Student applications are open for the 1957-58 term!

Author Topic: Lydia Wihelmina Graham  (Read 225 times)

Lydia Graham

    (09/12/2018 at 01:55)
  • Fourth Year
  • C4D4T3S5
    • View Profile

Application for Hogwarts School


Name: Lydia Wihelmina Graham

Birthday: September 13th, 1940 (highly presumed)

Hometown: Wolford, Scotland


Magical Strength (pick one):
Divination / Transfiguration / Charms / Conjuring & Summoning

Magical Weakness (pick one):
Divination / Transfiguration / Charms / Conjuring & Summoning

Year (pick two): Fourth (prefered)/Third


Her nose, knees and  knuckles were a bloody mess and Eric was giving her the disappointed eyes again - still she regretted nothing. It wasn't the first time, it wouldn't be the last.

Some of the older kids from the village, back from Hogwarts for the holidays, had been hurting a puppy, a small thing shivering in the wind. Lions - or was it Griffins, in this case? Half the same, she supposes - were predatory creatures in nature, if not in the meaning people gave them.

Newly baptized Butterbear was now much better while resting on her lap, one of her old towels wrapped snugly around his yellowed fur self. Still, she worries - they got to buy food, something warm for him to stay and, well, the matter of the fleas...

“Just don't try to bite their noses off next time, alright” Eric says, seeming exasperated while ruffling her hair. “And come, we must find a place for this little guy.”

Lydia beams.


The haze was so dense she could barely see a feet ahead. Was it morning? Was it night? This deep in the woods was hard to know, too many trees, you see - large, old oak things casting long tricking shadows. The crunching of leaves and branches was like the snapping of tiny bones under her boots and the haze, like cold fingers clinging on skin.

There was a gush of warm breath against the back her neck, and she turns slowly - too slow, the way of fear stricken prey - to face The Giant Black Wolf, six blazing eyes upon its skull and sharp, dark as the night feathers where there should be fur.

It knows. It knows.

She holds out her hand and ---

Lydia wakes up almost throwing up her own racing heart, drenched in enough cold sweat to dampen the sheets. It's too damn dark and she can't bring herself to quash the irrational fear that there is something there with her, waiting in the corner, and starts fiddling around her bed table with trembling fingers to get the lantern working. She can hear the door of the other room open hastily - must have screamed at some point and the old man is already on his way - and Butterbear is whining and pawing at her door.

With a groan, the girl hides her face in shame - it had been months since the last… time. They, she had thought that whatever wrong wires were up on her head just had the good sense of fixing itself or shutting up.

Outside, the autumn wind howls - like a wolf.

At least she didn't leave her damn bed this time.


Shining bicycles under the summer sun - it's the first time the three boys went so far away from home, passing through the edge of town, the river and bordering the woods. They were Bob, the bookworm, Ted, the witless, and Jamie the new guy.

“Wait, wait! What's that?” asks Jamie.

“What, you doesn't know?” Bob is usually more smugness than kid, specially when knowing more than others. “That is Greenmoss State, the old cultists house.”

“Mama says they’re devil’s workshippers” imputs Ted.


“ It's worshipers, you goon. And you Ma’ thinks everyone works for the devil.”

“But looks like nobody lives there.”

“Yeah, because they don't - not anymore anyway” Bob shrugs - but, terrible gossiper that he is, it's only a moment until he continues “you know my pa’ works for the police, ‘right? So, one night I heard him talkin’ about how they just, you know, gone. Lots of strange shit inside too. Been years now, but who knows.”

Suddenly, looking at the empty manor, Jamie thinks it wasn't such a good idea going there.


“....- suspicious noises and sights reported by locals, no resident found -....”
“... - front door and main floor furniture and  windows damaged, but no other indicators of violence. Possible break-in. Scribbling and painting on the walls and ceilings, non-identified…-”
“...-second floor, large room with seven single beds; four wardrobes, clothes still in place. Officer assumes the residents were six adults and one, perhaps two, children. No pictures, but documents found: a marriage certificate for Mary and Jonathan Harper, a diploma from Oxford for Thomas Byer, a driver license for Gregoric Burns and a birth certificate for Laura Warren. No other personal belongings found….-”
“...- seven chairs found in the attic, circling what seems to be a tall slab of rock. The only source of light comes from a glass circle cut into the roof, above the circle of chairs…-”
“...- results inconclusive to possible relation with the happenings of Wolford Woods.”


“It happened again” Healer Yin office is a familiar place - a comfortable place, even. The woman had been treating Lydia for years and she was...good, she supposes. Bit of a cold hag, too, but she heard and didn't look at Graham like she was the craziest soul around. “ - you said it wouldn't.” the accusation was stark bright, enough that she would probably feel guilty about it later. But later wasn't now

“What I said -” The Healer didn’t looked fazed about it, but then, she never looked fazed about anything “Is that you have shown much progress, Mina. And it remains true enough for me to reinforce the point of our last session.”

Lydia snorts “I still thinks it’s a shitty idea.” She says with her chin up.

Healer Yin, with all the patience imbued to her by god, or Merlin, or simply by more than ten years in her line of work, doesn’t back down “I understand that changes can be scary. But we cannot let fear rule forever --”

“I’m not afraid

“Then all the more reason for you to go” Lydia feels, for a moment, distinctly trapped “Mina, I’m not saying it will be easy, but I believe this would be really positive for you. Interaction with people your own age is important - and, honestly, a new environment might even help you with the night terrors.”

What doesn’t change the fact that is still a crap idea.


The docks were the best place in Wolford - what, considering the other options in the small village, wasn't much of a hard won prize, really. But the sea water is chilly and shiny, while the sun is finally warming up again, and all the workers are too busy to stop for lollygaggin.

Eric is preparing their little boat - it's a good day for fishing and a some time since they last for it - while she dutifully oversees their rods and lures. It's taking longer than usual, long enough for her to know something is up and get her hackles up but not enough to lash out because this is how things work between them: he too damn tactful and she too guilty of always being, well, an overall rabid pain in the ass.

“Have you thought about what Healer Yin, said?”

“Yep” she quips “I’m not goin’.”

“Well -- I think you should.” ‘Course he did, the traitor. “Hogwarts can be a great place--” Yeah, perhaps, and she was certain it would be even more so by the lack of her presence. Nothing ruins a cozy learning atmosphere more than a crazy-woman-ish screaming in the early hours. Also she, evidently, can’t do --- people. The day they replaced all the students with dogs, she would be the first, hopefully only, in line to spend a damn good time there. “You could have fun. Find new friends --- maybe a sweetheart.”


“Did you stuff fish guts in your brain or what? Thought that I was supposed to be the mad one”

“Mina!” He chided with his old man voice and urgh, she so much doesn't want to have this talk, like, ever. “I can’t understand, really. Is not as if you like being here, or as if didn’t want to see other places.” he sounded strangely guilty-ish over the last part “If I didn’t knew you any better…” she gave a squint that said: proceed with caution “...I would say you were caring too much about other people might think.”

“ can be a real moron sometimes, did’ja know? And stop messing through my things.” Because, yeah, so perhaps she had her somewhat of a map with the little places she liked hearing the old man talk about and wanted to see for herself, but it isn’t like she had spent hours and hours working on it. It wasn’t, geesh.

“Not my fault if you like to steal all the paper in the house and store it in your room, I needed some.” ----fair enough. “Still: you're missing a great adventure.”

“It's a school.”

“Well, you must start from somewhere, don't you? First Hogwarts, then the world” And is the worst argument ever, really, but it isn't like she hadn't thought about it before and perhaps...

“Fine!” Lydia barks out “I'll go - but I'll be so much of a--a--a jerk they’ll conspire to kill me in my sleep and the fault will be yours

“Now, that's my girl.”


House Request: No preference

Lydia, the most callous, sullen little punk over all scotland is hostage to the worse enemy known to this age and era: her own mind. She's a bundle of chronically doomed social awkwardness, anger management issues and fidgetiness; animals over people, scorn over pity; has trouble adhering to social norms; Is book-smart and prone to random trivia at inappropriate times; Curiously, she’s more interested in getting rid and well away of anything that could come from the shadows and unknown of wherever she came from, than getting answers about said past.

Stereotypical blonde and pale, but kinda androgynous - only dresses ladylike if forced. Tall and lanky for her age, source of much teenager-body-awkwardness. Her feet, as well her front teeth, are rather large - comment on it at your risk.


Option 2:

That rat of his was in for it now.

The gray little rascal had disappeared from his clutches at breakfast. Again.

Before Hugh even knew what was happening, Merlin had shot across the floor, somehow managing to avoid all the feet walking across the hall and had escaped through the open doors.

Which meant that Hugh was now stomping through rows of flowers and other various flora, searching for the small creature. It was like the rat knew Hugh was allergic to most flowers. Merlin always chose to run to the gardens whenever he got away from Hugh. It was as if the rat did not want to have him for an owner.

Hugh had named his pet Merlin because he had hoped the powerful name would give the rat more incentive to be more than a rat. Not that he expected Merlin to change into a wizard or anything, but rats were just so...useless, for the most part. With a name like Merlin, Hugh thought it might give the rat purpose.

The only purpose Merlin seemed to have was getting away from Hugh as often as possible.

As the fifth year trudged into the second row of flowers, not taking much care to avoid trampling the first row, he felt the first sneeze building up pressure in his nose and behind his eyes.

"You blasted rat! Where are you?"

He pulled apart a section of bright red flowers; he didn't know what they were called because he despised flowers, and ducked his head low to peer into the depths of the flowerbed. It was moving closer in proximity to the flowers that finally did it. Hugh took in three great breaths and then let out an almighty sneeze. It was strong enough to disturb some of the dirt on the ground before him.

Groaning, he stood up again and wiped his nose on his sleeve. It was as he was turning his head, his nose running up and down his arm, that movement in his peripheral vision caught his attention. Normally one who preferred to put his best face forward, Hugh was a bit embarrassed to be caught wiping his runny nose on his robes.

Nevertheless, Hugh put on his best haughty voice. albeit a bit thickly with his plugged nose and said, "Can I help you with something? It is not polite to stare."

"You blasted rat! Where are you?"

The pets allowed at Hogwarts were… strange, if nothing else. Kinda sure to go missing at some point, too, she guesses. Cats, owls and rodents - the two former preying on the latter, and the first one sure to try something on the second. Because felines could be little pricks, just like that.

Still, the point was: damn nice place for the cats, but not so nice for the rats, albeit rodents being deceptive little creatures - an average rat can jump up to three feet, they memorize their environment by body and muscle, they can squeeze through half an inch, depending on the species, and they're also opportunistic survivors. Perhaps if there ever was something capable of surviving such an overabundance of predators, were the rats.

Somehow, this made Lydia feel… less guilty(?) about bringing Boots, the kitten stray tabby cat, with her - the original plan was to bring Butterbear, but dogs, surprise surprise, were not allowed. For the moment, she was just hoping Boots wouldn't bring her the corpses of the once-pets of her colleagues. Or any corpse, for the matter, thank you, because that had been one weird morning even to Lydia, out of all, and she wasn't eager for a repeat.

But back to the moment: snotty lad, MIA rat. Yeah, alright. She wouldn't bet a knut on the chance of finding said rat there, of all places - open space in the middle of the day, too many strangers going around. She did, although, have some ideas about possible better places to look out.


-- that she was perhaps not really keen to share.

“Forgive me, Your Snottiness” Mina chips, knows it isn't fair because, well she would probably have acted the same - only it would be something more along the lines of drill off, peep - but damn if she cares. “Just thought you're, you know, tryin’ to bait a rat with your nose or somethin’. Heard it works better with cheese”


Please list any characters you have  on the site (current and previous):Sirius Cíprio

* Ella Galanis

    (28/12/2018 at 16:53)
  • *****
  • Head of Ravenclaw & C/S Professor; SRC Director
    • View Profile
Dear Miss Graham,


Term begins 1 January 2019. Currently, students have gathered at Camp Loki, and we encourage you to spend your summer there. Should you choose, you may also visit our Elsewhere board via the Floo Network to visit or purchase school supplies.

Yours sincerely,

Ella Galanis
Head of Ravenclaw