Durmstrang NPC
Elowin Prankhurst wrote: 3 Jun 2026, 19:46 Name: Melissa Edam
PC Name: Elowin Prankhurst
School: Durmstrang
Year: first
Link to your Character Page: Subject: Melissa Edam
Status: wizard born
Residence: Moscow, Russia
Nationality: Spanish
History:
ReducioMelissa, or as her family call her Mel, grew up in a household with a snotty,grotty thinking that bogies are a nice gift brother ( Or as most people call him Carlos), a papa who was the kindest person you could ever meet but he was a perfectionist. Her family were in possession of several fish ( Angelfishes, called Carrot, Melon and Mango if you really wanted to know) but they died after a year and a bit. Oh, yeah and a mother who died after she caught dragon pox. Yep, her mama was cruelly snatched away after only three years of knowing her. Mel knows it’s not true but sometimes she feels that it is her fault her dear mama died but that’s just unfair to her. Her mama was a dear and extremely beautiful, and that made Melissa proud. The reason her mama had died was because she had been deeply scarred by dragon pox and before her treatment was finished, hating the way she looked, she committed suicide. Melissa’s mama hadn’t gone to hospital because she had a phobia of hospitals. She was scared of doctors as well because when she was younger a fraud pretending to be a doctor bit her on the arm.
As a child she had always loved food. Jokingly sometimes her papa and brother call her the living dustbin, because she eats everything she can. Melissa’s life is full of chaos, fun and laughter but she wouldn’t change a thing. ( except maybe her mama dying…). Her life was so fun, but she missed her old friends, who’d grew apart from her as she moved to Russia. When Melissa was nine she moved to Russia because her papa had got a new job there and he had to take them.
First Magic:
ReducioWhen Melissa was 6 she was really hungry. Her Papa was talking to Carlos so he couldn’t hear her when she asked him to pass the pickles. She crossed her arms and huffed but got over it. Suddenly the pickles flew into her papas hand. This happened in Sweden when they were on holiday.
[/red
Is your character a Broom Racer? No
Is your character a Quidditch Player? no -
Is your character a Duelist? No
Stats:
Stamina: 5 - Evasion: 8- Strength: 9 - Wisdom: 3 - Arcane Power: 3 - Accuracy: 7
Special Race/Ability: None
Denied Lear June 3 *quoted from previous application
PENDING - Sako, 9 June
(i) History only reached 208 words currently. Please add to reach 220
(ii) If part-vella, character must be halfbreed, not wizardborn
(iii) vella mothers death unexplained ( she had access to magic, unlikely she would simply die. You can find inspiration for wizard sickness from here
(iv) missing vella application. Please add 500 words explaining their vella heritage and how they effect their live on this application
(v) FIOM looks intentional. Also please add the country that this happened
(vi) Stats are currently 35, but they should be 30 because of special ability vella. Please remove 5 stats.
(vii) State when (and what age) she moved from Spain to Russia please
(viii) Is she currently living in Spain, or Russia? Keep in mind if she currently resides in Spain, that means she should've been admitted to Beaux, not Drum. Her nationality can be Spanish.
[[ Reminder to change information on both application AND ency when making edits ]]
PENDING - Sako, 11 June
(i) FIOM still looks intentional, I suggest to write the chip flying towards someone elsess face instead
(ii) still has 35 stat instead of 30 for vella
(iii) missing vella application (we cannot accept they are part vella unless this 500 word application is done, you should edit this post and add it in here)
(iv) history says they moved to Russia at 8, but the residence at the top still says spain. Please fix this
( V.1) History: Still doesnt explain why vella mother didn't go to the hospital earlier. Why did she wait until the sickness got so bad? She should know if she got the early symptoms, she could easily go to the hospital to get is fixed before it got bad.
(V.2 ) History: If she is worried about beauty, why isn't she using any magical products? Makeup is very powerful in the magical world.
(vi) change wizardborn to halfbreed
PENDING - Sako, 12 June
owled to finish easier edits first
PENDING - Sako, 13 June
(i) Can you explain more about her mothers fear of hospitals? There is such a thing of doctors coming to the house, and the cure for dragon pox can generally be done alone in the house as long as they had the right ingredients. If she was afraid of hospitals, she would still have access to alternatives/different choices that would still heal her without her going to the hospital
(ii) Please add your FIOM to your Ency as well. It is currently missing in the Ency.
[[ Reminder to change information on both application AND ency when making edits ]]
APPROVED - 24 June , Sako
Durmstrang NPC
Name: Svetlana Ivanovna Kovalyova
PC Account Name: Denise Yarbrough
Year: 1
Link to your Character Page: Here!
Status: Half-breed
Residence: Zlatoust, Russia
Nationality: Russian
History: 574/220ReducioFirst Magic: 241/200Svetlana Ivanovna Kovalyova was born on January 12th, 2016, to Ivan Sergeyovich Kovalyov and Ekaterina Pyotrovna Kovalyova (née Petrovskaya) on a mildly cold and rainy day. It wasn't a glamorous birth, and Svetlana was born in the hands of a midwife, passed down to her mother's tender arms, holding her dearly. She also had an older brother, Mikhail Ivanov Kovalyov, whom she loved playing with as a child, but later did have to agree that he was a rather unusual child.
Well, everyone was unusual indeed, compared to other aristocratic families.
The Kovalyov family is a rather unique family. Once part of the peasantry in the harsh medieval serf system, bonded to their land akin to slaves, they later rose against their masters, the House Petrovskikh, who rose to nobility in the 15th century. Later, they formed their own house, House Kovalyov, and both went their separate ways in the modern era.
Despite a rise in supposed "equal" status, the Kovalyov family still suffered in inequality and prosecution, especially as House Petrovskikh possessed dhampir blood, a point of pride and power. Despite being richer than most, the Kovalyovs were still humble Blacksmiths, forging incredible weaponry, as techniques passed from generation to generation. They even have one of the largest forges of the wizarding world, located around Zlatoust in southern Russia. Svetlana grew up and thrived there, building her own weapons and blades with intricate safeguarded techniques using precious goblin gold and silver.
Her father, Ivan, as well as her family members before him, worked hard to be able to bring the Kovalyovs upwards into a supposedly more "equal" state, despite a mansion that still has cracks and bruises. He was compassionate and kind, even to his own niece and her first cousin, Viktoriya Mstislavovna Petrovskaya, daughter of her mother's brother. Her mother was born to House Petrovskikh to a heartless mother and a psychopathic brother, devoid of love and compassion. Due to her mother Ekaterina's possession of Dhampir blood and lineage, she and her brother were the first in House Kovalyov to possess Dhampir abilities. She showcased great love and compassion towards her children, although at times she was rather manipulative in terms of such love.
Her family held great importance to such a Dhampir lineage from her mother's side, a key towards a more equal dynamics between the House Petrovskikh and Kovalyov. She and Mikhail, or "Misha" as she would call him, held such lineage and power that it was important. However, the tension was still there and cracking.
She also had another cousin, related to Viktoriya or "Vika," Dmitry Mstislavovich Petrovskikh, whom she called "Mitya," her younger brother. Growing up, she wasn't particularly close to either of them, compared to Misha. However, on Vik's ninth birthday, which seemed relatively normal, not "normal" for most but for the harsh House Petrovskih, well she didn't really know much about the "other man" but she was shocked to discover that Mitya is actually not related to his father or in fact part of House Petrovskikh, being an affair child, and later died after Mitya's mother and Mitya fled and died later, but she personally wasn't sure of the exact details. Her parents refuse to disclose them.
House Petrovskikh was breaking, and she knew for sure that a conflict,ReducioIs your character a Quidditch player/Broom racer/Duelist? Yes/No. Which sport if yes?Svetlana was an intelligent child indeed. While she lived in a mansion, more comfortable than most, it was filled with some cracks. One crack, she did not particularly like, in her bedroom.
The crack first emerged near her nightstand. She told her father that night, and he kindly suggested moving the nightstand and leaving it alone. The crack grew in size and tremor, making Svetlana loathe the imperfection in her room.
It grew.
And grew.
And grew again.
Eventually, over the course of a week, it grew to cover her entire bedroom wall. It was large, ugly, and awful, ruining the soft cream wallpaper and the beautiful paintings on the walls.
It wasn't suitable for a princess like herself.
One day, as she was brushing and grooming her long brown hair, she stared at the wall in anger. Throwing her brush, it did nothing.
She felt an overwhelming feeling of anger and rage, feeling pitiful that she was forced into a disgusting home.
Her lamp and vanity mirror broke, causing them to fly everywhere, almost stabbing her own eye. While her parents were upset at the mess they had to clean up after, Svetlana felt pride that she destroyed something for the first time in her life, even though at first, she was upset that some of her own possessions broke. After all, there is beauty in destruction as well.
The little devil has risen, as her brother would say.
Yes, Quid player, beater!
Stats: sta 5 | eva 9 | str 8 | wis 0 | arc 0 | acc 8
Special Race/Ability: Dhampir, 508/500ReducioBefore one can discuss the presence of dhampir blood in House Kovalyov, one must reflect on the prestigious House Petrovskikh. House Petrovskikh was theorized to have once been an original house full of vampires, for many generations, perhaps even longer than the feud between House Petrovskikh and House Kovalyov. While such abilities with long Dhampir lineages die out, House Petrovskikh also had a tradition of biting, turning one back through biting, continuing that legacy of power and pride. Her mother and her uncle were indeed bitten by one, continuing that legacy. Harboring pale skin and a gaunt appearance was well embraced, despite their darker hair contrasting with their extremely pale features.
Over time, as House Kovalyov formed and even back during their peasant ways, Dhampir blood also meant extra power, and that power was used as a silent way to keep House Kovalyov at bay, despite successful revolutions and building their own house in southern Russia.
A silent power, which soon both feuding houses valued deeply, a lineage, despite being based on nobility and exploitation, meant a chance for perhaps not being the lesser.
In fact, intermarriage between both Houses was considered ungodly and a sin until her mother, part of House Petrovskikh, married her father, head of House Kovalyov, and created two dhampir children, continuing the legacy, this time to a new house, a rival house at that. Disgraced, yes, but her mother is still an angel to a new House, and achieving its own victory in their silent war. Her family, particularly her father, held great importance to such a dhampir lineage from her mother's side, a key towards a more equal dynamic between the House Petrovskikh and Kovalyov, and perhaps, a unity in a long and silent century feud. However, that unity is unlikely, as unlikely as a dhampir surviving intense sunlight.
Dhampir blood only has rather minor cons, for Sveta, Misha, and her mother had to avoid the sun, which, despite its cracks and bruises, is well-kept to keep sunlight away. It helps that their home had an extensive basement, and the only rather sunny region, the patio connected to a bedroom upstairs, is used as her father's study room, who was the only non-dhampir. Their own forgery of weapons of golbin gold and silver is also rather guarded from sunlight, mainly being a deep basement building. They also had lots of blood, usually from hunting at nighttime in the dense forests around Zlatoust, where Sveta and Misha often go to hunt some game. In addition, they have good ties with local butcheries, who often sell them blood, while Muggles use it to make Eastern European blood sausage, Hematogen, and agricultural fertilizer, they mainly use it for survival.
But they were well-off, better than most houses, allowing for these to be rather minor inconveniences indeed. Because being a Dhampir is extremely valued, and of course, that power is what they needed to win the silent civil war, once that started after Vika's ninth birthday and a crack in House Petrovskikh's own reputation of purity.
Edits:
6/26: Note, Sveta is related to Viktoriya Petrovskaya, iNPC of Elena Clark. Therefore, both share the same family lore which is central to Sveta's plot.
6/27: Here is Vik's permission as her cousin here! I should have asked before registration.
STATUS: Pending, Arkady, 30th JUNE
- Please edit Residence to only mention the relevant city (Zlatoust, Russia)
- Werewolves are not considered half-breeds as they are changed from humans into werewolves, rather than being a genetic trait passed down from parents. Even though your character's mother is a dhampir, your blood status should reflect the mechanics of being a werewolf and therefore you will be considered human. Please amend your blood status accordingly (pureblood).
- It looks like there was a misunderstanding of what accidental magic means. Accidental magic is unintentional, which means that your character is not willing for magic to come out. Accidental magic is unintentional and can happen for one of three reasons: it just happens, it happens in response to danger as an act of self-preservation, or it happens in response to a strong emotion. Please adjust your FIOM so that Sveta is not "willing" the crack to grow and it so does.
- As per the rules on werewolf applications, please describe where your character's scar is located, describe your first transformation and pick either the Gaunt form or the Wolf form.
Edits:
7/6: I apologize for my late edits because I had a lot to consider and ponder over. After a lot of consideration, and discussing with staff, Meiyu Xiang, she told me that it's best if I register as a Dhampir first and then re-index myself into a werewolf since indexing is not meant for such complex situations where a Dhampir is turned into a werewolf. You can view this Discord message here! I am planning to reindex Sveta into a werewolf after initial registration due to this suggestion, however, I am unsure if that might be allowed if Sveta is around seven years old when she was first bitten. In addition, I have also changed my preferred sports position and statistics so I do apologize for that as well.
Last edited by Denise Yarbrough on 6 Jul 2026, 08:04, edited 2 times in total.
Durmstrang NPC
Name: Bryndís Sigurðardóttir
PC Name: Stelle Mims
Year: Second year.
Link to your Character Page: Here!
Status: Pureblood
Residence: Rasgorod, Russia
Nationality: Icelandic
History:
First Magic:
Is your character a Quidditch player/Broom racer/Duelist? N/A
Stats: sta 5 | eva 7 | str 5 | wis 10 | arc 8 | acc 5
Special Race/Ability: N/A
If special race/ability, how did they join the school? N/A
PC Name: Stelle Mims
Year: Second year.
Link to your Character Page: Here!
Status: Pureblood
Residence: Rasgorod, Russia
Nationality: Icelandic
History:
Reducio
Bryndís doesn't remember her father's voice, but she does remember his face. To say it's from memory would be inaccurate; nobody remembers anything from memory, much less a four-year-old girl. If she remembers his name, it's the only thing he left her: Sigurðard. Her parents, Sigurðard and Igna, had met on a cruise, one of those nights when you wake up with no memory of what happened. After that, there wasn't much of a story. Bryndís was born on August 6th, one of the warmest months in their home and the little hope for something more. They tried to make it work, but it didn't, and for her own good, they separated. When they told her, her mother said everything would be alright, that they would still see each other, that they would send letters, that they would just live in different houses. Because parents don't abandon their little ones, right? At first, it was true; he would come to visit, and she would spend holidays with him in Murmansk Oblast, Russia. Although the journey took longer than to her "second home," she didn't really mind. She loved to travel; she met all sorts of people on trains and ferries, and this helped her learn to speak, or at least understand, different languages.
Her parents showered her with love, and outside of their two houses, nothing had changed. Then, two months later, with the end of winter and the end of the snowfall, the letters stopped arriving. Bryndís didn't lose hope; she continued writing to her father every week. Her mother tried to talk to her, to make her understand that perhaps he wouldn't return. But the little girl didn't want to listen, justifying it by saying that perhaps the postman had lost his letters or gotten the address wrong.
Months passed, perhaps years. Her letters became longer, her handwriting more refined with practice, her drawings more perfect. But she never heard from him again, and her mother didn't speak about it either. Faced with her father's disappearance, she took refuge in the only things she had left of him: the coasts and the insects. Her mother completely disliked them, but she supposed it was her way of coping, that it would pass eventually. Bryndís could spend hours on the balcony drawing the lake, entire afternoons searching under stones for new insects. She would collect them, draw them, look up their names in encyclopedias, and return them to the yard. When she wasn't with insects, she accompanied her mother to the medical center to help her translate. Clearly, she wasn't a perfect or incredible translator, but at least the basics had been helpful to more than one person. It was interesting to accompany her mother; watching her practice her healing magic was mesmerizing, and she always left having learned something new.
She still writes to her father, only when important things happen, but she doesn't know if she really has any hope of receiving a reply, nor does she care. After all, having a small family isn't so bad. She doesn't have to share or fight with anyone; it's just her and her mother. Perhaps she sometimes feels nostalgic about getting to know her family better during the holidays or on her birthday. But if they cared, wouldn't they be there with her?
Her parents showered her with love, and outside of their two houses, nothing had changed. Then, two months later, with the end of winter and the end of the snowfall, the letters stopped arriving. Bryndís didn't lose hope; she continued writing to her father every week. Her mother tried to talk to her, to make her understand that perhaps he wouldn't return. But the little girl didn't want to listen, justifying it by saying that perhaps the postman had lost his letters or gotten the address wrong.
Months passed, perhaps years. Her letters became longer, her handwriting more refined with practice, her drawings more perfect. But she never heard from him again, and her mother didn't speak about it either. Faced with her father's disappearance, she took refuge in the only things she had left of him: the coasts and the insects. Her mother completely disliked them, but she supposed it was her way of coping, that it would pass eventually. Bryndís could spend hours on the balcony drawing the lake, entire afternoons searching under stones for new insects. She would collect them, draw them, look up their names in encyclopedias, and return them to the yard. When she wasn't with insects, she accompanied her mother to the medical center to help her translate. Clearly, she wasn't a perfect or incredible translator, but at least the basics had been helpful to more than one person. It was interesting to accompany her mother; watching her practice her healing magic was mesmerizing, and she always left having learned something new.
She still writes to her father, only when important things happen, but she doesn't know if she really has any hope of receiving a reply, nor does she care. After all, having a small family isn't so bad. She doesn't have to share or fight with anyone; it's just her and her mother. Perhaps she sometimes feels nostalgic about getting to know her family better during the holidays or on her birthday. But if they cared, wouldn't they be there with her?
WDC: 553/200
First Magic:
Reducio
Socializing wasn't her thing, at least not naturally. Although she clearly didn't like playing with other children, her mother always took her to the park to force her to socialize. Which was a mistake, because it was one of the places with the most insects in the whole neighborhood. Spring was the best time, because the winters were so cold that almost all the bugs disappeared.
That's how they discovered she was an insect hunter. By the age of nine, visits to the park were routine. Her mother would sit and chat with other mothers, and she would stay on the ground with a small shovel, feeling like an explorer. And, generally, the environment wasn't a problem for her. Until one day, what everyone expected happened. While digging a hole, she smiled excitedly upon finding a family of pill bugs, but her excitement vanished when she saw a plump little leg on top of her discovery. She didn't even hesitate, didn't think twice. She was already standing there to confront the boy, even though she didn't know how to fight and it wasn't her way of solving things. Suddenly, her bucket rose up and hit the boy on the head, scattering some insects it had found on him. Before she could laugh or say anything, the boy ran away, and his mother immediately scolded her. On the way back, she tried to explain that she hadn't done anything, that the bucket had levitated on its own. Her mother said nothing, only that he apologize or she would forget about the insects for the next two weeks.
Eventually, to help Bryndis become more familiar with Russian, her mother decided to move to Russia at least until she finished her studies, always hoping that she would make friends and be close to them.
That's how they discovered she was an insect hunter. By the age of nine, visits to the park were routine. Her mother would sit and chat with other mothers, and she would stay on the ground with a small shovel, feeling like an explorer. And, generally, the environment wasn't a problem for her. Until one day, what everyone expected happened. While digging a hole, she smiled excitedly upon finding a family of pill bugs, but her excitement vanished when she saw a plump little leg on top of her discovery. She didn't even hesitate, didn't think twice. She was already standing there to confront the boy, even though she didn't know how to fight and it wasn't her way of solving things. Suddenly, her bucket rose up and hit the boy on the head, scattering some insects it had found on him. Before she could laugh or say anything, the boy ran away, and his mother immediately scolded her. On the way back, she tried to explain that she hadn't done anything, that the bucket had levitated on its own. Her mother said nothing, only that he apologize or she would forget about the insects for the next two weeks.
Eventually, to help Bryndis become more familiar with Russian, her mother decided to move to Russia at least until she finished her studies, always hoping that she would make friends and be close to them.
WDC: 305/200
Is your character a Quidditch player/Broom racer/Duelist? N/A
Stats: sta 5 | eva 7 | str 5 | wis 10 | arc 8 | acc 5
Special Race/Ability: N/A
If special race/ability, how did they join the school? N/A
STATUS: Pending, EMERY, 30th JUNE
- Please edit Residence to either a true city in Russia, as Mourmansk Oblask is a region not a city, or please choose one of the wizarding settlements in our published lore [HERE]. Reminder: this would mean your information in your history section would change as well.
- It looks like there was a misunderstanding of what accidental magic means. Your first instance of magic should be a singular instance that terminates. Your description entails insects following you for a long period of time. My suggestion would be, in line with your anger, that the bucket moved on its own and slammed into the foot because of your strong emotion.
- Just to confirm, you do not want to join a sport. If you do, please answer yes, and I will put you on that team if there is space, or on the waiting list.
STATUS: Approved, Emery, 3rd July Thank you for your changes.
One last thing! You wrote that you received a letter about your first instance of magic! Durmstrang does not have an owling system like Hogwarts. I’m removing this and approving you!
You make me wanna make you fall in love───⊹ |
Stelle Mims - Huffelpuf |
Durmstrang NPC
Name: Harvey Dunn
PC Name: Maximilianus Kenneally Vidler
Year: Second
Link to your Character Page: Boop!
Status: Halfblood
Residence: Sjlisselburg, Russia
Nationality: American
History: Word count: 1995
Short note regarding backstory:
First Magic:
Is your character a Quidditch player/Broom racer/Duelist? Yes, Duelist
Stats: Stamina 4 | Evasion 7 | Strength 1 | Wisdom 10 | Arcane power 4 | Accuracy 9
Special Race/Ability: Werewolf. Word count: 1083
If special race/ability, how did they join the school? Normally.
PC: Maximilianus Kenneally Vidler—————————"Life is short; make it weird and slightly chaotic."
iNPC: —————————————————————————Roadhouse Radio
PC Name: Maximilianus Kenneally Vidler
Year: Second
Link to your Character Page: Boop!
Status: Halfblood
Residence: Sjlisselburg, Russia
Nationality: American
History: Word count: 1995
Reducio
Harvey grew up on the outskirts of eastern Knoxville, Tennessee, as a result of a short and rather explosive relationship between a muggle woman and a pureblood Russian wizard. As an affair baby, Harvey brought little but conflict with him from the start. He was raised by his mother and stepfather, Jane and Henry Dunn, in a low income household that can only be described as rigid. Not really pristine, not exactly comfortable, but tightly held together. Money was never quite enough, and what they had was stretched thin. Still, things were kept orderly. Expectations were high, and discipline strict. There was a right way to do things, and there was everything else.
Despite everything, there was always a sense that things could be better, that they should. His mother spoke of stability like it was something just out of reach. Something that could be earned if only things were done right. School, behavior and presentation mattered. Harvey mattered, in the way something matters when it might become something more. It was never said outright, never in so many words, but it was understood well enough. He was not just expected to do well, he was expected to justify things. To prove the situation they found themselves in could still lead somewhere better.
The household was religious. Church on Sundays, quiet prayers before meals, and certain expectations that were not often explained, only enforced. Harvey had heard enough about right and wrong, about what people should and should not be, that most of it blurred together over time. He learned early how to tune it out. Still, some of it stayed. Not clearly, not in any way he could explain, but enough to leave a discomfort he could never quite shake.
Harvey maintained contact with his biological father through his early childhood. His father, Grigori Sokolovsky, uprooted and split his time between the US and Russia.. His office at The International Confederation Of Wizards was adjusted to fit the move. The man never intended to sire offspring, much less a half-blood, but he claimed responsibility in his own way. His involvement was always kept semi-private. Publicly, it was easier if certain things remained unspoken. The fact that he had another son back in Russia was never mentioned.
Long weekends with his father are probably some of Harvey’s favorite memories from childhood. Harvey adored the man, doing everything he could to earn his approval and praise. Traveling, camping, seeing what the wizarding world had to offer. Grigori was not warm, but he was present. He corrected, instructed, and expected. When Harvey did well there would be a small nod, sometimes a quiet “good.” It was more than enough.
Those visits followed a pattern. Questions that felt casual, but were not. Small tests woven into conversation. Expectations that shifted just as Harvey thought he understood them. There was always something just out of reach, something that kept him trying. It was on one of these trips, at the age of six, the attack happened. Harvey was bit by a werewolf. He survived, but at the cost of becoming a lycanthrope for life.
After the attack everything changed. His father did not disappear entirely. He still showed up, though almost always around the full moon. Protective charms were placed with precision, wards reinforced, contingencies prepared. Everything was accounted for. Everything except for Harvey. There were no more long weekends. No more wandering conversations or quiet moments by the fire. What remained was something else entirely: structured, efficient, focused solely on containment.
As time went on it became increasingly clear that the man no longer wished to be involved. He moved back to Russia full time, and began rebuilding his life. Harvey was never given an explanation. His mother blamed ideology from the wizarding world. Werewolves were unacceptable, and Harvey would never be seen as anything but a monster. Harvey did not believe her at first. His father still showed up, didn’t he? He still made sure things were handled. That had to mean something. It took him years to understand that it did not.
What Harvey does not know is that his father’s presence was never about bonding. It was about responsibility. The situation had to be managed. A child could turn out to be useful, no matter blood status. A werewolf was a different matter entirely. Grigori simply ensured the problem did not spread beyond what was already contained.
He showed up just often enough to keep things from becoming truly disastrous. Always composed and precise. Never staying longer than necessary. Harvey learned quickly that there was a version of himself that was tolerated, and one that was not. The difference lay in how well he could be managed. Harvey started slowly thinking of himself as the monster. But still, he strived to keep his humanity.
His homelife did not improve after the incident. His mother and stepfather were wildly unprepared to raise a werewolf, and much of it was left to Harvey to figure out on his own.
His stepfather set expectations, and Harvey failed to meet them more often than not. Not out of lack of ability, but lack of care. Or perhaps fear. The man worked long hours, the kind of work that followed him home in the way he carried himself. He provided, kept order, and corrected. But there was always something unspoken beneath it all. A quiet, recurring disapproval that had nothing to do with grades or effort.
Harvey had once called him “dad”, just once. The correction had been immediate, and never repeated. Harvey was a complication that had arrived uninvited, responsibility that could not be refused but was never truly accepted. Something added onto an already strained situation. Nothing Harvey did seemed to change that. Success was expected, and failure was confirmation. Even success never quite felt like it belonged to him.
As Harvey became more difficult to manage, his stepfather found ways of keeping him out of the way. Long stretches alone, confined to small spaces, left with little to do but wait it out. Harvey grew to despise it. The stillness, the lack of distraction, the way time seemed to stretch. It lingered in a way nothing else did. There were other corrections, too, brief and firm, but they passed quickly. This did not.
His mother was there, but not in any way that mattered. Tired, worn thin, always trying to keep the peace. She softened what she could, avoided what she couldn’t, and let the rest pass in silence. She was not unkind, just… difficult to count on in the ways that counted.
As he grew older, Harvey started to rebel. An addition to the household in the form of a half-sister only moved things along. Expectations did not lessen, if anything they grew. Whatever he was supposed to become felt less like a choice, and more like an obligation he could not refuse. He hated it, so he took the role that was left over.
He became the troublemaker and scapegoat. Not by any accident, but by his own choice. If he failed loudly and often enough, then at least it would be on his terms. He engaged in petty crimes, graffiti, and a bit of pickpocketing. Anything that gave him a rush, or a break from feeling watched and measured.
He picked on weaker kids like the bully he pretended to be, though he would fold the moment someone stronger came along. It was never really about strength or showing off, but control. If he could make someone else smaller, then he wasn’t the one that was found lacking.
Around the same time, he developed a deep love for reading, escaping into books and written words. He memorized stories and knowledge obsessively, and built something he could be proud of. Something that felt like it truly belonged to him.
When the acceptance to Ilvermorny arrived, his parents were against it. They wanted a more «normal» path for him. What use was a magical education when he was to climb the social-economic ladder. It was only after repeated assurances from the school that his condition could be handled, and possible job prospects, that he was allowed to attend. They set one condition though: Whatever he did, he would be the best.
Harvey left with no intention of meeting that expectation. Instead, he set out to be the exact opposite. If failure was inevitable, as it always was, at least it would be his to claim on his own terms. He was sorted as a Thunderbird and quickly gained a reputation as trouble. Running his mouth, pushing buttons, picking on others, about everything you can imagine. If they already thought of him as a monster, he saw little reason to invest energy to prove them wrong.
Things escalated as they often do. His behavior only grew worse as the year passed, culminating in an incident where he nearly proved that he was the monster he thinks himself to be. Staff intervened before anyone was seriously hurt, but the line had been more than crossed. At the start of June he was sent home. The news hit harder than he expected them to. Despite everything, he had liked the school. Especially the few friends he had made.
During the full moon of June, his father made a rare appearance. The conversation between the adults was held behind closed doors. The outcome was simple: Harvey would go to Russia and enroll at Durmstrang. It was presented like as much of a choice as breathing air.
Russia was cold, he could feel it down to his bones. Endless forests, and heavier silence. His father’s home stood isolated, more structure than comfort. Certainly not a place meant for growing up. Harvey was not introduced to anyone. House elves came and went, the constant eyes on him were uncomfortable. When visitors came, he was simply not there to be seen. He was given structure, expectations, and access to tutors and books far beyond what his mom and stepdad ever could offer. His education was refined, but nothing was given freely. Everything felt measured. Conditional and in need of being earned.
The Sokolovsky family had been upper class for generations, always seeking to rise to aristocracy. A few generations back they got lucky by being elected for a political position. Through long-standing arrangements tied to trade and legislation, they secured access to influence and a standing in high society. Grigori continued the legacy. As Senior Undersecretary for International Trade Legislation and Arcane Standards within the International Confederation of Wizards, he drafts and shapes proposals governing the movement of magical goods across borders. It is a quiet but powerful position, one that extends far beyond formal chambers.
The idea of Durmstrang loomed like something carved straight out of discipline. Harsh and unforgiving. A place his father deemed appropriate. Grigori did not dare sponsor Harvey himself. Public association with a werewolf, especially his own son, was not a risk he was willing to take.
So he made a deal with Astrid Blackwood. Not a new arrangement, but an extension of one already in place. She would sponsor Harvey, and provide leverage against Grigori’s political opponents. In return, Grigori would support her publicly, strengthening her reputation without drawing unwanted scrutiny.
He would also assist her with Magnus Blackwood. Harvey would serve a purpose there as well. An example, carefully positioned. Something to be observed. What happens without discipline. Without control. Harvey was not introduced as a solution. He was presented as a warning.
Harvey knows he needs to prove himself. Not just to the school, but to his father. Grigori does not demand affection, nor does he offer it. What he expects is simpler. Usefulness, control, results. How to bow to a man you secretly adore, but who refuses to call you his son? Harvey is as likely to give up as he is to tear himself apart trying. Only time will tell which comes first.
Despite everything, there was always a sense that things could be better, that they should. His mother spoke of stability like it was something just out of reach. Something that could be earned if only things were done right. School, behavior and presentation mattered. Harvey mattered, in the way something matters when it might become something more. It was never said outright, never in so many words, but it was understood well enough. He was not just expected to do well, he was expected to justify things. To prove the situation they found themselves in could still lead somewhere better.
The household was religious. Church on Sundays, quiet prayers before meals, and certain expectations that were not often explained, only enforced. Harvey had heard enough about right and wrong, about what people should and should not be, that most of it blurred together over time. He learned early how to tune it out. Still, some of it stayed. Not clearly, not in any way he could explain, but enough to leave a discomfort he could never quite shake.
Harvey maintained contact with his biological father through his early childhood. His father, Grigori Sokolovsky, uprooted and split his time between the US and Russia.. His office at The International Confederation Of Wizards was adjusted to fit the move. The man never intended to sire offspring, much less a half-blood, but he claimed responsibility in his own way. His involvement was always kept semi-private. Publicly, it was easier if certain things remained unspoken. The fact that he had another son back in Russia was never mentioned.
Long weekends with his father are probably some of Harvey’s favorite memories from childhood. Harvey adored the man, doing everything he could to earn his approval and praise. Traveling, camping, seeing what the wizarding world had to offer. Grigori was not warm, but he was present. He corrected, instructed, and expected. When Harvey did well there would be a small nod, sometimes a quiet “good.” It was more than enough.
Those visits followed a pattern. Questions that felt casual, but were not. Small tests woven into conversation. Expectations that shifted just as Harvey thought he understood them. There was always something just out of reach, something that kept him trying. It was on one of these trips, at the age of six, the attack happened. Harvey was bit by a werewolf. He survived, but at the cost of becoming a lycanthrope for life.
After the attack everything changed. His father did not disappear entirely. He still showed up, though almost always around the full moon. Protective charms were placed with precision, wards reinforced, contingencies prepared. Everything was accounted for. Everything except for Harvey. There were no more long weekends. No more wandering conversations or quiet moments by the fire. What remained was something else entirely: structured, efficient, focused solely on containment.
As time went on it became increasingly clear that the man no longer wished to be involved. He moved back to Russia full time, and began rebuilding his life. Harvey was never given an explanation. His mother blamed ideology from the wizarding world. Werewolves were unacceptable, and Harvey would never be seen as anything but a monster. Harvey did not believe her at first. His father still showed up, didn’t he? He still made sure things were handled. That had to mean something. It took him years to understand that it did not.
What Harvey does not know is that his father’s presence was never about bonding. It was about responsibility. The situation had to be managed. A child could turn out to be useful, no matter blood status. A werewolf was a different matter entirely. Grigori simply ensured the problem did not spread beyond what was already contained.
He showed up just often enough to keep things from becoming truly disastrous. Always composed and precise. Never staying longer than necessary. Harvey learned quickly that there was a version of himself that was tolerated, and one that was not. The difference lay in how well he could be managed. Harvey started slowly thinking of himself as the monster. But still, he strived to keep his humanity.
His homelife did not improve after the incident. His mother and stepfather were wildly unprepared to raise a werewolf, and much of it was left to Harvey to figure out on his own.
His stepfather set expectations, and Harvey failed to meet them more often than not. Not out of lack of ability, but lack of care. Or perhaps fear. The man worked long hours, the kind of work that followed him home in the way he carried himself. He provided, kept order, and corrected. But there was always something unspoken beneath it all. A quiet, recurring disapproval that had nothing to do with grades or effort.
Harvey had once called him “dad”, just once. The correction had been immediate, and never repeated. Harvey was a complication that had arrived uninvited, responsibility that could not be refused but was never truly accepted. Something added onto an already strained situation. Nothing Harvey did seemed to change that. Success was expected, and failure was confirmation. Even success never quite felt like it belonged to him.
As Harvey became more difficult to manage, his stepfather found ways of keeping him out of the way. Long stretches alone, confined to small spaces, left with little to do but wait it out. Harvey grew to despise it. The stillness, the lack of distraction, the way time seemed to stretch. It lingered in a way nothing else did. There were other corrections, too, brief and firm, but they passed quickly. This did not.
His mother was there, but not in any way that mattered. Tired, worn thin, always trying to keep the peace. She softened what she could, avoided what she couldn’t, and let the rest pass in silence. She was not unkind, just… difficult to count on in the ways that counted.
As he grew older, Harvey started to rebel. An addition to the household in the form of a half-sister only moved things along. Expectations did not lessen, if anything they grew. Whatever he was supposed to become felt less like a choice, and more like an obligation he could not refuse. He hated it, so he took the role that was left over.
He became the troublemaker and scapegoat. Not by any accident, but by his own choice. If he failed loudly and often enough, then at least it would be on his terms. He engaged in petty crimes, graffiti, and a bit of pickpocketing. Anything that gave him a rush, or a break from feeling watched and measured.
He picked on weaker kids like the bully he pretended to be, though he would fold the moment someone stronger came along. It was never really about strength or showing off, but control. If he could make someone else smaller, then he wasn’t the one that was found lacking.
Around the same time, he developed a deep love for reading, escaping into books and written words. He memorized stories and knowledge obsessively, and built something he could be proud of. Something that felt like it truly belonged to him.
When the acceptance to Ilvermorny arrived, his parents were against it. They wanted a more «normal» path for him. What use was a magical education when he was to climb the social-economic ladder. It was only after repeated assurances from the school that his condition could be handled, and possible job prospects, that he was allowed to attend. They set one condition though: Whatever he did, he would be the best.
Harvey left with no intention of meeting that expectation. Instead, he set out to be the exact opposite. If failure was inevitable, as it always was, at least it would be his to claim on his own terms. He was sorted as a Thunderbird and quickly gained a reputation as trouble. Running his mouth, pushing buttons, picking on others, about everything you can imagine. If they already thought of him as a monster, he saw little reason to invest energy to prove them wrong.
Things escalated as they often do. His behavior only grew worse as the year passed, culminating in an incident where he nearly proved that he was the monster he thinks himself to be. Staff intervened before anyone was seriously hurt, but the line had been more than crossed. At the start of June he was sent home. The news hit harder than he expected them to. Despite everything, he had liked the school. Especially the few friends he had made.
During the full moon of June, his father made a rare appearance. The conversation between the adults was held behind closed doors. The outcome was simple: Harvey would go to Russia and enroll at Durmstrang. It was presented like as much of a choice as breathing air.
Russia was cold, he could feel it down to his bones. Endless forests, and heavier silence. His father’s home stood isolated, more structure than comfort. Certainly not a place meant for growing up. Harvey was not introduced to anyone. House elves came and went, the constant eyes on him were uncomfortable. When visitors came, he was simply not there to be seen. He was given structure, expectations, and access to tutors and books far beyond what his mom and stepdad ever could offer. His education was refined, but nothing was given freely. Everything felt measured. Conditional and in need of being earned.
The Sokolovsky family had been upper class for generations, always seeking to rise to aristocracy. A few generations back they got lucky by being elected for a political position. Through long-standing arrangements tied to trade and legislation, they secured access to influence and a standing in high society. Grigori continued the legacy. As Senior Undersecretary for International Trade Legislation and Arcane Standards within the International Confederation of Wizards, he drafts and shapes proposals governing the movement of magical goods across borders. It is a quiet but powerful position, one that extends far beyond formal chambers.
The idea of Durmstrang loomed like something carved straight out of discipline. Harsh and unforgiving. A place his father deemed appropriate. Grigori did not dare sponsor Harvey himself. Public association with a werewolf, especially his own son, was not a risk he was willing to take.
So he made a deal with Astrid Blackwood. Not a new arrangement, but an extension of one already in place. She would sponsor Harvey, and provide leverage against Grigori’s political opponents. In return, Grigori would support her publicly, strengthening her reputation without drawing unwanted scrutiny.
He would also assist her with Magnus Blackwood. Harvey would serve a purpose there as well. An example, carefully positioned. Something to be observed. What happens without discipline. Without control. Harvey was not introduced as a solution. He was presented as a warning.
Harvey knows he needs to prove himself. Not just to the school, but to his father. Grigori does not demand affection, nor does he offer it. What he expects is simpler. Usefulness, control, results. How to bow to a man you secretly adore, but who refuses to call you his son? Harvey is as likely to give up as he is to tear himself apart trying. Only time will tell which comes first.
Short note regarding backstory:
Reducio
Due to Harvey having been expelled and switched schools, I would be more than willing to give up one of three inter-school switches, as well as render future switches to Ilvermorny impossible.
It is self explanatory that a kid who is kicked out of a magical academy won’t just get accepted to another without any questions. So I had a bit of fun with the process mugglebord has to go through in order to attend Durmstrang. Harvey has magical heritage, and has at least for now left his other life behind him. Further it struck me as suitable that someone of worth would need to vouch for him in the same manner someone of the community would have to vouch for a muggleborn. It may be just me playing with the words until they make sense, so please correct me if I should imagine a simpler process.
I have permission from the writer of Magnus Blackwood to mention his character, as stated in the screengrab below
It is self explanatory that a kid who is kicked out of a magical academy won’t just get accepted to another without any questions. So I had a bit of fun with the process mugglebord has to go through in order to attend Durmstrang. Harvey has magical heritage, and has at least for now left his other life behind him. Further it struck me as suitable that someone of worth would need to vouch for him in the same manner someone of the community would have to vouch for a muggleborn. It may be just me playing with the words until they make sense, so please correct me if I should imagine a simpler process.
I have permission from the writer of Magnus Blackwood to mention his character, as stated in the screengrab below
First Magic:
Reducio
Harvey’s first instance of magic happened at the age of five. He had been excited all week for that very weekend. His father was supposed to take him out for an adventure, and Harvey could barely wait. He got home that Friday, bursting into the kitchen, expecting to find him waiting. Instead, only his mother occupied the room, stirring in a pot just put on the burner. His father had a situation to handle at work and would not be coming. Harvey’s stomach dropped. Disappointment hit first, but beneath it curled something darker: fear. The kind he did not want to put into words. His mother, busy as she was, took the time to look over her shoulder and suggest they could do something together instead. Harvey doesn’t really know why the simple offer made him snap, it just did. He did not want a weekend with his mom. He wanted to spend it with his dad! Before he knew it, the contents of the pot exploded. The gravy sprayed everywhere. Across walls and countertops. It was hot, but thankfully not hot enough to burn. Harvey just stood there, stunned. The anger slipped away faster than it spiked. It was replaced by something else. He knew magic was a thing, but he did not know it was something he himself was capable of. A small but proud smile tugged at his lips. His mother, on the other hand, was close to panic. What had happened went against all laws of physics, it should have been impossible. She looked between Harvey and the walls covered in gravy in disbelief, turning into fear. But Harvey got his wish. Not even minutes later his father’s presence was requested. This time, he answered. Harvey was pleased down to his very core. He did something impressive, and got his wish. If only he could do it again…
Is your character a Quidditch player/Broom racer/Duelist? Yes, Duelist
Stats: Stamina 4 | Evasion 7 | Strength 1 | Wisdom 10 | Arcane power 4 | Accuracy 9
Special Race/Ability: Werewolf. Word count: 1083
Reducio
He was six. He can not quite remember it all that well, as it seemed so long ago. But to a twelve year old, six years is an eternity. Harvey has many times wished he could have done things differently. Number one on that list is the cursed camping trip between father and son.
It was to be an adventure! Full moon and a cloudless sky, it was truly the perfect conditions for star gazing. That was not what had convinced Harvey to go though. No, the campfire and the possibility of s’mores was a way bigger incentive. Getting to spend the night with his dad, listening to incredible stories, was not so bad either.
They had hiked for what felt like hours. Harvey was tired almost before they left the front porch. But on and on they walked. His dad said there would be no problem getting them out quickly if needed, but moving the body was good for the soul. Harvey tried to keep his complaints to himself.
They set up camp in a clearing, just beneath a small peak. It was truly the perfect spot. It did not take long before darkness fell and the Astronomy lesson could commence. It was interesting and all, but Harvey soon struggled to keep his eyes open. If he could just close them for a second…
When he woke, he found himself stuffed into his bedroll. His father snored softly beside him, and the fire had burned down to a few embers. Why had he woken up? Right. He needed a trip to the little boys room. He sat up slowly, stretching all limbs. Sleeping on the ground was nowhere near as comfortable as he had imagined. Climbing out of the makeshift bed, he shook his dad’s shoulder. He probably didn’t have to, but Grigori had been so adamant on knowing where he was at any given time. After a few seconds he gave up. The man was about as dead to the world as a bear in hibernation.
Yawning, he walked off. Not far, just a stone throw or two. Relief filled him as he finally let go. Had he not been so rudely interrupted, he would have enjoyed it a whole lot more. There was howling in the distance. He knew there were wild animals here, but his father had failed to mention wolves. He ransacked his memory for useful information. Wild animals rarely sought out humans, something about the smell being wrong? They had been camped there for several hours, so he knew their smell probably lingered in the whole area.
It was strange though, the howls seemed to be getting closer? He shook off the last drops before turning toward the camp. It was probably no reason to worry, the wolf would turn soon enough. Treading carefully in the darkness, he made his way back.
He was almost there too, when a branch snapped just off to the side. Looking in that direction and back, he was for a moment stumped on what to do. He wasn’t really all that sleepy anymore. It couldn’t hurt to take a look, right? Stepping off the path, he headed towards the sound of rustling leaves with curiosity. What he failed to notice was that the howls had stopped.
What happened next happened so fast that Harvey still has difficulty piecing it all together. He walked straight at a few bushes where the sounds seemed to be originating. He grabbed a branch and pulled it back to get a better view. He was met with a set of feline eyes and snarling teeth. He must have stumbled back. Surprise or horror, there was no way to be sure. A scream even tore from his throat as he tried to keep from falling when he turned to run. The sound had barely passed his lips before the wolf pounced on him.
Pain. Pure and utter agony. Of course he knew nothing of it then, but he was sure his life was ending as the beast clamped its jaw around his neck. Becoming a werewolf’s chew toy had not been on his agenda for the day, but yet that is what he became. Maybe he passed out? Maybe his father was just that reactive? Out of nowhere colored sparks lit up the area. A wave of air pushed the wolf off him, and it howled in pain. A few more sparks, and his vision was filled with his fathers face who was pale with worry. The Russian words came too fast for him to understand, or maybe he dazed again? He was picked up by strong arms, and what to him felt like a second later they were safely back in the apartment his father owned.
His wound was tended to with quick hands. He was told later the wound was stuffed with silver and essence of dittany. The only useful thing for slowing the bleeding. The only thing that could be done. The hands caring for him seemed to slow after a while, or maybe he drifted off again? Eventually everything drifted steadily out of focus.
Harvey survived that terrible night, even though he often wished he hadn’t. The first of which came only a mere month later. Locked in a shed in the garden, warded with countless wards and defenses thanks to his father. He could not help being scared. Whoever would claim to be otherwise was a liar, and a terrible one at that.
The transformation was agonizing, there was no better word for it. Feeling every bone in the body break and reform, he screamed until his voice gave out and then he screamed some more. His form was yet another thing to add to the list of things he didn’t like. It was tall and scrawny, straight up ugly. Couldn’t he have at least transformed into an actual wolf?! But no, his form was Gaunt. The space he was in was not as cramped as it could have been, but he still bore the memories and scars of him clawing at everything within reach to get out. When he came to the next morning, once again in the body of a boy, he wiped away tears at the thought of it happening again. As horrible as the thought was, thinking of his parents seeing him upset over it seemed somehow worse. Blame childish logic or perhaps the need to prove that he was way more than they thought him to be.
It was to be an adventure! Full moon and a cloudless sky, it was truly the perfect conditions for star gazing. That was not what had convinced Harvey to go though. No, the campfire and the possibility of s’mores was a way bigger incentive. Getting to spend the night with his dad, listening to incredible stories, was not so bad either.
They had hiked for what felt like hours. Harvey was tired almost before they left the front porch. But on and on they walked. His dad said there would be no problem getting them out quickly if needed, but moving the body was good for the soul. Harvey tried to keep his complaints to himself.
They set up camp in a clearing, just beneath a small peak. It was truly the perfect spot. It did not take long before darkness fell and the Astronomy lesson could commence. It was interesting and all, but Harvey soon struggled to keep his eyes open. If he could just close them for a second…
When he woke, he found himself stuffed into his bedroll. His father snored softly beside him, and the fire had burned down to a few embers. Why had he woken up? Right. He needed a trip to the little boys room. He sat up slowly, stretching all limbs. Sleeping on the ground was nowhere near as comfortable as he had imagined. Climbing out of the makeshift bed, he shook his dad’s shoulder. He probably didn’t have to, but Grigori had been so adamant on knowing where he was at any given time. After a few seconds he gave up. The man was about as dead to the world as a bear in hibernation.
Yawning, he walked off. Not far, just a stone throw or two. Relief filled him as he finally let go. Had he not been so rudely interrupted, he would have enjoyed it a whole lot more. There was howling in the distance. He knew there were wild animals here, but his father had failed to mention wolves. He ransacked his memory for useful information. Wild animals rarely sought out humans, something about the smell being wrong? They had been camped there for several hours, so he knew their smell probably lingered in the whole area.
It was strange though, the howls seemed to be getting closer? He shook off the last drops before turning toward the camp. It was probably no reason to worry, the wolf would turn soon enough. Treading carefully in the darkness, he made his way back.
He was almost there too, when a branch snapped just off to the side. Looking in that direction and back, he was for a moment stumped on what to do. He wasn’t really all that sleepy anymore. It couldn’t hurt to take a look, right? Stepping off the path, he headed towards the sound of rustling leaves with curiosity. What he failed to notice was that the howls had stopped.
What happened next happened so fast that Harvey still has difficulty piecing it all together. He walked straight at a few bushes where the sounds seemed to be originating. He grabbed a branch and pulled it back to get a better view. He was met with a set of feline eyes and snarling teeth. He must have stumbled back. Surprise or horror, there was no way to be sure. A scream even tore from his throat as he tried to keep from falling when he turned to run. The sound had barely passed his lips before the wolf pounced on him.
Pain. Pure and utter agony. Of course he knew nothing of it then, but he was sure his life was ending as the beast clamped its jaw around his neck. Becoming a werewolf’s chew toy had not been on his agenda for the day, but yet that is what he became. Maybe he passed out? Maybe his father was just that reactive? Out of nowhere colored sparks lit up the area. A wave of air pushed the wolf off him, and it howled in pain. A few more sparks, and his vision was filled with his fathers face who was pale with worry. The Russian words came too fast for him to understand, or maybe he dazed again? He was picked up by strong arms, and what to him felt like a second later they were safely back in the apartment his father owned.
His wound was tended to with quick hands. He was told later the wound was stuffed with silver and essence of dittany. The only useful thing for slowing the bleeding. The only thing that could be done. The hands caring for him seemed to slow after a while, or maybe he drifted off again? Eventually everything drifted steadily out of focus.
Harvey survived that terrible night, even though he often wished he hadn’t. The first of which came only a mere month later. Locked in a shed in the garden, warded with countless wards and defenses thanks to his father. He could not help being scared. Whoever would claim to be otherwise was a liar, and a terrible one at that.
The transformation was agonizing, there was no better word for it. Feeling every bone in the body break and reform, he screamed until his voice gave out and then he screamed some more. His form was yet another thing to add to the list of things he didn’t like. It was tall and scrawny, straight up ugly. Couldn’t he have at least transformed into an actual wolf?! But no, his form was Gaunt. The space he was in was not as cramped as it could have been, but he still bore the memories and scars of him clawing at everything within reach to get out. When he came to the next morning, once again in the body of a boy, he wiped away tears at the thought of it happening again. As horrible as the thought was, thinking of his parents seeing him upset over it seemed somehow worse. Blame childish logic or perhaps the need to prove that he was way more than they thought him to be.
If special race/ability, how did they join the school? Normally.
STATUS: Pending — Santiago, 09/07/2026
Reasons for pending:
- Clarify what potion he was given after the werewolf attack and how he was treated. Keep in mind silver and dittany are needed to heal the wounds.
Edit made
As I have understood the werewolf lore, the silver and dittany are applied to the wound itself, and not in the form of a potion. The drink mentioned was therefore not meant to be anything more than a drink of water. I have edited the paragraph, but if further edits are needed for whatever reason please tell me!
PC: Maximilianus Kenneally Vidler—————————"Life is short; make it weird and slightly chaotic."
iNPC: —————————————————————————Roadhouse Radio
Durmstrang NPC
Name: Christopher Vyacheslavovna
PC Name: Danielle Kim Angeles
Year: Second
Link to your Character Page: Ency linkie
Status: Pureblood
Residence: Moscow, Russia
Nationality: Russian
History:ReducioChristopher Vyacheslavovna belonged to the House of Vyacheslavovna, an ancient pureblood lineage of wizards that dated back many years. Despite their reputation as a distinguished family in the traditional circles of magic, the Vyacheslavovnas have always lacked influence in politics and the display of excess money. They focused on magical studies, the law of magic, healing, and traditions of the old magic. Discipline and reputation mattered most to them, and any child born in such a family knew from birth that every step of theirs would mean something to each of their ancestors too.
Christopher was the youngest among his brothers and sisters. During the first eight years of his life, he led a rather unremarkable childhood for the child of a pureblood family. He learned manners and magical history along with afternoons spent playing in the forests near the family estate under the watchful eye of older children, tutors, or domestic servants. His parents were strict yet loving enough to know that discipline and kindness are not necessarily opposites.
This all came about in one autumn evening.
While exploring deeper within the confines of the estate's wooded area than he had ever been allowed before, Christopher was confronted with an attack from a werewolf who had somehow managed to get past the protective warding system of the property. Even though he was chased off before he could be killed, the wound that the creature inflicted on his left leg was going to change his entire life from that day forth. Everything his family could do to save him was done for Christopher. While silver dust and dittany helped keep him alive until the arrival of healers, it took too long and Nightroot Elixir had missed its opportunity at St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies.
Christopher lived.
His lycanthropy did as well.
.
First Magic:ReducioThe very first display of Christopher Vyacheslavovna's accidental magic happened when he was just five years old, at the peak of one of the most stormy storms ever recorded by his family. Due to his innate fear of loud noises, the boy had been hiding under the grand piano in his family drawing room while it was pouring rain outside. The sudden boom of lightning near one of the trees made the whole estate tremble and scared the boy to tears. While he was squeezing his eyes and putting his hands over his ears, all the candles in the room burst into small blue flames. Unlike the usual fire, the magic one was burning silently without damaging anything in the room – it was lighting up a small part of the room without touching any furniture, curtains, or wooden floors.
The commotion led to Christopher's parents, brothers, sisters, as well as some servants entering the drawing room and seeing him hiding under the piano surrounded by weird blue flames. As soon as his mother sat down next to him and embraced him, the magic fire disappeared as suddenly as it had appeared.
Though frightening at the time, the incident was celebrated within the family, confirming that Christopher had inherited the magical abilities expected of a pureblood child.
Is your character a Quidditch player/Broom racer/Duelist? Quidditch Player (Beater, First string)
Stats:Reducio[ sta ] 8 [ eva ] 2 [ str ] 8 [ wis ] 7 [ arc ] 3 [ acc ] 7
Special Race/Ability:ReducioChristopher Vyacheslavovna was only eight years old when he lost his childhood. The Vyacheslavovna lands bordered one such piece of protected forest that had been used for generations for its magical trees. It was often told to young Christopher that he should never venture into the forest during the night. Children do not believe warnings until they become memories. One autumn evening, while pursuing an injured snowy owl who had fallen into the forest by accident, Christopher ventured too far into the woods and soon found himself lost. By the time he had discovered that he was lost, it was well after the sun had set.
It was then that the werewolf sprang on him from nowhere. In less than a second, the creature appeared before him. Christopher could not even move an inch. Just as he felt the creature grabbing at his leg, a cry of a desperate house-elf rang throughout the forest. It was just enough for the wards to kick in, causing the werewolf to withdraw from Christopher. By then, Christopher had already bled too much.
His father arrived first, carrying him back to the manor, while his mother frantically stuffed powdered silver into the wound regardless of Christopher's pleading. Essence of dittany allowed him to stop losing blood and remain alive, but everybody who was there knew that terrible fact.They needed the Nightroot Elixir. Right away. The Vyacheslavovna family had huge wealth, influence, and experience in magic, but nothing could help at this point. Their manor was located several hours from the closest hospital, licensed to have Nightroot Elixir. Floo travel from the manor had become impossible after the werewolf had managed to break through the barrier; as for Apparation, it was not possible due to Christopher's condition. Every second meant one less chance for Christopher.
But when they reached the hospital, their hope was expressed in the Healer's face even without saying anything. The two-hour window had already passed. Christopher was still alive. But the curse was still alive too. The scar around his left calf from where the werewolf’s teeth had bitten him is clearly visible on his skin, always hurting during the full moon, which comes every month reminding him of his curse that he cannot deny.
Christopher’s first change occurred after twenty-eight days.He cried because he felt he must have made some mistake. A special room in their manor was designed by his parents, after discussing things with all the healers and curse specialists that they could find. His mother was there for him till the end, reassuring him with her tears that everything would be fine. It was an assurance neither of them could make. The agony was unbearable for an eight-year-old boy. His bones cracked and stretched out. His fingers turned into claws. He screamed at his parents with fear when the curse began to take him. He assumed the form of the Wolf. The wolf that materialized in front of his parents was gigantic for the beast born to such a tiny child, black fur interrupted only by the silver stripe running across the bitten leg of the wounded creature. No hint of Christopher was present in those eyes anymore; there was only an animal instinct, aggression, and rage. Reinforced room was not enough. By the time of sunrise, the stone walls were full of claw marks, the metal shackles hanging from the floor in deformed shapes, while the little boy waking up in the middle of the room had no recollection of anything but fear on the faces of his parents when opening the door. Christopher never bothered asking about that night.
Christopher’s parents never bothered telling him about it. Starting from that very day, every month during the full moon turned into an elaborated routine of being isolated and put into enchanted shackles. The Vyacheslovana family never considered Christopher a monster; but he knew about the precautionary measures anyway—the fortified doors, nervous looks, and servants leaving the house every time when the full moon arrived. He understood much earlier than adulthood how love and fear could coexist in one room.
If special race/ability, how did they join the school?ReducioChristopher’s admission was put off after the Healers said that he should not be admitted immediately after being infected with lycanthropy, due to his monthly transformations. It took a whole year of home schooling, periodic checkups, and adaptation to his transformation cycle before his parents allowed him to enroll at Durmstrang.
STATUS: Pending — Santiago, 09/07/2026
Reasons for pending:
- The first instance of magic is currently considered too powerful. The flames should only last a few seconds and should not occur on such a large scale that the entire room appears to be engulfed in flames.
- Given the family's resources, why didn't they provide him with wolfsbane potions to stop him from turning into an uncontrollable wolf every full moon?
- The stats currently add up to 30 points. As a second year, he would have 35 points.
Last edited by Danielle Kim Angeles on 10 Jul 2026, 11:51, edited 1 time in total.
All those years I put in for the American Dream
Is it worth all the work if you can't be here with me?
'Cause I fly Stockholm to LA, leave my feelings on the plane
Worries fade away when I hit the stag.
Durmstrang NPC
Name: Vilhelm Hugo Djupandstierna
PC Name: Jun Mayumi Mochizuki
Year: Third
Link to your Character Page: Plop
Status: Pureblood
Residence: Norrfällsviken, Sweden
Nationality: Swedish
History:
ReducioThe Djupandstierna‘s are a noble Pureblood family, coming from old money and wealthy heritage. Hugo Erik Djupandstierna was born as the only son of Baltasar Alrik and Linnéa Djupandstierna, in Djursholme, Sweden. He grew up under the watchful eyes of his father and mother, carved into the perfect heir of estates, wealth and power. Across wizarding Sweden, parts of Europe and Asia, the Djupandstierna name has always held a certain significance. A certain weight. This originally stemmed from the long lineage of Men becoming Aurors in their family — there is barely any record of a different career path beneath the Djupandstierna men. However, the family itself is also known for holding yearly events such as balls and other activities. Whether that is hunting, sailing or a business dinner, none of the above are unusual to be held by them. Alas, that is how Hugo met his wife. The Adelborg family had always been connected to the Djupandstierna‘s in business and friendship, which only meant Hugo and Filipa were destined to be.
Hugo never paid much of an interest in the younger girl while attending Durmstrang Institute. He was far too ambitious to fulfill his fathers expectations to care for other interests. Upon graduation, he worked hard as an Auror in training to make a name for himself beneath the elite wizards and witches, gaining a reputation of not caring about anyone, nor stopping for anything. Until years later. He was attending one of his family’s balls, strutting through the crowd as though others were mere decorative pieces. Until his eyes laid upon Filipa Helene Adelborg. The girl he used to know had grown into a fine young woman, with long silky blonde hair and an air of elegance that made him stop in his tracks. While Hugo had only ever been interested in success, all of a sudden he found himself wishing to converse with Filipa. Strutting through crowds like he did not have time for anyone turned into walking slowly through the crowd beside Filipa, conversing and even smiling down at her when she laughed at the way children chased each other across the Dance floor.
It did not take long for his parents to see how smitten he was with the young woman, how gentle their usually stern son was with her. The wedding followed a year later and within their first year of marriage, their first son was born. Alrik Djupandstierna, the perfect heir with dark curls and bright blue eyes, a mix of both his parents. Linnéa Djupandstierna followed, before Vilhelm and Solveig were born just a couple years later. Ambrosius Djupandstierna and Baltasar Djupandstierna were the latest and last additions to the family. Both Hugo and Filipa take great pride in their children and expect them to succeed and grow to carry on the family name, along with their traditions, values and wealth. They make sure each of their children is supported in both, their interests and other intellectual areas deemed as important. From a young age on, each child relished in tutoring and etiquette lessons, whether that be in languages, manners, sports or the arts.
Vilhelm Hugo Djupandstierna therefore grew up in a loving, skilled, noble family where he learned that intelligence, charm and hard work is the way to success. In tutoring, his father not only insisted that he learned the proper way to speak his mother tongue, but to be fluent in Russian and German too, as he of course intended Vilhelm to attend Durmstrang Institute and deemed these languages as quite important. His mothers wish was that he’d learn English too, due to the vast international events of wizarding schools. Of course that was only a small part of his tutoring, perhaps his most liked though. In the arts, Vilhelm chose to learn the nyckelharpa (keyed harp), a traditional Swedish string instrument played with a short bow, rather than one of the instruments his siblings already played.
Growing up in nature and by the coast, his father and older brother taught him to sail when he was just old enough to walk. Sailing had been a tradition in the family for years, whether that was afternoons spent with the family by the coast, or a breath of fresh air to clear one’s head. Vilhelm learned quickly and when his brother was home from Durmstrang during the Summer, he’d often take him to the Sea. Other extracurriculars in Vilhelm’s education included horse riding, tennis, bandy, golf or fencing — all of which he regularly participated in. His days were often spent by the coast, with a watchful eye over his siblings.
Once he was ready to attend Durmstrang Institute, he began playing quidditch more regularly and working to exceed in his magical abilities. It was no trouble for Vilhelm to make connections and he learned quickly that Durmstrang had many likeminded students, that grew up in similar circumstances as he had. He grew further into the role of protective older brother to Solveig - even when they were the same age — and that also started showing at home. When his brother left for his training as an Auror, Vilhelm took over his role naturally and became the one his father proudly presented at events and balls. He revels within the attention and does as he believes pleases his father, for Vilhelm is destined to become another great man, carrying on the Djupandstierna name.
First Magic:
ReducioThe Sea swept at the shore as the cool wind bit at Vilhelms face. The 4 year old had begged his father to take him and Solveig sailing today, until he had given in. It was early May, a cool morning while the Sun peaked through the white clouds. Solveig stood beside him on the deck of the small wooden sailing boat. She was dressed in a thick coat, wool scarf and rainboots, her hair tied into two braids. Their father had just told them to sit down and hold on, even when the sea was calm today. They wouldn’t be gone for long, as Vilhelm knew the servants would be preparing a large meal for lunch, and a gathering was planned for tonight. He sat beside his twin as Hugo Erik Djupandstierna managed the boat. When mid morning came closer, the weather shifted. Silence fell over the sea and his father instantly tensed, turning the boat around with the wind that was left. They had been sailing out for about an hour, not too long, but now their father seemed to want to turn back. Vilhelm didn’t protest. They were slower than before and he watched the sky turn into an ominous, bruise colored steel gray. Low clouds were starting to form and at this point, Vilhelm knew exactly what was coming. The temperatures dropped, fog spread across the sea and a wall of white was moving toward them as his father frantically moved around the boat to get them to shore in time. „Get in the cabin, now!” Came his fathers strained voice. The weather was dangerous on days like this one, only that the broadcast these past days had most definitely not mentioned any incoming storms. Vilhelm stood up as the Sea suddenly turned pitch black, grabbing Solveigs arm to pull her along. Then the storm hit. The water turned into a violent, chaotic carpet of aggression as wind hit the sails and the boat shifted. Vilhelm started pulling Solveig toward the cabin, barely able to keep on his legs as his father struggled to steer the boat away from crashing into the cliffs. Then she fell. His twins small body tumbled toward the edge of the boat and — Vilhelm shot after her, just as her body was close to hitting the water. He caught her with one arm as suddenly a surprising strength overtook him and he pulled her in. Adrenaline? Fear? No, Magic. Only that there was no time to celebrate it, as their father pulled them into the cabin and struggled to get them to safety. That evening, Vilhelm told everyone that would listen about his first instance of accidental magic; saving his sister.
Is your character a Quidditch player/Broom racer/Duelist? Yes. Quidditch Player, Beater
Stats: Stamina: 9 | Evasion: 7 | Strength: 10 | Wisdom: 8 | Arcane Power: 2 | Accuracy: 9
STATUS: Pending — Santiago, 09/07/2026
Reasons for pending:
- Please avoid making the character directly related to real historical/noble families. The Gyllenstierna name is associated with an existing Swedish noble family, so please create an original pureblood family name and history instead. Additionally, a pureblood family having direct ties to Muggle royalty would have required further clarification due to the separation between the Muggle and magical worlds.
- Skuleskogen is a national park and not an inhabited city/location. Please replace it with a suitable residential location, for example, Docksta or Näske, or another nearby village.
— Edits made
