep, of suffering through that bloody Mandrake leaf, of nearly choking herself to death every time she tried to take a drink.
And now, here she was. The final step.
She exhaled a steadying breath. "Well. Cheers, I suppose."
Then, she knocked it back in one go.
It burned like boiling water had been poured into her bloodstream, igniting something inside her. Her vision blurred, her head went light, and her heart - both of them now - began to hammer wildly.
And then a bolt of lightning split the sky, and the world dropped out beneath her feet.
-
After all the theatrics, the first thing Lucy noticed was that she wasn’t dead.
Which, frankly, was a bit of a surprise.
She partly expected something to go horribly awry - the potion to backfire, her limbs to twist into some half-formed monstrosity, or for a stray bolt of lightning to smite her where she stood. But no, she was alive.
Something was indeed different, though.
Her vision had changed - stretched, almost, like the world had been pulled into a fisheye. The rain felt different too, not hitting her skin but soaking into fur. The storm still raged above her, but the sounds were louder, and the earth itself even smelled different.
She had done it.
She had actually done it.
Lucy grinned - or at least tried to. The movement felt strange, unfamiliar, like her face wasn’t quite built for expressions anymore.
…Huh.
That was when she realized she couldn’t stand up properly.
Her front legs - legs, not arms, legs - buckled as she tried to move, her body longer, thinner, horribly unfamiliar. She staggered, paws - paws - slipping in the mud.
No need to panic.
She just needed a moment to adjust.
A moment which was promptly interrupted by a gust of wind catching her absurdly long, ridiculous, unreasonably thin legs and nearly knocking her over like a sack of damp twigs.
Lucy froze.
Her mind caught up with her body, her new proportions, her shape.
And then it hit her - a brief vision in her mind.
She was a dog.
Not a bear. Not a panther. Not a powerful predator or something impressive and fearsome.
A bloody overgrown, leggy, ridiculous, merlin-forsaken CANINE.
No, no, no.
This couldn’t be right. The ritual must have messed up somehow. She had done everything perfectly, endured that stupid leaf, chanted every day like a lunatic, risked getting caught by Wicklow, and this was what she got?
This noodle-bodied, absurdly proportioned, damp-looking -
Lucy tried to growl.
It came out as a whine.
Brilliant.
She sat - awkwardly, because her legs seemed to go on forever, folding underneath her like a newborn fawn - staring out over the rain-drenched highlands in abject horror.
This was humiliating.
Of all the creatures she could have become - a bear, a hawk, a great, snarling beast of legend - she was this.
A Borzoi.
Lucy whined again, dropping her head dramatically onto her too-long legs, rain still pelting down around her.
Thus, Lucy sat in the rain, in the mud, as a very large, very leggy, very damp Borzoi, contemplating every single life choice that had led her to this exact moment.
And she had a lot of time to think.
Because she had no idea how to stand up properly.
Her limbs weren’t just long, they were endless. Every time she adjusted, they tangled under her like she was some giraffe marionette whose strings had been cut.
This was mortifying.
A low whimper -
NO, NOT A WHIMPER, A GROWL, DAMN IT
- escaped her before she could stop it.
And then that was enough wallowing.
This was still her body.
She was Lucy fucking Kay.
With what little dignity she had left, she planted her stupid, gangly, entirely-too-thin legs beneath her and forced herself upright.
Alright. Standing.
That was an improvement, at least.
Now, she just had to…
Move.
She took a single step forward, and her front leg went too far. Her back legs went nowhere. The rest of her failed to keep up entirely.
Gravity won.
Lucy collapsed sideways into the mud.
For a long, long moment, she did not move.
The rain dripped off her drenched, pathetic, shaking frame. The wind howled. Somewhere in the distance, an actual predator probably felt a sudden, inexplicable wave of secondhand embarrassment.
This was fine. This was completely fine.
She was just going to lie here, in the dirt, and let the earth swallow her whole.
That seemed reasonable.
Except - no.
No, actually, it wasn’t fine. It was offensive.
She had spent months preparing for this. She had suffered through that damned mandrake leaf, stolen forbidden ingredients, lied to Wicklow’s face daily, and now she was lying in the dirt like an overgrown, rain-drenched rat?
With renewed spite, Lucy forced herself upright again, this time more balanced.
Front leg.
Back leg.
She tried another step.
It wasn’t graceful, but it wasn’t immediate failure, either.
Then another.
And another.
And then, suddenly, something clicked.
She took a real step, and then another, and then, before she could stop herself, she was moving, her legs stretching out, her body following, paws hitting the soaked earth with a rhythm now, until she wasn’t just moving - she was running.
And running felt good.
And Merlin, she was fast. The Highlands blurred around her, raindrops flying off her sodden coat as she tore across the hills, weaving through the landscape with a natural ease that hadn’t been there minutes ago.
This form was built for speed.
Her doubts, her irritation, her absolute horror at being a bloody dog faded slightly, pushed aside by the sheer, undeniable thrill of movement.
Maybe this wasn’t a complete loss.
Still undignified, obviously, but Lucy Kay now felt like she was the fastest thing alive.
She was little more than a brown streak of wet fur and gangly legs, cutting across the Highlands through her storm.
Being a dog wasn’t entirely awful.
Still hideous, though - that part was non-negotiable.
Lucy skidded to a stop near a shallow stream, panting. Her paws sank into the damp earth, her impossibly long legs finally feeling like they belonged to her instead of some cosmic joke at her expense.
She huffed, shaking out her soaked, miserable coat.
Then, finally, she turned toward the water to get a look at herself.
The reflection that stared back was…
…unfortunate.
She had never seen a Borzoi in the flesh before, but she was intimately familiar with what a wet mop looked like, and apparently, that’s what she was now.
The longest, dampest, saddest thing she had ever seen.
Her legs were absurd. Her snout was unnecessarily long. Her already pitiful ears drooped under the weight of the rain. She looked like someone had cast a Stretching Charm on a normal dog and then left it out in a thunderstorm to marinate in regret.
This was so far removed from the grand, terrifying animagus form she had dreamed of that she actually had to take a moment to emotionally process the loss.
Instead of a dragon, she was this horrific, overcooked Victorian noodle dog.
Her new horribly long nose bumped against her own paw as she tried to curl up in defeat, her body taking up far too much space no matter how she twisted snd pretzeled her limbs.
At least Wicklow would never know.
That was something, at least.
Lucy sat there for a long moment, watching the rain distort her already ridiculous reflection.
And then she started to laugh.
It came out as a wheezing sort of bark, and that made her laugh harder, which just made her sound worse, until she was cackling like a dying goose in the middle of a storm, alone, soaked to the bone, in a body she absolutely did not ask for.
It was hilarious.
Because of course, nothing in her life had ever gone to plan, so why should this be any different?
She pushed herself up, legs wobbling slightly, and gave herself one last long look in the stream.
Alright.
Fine.
So she wasn’t powerful.
She wasn’t fearsome.
But she was fast.
The problem with being fast, however - really, properly fast - was that stopping was an absolute nightmare.
Lucy discovered this the hard way.
Running was easy now, like her body had been designed for it; because, apparently, it had. The first few wobbly, mooncalf-on-ice attempts were behind her, and now she could race. Wind whipped around her too-thin frame as she skimmed across wet grass, paws barely touching the ground before pushing off again. It was a rush, a natural sort of momentum.
But she had also learned something very important: this body had no brakes.
The first time she tried to stop, she did not stop.
Instead, her long, wretched, treacherous legs betrayed her completely, folding under her like a cursed bit of origami and sending her skidding twenty feet downhill in a mess of fur, mud, and dignity.
It was fine, though.
She had survived worse.
It had, admittedly, taken a bit longer than she would like to untangle herself, especially because Borzoi legs apparently just kept going and did not, in fact, function like normal limbs. But after some rather intense self-reflection and five solid minutes of lying in a heap questioning every life choice she had ever made, she had determined that she was, at the very least, built for speed, not impact.
Regrettable.
-
She was still sulking about it when she finally slunk back toward the apothecary, shifting back into herself with the ease of muscle memory, wet clothes plastering back over her like they’d never left.
She rolled her shoulders, still feeling the strange, phantom presence of too many limbs, and combed a hand through her drenched and tangled hair.
She was stiff, soaked, and covered in mud.
As soon as she stepped inside, the warmth of the shop hit her, along with the heavy scent of woodsmoke and herbs. The instant Wicklow saw her, he let out a grumble from behind the counter, not looking up again from the potion he was brewing.
"Do I even want to know?"
Lucy plucked a piece of grass off her sleeve. "Probably not."
He grunted, off-handedly reaching for his wand and casting a drying charm on his wayward apprentice. "Thought not. Try not to get yourself killed or arrested before your shift tomorrow, yeah? Sundays are busy.”
Lucy grinned, the familiar warmth of dry clothes easing her.
"Wouldn’t dream of it."
She headed for the stairs toward the workroom to finish her abandoned tasks, shaking out her still-damp hair.
The Borzoi was useless in a fight, but it was fast and agile, and - if she had to admit it - kind of fun.
It wasn’t what she expected or really even wanted, but she'd worked hard at it, and she couldn't help the sense of pride washing over her.
She’d head to the bookstore at lunch tomorrow and read up on her new inner beast.
And then never tell a soul of her shame.
Because it still looked absolutely, unforgivably stupid.
Looking for a cozy escape this holiday season? Join our Hogwarts Legacy RP server and immerse yourself in the wonder of a snow-covered castle and the bustling charm of Hogsmeade in winter. Sip Butterbeer by the fire, skate on the frozen Black Lake, and explore festive holiday events that bring our magical community together!
✨ Seasonal Highlights:
🎄 A Secret Santa Gift Exchange – Surprise a fellow character with a magical gift they’ll never forget!
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🎁 Holiday Feasts & Warm Drinks - Celebrate with friends with good food in the Great Hall or with a warm butterbeer in good cheer at The Three Broomsticks!
Whether you’re a student sneaking around under the mistletoe or a professor plotting holiday homework, there’s something for everyone. Don’t miss the chance to make new friends, share magical memories, and bring your character to life this winter.
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I finally got to finish another one, after some thought and changes. Meet Jasper Ward, my 7th year slytherin oc. I created him on the spot during my second play through of HL and i just went with the flow of building up his character.
Appearance
Jasper has messy raven black hair. He has brown eyes from his father. And he has pale skin, he is covered head to toe in freckles.
Background
Jasper Ward was the son of Samuel Ward and Zilla Ward, he was born and raised in Australia. His father was an Auror while his mother was a Journalist and Editor. Though from an unknown cause, Samual would fall ill and the family was forced to move to London were Samual would stay at St. Mungo. Jasper would be 2 when he saw his father pass away. 3 years went by before Zilla would find a new lover, Julian Lenor a wizard who worked as a Curse Breaker for the ministry. At first Jasp didn’t necessarily like his stepfather but as they grew to know each other, Jasper would like him the more he got older. Jasper would be 5 years old meeting his little sister Elanor Lenor. At the age of 10 he started calling Julian dad and not by his name. It was also the year he showed magical capabilities by trying to help Elanor not fall. He received his hogwarts letter a couple of days after his 11th birthday. When going to get his school supplies in diagon ally his mother wanted him to go pick out himself a pet. Thats when he fell in love with a tarantula which he named her Crystal. At his first year he was sorted into slytherin. While at hogwarts he discovered his love for art and beasts…specifically dragons or any dangerous beast. As he would make a lot of art works of dragons. By his 5th year his little sister Elanor would start her first year, being sorted into Gryffindor. Jasper didn’t necessarily care for which house she would be in just as long as she is safe. He wasn’t afraid of beating up some brats who pick on her. He would be in his 7th year when the New Fifth Year shows up, Elanor being in her 3rd year. Obviously with the goblin rebellion and dark witches and wizards Jasper was on edge, especially trying to look out for his house mates and sister.
I feel like he could be of help to MC as he has knack on how to deal with dangerous creatures. (And a possible plot point of him becoming a leader to a spider colony. As well as another plot point of him befriending a dragon.) Jasper knows Omins and they are on good terms as well as Sebastian though Jasper often times wanted to help Seb with his situation, but was afraid of making things worse for the 5th year.
Patronus
When i did the test i was not suprised? I mean the stag describes him perfectly honestly. Specifically the leadership and protection. His big brother energy just makes all the first years flock to him with questions and he happily steers them to the right direction. He looks out for everyone, especially Ominis and Sebastian.
Wand
Minus the Pure-Blood aspect, and a powerful linage, Jasper has dexterity and he respects himself as well as knowing his self worth. What caught my eye the most was that it can have a negative association. Jasper’s father passing away from an illness way to early in Jasp’s life. He doesn’t care about the pure blood thing. But this is apart of a good reason why he’s really good at charms and nonverbal magic.
Personality
• He is a social butterfly, he doesn’t mind being left alone though, it leaves him to his thoughts and art.
• He is very active, but more on the outdoorsy type. He doesn’t play quidditch but he loves taking walks and hikes. He just wants to enjoy the scenery.
• Sloppy, like I mean unkept spiky-ish hair. And everytime you see his uniform there is at least something wrong with it. Like his dress shirt isn’t even tucked in or he might’ve forgotten his belt. He just has a lot on his mind to were fashion is the last thing he’s thinking about.
• He is a nice person all the way, he supports students breaking the rules every now and then. He may be a 7th year but he aint no prefect, he can be just as mischievous at times. He will enforce the rules if he has to though, like bro you obviously shouldn’t be sneaking out past curfew, go to bed, you gonna lose house points. Other than that, dont try anything to his sister other wise he’ll have Crystal steal your things and make sure you have arachnophobia. Dont cross him unless you want bugs in your bed.
• He is brave, he has a pet spider the size of his hand, in which he trains. Crystal is the best girl ever, he plays with her like a yo-yo. Don’t worry, she enjoys it. He got detention once for bringing in a centipede. His nickname is Bug Boy through out the entire school.
• He is very playful but he can get serious fast! Say or do something wrong and he will get onto you. He can be a lenient person but don’t push it. If his sister is involved he will panic internally and will snap at people if they do anything to Elanor. He’s pretty chill though in general.
• He is agile but everyone falls every now and then. He slipped down a flight of stairs in the DADA tower once.
Overall
In conclusion, Jasper is inspired off of my older brother. They are both slytherins. As well as some personality traits. I really wanted Jasper to be a good example as a slytherin, a lot of people see them as troublemakers. Yeah Jasper got into trouble a couple of times but it was because of his curiosity. But i over all wanted him to be a fun natural leader who will protect his family,friends, and the innocent no matter what. Jasper was also a little inspired off of Newt Scamander, specifically with knowing how to deal with dangerous beasts and creatures.
In Game Screenshots
Jasper catching Seb red handed.
My Art
Ai Art
What i picture Jasper Ward to look like:
Attention!!! I only use Ai or Picrew to help me get a visual. Im shit with realism or legit human faces. Plus i can show you who im picturing! :)
Fyi marcgallagher32 describes Jasper’s time at hogwarts perfectly. Just in the 1800s though lmao
(Her ghost bestie, Masahiro, wrote over it) (and helped her write it)
I just wanted to share one of my Hogwarts Legacy oc. Might do the others too later 😮💨
Thanks to @kiwiplaetzchen for the template ✌🏻🥸
⠀⠀⠀ 𖥨ํ🕊️ Name : Hakashi Reita. Her family is quite special in its own way. Let's just say that its members have always had fun giving their children names with gloomy meanings and, of course, the little girl was no exception, being named Hakashi. A very pretty name... for such a bad meaning. Haka is said to mean "Tomb", while "Shi" means "Death". As for her family name, which is just as pleasant, it's Reita. Her name comes from the words "to be haunted" (取 り 憑 か れ た, Tori Tsukareta). The phonetic syllable rei in her name may also represent 霊 (rei), meaning spirit or ghost.
⠀⠀⠀ 𖥨ํ🕊️ Special ability : Even if she’s blind, Hakashi has the uncanny ability to glimpse the souls of those who have died and are still roaming the earth. Although she's in charge of moving souls to the afterlife, some seem unwilling to leave because they haven't yet fulfilled their last wish. She uses this gift to help them leave in peace. This is one of the reasons to why she keep her eyes closed most of the time, finding hard to look at some of the souls but mostly because they are annoying *kof kof* Masahiro *kof kof*.
⠀⠀⠀ 𖥨ํ🕊️ Personality : Hakashi appears at first glance to be an eccentric and cheerful girl, an image that belies her background in a family that runs a cemetery. Known for her love of pranks and her disdain for idleness, she is determined to live her life to the fullest. This zest for life and her quirky personality often leave a negative impression on those around her. A former classmate, in particular, goes as far as to describe her as having a "punchable face" and suggests she should be kept in a frozen room. Hakashi's acceptance of death as a natural part of life might come across as insensitive to some, but it allows her to truly respect her job of helping the dead "cross over." This perspective leads her to dislike certain scientists, particularly those who seek to prolong life unnaturally. Her personality is as multifaceted as the grains of sand in a desert, constantly surprising people with her bizarre ideas. Despite the impression that she is always playing and never working, Hakashi's true dedication shines when she leads funeral processions down lamp-lit aisles, revealing a dignified and solemn side. She can amuse herself for hours playing a four-player card game alone, an activity whose joys remain a mystery to everyone but herself. While widely regarded as a lax entrepreneur due to her idle moments, Hakashi's commitment to her unique approach to life and work is unwavering.
⠀⠀⠀ 𖥨ํ🕊️ Story : Hakashi was born on October 31st, under a moon that bathed the world in a cold, ethereal glow. She was a child of the night, born at 3:00 a.m., or more precisely at 3:33 a.m., an hour fraught with meaning. It is said that 3:33 a.m. is the devil's hour, the moment when evil spirits rise to observe the souls of the living as they drift off to sleep. It's at this dark hour that the barrier between the world of the living and that of spirits becomes fragile, allowing malevolent entities such as demons and ghosts to insinuate themselves into our reality.
In a room dimly lit by flickering candlelight, an exhausted woman tormented herself:
« That's not my daughter ! Look at those black eyes, that thing isn't human, it didn't come out of my womb, no, it can't be ! » she cried, her voice shattered by fear and incomprehension.
These words, tinged with terror, reached little Hakashi's ears like a distant whisper, muffled by the thick darkness surrounding her. She tried to open her eyes, but her eyelids refused to give way. A first attempt failed. A second, too. And a third.
Hakashi was blind. Her black eyes, two unfathomable orbs, couldn't grasp the light of day or the loving faces around her. But she perceived something else, a presence invisible to others. In the darkness of her world, she could see shadows moving, indistinct shapes that did not belong to the realm of the living. Ghosts and spirits haunted her gaze, intertwining in a silent, perpetual dance.
Thus, from her very first breath, Hakashi Reita was plunged into a universe where the boundaries between life and death dissolved, where shadows whispered forgotten secrets and wandering spirits disturbed the sleep of mortals. As a child of the night, born under a dark star, she had to learn to navigate this strange and disquieting world, guided by her keen senses and intuition.
The first years of Hakashi's life were marked by constant hardship. Her mother, deeply disturbed by her daughter's appearance and peculiarities, found it difficult to accept her condition. Despite this difficulty, her father remained a pillar of support, doing his best to surround Hakashi with his love and reassuring presence. The environment in which Hakashi grew up, however, made her existence even more complex. Her parents ran a cemetery, a place imbued with silence and mystery, where the boundary between life and death seemed constantly blurred.
In this cemetery, spirits wandered ceaselessly around Hakashi. Certain apparitions, with their frightening shapes and faces distorted by pain or anger, would have terrified any adult. For young Hakashi, small and vulnerable, these visions were a source of night terrors. Shadows swirled around her, their incessant murmuring filling the air with a palpable, oppressive presence.
It took several years for her parents to begin to understand their daughter's innate ability. It was a long road of misunderstandings and fragmentary discoveries. At first, they attributed Hakashi's nocturnal fears to simple childhood nightmares. But as time passed, they realized that these "nightmares" were in fact visions, glimpses of a world invisible to the eyes of the living.
The discovery of this ability turned their lives upside down. They understood that Hakashi was not just a different child, but a soul endowed with a rare and powerful gift. She could perceive the spirits that haunted their graveyard, interacting with them in a way that no one else could. This revelation brought a mixture of awe and fascination to her parents. For her mother, it finally explained the strange events surrounding her daughter's birth, while for her father, it reinforced his desire to protect and understand his precious child.
The nights remained difficult, populated by whispers and disquieting figures, her only companions were the spirits who had seen her born. They watched her with benevolent, sometimes malevolent curiosity, and taught her the secrets of an invisible world. Hakashi learned to listen to the voices of darkness, to sense evanescent presences and to understand the messages of ghosts.
In this life woven of darkness and occult light, Hakashi Reita, child of the night, forged her destiny, inseparable from the shadows that had welcomed her from her earliest hours.
⠀⠀⠀ 𖥨ํ🕊️ Patronus : The butterfly patronus represents transformation and rebirth, a flowing free spirit. People with an inner butterfly are creative, it flowing out of them like a river, and their ideas tend to pile up on top of each other. They have a love for their own mind, and want to make sure it is constantly in use. They can be a bit scattered in this way, as they often fly from place to place mentally, starting on one thing before they finish another. They are sensitive and fragile, but their inner strength is still strong, and they can hold themselves up despite the blows they are given.
TRIVIA
𓀾 | Hakashi's highly-developed senses enable her to fully compensate for her blindness.
𓀾 | Her sense of touch enables her to read with her fingertips, sensing characters printed on a sheet of paper; her skin also enables her to feel changes in temperature or pressure in the atmosphere around her. In this way, she can detect the presence of a person - apart from her other senses - at a distance of around 1.50 meters, thanks to the heat given off by that person.
𓀾 | Thanks to her sense of smell, she can identify a person by smell if she has spent at least 10 minutes with him. It's strong enough for her to know their approximate position. After practicing this skill for so long, she has acquired the ability to sense emotions as well as follow objects, humans or living beings over long distances. (She’s a dog)
𓀾 | Her hearing is so developed that she can hear a person's heartbeat over a distance of 10 meters and hear people whispering behind a wall. However, she can be disoriented by particularly loud and unexpected sounds.
𓀾 | Hakashi’s taste enables her to identify all the ingredients in a dish or drink.
𓀾 | She love to pop up behind students scaring the daylight out of them, coming out of the corner and « GRRAAHHRHRJAHR ».
𓀾 | Butterflies tend to follow her, and that wherever she is, butterflies will be there for absolutely no reason. What is actually fun is that butterflies are related to death.
𓀾 | She was hated at Mahoutokoro because she advertises her funeral parlor and refuses to help people who are about to die, because if that doesn't happen, who will she bury ? Business is business.
𓀾 | She’s that one friend that gives you oddly frightening fun facts. Facts that make you go « why does she know that? ».
𓀾 | Since her eyes are always closed, she sometimes falls asleep in class. When she's lucky, it passes.
With the help of some cute Gremlins, I was able to create a
Character Sheet / Student ID with different designs for each house for your Hogwarts (Legacy) OC/MC!
Please feel free to use it and share your character(s)! :3
💚💙💛❤️
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