Post by Deleted on Sept 9, 2014 2:58:41 GMT
THEODORE NOTT
FULL NAME: Theodore Christopher Nott
NICKNAMES: Theo.
AGE: Fourteen.
D.O.B.: March 12, 1980
HOUSE: Slytherin.
PROFESSION: Student.
WAND TYPE: Acacia, Coral, 9"
HAIR COLOUR: Brown.
EYE COLOUR: Grey-ish.
HEIGHT: 5'8"
PLAYBY: Dane DeHaan.
CHARACTER LIKES: Potions, Quiet, Classical Music, Studying, Winter, Being at Hogwarts,
CHARACTER DISLIKES: Boastful people, Noise, Going Home, Summer, Charms, Ridiculous Rivalries
GOALS: To continue his quiet, overlooked life, graduate and leave home forever, and perhaps someday take over for Professor Snape.
BOGGART: Confined spaces - feels like he's suddenly trapped in a cupboard and it's closing in on him.
PATRONUS: Seeing Hogwarts for the first time.
DEMENTOR: Finding his mother crumpled at the bottom of their staircase at home.
AMORENTIA: Lavender, bite of winter, fresh ink.
BASIC PERSONALITY: Quiet, Reserved, Anti-Social, Pacifist, Sarcastic, Cynical, Scared, Blunt, Wary.
FATHER: Christopher Nott
MOTHER: Tabitha Nott (deceased)
SIBLING(S): None.
OTHER: N/A.
BLOOD STATUS: Pureblood.
CURRENT RESIDENCE: Hogwarts/Various Homes
HISTORY: There's not much that Theo remembers about his early life, which is to be expected - memories fade over time, and he has no one that would refresh them, tell him stories about what he used to do. Bipsy, his house elf, perhaps, but she's at home and he's at school most of the year, so that won't happen. His mother? Dead. His father? Hah, that concept was absolutely laughable. No, his memories slipped and faded away, aside from a few that seemed to always stick around.
The scent of his mother's perfume - Lavender. He still remembers the brand, still remembers the exact bottle, and buys it on occasion, when he misses her. At school, Theo always has at least one bottle, and has a box filled with all the others tucked away at home. He fancies that one day, perhaps, his wife or girlfriend will wear it - that is, if he ever gets one. It's not an important goal. Chocolate is also a prominent memory - lots of it, frequently shoved at him by his father in an attempt to make him stop whatever it was he was doing. The taste, now... Well, sweets aren't his favorite food.
Once his mother died, when he was young - she was the life of the house, the heart and soul that kept them breathing, living, happy - Theo's home grew quiet. The child never quite got on with his father - an elderly wizard who still dabbled in the Dark Arts, despite his claim to the Imperius curse, and whom the boy semi-suspected had been behind his mother's death. Yes, it was an interesting quandry...
Still, it didn't matter (At least, that's what he told himself). He kept silent, focusing on his studies, a quiet, polite pureblooded boy who ran with the right crowd (even if a lot of that crowd was absolutely unsufferable) and never stepped out of line, and even when he ran out from underneath his father's reach and entered Hogwarts... He remained the same. The amount of students he had talked to - outside of Slytherin, an expected result, though Ravenclaw was considered - he was able to count on his hands, those of which who weren't pureblood remaining an accident and confined to less than one hand (with a few exceptions in his half-blood Slytherin 'friends').
True, it's not the most happy existence - but all he really wants to do is scrape by and get through his last years of childhood, and get out on his own. Away from his father, and preferably, away from all this 'Dark Lord' and 'Death Eater' and 'pureblood supremacy' nonsense. Who actually gives a damn?
YOUR ALIAS: Addy.
RP EXPERIENCE: 5.5 years.
HOW YOU FOUND US: Proboards Support.
OTHER CHARACTERS: None.
RP SAMPLE:
There were no words for how intensely uncomfortable Theo was. It was odd, not being in his robes - normally he dressed in the height of Wizarding Fashion, not that he needed to point it out as frequently as one Draco Malfoy did - but now he was dressed in... Muggle clothing. Even within his mind, the word curled in an utterly disturbed way, a notion he shouldn't be fathoming, considering, anything at all. Still. It wasn't as though he had possessed much of a choice in the matter.
It was the Quidditch World Cup, and it was hardly as if he was going to miss that - his Father had bought some very nice seats, not that he thought he would be sitting by him. No, his Father was likely to be off doing business, buying the tickets just for show, and Theo would find himself watching the game alone, and then retreating to their tent alone. Not that he minded - better alone than with Father. No, it wasn't as if he minded being here, temporarily camping here, or being alone - it was more the fact that they had to pander to Muggles, as a show of 'good faith' and 'look how not-threatening they are!', and thus... muggle clothing. Ugh.
Madam Malkin had assured him that he was dressed very well for Muggle clothing - a 'tuxedo', she had called it, and given it wasn't as bad as some of the clothing he spotted people hurrying around in, he was forced to concede to her. (Not that he'd ever challenge her on her clothing knowledge - she was good for what she claimed to know, and didn't claim any more than that.) He could be worse.
Still, it didn't help his odd tenseness, slight frown on his face as he strode through the camp, taking in all the garish - but nice in their own way, he supposed - decorations, the milling groups of people, the noise... It wasn't bad. Too loud for his tastes, but not bad.
It was the Quidditch World Cup, and it was hardly as if he was going to miss that - his Father had bought some very nice seats, not that he thought he would be sitting by him. No, his Father was likely to be off doing business, buying the tickets just for show, and Theo would find himself watching the game alone, and then retreating to their tent alone. Not that he minded - better alone than with Father. No, it wasn't as if he minded being here, temporarily camping here, or being alone - it was more the fact that they had to pander to Muggles, as a show of 'good faith' and 'look how not-threatening they are!', and thus... muggle clothing. Ugh.
Madam Malkin had assured him that he was dressed very well for Muggle clothing - a 'tuxedo', she had called it, and given it wasn't as bad as some of the clothing he spotted people hurrying around in, he was forced to concede to her. (Not that he'd ever challenge her on her clothing knowledge - she was good for what she claimed to know, and didn't claim any more than that.) He could be worse.
Still, it didn't help his odd tenseness, slight frown on his face as he strode through the camp, taking in all the garish - but nice in their own way, he supposed - decorations, the milling groups of people, the noise... It wasn't bad. Too loud for his tastes, but not bad.
