Full Name: Henry Edward Berkwood
Nicknames: Harry to close friends and family. Mr. Berkwood to most anyone else. The Honourable Mr. Henry Berkwood for very formal occasions.
Birthdate: April 10, 1868
Current Age: 16 years
Occupation: 6th Year Student
Residence: Aldershot, Hampshire
Hogwarts House: Ravenclaw
Wand: Walnut, 12", springy, Unicorn Hair
Blood Status: Muggleborn
Social Class: Upper Class
Father. John, Earl Berkwood, born 1822.
Mother. Alice, Countess Berkwood, born 1835.
Brother. Daniel, Viscount Marbury, born 1859.
Sister. Lady Elizabeth ---, nee Berkwood, born 1862.
Sister. Lady Anna Berkwood, born 1864.
Appearance: Standing at about five feet nine inches, Henry is a bit taller than most, but he likes to insist that it's only a bit, and he will, if pressed, rattle off real sounding names of people who exceed his height, though this might have the effect of drawing more undo attention to it, rather than away from it, which is his intention. His posture is terrible, as he prefers to slouch rather than stand at his full height because, though it isn't really that obscene, it has been commented on more than once--usually by his mother--and he assumes that if he doesn't do this, everyone must be noticing, regardless of whether or not anyone truly cares.
Otherwise, Henry is fairly unassuming in appearance. His hair is a short, dark brown, only a few shades darker than his eyes. His build isn't particularly imposing, as he is rather lanky. He tends to favor his right hand for most things, from writing to wand wielding. When not in his school robes, he tends to prefer the more fashionable side of muggle clothing. He isn't exactly a dandy, but he does like to look well put together.
Henry's facial features are, in general, fairly unremarkable. His nose isn't particularly large, his chin isn't particularly pronounced. It seems to mostly be a composite of averages. If one is inclined to look closely, however, one can detect signs of childhood misadventures--the nose isn't quite straight, the right, black brow is marred slightly by a faded scar. His hands and wrists also hold evidence of burn scars, the result of a few too many Potions gone wrong.
History: John Berkwood had not expected to gain a title. His father had been a younger son, and there were still three in line ahead of him. So, like many young gentleman in his position, the young Mr. Berkwood sought a military career. He served abroad for fourteen years before word reached him that his cousin the Earl had died of a fever, followed shortly after by both of his sons. The new Lord Berkwood dutifully returned home, took a wife--the young widow of one of his fellow officers--and settled into life as a peer.
From his earliest days, Henry expected to follow in his father's footsteps--though, preferably without anyone's untimely death. By the time he arrived, his parents had already welcomed three other children, including Daniel who, at nine, was being groomed to one day succeed their father. Henry, for his part, has always been perfectly content with this arrangement. He doesn't particularly want the responsibility, and no one is likely to fuss at him to find a wife any time soon. At least, given all things, he doubts that his parents would want to chance it.
To say that the news that their youngest child was a wizard came as a shock to Lord and Lady Berkwood would be not quite true. They knew there was something odd about the boy, and that strange things seemed to happen around him when he was upset, or sometimes when he very excited. It was the sort of thing that they did their best to hide away, and, in the end, that is what ultimately convinced them to allow Henry to attend Hogwarts. They didn't approve--honestly, they were horrified--but if he wasn't at Hogwarts, he would have been at Eton, and the very last thing they needed was for there to be an incident there.
Despite the fact that he is as discriminated against at Hogwarts as he is at home--something that came as a bit of a surprise. Never before has he been looked down upon for who his parents are--Henry finds that he prefers being at school. He enjoys the academic atmosphere, and even if he isn't as well liked as he would prefer, for reasons that are not his fault, he at least feels that he can be mostly himself. At home, he is either ignored or at least never allowed to say anything of substance or truth.
Personality: Henry is a curious soul. He is the sort of person who would be quite happy to take apart a clock just to see how it works, though not the sort who'd know how to put it back together again without a spell. It's amusing that he expected to follow a military career like his father, as his always working mind is more adept at logic puzzles than it is strategy and tactics. He isn't particularly good at chess, but he has, over the last five years, developed a seemingly instinctive perception for Potions. Only seemingly instinctive, because to tell the truth his knowledge is mostly born of practice and obsession. Every mishap is a challenge, and if he can just get it right, it's like he's one step closer to uncovering the mysteries of the universe. Never mind a soldier, had he been born a muggle, Henry probably would have been a scientist.
Experience has taught Henry to be shy with most people. Although he is, by nature, something of an extrovert, he has more or less forced himself into a more reserved demeanor, particularly with those he does not know well, as it usually allows him to be better received, and honestly, Henry just wants people to like him. He'll go to great lengths to achieve this if he has to. Henry is, among other things, a coward. The more he is faced with confrontation, the more he actively seeks to avoid it.
Sample Roleplay Post:
It was kind of a funny thing, the way lineage worked in the muggle and magical worlds. Before Harry went to Hogwarts, the only time his family background had ever been a problem was that occasionally people assumed he'd be kind of snobby. The sixteen year old could kind of see it. He lived in a big house. His uncle was an earl. Technically he was third in line for a title, but honestly, what were the chances of that happening? His dad and uncle seemed healthy enough. His cousin had said something over Christmas about how he was starting to see some girl who worked for one of the local MPs, so you know, there was promise there. It was all the benefits of coming from an old, respected family but with none of the responsibility. And, you know, no one cared if he was gay since he wasn't the heir. That was a perk.
But all that didn't matter here. Well, there might have been someone who it mattered to, somewhere, but the Ravenclaw didn't go around talking about it, and it wasn't like he knew anyone who lived close enough to his home to recognize "Berkwood" as a title. That was all right. Harry wasn't complaining. He wasn't that kind of git. At least he liked to think he wasn't. But the first time anyone had called him a "mudblood," the first time anyone had looked down on him for his ancestry, the boy hadn't known how to take it. That had never happened before. The eagle was pretty sure he'd just stared blankly the first time it had happened. Or maybe when someone explained to him what it meant, anyway.
Harry wasn't an idiot--he didn't think he deserved special treatment for anything. He didn't consciously think that, at least, which he thought was probably what mattered. He did, however, expect some amount of respect. Just the normal kind you gave to another human being, no big deal. Maybe a little extra when he was taking time away from his own stuff to help someone else out. Out of the goodness of his heart. When he didn't get anything for it.
The Ravenclaw had gone to the usual trouble of setting his table in this particular room the way he liked it. At least, the way he liked it when he was tutoring someone else. Things weren't arranged quite so haphazardly, accommodating for the fact that not everyone could keep track of what was meant to be what, and it wasn't very nice to make things more confusing for someone who was probably frustrated enough by the difficulty they were having that led them there in the first place. He didn't really want to pack it all up. Or go to the trouble of kicking his new pupil out of the dungeon, since there were at least half a dozen potions Harry could make by himself with what was on the table.
"I see," Harry said slowly, eying the snake in front of him like he was a problem he needed to solve. Then he shrugged, turning to his cauldron. "If you think Professor Hughes gives out pity grades, you can go right on ahead and test out that theory for yourself." He took a seat on one of the stools next to the table before beginning to sort through the ingredients he'd put there. "I'm not the one who needs help, so I don't care if you want to fail." The sixth year gestured toward the door. "The door's that way." Good luck finding a tutor who doesn't think you're a little shit.
Out of Character
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