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Maren Teague: Introduction

Basic Information

Full Name: Maren Eseld Teague Nickname(s): typically called Teague by her coworkers or Mare by her friends, Maren will respond to just about anything, including frantic hand waving Age: 28 Date of Birth: 4 January 1955, 11:55am Hometown: Falmouth, Cornwall, England Current Location: Greater London area, England Ethnicity: white Nationality: English Gender: cisfemale Pronouns: she/her Species: human, witch Orientation: bi Religion: agnostic Occupation: mediwitch at St. Mungo’s Living Arrangements: a respectable flat that is neither small nor large, rundown nor high end Language(s) Spoken: English, BSL* Accent: Cornish, light Left or Right Handed: left

#about #wiw task001

Lilavati Greengrass: Introduction

Basic Information

Full Name: Lilavati Eneida Greengrass, nee Shafiq

Nickname(s): Vati, though only Amada and a few truly close friends call her this

Age: 26

Date of Birth: 9 March 1956, 5:09pm

Hometown: a remote estate on the northern cliffs of Anglesey island, Wales

Current Location: the Royal Borough of Kensington and Chelsea, Greater London area

Ethnicity: ¼ white, ¼ Mexican, ½ Indian

Nationality: Welsh

Gender: cisfemale

Pronouns: she/her

Species: human, witch

Orientation: panromantic, demisexual

Religion: Hindu

Occupation: socialite, former employee of the Investigation Department of the DMLE

Living Arrangements: Greengrass House, an early Georgian home in Kensington

Language(s) Spoken: English, Spanish, Hindi, some Welsh

Accent: Welsh, light

Left or Right Handed: left

#about #wiw task001

Eleanora Burke: Introduction

Basic Information

Full Name: Yamin Eleanora Burke Nickname(s): Ele, though she’s not terribly fond of it and will only tolerate certain people using it Age: 22 Date of Birth: 5 July 1960, 9:05pm Hometown: the Burke estate, Burke Lodge, in Joyce Country, County Galway, Republic of Ireland Current Location: lives at Burke Lodge, works in London Ethnicity: ½ white, ½ Chinese Nationality: Irish Gender: cisfemale Pronouns: she/her Species: human, witch Orientation: demiromantic, pansexual Religion: atheist Occupation: Clerk for the International Magical Trading Standards Body Living Arrangements: Burke Lodge Language(s) Spoken: English, Irish, Mandarin, Latin, Ancient Greek, French, Cantonese Accent: Irish, understandable but distinct Left or Right Handed: left

#about #wiw task001

Full Name: Bellatrix Callidora Lestrange née Black Gender: Cis-female Pronouns: She/her Age: 31 Birthday: April 19th Sign: Aries Blood type: pureblood Hogwarts house: Slytherin Relationship Status: Married to Rodolphus Lestrange Positive Traits: loyal, strong, intelligent Negative Traits: cruel, unpredictable, stubborn

full bio under the cut

From the moment she was born to Druella and Cygnus, Bellatrix was told she must be loyal and faithful to her family. Simply fall into line with everything her parents asked of her and her life would be easy, not that it wasn’t already as she had been fortunate enough to be born a Black. And she kept true to that value, she knew as the eldest and future heir that there was more that was expected of her compared to her sisters. She knew she would be the head of the family should anything happen to their parents, she knew that she was to be married one day and continue the line of heirs, she knew that she had to show the world that the Black family was in power for a reason. No slipping up. Which led to lessons from both her parents on how she should be acting to the world, Druella wanted her to be dressed as a proper lady of the house, someone that men would easily fall to the feet of wishing to be married to her. Something she begrudgingly went along with for as long as she could until Narcissa came along and could be the dress up doll her mother always wished for. But on the other hand, Cygnus believed that despite her gender, he needed an heir that was strong and could carry the weight of the family without a problem. So, he began to instill in her that emotions were for the weak, never let her enemies know what she was thinking because then she’d be one step ahead of them. This mentality only grew within Bellatrix, especially as she went off to Hogwarts, she never let anyone fight her battles nor would she let them defend her. She was her own woman that more than capable of handing the mess herself. From her father she also learned that intelligent was everything, it came in all shapes and sizes, and she needed to prepare herself as much as she possibly could. When at school she did her best in her classes, but not enough to be top of the class, why make herself a target when she could stick to the average level and let her enemies underestimate her worth. It has been assumed that because of the tough teachings and the tough love outlook her parents drilled into her during her childhood that Bellatrix has little to no compassion for anyone. For the most part that is true, she had only chosen a few people within her circle that she shows any true kindness towards but being at Hogwarts as well as joining up with the Death Eaters has only led for her cruelness to grow to its full potential. The Dark Lord had always welcomed her cruel streak with open arms so there was no reason for her to reign in that chaos. With cruelness like hers, Bellatrix knows she is as unpredictable as they come. She won’t shy away from saying what she wants or doing what she wants, something that her and her mother always fought about the most. Now that she’s married and a well-known Death Eater, there’s no reason to impress anyone to be her partner. With her anger growing from her escape, one can only assume she’s just a ticking time bomb waiting to explode again.

It was no surprise when the sorting hat had barely grazed her head before shouting Slytherin, there was no other place for a Black to be sorted. Now surrounded with individuals who were taught it all just like her as well as the individuals that they were told were lesser than them, muggleborn wizards and half-blood witches, meant all that cruelness could be released. She formed a small group of likeminded friends, immediately proving herself to be the leader, as they targeted those that they were told were not worthy of the magic they were gifted. She was a terror to everyone, strutting through the halls with a snarl across her face and her head held high. Bellatrix knew she was better than everyone and she made sure to prove it, bullying other students, talking back to professors, earning letters home based on her behavior. Letters she was sure gave Druella heart attacks and hoped made Cygnus proud. Everyone knew her name and everyone knew to step aside when she walked by the brunette was reveling in the fear she was creating. When Andromeda followed behind her, she tried and tried to make her sister follow completely in her footsteps but always knew deep down that Andromeda was not the type of person she was. Alice was another matter, one she refused to acknowledge as anything more than a fluke in the Rosier blood. How was it that her mother’s maiden family were so weak to produce a traitor when Evan had come out as such a shining star. Trying to keep hopes high when Narcissa joined them, it was obvious the youngest of the three sisters seemed to follow her eldest sister more but not the same. Yet again when it was time for Sirius to join the lot of them, to be blunt, shit hit the fan. Bellatrix was furious and outraged that she was ever related to yet another traitor and she always went out of her way to make her cousin’s life hell just as she had with Alice. In her mind, it was as though Sirius and Alice were no longer her family. Her family was those that found themselves beside her in Slytherin, her family was those who kept to each other and were there for each other, her family was loyal. And because something in their heads was different from the rest of them, Sirius and Alice were now written off as nothing more than the blood traitors they found themselves befriending. Even with Regulus now being the last to join the family at school, Bellatrix found herself forever focused on those who she now found herself estranged from. Part of her now feeling ashamed and sorry for Regulus and Evan to have to admit that they were the brother of such abominations.

Upon graduation from Hogwarts, Bellatrix found the next step was finding a job or getting married. The former she felt she wanted nothing to do with as the state of the Ministry was quite questionable and she didn’t want to associate with the failure that was impending on that front. So that left her with the latter option, something that delighted her mother entirely. But Druella didn’t get the easy process of finding her daughter a husband that she would’ve liked, Bellatrix made sure to put up the most fighting she could. She didn’t want to be married yet, she didn’t want to be the proper pureblood wife that her mother was, there was more for her out there than being someone’s little wife. Her reputation from Hogwarts seemed to have carried far into the real world and many men that her parents presented were terrified of such an outspoken wife. Something about not being able to control someone like her is what they all said. Not that Bella had a problem with that, it gave her more time to search for that something more she had always been hoping for.Such a thing finally came to her in the form of Tom Riddle. Someone along the same social circles had mentioned a group forming to shape the wizarding world back into what it once was. Purebloods being at the top of the ladder again, running the world, and pushing those lesser to the side. Everything that Bella had once been told about and what she still wholeheartedly believed it. She had used whatever connections necessary to push her way front and center before Tom Riddle, who was beginning to use the name Lord Voldemort. He was persuasive and charming and didn’t need much to convince Bella to join his forces. Even he could see the proper the witch possessed and the eagerness she had to prove herself as a strong individual. She gave over her life to be a good soldier to him and even improved her standing by bringing him names of individuals who would join up with him as well. What started as the point of recruitment and contact for any potential Death Eaters, Bellatrix slyly moved her way up the ranks to become one of the Dark Lord’s most trusted servants. And as she fell deeper into the world of the Death Eaters, it seemed that the perfect husband had presented itself.

#about #{ her bio really became a novel i apologize }#wiw task001

biography.

full name: margarita estelle skeeter

gender and pronouns: cisfemale; she/her

age: 29

birthday: january 20

sign: aquarius

blood type: half

hogwarts house: ravenclaw

relationship status: unattached

children: none

occupation: ministry of magic media coordinator

wand: beech wood with unicorn hair core, 14.5 inches, unbending flexibility

patronus: elephant

personality traits:

(+) hardworking

(+) independent

(+) sociable

(-) deceitful

(-) extravagant

(-) secretive

PINTEREST.

full bio under cut.

Yasmin’s childhood consisted of running around with her cousins in Panama, foreign language lessons (English, French, Italian – Spanish was her native tongue) and dance lessons. The acting gene present in her mother was easily seen in her daughter as Yasmin enjoyed putting on plays for her parents, forcing them to sit in the living room while she performed in front of the fireplace. She was a natural and many thought she would grow up to become an actress, follow in the footsteps of such a talented mother. An only child, Rita only ever felt loved by her parents and flourished – despite the Fawley’s having a fair amount of money, Melchior had a need to make sure that Yasmin was modest and wanted to teach her what it meant to make ones own money. It was important to him that she wasn’t absolutely spoiled growing up. It was expected that Yasmin would attend Castelbruxo School in Brazil for her magical education and training, but an unexpected tragedy hit the Fawley family. An unsettled debt that Melchior’s father possessed was passed onto his son after his death and those who wanted to collect, made sure to send a message. Whilst Yasmin was away on a trip with a friend’s family, Melchior and Anastasia found themselves against a wall versus five sorcerers after blood. Tortured in their home, refusing to divulge the information the sorcerers demanded, Yasmin’s parents ended the hostage situation with their throats slit, red painting the walls – leaving behind a daughter who was now in immediate danger. The scene was attended to rather quickly, the Mexican wizarding government recognizing the danger the young girl was in but believed there was only one solution as they had no idea who the culprits were. They didn’t want to be responsible, have the death of a child on their hands – the put the matter in the hands of their obliviators and aurors. Yasmin was taken by the government and was never told of her parent’s fate, a false memory spell placed upon her, instead of the effect of obliviation, as she was sent to the outskirts of England to live in a foster home. Wiped away were the memories of her parents, her cousins, her entire childhood. In its place were memories of life in an orphanage, never knowing what it felt like to bathe in the love of parents who wanted her. Yasmin Roselyne was reborn into the world as Margarita Estelle Skeeter. The foster parents weren’t informed of the reality of the situation and never would be – six months later, Rita began school at Hogwarts and landed in Ravenclaw house. Her personality was still a part of her and she fit rather well in Ravenclaw.

When darkness began to cover London, the owners of The Daily Prophet saw it fit to only allow the public in on certain news, whilst keeping other information away from the eyes of the general public. Rita despised this – she believed they deserved to know exactly what was going on in their own neighborhood. However, considering she was just an employee and not the showrunner of the paper, Rita did as she was told. She kept the public at arms length, also being assigned puff pieces about Celestina Warbeck and the like. It was the first time in her life that Rita hated herself and her profession, her life’s work. What she wanted to do was tell them all about the disappearances, the blood that was being shed. Instead, she continued doing what was asked of her but in her free time, no longer did she see friends. Rita followed. She followed those that were suspicious, those that could have possible information. Bags under her eyes and heaping mugs of coffee greeted her mornings whilst she saw much of the world from the viewpoint of a beetle once night covered London. Rita didn’t care much if the credit went to her, handing off the information to peers at other news agencies. She couldn’t afford to keep it all to herself. Rita cared for neither side of the war – she didn’t want to get involved. She wanted to write about what she saw and as a journalist, remaining biased was a crucial part of the job. As the conflict continued to grow and Rita was handed more pieces that weren’t concerning real news, she became somewhat enamored with the response they received. People enjoyed hearing about what certain celebrities were up to, the gossip surrounding their mere existence. If it was possible, Rita’s writing grew more popular and she somewhat began to lose perspective. She wasn’t immune to those who disliked her for what she wrote and the way in which she wrote it, but it didn’t bother her. Her skin was thick. When Albus Dumbledore defeated Lord Voldemort that night, it was Rita who got the news out. A special edition of The Daily Prophet was released quicker than anything had before, handed out to every sorcerer almost faster than they could print. It was the last piece Rita would write for the place she called home.

#wiw task001 #biography

Name: Amycus Carrow

Age & Birthday: 25, 29th May

Gender & Pronouns: cismale he/him

Sexuality: Straight

Blood type: Pure

Sided with: Death Eaters

Occupation: Ex-Obliviator, now helps look after Alectos bar in her absence

Positive personality traits: Refined, Confident, Adaptable, Assertive

Negative personality traits: Manipulative, Cold, Cynical, Impatient, Abrasive

#{{amycus//musings}}#{{amycus//moodboard}}#{{amycus//info}}#wiw task001

JUST PETER THINGS :  “Either way, we’re not alone I’ll find a new place to be from A haunted house with a picket fence To float around and ghost my friends No, I’m not afraid to disappear The billboard said, “The end is near"”  Full Name: Peter Ewan Pettigrew Birthday: 27th of September Star sign: Libra Age: 23 Pronouns: he/him Blood Status: halfblood Wand: Apple, 12 inches, sturdy, dragon heartstring Occupation: bartender at the white wyvern Positive traits: Charming, Resourceful, Humorous Negative traits: Cowardly, Self-Destructive, Pessimist Relationship status: single  spotify playlist  tw : depression, mental health summary of traits: Peter has always been slightly arrogant; he has the knack to turn on his defence mechanism with a cheeky smile and a witty remark with a mere bat of an eyelid. Peter knows how to flirt and how to attract people with a joke. However, that was Peter surrounded by his family of the Marauders, the people he once loved the most. In reality, Peter is nothing but a fragile young man. Doubtful of his own self and plagued with paranoia. His only source of happiness is now gone. His friends were his light, but there was only so long until that flame was extinguished. Leaving Peter consumed by darkness, left to face the quiet alone.  growing up: One of the first things that Peter Pettigrew was taught by his father was to ensure that his thumb was outside his clenched fist when the young went for a punch, otherwise on impact, his thumb would be broken and more than likely misshaped for the rest of his life. Paul Pettigrew had never been the most affectionate growing up, Peter knew that his father cared for him from the way he would urge Peter to spend weeknights with him serving at the pub and all weekend at Chudley’s Boxing Club. Though when they got home, things began to change. His father would retreat to his room, unable to ignore his mother casting spells around the house to make housework easier. There was always a vacant look in Paul’s eye when magic was involved which Peter noticed from a young age. Magic was always something Peter had been interested in, but Pauls’s usual witty demeanour that was presented in the pub and boxing club would shift, suddenly turning colder with even the mention of a spell. His father was good at picking and choosing the parts of people he loved and the parts that he didn’t, Paul loved Madga Pettigrew for her warm nature and wit but not so much for being the intelligent witch that Magda undeniably was. Paul didn’t seem to like that his mother had the upper hand and he had to give up his career to suit her lifestyle. Peter noticed how his father’s eyes would flicker down at the bar when an old friend would ask about his old sporting career.. Or how after these conversations, his father would not leave bed for days or be able to look at his wife and son with the typical care that he normally did. There were two sides to Paul Pettigrew, the loud and proud owner of a pub and attendee of Chudley’s Boxing Club and the insecure man who crumbled and picked on his son’s every fault at even the mention of his past self. Up until Peter was eight years old, his relationship with his father depended on Peter following Paul’s wishes. Young Peter often attended and fought in boxing competitions against his will. . Peter recalled when he was eight years old, winning a boxing competition and his father placing Peter’s trophy on the second shelf of the bar. His father told every customer about Peter’s win, beaming with pride as he pointed to the trophy. However, that pride was short lived when Peter returned home from primary school at aged 9 with ripped jumpers, cuts and bruises. Paul had noticed strange occurrences happening around Peter for a while, how lights would flicker during his temper-tantrums and how sometimes at boxing training when he got upset, the punching bag would burst allowing the beads to flow onto the gymnasium floor. Very soon, Peter’s father began to pick and choose the sides of Peter he liked and the parts that he would prefer not to acknowledge, Paul enjoyed seeing Peter at boxing practice and making conversation with regulars at the bar but he did not enjoy seeing Peter reading Madga’s books or picking up his mother’s wand with curiosity. So soon enough, to keep up with his father’s wishes, Peter morphed himself into who Paul wanted him to be. Even if it didn’t make Peter any happier. The day that Peter’s Hogwarts Letter arrived resulted in his father entering into the deepest depression that Peter had ever seen. Paul wanted Peter to attend the local boy’s school in Chudley, whereas Magda was adamant that he needed to develop his abilities, arguing how miserable Peter was when he returned home from his primary school battered and bruised just for being different. Peter recalled going to the end of his mother and father’s bed in August 1970 and how his father couldn’t even get out of bed to attend Peter’s trip to Diagon Alley. How Peter pulled at his fathers arm just resulted in a groan for him to ‘go away.’ When Peter went to get the train, it was the first time that Paul had managed to get out of bed in almost two weeks. There his father was, standing on the platform with bags under his eyes and his clothes baggy. When Peter went to give his father a hug, his father reciprocated, something he rarely did too often. It meant the world to the young boy, that his father was there. And Peter will never forget the words that his dad whispered in his ear, ‘if anybody says a word, you know what to do,’ as his father clasped Peter’s small fist together in his hand like he had done many years prior. Sorted into Gryffindor, Hogwarts was a time where Peter was on top of the world, he had his friends and the parties that came with their status around schools. Peter was surrounded by his brothers and it felt as though he had the world at his fingertips. Unlike his primary school years, Peter didn’t eat his lunch in the bathroom. Instead, he was surrounded by friends, smiling. Peter became the beater for the Gryffindor Quidditch Team in his third year. Excelling in duelling and potions, but failing miserably in DADA.  And for once, the dark cloud had lifted. A light had formed, a laughter that came with four boys locked into their dormitory creating a map for only their eyes to see. Peter didn’t have to worry about making a fist, to protect himself. His friends gave him shelter, a home. But Peter never did realise how frail the foundation was.  during the war: Realisation hit hard. Realisation that the same walls that held up Hogwarts castle, held Peter and his friends together. Peter Pettigrew would have been lying if he stated that there weren’t doubts over the years. Why were these lads his friend? Peter had never been popular, good-looking, or worth even a minute of their time. It seemed unnatural for people to like him. Especially James, Sirius and Remus. Ever so slowly, the dark cloud began to nip at his heels, plaguing his mind with seeds of doubt. He had never been a fan of change, but he hadn’t expected it to happen so fast. Everything started off positive. Peter got a job in the Leaky Cauldron, where his friends came to visit almost everyday and pints were served quickly. He kept his cheeky grin, and bountiful laugh. Things didn’t seem so bad. Sure, they were no longer huddled over their marauders map, aiming to cause mischief. Instead, the Marauders were joining the Order of The Phoenix. The Order lit a fire within Peter, it was a way for the Marauders to stay together. Maybe, if he completed his missions and helped in the defeat of Lord Voldemort. He wouldn’t be such a disposable member of the group. It was a way for Peter to prove himself, to prove that while he wasn’t off being an Auror or settling down, he was still worth something. Even if that something did fade into the shadow of his friend’s statues. Peter Pettigrew would still matter.  But soon, the door stopped opening. Friends became busy with their jobs and very soon, they moved on. He got unsettled easily, and skittish fast. His sense of self crumbled in his hand. Soon Peter fell into a slump, mimicking his father as he refused to get out of bed for days. The curtain drawn, dark. His tears stained his pillow and his reflection left him disgusted. Thoughts taunting him as he spoke. Perhaps when a senior Order official came to him with a secret mission, Peter should have refused. He wasn’t in the correct mindset. But as his friends patted him on the shoulder and wished him luck. The new mission to spy on the Death Eaters seemed glorified. Peter Pettigrew was being looked at. He should’ve learnt from his boxing fights that glory typically only lasts for a few seconds. The reality of the situation far outweighed the glory. His first day walking into the Death Eaters was a new experience, his shoulders slumped and his palms sweaty. Peter sat amongst the masses, the people who would have snared their teeth at him in the corridor, now taunted him about how his friends had abandoned him. Hissing like vipers about how Peter never did fit in. How weak he was in comparison with his friends. The words stung, soon Peter wasn’t able to meet his mates eyes in the leaky Cauldron or order Meeting. The Death Eaters’ words ringing in his ears, a chilling reminder of his worthlessness.  But as Peter sauntered into the Death Eaters Meetings, he told himself it was for his friends. Defeating Voldemort from the inside would prove to the Marauders that he was worth coming around. Performing a cruciatus curse on a local shopkeeper, this was for his friends. Getting the Dark Mark, for his friends. Becoming Lily and James’ secret-keeper, for his friends. It wasn’t long before his intentions became muddled. Where his friends were busy, there always seemed to be someone around in the Death Eaters, providing a jab. A jab to reinstate his feeling of worthlessness, twisting his broken pieces into sharp edges. A voice reiterating how little he mattered to the Marauders. Peter had stood at James’ wedding, faking smiles and forcing laughs. Nobody noticed a thing. They had become so preoccupied in stopping the war that they didn’t realise that their own best friend had become a casualty in it.  The present: Peter had never meant for it to go this far. For his disgust and discontent about himself to manifest the trajectory of his life. Every time Peter tried to get out. His head was being pushed under, back into the darkness. His own murky waters of self-destruction. But Peter would be lying if he stated that there wasn’t a point where he revelled in it. No longer was he part of a four. No longer was he the weakest link, No longer was he waiting to be discarded when no longer needed.  It wasn’t long until Peter quit the Leaky Cauldron, and became more self-isolated. Picking up a job at the White Wyvern. A place that wasn’t filled with laughter, or his friends, who he distanced himself from. A place where he made money, and went home to be on his own. At the end of the day, Peter Pettigrew was always going to end up alone. He just hadn’t counted on it being so soon.  Shame filled him as ones who once loved him cursed his name. Shame as The Order found out. Shame as Voldemort fell to the ground and Peter lost everything. No longer was he a spy, or simply there to keep an eye. He had found solace in the comfort of knowing he belonged somewhere. Finding solace in the darkness that he had spent years fighting.

#muse #still have not sorted peters tags #wiw task001