Welcome to TB, an all levels Harry Potter roleplay with no word count. Our purpose is to go through the books with one exception: the addition of original characters and what changes that makes.
We accept all beings and creatures in the Harry Potter verse including ghosts, veela, muggles and even centaur.
We have many active events ongoing for both students and adults and many characters and locations around the world.
Come join us and discover how your character can grow and evolve in the world of Harry Potter.
Post by CRESSIDA VILLEN on Jul 22, 2024 9:31:35 GMT -5
She rolled her eyes at the commentary regarding teenagers. Some were always more dramatic than others, weren't they? There had always been plenty of drama at school. "You suddenly sound forty years older. What else was different in your time?" The words were accompanied by a sly smirk.
Oberon seemed disinterested in Bhaer, and only asked a superficial question about Maeve. Cress considered it. "Not that I know of. If she dyes it, she does so very diligently." His attention then moved away from the pair; with her unwillingness to reveal anything about the Auror, and inability to state much negative information about Maeve, they were a dull target for the game.
"What about the host? Nero?"
Now she could say more, at least - though she leaned closer to him again, making sure nobody could overhear. "Nero himself is straight edge. His older sister is the only thing damaging his reputation. A wanted terrorist. Although she's pretty famous, too - perhaps you already know of her." She wasn't sure how long Oberon had been in the country, or if he had lived here before. His accent and vocabulary were amalgams of whatever cultures he had lived in. At times, she thought he sounded vaguely British - but then he also sounded American, and occasionally used odd terms probably picked up in other continents. "No bounty on her head, though," she added, suspecting that he might be interested to know. "It seems the Neros are now attempting to recover their good name by arranging events like this one."
Post by DEAN FINNIGAN on Jul 22, 2024 11:02:31 GMT -5
The way he stumbled over his words seemed to amuse Malfoy, which was just as well. All Dean wanted was to draw the focus of the conversation away from his own initials. A small part of him was still convinced that he was being an idiot, though. Sure, Malfoy did have a job that more or less fit the description from Distress Master's letters, and he had a son about the right age, and he had marital problems. That could still be an enormous coincidence.
"Do we know one another?"
Nope. "I don't believe we do, though I think my father went to school at the same time you did," Dean responded, shovelling more distraction into the chat. "Seamus Finnigan, Gryffindor, explosions," he listed the identifiers helpfully.
As another man blundered into their little huddle, he felt relief. The conversation might end soon, and--
"And you are telling me, Robert, why is that?"
Oh, so Robert is a human, a part of his mind observed, while the rest of it went into a full shutdown. He stared at the hapless trainee for awhile, without really seeing him. Finally, the lights began blinking back on. Emerging from his daze, Dean turned back to Malfoy. "Helpful chap. Permanent Confundus Charm?" he ventured a guess.
Post by DRAKE MAZELOW on Jul 22, 2024 13:29:09 GMT -5
He laughed when she did, the sound infectious, and he couldn't deny the the display itself was hilarious. It was only right, really, that the mudblood would be shown up in such a way and he thought his father would have said the same thing if he'd have saw it.
His laughter quelled soon though as they began to move and now he was glad he knew what he was doing. His lessons had paid off it would seem. "Thank you," he said of her words - she thought he looked handsome. Awesome. "School has the tendency to make everyone look like they only own one set of clothes." he teased.
Post by EZRA WEASLEY on Jul 22, 2024 13:38:12 GMT -5
"Touche." he said and bowed his head in defeat as she pointed out his lack of explanation in regards to his own choice of clothing. After a moment he looked up with a grin. "Yes!" he said, "We might even overhear something juicy." he pointed out as he hooked his arm into hers.
"I bet he's already here and hiding behind something waiting to jump out and watch me fall on my- ah-" he said when a waiter nearly knocked him with a tray. "Okay so I have to stop jinxing myself." he exhaled.
Post by JULIAN MULCIBER on Jul 23, 2024 0:26:26 GMT -5
He was ignoring his sisters disagreeable words concerning his rejection of the sapphire-laden girl, for his focus was entirely elsewhere. He pulled his sister along through the crowd, away from the quiet sobbing behind them, listening to his sister continue to scold him. Julian did not turn back, "I have no intention of doing either," he finally muttered, referring to both dancing with the stranger and to chasing his fathers coattail all evening, having spotted Burke.
"Oooh, now I understand," he didn't like her tone - or what it would mean for him later - he could practically see the cogs turning in her brain as she smiled up at him. Julian grimaced back from behind his mask, the only giveaway of his current expression the pressing of his lips. It was pointless arguing with her, especially now that she had broken out into a wide grin. Merlin, this was going to cost him. He waited patiently for her to assist him, leaning in as she named her price: she wanted to meet Thalia. Fine. She could meet Burke - when, however, she had not specified. Julian nodded once at her silently before she turned on heel with a knowing look, moving nimbly towards the family. He turned away for a few moments, considering suddenly that perhaps this was unwise. He was actively seeking out someone, when had he ever done that before? Would this become an issue for him? Had he been compromised? Julian stepped back slowly, melting into the crowd so as not to be spotted as his sister worked her charm - ever the affable one - allowing some inner turmoil to rise while he waited. Just what he needed.
His sister did not take long, she led the younger sister away and Burke became free to break from her family. Julian watched her go, eyes trailing as she rounded the outskirts of the room. He began to slowly move parallel to her, stepping agilely around the mingling groups of adults and fellow students alike, his identity well-hidden. He had selected his ensemble as such - just in case things went poorly with his father. The man had not been outside the Manor in a long while, and Julian did not trust in his ability to pace himself... He did not want anyone at school to be aware of his less-than-ideal personal life.
Thalia paused briefly to watch a pair of attendees, inadverdently causing Julian to mirror the hesitation, waiting to see what she chose to do. She seemed to consider an approach for a moment, but then suddenly turned to move in the opposite direction. Peculiar. What was she seeking, if not her friends? Julian began to move closer to her like a looming shadow in her wake. She was the picture of regal sophistication, the silhouette of her gown a far-cry from the usual flowing school robes. He needed to intervene before she was spotted by someone else and approached, stealing his opportunity. Her purposeful pace and his longer legs meant he was able to easily move ahead of her, stepping into her path, "are you looking for someone?" He asked curiously from behind his mask, eyes finally falling upon her face. And if so, who? Her own mask was embellished in the same gold that interlaced her dress, the color of which - he noted pleasantly - seemed to enhance the golden tones in her eyes.
The Firewhiskey went down smoothly - searing his throat and dispelling the numbness he felt as he moved through the crowd: greeting, offering short smiles and basic conversation, ignoring the lesser. It did nothing to alleviate the emptiness so obvious at his side. Adelene had known far better than him to navigate a crowd. He despised these events.
"Marcus, how unexpected to see you here," he recognized the tone, though it was threaded with a warmth not usually there. Marcus turned to his brother, matching the iciness in his eyes. "Marcellus," he greeted shortly, gaze moving between his brother and his wife, "Antonia," he nodded at the pretty woman before turning back to Marcellus, ignoring the obvious jab at his lack of public appearances the past two years, "it seemed a just cause-" he began his practiced public script, but was rudely interrupted. Aurelia.
"Marcus, you look dashing." Her words were pleasant enough - and her tone was not laced with deceit. She certainly had always had a way to alleviate any tension between the two. Marcus had no time to formulate his expression into a polite smile as she turned the conversation towards Olivia, staring at her instead, his reflexes slightly dulled. Olivia. Recovered...? Marcus had no knowledge of his niece's illness - Julian did not inform him about the happenings at the school. It was hard enough getting the damn boy to speak to him at all. He, too, had never met Olivia Mulciber, or her brother for that matter - Augustus - he recalled the name with slight difficulty, just as Marcellus had never been introduced to his own.
His own. He had momentarily forgotten about Julian and Annabelle.
Marcus turned sharply to look over his shoulder for his children - though they seemed to have disappeared, immersed into the crowd. What had they been wearing? He scanned over many heads to attempt to catch sight of a familiar pair - but to no avail. Julian would be reprimanded. He was not supposed to wander.
"Lovely to meet you all." Another interloper - this time a man, handing his sister a drink. Marcus appeared affronted, his steely eyes turning to the new appearance, "excuse me, but who are you?" This was a family conversation - not one for prying eyes and unfamiliar ears.
Post by DOMHNALL MCEVOY on Jul 26, 2024 11:48:47 GMT -5
Just seeing Rose's fury subside was a relief. He'd never been the target of her anger before, and he didn't want to be one again. They didn't fight, they got along so well - he had no experience in dealing with her frustration. Other people got annoyed with him all the time, especially the victims of his pranks, but that was different. Somehow, being in this posh manor and wearing these fancy clothes neither of them usually wore made everything feel surreal. He hadn't known how to act around this dress-wearing Rose, even before Danielle attacked them, though the assault complicated matters significantly. He'd been looking forward to that dance, despite being sure he wouldn't be very good at it. Instead, they were here and he was feeling both upset and guilty - and confused, too.
"It's okay," he sighed, accepting her apology at once. It's not like he'd been upset at her, not exactly. Only the fact that she thought he was spreading lies about him had been hurtful. Or... well, not even that. She got all worked up because someone had called her his girlfriend. That was more hurtful, actually.
"If- if you were the chair… what did she think you wanted?"
Don glanced down, locating his mask and picking it up from the floor. "I'm... I'm not actually sure about that part," he lied as he turned the mask over, pretending to assess the damage the drink had inflicted. Maybe he was daft enough not to realise a girl liked him, but he could, with some help from the said girl, figure out who he liked. He'd been talking about Rose before Sofia had started crying and using chair metaphors. Then, on Valentine's Day, Sofia said she didn't want to lose another boyfriend to a Weasley. And it clicked. The realisation hadn't even surprised him, so Don assumed he'd already known - to some extent, at least. But he didn't want to say anything to Rose, not until he knew if she liked him in that way at all. He didn't want to ruin their friendship by making things awkward. And there was no way he would make any confessions now, right after seeing Rose's reaction to the idea of being his girlfriend.
"I think maybe she was just saying things at that point." He looked up at Rose again, feeling even more guilty now that he was being insincere. Well, maybe he didn't get sorted into Gryffindor for a reason. "She, um-- she was crying, too. We got along so well before this, and now I don't know how to fix it. Most of the time she just seems to be annoyed with me." Sofia had been his friend before, one of his very few Slytherin friends. And now she hated him, just like most of them did. It was much worse, too, because others detested him for something he couldn't change - his blood status. But he could have done something differently to avert Sofia's animosity.
Post by DRACO MALFOY on Jul 26, 2024 12:20:24 GMT -5
"Ah, of course." he said, as if that settled it, and perhaps it did. He remembered Finnigan well enough - they crossed paths over the years but not often enough that it mattered to him. And then sighed in relation to Robert. "He might as well have a permanent issue, yes. He's difficult."
Speaking of difficult, he turned his head at yet, another tug of his sleeve, this time by his wife.
"When are you going to pay attention to me, husband?"
Draco's jaw clenched, just minutely and he hooked an arm around her waist, pulling her into his side. "Right this moment, darling." he said and then bowed his head to Noa and Dean, "Excuse us," he said and guided his wife away, through the crowded room, smiling as he whispered against the shell of her ear, "Why don't you get yourself another drink and say hello to our son?" he suggested. "Failing that you may drown yourself in the fountain and put us both out of our misery." he pressed a kiss to the top of her head and then extricated his arm from her grip before she tried to entice him into a public display
He made a quick retreat toward the gardens, spotting a miserable young blonde, his face curling in mild annoyance before he sighed and turned back. He wasn't touching that one with a ten foot barge pole. Whomever had managed to upset her could deal with it. He had other things to address. Namely working out why Dean Finnigan and looked like he'd suffered some sort of stroke when he had came near. It was fascinating to him.
OOC: Draco's mask and outfit. Yes it's a dragon. He thinks he's funny. NPCing: Astoria Malfoy
Post by DEAN FINNIGAN on Jul 26, 2024 13:28:39 GMT -5
Permanent issue. Dean wondered how much of it had been caused by that Rictumsempra trap, and how much simply due to working for Draco Malfoy. The man had an ambiguous reputation at best, though the negative points were often favoured. Becoming a Death Eater at sixteen, must have been such an honour. Though maybe he shouldn't judge just yet. Malfoy's letters were only mildly misanthropic, in a way Dean found amusing enough to keep replying - and even looking forward to that bitey owl's visits.
The woman's approach made for a curious scene. She did not really seem to want attention; if anything, her tone sounded stand-offish. Malfoy didn't appear elated to see her, either. Dean noticed the clenched jaw, though only because he'd been watching the man's face - or what could be seen of it under the mask. The couple then drifted away, and he observed just long enough to see Malfoy detach himself from his wife and walk towards the door. That was that. Now he just had a lot to think about, and no desire to do so just yet.
Dean turned to Noá and gave her a small bow. "I'll get some drinks," he informed her, then weaved his way to the refreshments table. He'd been in correspondence with Draco Malfoy, for several months now. The thought alone was bizarre. His parents had mentioned something about not talking to strangers, back when he was a little child. He'd thought the advice stopped being valid once he became an adult, and probably wasn't even applicable to pen pals to begin with. Well. Lesson learned.
He picked up a glass of Firewhisky and took a swig. It burned, but that was just fine. The rest of it went down as well, and he returned the empty glass to the table. Since he didn't usually drink much, he figured that would be enough to affect him sufficiently. All he needed was to relax a little, so he could return to his date and enjoy the rest of the evening. Once the fiery sensation in his mouth and throat became tolerable, Dean studied the selection of drinks arranged on the table. So much to choose from. He reached for a glass of something bubbly-looking.
Post by DRACO MALFOY on Jul 26, 2024 14:52:36 GMT -5
He'd gone back toward Olivar first, but his steps had faltered when he realised Dean was no longer beside her and he turned his head to scan the room, trying to pick out his mask among many. It was more difficult than it should have been, given he was looking for something plain among chaos. He found it eventually, though, over by the drinks table.
He headed toward it - making a stop with Robert to hand him his half empty glass so he'd have an excuse to take another - and sidled up beside him as he reached for a small glass of firewhiskey. "Dean." he said and raised his glass as if he were greeting him again. "If you're planning on leaving here upright, I'd avoid the one with bubbles." he offered.
OOC: Draco's mask and outfit. Yes it's a dragon. He thinks he's funny.
Post by DEAN FINNIGAN on Jul 26, 2024 15:27:18 GMT -5
"Dean."
His hand twitched right as his fingers touched the glass, making it tip. Not yet dulled reflexes kicked in; he steadied the drink, only a few drops spilling on the tablecloth. The youth turned his head to find Malfoy standing beside him. Didn't he just exit the hall? Maybe that had only been an evasive manoeuvre, to escape the company of his wife. This sudden reappearance seemed intentional, though perhaps he was just being paranoid. The refreshments table was a popular spot to visit in this vast space.
Heeding the advice, he took his hand away from the glass. "Yes, leaving upright does seem preferable." Selecting what appeared to be some type of white wine instead, he wondered how impolite it would be to bid farewell and walk off. His mouth was already forming the first word, regardless, when he decided against it. "Has your wife received sufficient attention?"
Post by DRACO MALFOY on Jul 26, 2024 17:16:50 GMT -5
Draco took a long drink, longer than really needed given his lack of thirst but the burn felt good enough. He wanted to bide his time to study the man. He knew him. He was sure of it. He just.. couldn't work out how. Something in his gut told him it should be obvious.
"Has your wife received sufficient attention?"
"Unlikely." he said, "But she's not lacking most attentions." he tapped his fingers on his glass for a moment, "Dean Fininigan." he said again, mouthing over the words as he tried to make them feel.. familiar. "Walk with me, a moment, if you would?". The man looked too young to be a doctor, though he was unsure why his mind had gone there first, and he'd certainly never seen him at the ministry - at least not in any capacity that he remembered. This was an enigma he needed to figure out.
OOC: Draco's mask and outfit. Yes it's a dragon. He thinks he's funny.
Post by DEAN FINNIGAN on Jul 26, 2024 17:51:09 GMT -5
"Dean Fininigan."
He emptied a third of the wine glass at that, swallowing the alcohol without even tasting it. The initials were right there, so clear to Dean himself. Perhaps Malfoy was saying it to test his response. Then again, would he be actively thinking about the DF he occasionally wrote to? Well, several times a week, but the letters were mostly just humorous nonsense. They could not possibly be at the forefront of Draco Malfoy's mind; he was a busy man.
"Walk with me, a moment, if you would?"
That was Dean's cue to return to Noá. The longer he spoke to Malfoy, the more likely it was that the dots would be connected. And yet... He could no longer say why he was so worried - it wasn't as though Malfoy would kill him for being his pen pal. "Of course," he agreed, curious to learn more about the man. Would he sound anything like he did in his letters, if they spoke long enough?
Post by DRACO MALFOY on Jul 26, 2024 18:10:29 GMT -5
At the agreement, Draco tried to figure out where they could go. He hadn't considered the possibility that Dean might actually take walk with him, not many did. But he recovered quickly enough to nod toward one of the accessible side rooms and began a slow walk toward it.
"You're not a ministry employee." he said, "What is it that you do?" he said, "Do you have same knack for explosions as your father?" he prodded.
OOC: Draco's mask and outfit. Yes it's a dragon. He thinks he's funny.
Post by DEAN FINNIGAN on Jul 26, 2024 18:30:23 GMT -5
Walking alongside Malfoy, Dean tried to remember if he'd ever mentioned studying at Rutherford anywhere in their correspondence. He couldn't recall any such instance. He had mentioned his interest in Quidditch, but it was a popular sport. And he didn't want to lie, especially since his career could be looked up quite easily. "I'm a Ballycastle Bats reserve Chaser. I study at Rutherford, too - upgrading my N.E.W.T.s., adding a few new ones." It was not especially interesting information, nor harmful to him in any way.
He had to grin at the next question. "I do. As does my brother. It appears to be a family trait." Perhaps their magic was inherently fiery. It was a perpetual cause of stress for his step-mother, that was certain.
Post by DRACO MALFOY on Jul 27, 2024 8:52:44 GMT -5
"Quidditch," he hummed, something he'd once enjoyed immensely - he'd wanted to pursue it professionally when he was a boy. His life had always seemed to have an uncanny way of going in the opposite direction. "I enjoyed quidditch, though I'm sure I don't have to tell you that. People seem to know a lot more about me than I do them."
"Well, it's good to know that some things don't change." he said, amused by the knowledge that it must have been a family trait. He kept his questions to himself for a moment until they were safely in a quieter room. "You haven't, by chance, thought about becoming a doctor?"
OOC: Draco's mask and outfit. Yes it's a dragon. He thinks he's funny.