your final year ;
Harry Potter was born in the year 1980, but that's not where we want to be. No, let's go back further. Here is where we want to be. It's March of the year 1978, dolls. The infamous Marauders are in their seventh & final year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft & Wizardry; the first war against the Dark Lord is about to begin. The Hogwarts students are joined by some guests this year. What role will you play & where will you end up?
It's all in your hands now.
0180 • gryffindor
0165 • ravenclaw
0020 • hufflepuff
0235 • slytherin
0050 • beauxbatons
0010 • durmstrang
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Member No.: 134
Joined: 2-April 08
Runner's high. It's the best feeling that anyone could get. Feeling like nobody can catch you. The feeling of your quad muscles burning, your abdomen muscles tightening and the blood pumping through your veins faster than lightning, heating your skin up well past the normal human body temperature. Not to mention the wind pushing through your hair and just feeling the skin on your legs bouncing up and down. To any girl, that feeling would have been absolutely disgusting. Like your legs jiggled because they were too fat or getting a few beads of sweat on your forehead was gross because after a few days, you'd become a craterface. Hestia hated girls who showed too much of their feminine side. Not everything was about brushing your hair, putting on lipstick and wearing short skirts. Was she being a hypocrite, however? Hes loved getting pretty and wearing skirts -- only if she had a good reason to. Like going out to Hogsmeade or trying to impress people. No, it wasn't quite hypocracy.
The bottom of her tennis shoes made imprints in the grass and dirt, as her legs swiftly moved her from point A to point B. The grounds were unusually quiet, but that was because it was around seven o'clock on a Saturday morning and the Hogwarts students were actually enjoying the time to sleep in. After classes all week and waking up early, people looked forward to sleeping in for two days. Hes didn't. She was always an early riser -- she had been since she was quite little. Perhaps it was the fact that she was just a light sleeper and as soon as the sun peeked through the curtains of her four-poster, those slanty, wide blue eyes were open. After laying for a moment, she'd pick herself up, throw on some shorts and a t-shirt, her tennis shoes and head on out. Sometimes with Alice, if the girl was awake. Otherwise, Hes would run out on her own. That was her usual morning routine.
This morning was really no different. Except Alice hadn't been up when Hestia had risen out of bed, so the girl made her way outside into the cool air by herself. It was March and the morning air wasn't exactly warm, like the afternoon air. If somebody walked outside in a t-shirt and little shorts, someone else would probably hex them for being such a moron. Hestia always got her blood pumping and boiling, however, so the cold air didn't really affect her until she stopped moving. Even now, the temperature was pretty low but small beads of sweat formed right beneath her dark hairline. A pair of small spandex shorts were covering just a tiny portion of her legs -- hey, it was almost the eighties and apparently, spandex was slowly making it's way in. They were longer but her leg movements made them slowly make their way up her legs, so they were gradually looking like knickers. Hestia would pull them down a few times, but usually gave up. Then a t-shirt covered her torso. Nothing special, just a plain, scarlet coloured shirt.
Hes' dark hair was perched ontop of her head in a ponytail, which was swinging back and forth as she ran her usual path alongside the lake. It was quite a disgusting lake and it didn't smell very pleasant either, but the circumference of the lake was a good distance to run. She usually ran around it four times, equaling out to two miles. Two miles was enough for her. Currently, the sixteen-year-old was on her fourth lap and was nearly back to point A, which was the beech tree that she usually stretched under beforehand and layed down under afterwards. There were hardly any sounds outside, just a few birds and bugs and splashing of some fish that were actually living in that disgusting lake. Oh, and Hestia's heavy, but controlled breathing and the sound of her feet making soft noises on the grass and dirt.
A couple more meters later, Hestia reached the home stretch. She quickened her pace into a sprint for the last hundred meters. Her breathing got a little more heavier, but the girl managed to keep control of it. As soon as Hestia neared the tree, she slowed to a jog, then a walk. Then her movements ceased all together as her legs folded beneath her and brought her lithe body to the dew-covered ground. Once her bum hit the grass, Hestia threw her body back into a laying position, her chest heaving up and down as the oxygen flowed more freely into her lungs. Her wide, blue eyes peeked up through the branches of the tree and found the sky, which was just about completely blue with the exception of a small orange strip somewhere over the horizon, but that wasn't in Hestia's central or peripheral vision, so she didn't really care.
Member No.: 133
Joined: 1-April 08
Lucilla abhorred sports, and she abhorred early mornings. Sadly, in order to make herself feel pretty, she had to rise bright and early each morning to apply make-up, do her hair and adjust her uniform to optimum attractiveness. She shortened her pleated skirt, knotted her tie as loosely as possible, allowed her robes to fall about her in pretty black cascades. Luckily, black, green and silver were all colours that suited the slytherin. The day was sunny enough when she exited the sub-floor common room that she was drawn outside, pushing strands of brown hair behind her ear. The light from the blue sky made her squint for the first few seconds, a slim hand raised to shield her green eyes. But the glare soon subsided, and her arm dropped to her side again, skin warming fast in the morning sun. The morning was fresh, warm and yet with a breeze. A small smile, a smile no-one could see, stretched across her mouth for all of a second before being replaced by the cool indifference of her usual expression, hand fluttering upwards to stifle a yawn as she descended the steps onto the dewy grass of the school grounds.
No-one appeared to be awake, yet. She knew some people were, back in the common room, but they were mostly in zombie-mode still. Stumbling around and swearing sleepily. Lucilla’s flat black ballet pumps were not doing much to protect her feet from the wet grass, but she ignored the urge to remove them and go barefoot with an admirably steadfast nature. She wasn’t one of those hippie freaks who went around without shoes. Ew... Wrinkling her nose in disgust, the girl picked her way over the seemingly vast stretch of land, heading for the black lake. Crossing her arms over her stomach, she meandered with no real thought in mind, aiming to move in a straight line and failing a little. Lucilla was a generally clumsy person, and tended to topple around a bit when she walked.
The athletic figure of Hestia Jones was a surprise to see. Luci knew there were some weird, keen people who woke up early and went running, but had never really seen them. The fact that they wore spandex shorts was enough to put her off. Ew. Eying the girl in question as though she was mentally ill, Lucilla carried on walking almost cautiously, now aiming for a spot under a tree, where... where Hestia was now sitting. Tutting under her breath, Lucilla recrossed her arms and, shaking her hair away from her oval face, made her way over.
She knew the girl’s name. Hestia Jones, sixth-year and probably gryffindor, due to the obvious lack of care for appearance and dubious taste in stinging shades of red exhibited by her t-shirt. Blinking in surprise at the spandex knickers, Lucilla decided to leave the girl’s weird choice in clothing alone for the time-being. ”Hestia, yeah?” Why was she even asking? She knew her name. Oh, well. Hogwarts etiquette demanded that she spoke like some kind of reject from the 1800’s and call people ‘Mr’ and ‘Miss’. Fuck that. If Lucilla wanted to call people by their first names, she was bloody going to. They weren’t running a convent here.
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