FLIDAIS, HARLEEN ELIZABETH

[HARLEEN ELIZABETH FLIDAIS]

The Revolution Has Begun

"There's no need to call me sir Professor."



FULL NAME: Harleen Elizabeth Flidais (flih-day)
NICKNAMES: Lee, Harle, Harley<--the most commonly used
AGE: 17
BIRTHDAY: April 28th
SEXUALIY: Straight
BLOODLINE: Halfblood
HOUSE: Ravenclaw
YEAR: 7th
JOB: Student
SIDE: Order supporter
SPECIES/SPECIAL ABILITIES: Empath/Empathy
CANON: No


"You don't know what I'm capable of, you don't know what I've done!"



GENERAL APPEARANCE: Standing at 5'11", Harleen is a bit on the tall side as far as girls go, towering over a number of her classmates. Her long limbs speak of awkwardness becoming grace, of the long journey that one takes in order to become comfortable in one's own skin and the awkwardness of long, gangly limbs filling out and being properly controlled. So too has the rest of her form managed to fill ouat long last. Her breasts, though by no means impressive in size, are perky enough and she is now in posession of the feminine curves that she had lacked in many of the previous years, being some something of a late bloomer.

Her hair, previously cut into some semblance of a fashionable style, has grown long over the summer months, and she frequently keeps it tied back and well out of her way with a ribbon, though often several little red tendrils escape and settle along the curve of her neck. Her skin still displays the same fair, almost milky quality, a testament to her Irish heritage (as if the red hair and light dusting of freckles didn't give it away), and the summer months have left a seemingly permanent flush about her nose and cheeks. Though in a few months even that bit of color will fade (yay sunburn).

MOST LIKED FEATURE: her hair
MOST HATED FEATURE: her sunburn prone skin
HERITAGE: Irish
ETHNICITY: Caucasian

"The mind is not a book, to be opened at will and examined at leisure."



GENERAL PERSONALITY: The way it's told by her classmates, Harleen is two parts over achiever, two parts sweet heart, and one part ice princess. Calm, kind, and capable, for a girl (or rather woman given that she has reached 17, the wizarding age of majority) in her seventh year, Harleen has seen relatively few close friends come to her aid over the years, and has had even fewer boyfriends. That isn't to say that she's particularly standoffish. Harleen is a sweet girl, all things considered, never the sort to ignore a person in need, and she's been told several times over that she's an excellent listener...whatever that means. But if there's one thing that she'd learned over the years, it was that men, boys, whatever they were had absolutely no interest in getting involved with someone who voluntarily spent more than 4 hours a day reading.

In actuality, the lack of romantic attachments in her life has little to do with her reading habits and a whole hell of a lot more to do with the fact that she just can't seem to feel that spark, the spark that everyone says she should feel when she meets that special someone...Well, that and the fact that she has one heck of a mother hen complex, making her more of a mother or older sister to those in her life than a potential lover. She knows what she's looking for, a good listener, an intellectual equal, someone she can take care of, someone who will refrain from trying to get a rise out of her simply because she has a bit of a temper, and above all else, someone who is willing to let her go should the need arise. After all, her goal in life is to become an auror, and one must always be willing to let an auror do as they must, whatever the cost.

All in all, Harleen is one of the more controlled, studious members of the student body with closer ties to the faculty than to her peers. She lets her head dictate the majority of matters, leaving little room for her heart to dictate well..anything at all most of the time, and she worries a tad more often than she ought to. Any glimpses of romance in her life are nestled between the covers of the romance novels that she flat out refuses to admit to reading in her spare time.

HOBBIES:

• playing the violin
  
• writing
  
• origami
  
• reading
  
• cooking

DISLIKES:

• death eaters
  
• her father
  
• spiders
  
• thunder/violent storms
  
• cold weather
  
• pumpkin juice

LIKES:

• cooking
  
• children
  
• music
  
• honey
  
• spring
  
• charms
  
• the order
  
• freshly baked bread

FEARS:

• needles
  
• thunder storms
  
• that she doesn't have what it takes to become an auror and best her father

SECRETS:

• she reads romance novels (though the fact that she feels the need to hide this from others probably says volumes more about her than the actual reading of said novels)
  
• she's deathly afraid of thunderstorms

"I enjoyed the meetings, too. It was like having friends."



GENERAL HISTORY: Harleen's mother was a sweet, caring woman and loving mother. A Hufflepuff during her years at Hogwarts, she displayed an inert kindness and was perhaps too kind and trusting given her choice of husband, a man named William Flidais. The man himself had seemed nice enough, exuberant and cheerful even on the worst of days, he knew how to flatter and cheat his way through life, and she'd believed every word. It was a pity that all was not as it seemed in this happy marriage.

Behind the scenes, William's late nights were spent traveling to London's underground areas, to a small , rundown flat where he studied under imperius curse specialist and fellow Deatheater Horace Mulciber. His brother, Riven Flidais, worked for the ministry, befriending and spying on them, and William seemed content to lay low for a time. In fact, he kept a low profile and tended to his wife until his brother was caught and imprisoned in Azkaban. It was then that he confessed to his wife and fled, returning to the Dark Lord's side and flinging him into the heat of things in full, pooling his efforts with those of others in attempts to enact a mass breakout, freeing his brother and several other well-known Deatheaters.

This left Fiona alone and once again with child, swept with grief and disbelief, she was a single mother doing everything she could to hold on. The child that should have been her second daughter and young Harleen's sister was a stillbirth, and from then on things seemed to fall apart at the seams for the young mother, forcing Harleen to step up into a more active role in the household at what was likely too young an age, but she'd have done anything to make her mother smile and ease her troubles, if only a fraction.

Her mother moved them into a muggle neighborhood, hoping never against to see her dearest William, and opened a daycare, which Harleen spent most of the time helping to operate in between studying. Home schooled as she was, and unused to large groups or a school setting, she was shocked when a letter asking for her attendance at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry came in the mail. However, her mother was unsurprised and wished her well, though Harleen was clearly torn between realizing her full potential and staying at home to help her mother with her children. A few months later she could be found doing just as her mother wished of her, studying on a train as she headed for some destination that would be at first totally alien to her and yet that would become as familiar as the back of her own hand over the years, affording her not only the knowledge she wished to possess in heaps, but a goal. She wished to become an auror and find her father, for better or worse.


FAMILY: Emily Irene Flidais (nee Ferrier) - mother
William Rueben Flidais - father
Riven Tobias Flidais - uncle

"Make way for the heir of Slytherin, seriously evil wizard coming through..."



ROLEPLAY SAMPLE: It has always been a challenge, moving about after hours, molding her form to fit the shadows. At any moment she might be caught, scolded, punished with a host of detentions and the deduction of a handful of points from her house, but that isn't what worries her. No, tonight there is something wrong, something that has drawn her out from the sanctity of her dormitory, through a series of corridors and up the winding staircase to the astronomy tower, now long since abandoned after the night's lesson. Tonight the air hums with warning like a carelessly plucked thread, making the hair on the back of her neck stand on end. There are no words for this baseless feeling, and yet she knows instinctively as she clears the stairs and nudges the door aside that this is the last place that anyone would ever want to be. Normally the tower is quiet, a place of solitude amongst the daily ruckus that makes up life at Hogwarts...but tonight, tonight something sinister hangs about the place and, though she can't quite place her finger upon the reason for the feeling of dread that overtakes as her feet shuffle silently across the cold stone of the floor, now chilled by the night. At first, she doesn't even feel the chill. At first there is nothing but the dull hum of danger, the continuity of it. And then, all at once, the world seems to fall to a hush and that chill ripples through her body, seeping into her very bones. It is as though someone had been caught whispering cherished secrets aloud, the crickets ceased their usual drone of chirps and the air grew stale and heavy. Not a sound could be heard no matter how hard she strained her ears to pick something out in the sudden, eerie silence. There was, simply put, nothing to be overheard.

It was unnerving and her skin prickled in warning as she crept closer to the window, daring to peer out at the grounds, even as she feared the consequences of such a brazen action. Whatever was going on, whatever was out there, she knew that the last thing she wanted was for it to spot here here and now, alone, unguarded, and on the verge of panic. A quick scan of the grounds, lit by a brilliant stream of moonlight that made it seem as though day has ascended earlier than usual for some reason or another, left her feeling edgy and unsatisfied. There appeared, at first glance, to be no more there to be seen than there was to be heard. She wondered briefly if she might hold her breath and disappear into that stillness, if she could cease to exist in that moment as surely as everything else had seemed to, and with as much ease. But that would be too easy, and she'd never been the type to go down without a fight...Of course, back then she'd always known what she was up against. Even now in the halls of Hogwarts, the brief scuffles after a stark refusal of some foolish boy with a wandering eye and hands that were far too bold for her liking. She always knew what sort of trouble she was getting herself into. Angering a Slytherin meant stooping to their level and playing dirty, which she most certainly wasn't above when push came to shove, even if she preferred more traditional methods of 'problem solving.' Going head to head with a Gryffindor meant preparing to go in guns blazing with no holds barred, a feat that her fiery temperament and inherent stubbornness made readily available when needed. As it turned out, not all Ravenclaws were true to that age old stereotype that spoke of cool, calm, reasoned intellect and little interest in anything beyond the pursuit of knowledge and the acquisition of wit with which to amuse one's friends. That was just a bonus given to the house that had claimed her during the sorting ceremony, though she imagined that she could have just as easily ended up anywhere else. But in the end, she valued the pursuit of knowledge above all else, pursuing whatever she wished to know with a tireless doggedness that often alarmed her friends, and the boldness in her heart was more a stubbornness, perhaps bordering on selfishness. The underhandedness that allowed her to plan the more subtle forms of revenge for which she was known (though none of them had ever been particularly dangerous- they were merely a series of carefully staged humiliations for those who would wish her harm or humiliation) was nothing more than cleverness and the need to teach a lesson to those who wished to step out of line and take her with them. No, she was the only one who would choose when and how she stepped out of bounds and defied not only the odds, but the rules as well.

It wasn't something she did often. These jaunts through the castle during the first few hours of the morning were more a passing fancy, a curiosity that called to her from time to time. And that was the best way to describe it, for it was as though something had reached out to her on these nights, had lured her from her bed with promises of intrigue or refuge from a night of restless tossing and turning. But not tonight. No, tonight the quickening of her own heart had alerted her to the truth behind the particular promise that was being made, it was more than just the promise of intrigue, it was the promise of danger. She only wished that she had recognized it for what it was sooner rather than later. That she did not stand rooted to the spot by her own fears, gazing out at a silent world that, in it's silence, held more lies than it did truths.

Several moments passed there in the darkness. Several moments spent soaking up the night's chill until it sunk down to the very marrow of her bones and resonated there within her with each shifting of the breeze. No matter how one looked at it, something was wrong. It didn't take any manner of knowledge of foresight to figure that much out. Instead the feeling was an instinctual thing, much like the feeling a rabbit might get the very moment a predator set eyes upon it and makes that split second decision to feed rather than play. A shiver slid up her spine as that thought stuck with her, refusing to be banished no matter how many things she hastily tried to replace it with, silly things, fanciful things, something that might relax her...but there was no turning from this, no undoing what she had done. She was here. It was here. It was done.

She hadn't even known that her fingers were gripping the stone of the windowsill until she felt a sticky warmth on her fingers. Blood. Her blood. It was then that something quickened in the wind, or perhaps it was merely her own imagination, a thought based upon the thunderous pace of her own heartbeat. She made to turn from the window, but a flash of something dark moving about in the distance caught her attention and she turned once more to the window, watching as a shadowy figure slipped out of the Forbidden Forest. A few paces led the figure to stop and incline it's head, face obscured by a hood (not that she would have been able to make out a face or figure at this distance, even gender was lost to her from where she stood). This time, the chill that ran up her spine was one of dread realized rather than some unspeakable, imagined thing, for there was no doubt in her mind that the thing was looking straight at her now, gazing upon her just as surely as she gazed upon it, and she had the sinking feeling that even at this distance, the figure could make out far more of her than she could of it. A scream tore itself loose from her throat as the realization of what was occurring finally dawned upon her. An images of unspeakable horrors danced before her eyes. She was a marked woman. She was doomed. She was riveted. And the screaming continued, on and on and on. No doubt she had woken at least half of the castle's occupants by now, and the other half would soon be drawn by the sudden commotion disturbing an otherwise still and quiet night. But Harleen thought of none of this. She thought of nothing save the terror


"Reading between the lines, I’d say she thinks you’re a bit conceited, mate."



NAME: Seri
AGE: 20
GENDER: female
YEARS ROLEPLAYING: roughly 8 or so
LOCATION: here and there
HOW DID YOU FIND US: Magic.

[CHARLOTTE REAGAN LEROUX]

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