Appearance:
An appearance that invites neither positive or negative attention. Ideal for fitting into the crowd and flying under he radar. An average height and weight adolescent male. Slightly unkept brown curly hair and blue eyes. A simple blank canvas for puberty to do its worst over the next decade.

Personality:
Introverted, especially in large groups. Tends to sit back and observe rather than get involved. Has a thirst for knowledge, he likes to ask questions and understand the "why" behind things, sometimes to an overwhelming extent that can annoy. Motivated by success, quietly competitive, though that sometimes manifests itself in the unhealthy search for the approval of the people above him. Fairly individualistic, he likes what he likes and doesn't bend to the will of cultural norms or trends.

Biography:
I was raised in a road-front terraced house in the quaint little village Ramsbottom by my Mother, a muggle. My Mother, beaten by the times, worked odd jobs pulling in enough to scrape by. My father, also a muggle, found love elsewhere, to which that chapter is closed in this story.
I spent my time surviving school, roaming the countryside, playing football and kicking stones with my friends in an attempt to drain the days away so that night time would come. It was at night that I was most content. I would sit in bed with a torch and read for hours. I read whatever had caught my eye at the library, be it history, fantasy, philosophy and even popular mathematics. It didnt matter as long as I was by myself. I learnt to ask questions from this, especially the trickly little question of "what is the origin of everything?". I didn't know if learning that magic was real has made that question easier or harder to answer.

First Instance of Magic:
At the age of 8, whilst playing Curby with my friend, Charlie, on a quiet side road. The ball fell short of returning to him and without checking for traffic he went to retrieve it. He had unknowingly entered the path of an, uncommon, passing car. Out of panic, I shouted a warning but it was too late to do much else. His fate was sealed. My legs cemented to the ground and unable to turn away from what I was about to witness. I felt an enormous rush of panicked emotion. Suddenly the car dropped and the driver, who was already breaking as hard as physically possible, seemed to break harder than before and came to a stop within a hairs width of a wincing Charlie. The obvious relief we all shared did not last long as we noticed that the tyres on the car were all deflated. They had all punctured at the most crucial moment. I had no reason to believe that the punctures were a result of my own magic that day and thus, like the others, I brushed it off to either luck or God. That night I couldn't think of anything else. The next day, I went to talk about it with Charlie. He responded with utter confusion. He told me it didn't happen. I thought it was a joke at first. But once I realised how serious he was, I walked away and came to the assumption that it was all a dream.