Full Name: Madge Pauline Bobbin
Nicknames: "Madgepie", a childhood nickname.
Birthdate: September 23rd, 1873
Current Age: Eighteen Years
Gender: Female
Occupation: Employee of Bobbin's Apothecary & Healer Supply
Reputation: 8.
Residence: South Bartonburg, Hogsmeade
Hogwarts House: Ravenclaw Dropout ('90)
Wand: Willow, 11 inches, Bone of a cornish pixie, Springy
Blood Status: Halfblood
Social Class: Middle Class
Family:

Laurence Bobbin, Father [1825-1891] | Papa was a great deal older than Mama, but he loved her and he loved us. Mama always had the green thumb, but he had the business acumen; he took care of the accounts and he took care of our family. I don't believe for one second he would abandon us in death.

----- Bobbin (née -----), Mother [184X] | [ADOPT HER] Mama always told me that she never wanted to get marred. She wanted to be a herbologist and discover all sorts of uses for magical plants and fungi, but her parents never took her seriously. It was only when Papa met her, realized how smart she was, and offered to help her achieve her dreams did she realize there was room for him in them. I know she misses him, but I also know she's hurt. She doesn't talk about him anymore, not like she did when he first passed.

----- Bobbin, Brother [186X] | [KELLY?]
----- Bobbin, Brother [186X] | [LADY?]
----- Bobbin, Sister [186X] [FINN?]

----- "The Pretender" Bobbin, Brother [185X] | [EMMA] | I don't know him. I don't like him. I don't trust him. He has no business thinking he can poke his nose in my family's business simply because my father left him the deed to the business. He doesn't know anything about running the shop, so for him to think he can come start bossing us around... I'll show him he's better off staying at that hospital.

Appearance:

At just above four feet, ten inches tall, Madge has always been the shortest in her family, a fate she might have been more bothered by has she not learned from a early age that she could use it to her advantage. She carries herself with a carefully-crafted air of youthfulness that she only sheds in the company of those closest to her—or those unfortunate to be at the receiving end of her wrath.

Her skin is light brown and generally clear, save for when they get too behind on backorders at the shop and suddenly her face is covered with little red dots that only the strongest beauty potions can cure. Her hair is dark and curly, reaching her shoulders while down but more often combed with styling potions and swept up into a practical bun. Her eyes are a similar shade.

She dresses femininely but practically; her dresses are simple and often worn with an apron while at work, but she takes great care to keep them clean. However, no amount of effort can stop the permanent smell of earthiness in the fabric, and she's grown to accept it. She is right-handed.

History:

1873 | I am born in late September to my Mama and Papa, who already have three older children and didn't expect me. They joke that they've fallen victim to the "September curse"—one that means they'll be stuck with me until I'm nearly twelve. Papa suffered from the September curse and so did Mama. They love me, though, so cursed or not I am their baby, and it doesn't take long for me to become the baby.

1876 | I am three years old when my magic makes its first appearance. For context, Mama and Papa had a small apothecary in London that doubled as a healer's supply store. It was right across the street from St. Mungo's. Perfect placement, I know. Well, anyways—I was there, trying to help my older siblings stock shelves as we always did, and my brother was telling me to be careful with the vampire fangs because if they fell out of the jar and scratched my skin, I would undoubtedly join the kingdom of the undead. I stuck my tongue out at him and continued with my helping... until I managed to knock the jar of vampire fangs right onto my dress. Mama says my screams were so loud that one of the St. Mungo's mediwizards heard me while on his break and came in to see if everything was alright. And everything was, because I wasn't a vampire, but I was white as a sheet. From head to toe. Hair included. He apparently said it was the funniest thing he'd ever seen.

1877 | I think I have memories of moving to Hogsmeade, but then again they might be memories of carrying boxes back and forth between the apothecary and home as a child. Don't ask about that. I couldn't tell you what we were carrying. Anyways, we moved to Hogsmeade alongside the other witches and wizards who feared being outed by muggles. I don't think my parents were afriad—I think they saw a new exclusively magical village blooming and thought it would be easier to make sales there. Maybe renting a building in Diagon Alley was too expensive. Fighting [Sister] over who will get their bed closest to the window is one of my earliest memories, though. (I won.)

1878 | By the first of the year Mama and Papa's new apothecary is running smoothly. They hire a few employees who on more than one occasion serve as unwitting babysitters while on-the-clock. My favorite is [Employee], who always took the time to show me what he was stacking in the shelves. He was the youngest of all of the employees; I think that's why he showed me such kindness. Even though Mama always did her best to teach her kids what she could about herbology and the potion ingredients she kept in the shop, I think [Employee] had a greater impact. Don't tell her that, though.

1879 | I start my early lessons. I don't get a governess—Papa says it's worth it with our income and lifestyle—but I do get to share my older siblings' tutor. He teaches me writing and arithmetic, history and geography. He even tried to teach me French, but I didn't like it so I didn't learn it. It was Mama though who took time off from the shop to sit with [Sister] and I through etiquette lessons, teaching us how to properly address our elders, embroider, use silverware properly, and every now and then when things at the shop went wrong we'd get a little lesson on identifying ingredients and magical plants.

1880 | I tried to de-gnome the gardens on my own. Tried being the key word. I never had to do it again.

1885 | I go off to school and much to everyone's surprise I am sorted into Ravenclaw. I spend the first few days wondering why—yes, I'm smart and clever and fancy myself creative, but I'm not like them. I don't solve the riddles with ease nor do I think wit beyond measure is man's greatest treasure. There's plenty of other things of greater value, but the Hat thinks I'm better off in Ravenclaw tower. The mindset haunts me for a while, until I get my first real project in Herbology class and suddenly find myself obsessing over it as much as the other Ravenclaws obsess over their passion projects. I finally accept my place there... even if my some of other grades earn me no favor with my other professors.

1886 | I am pressured into trying out for the Ravenclaw quidditch team. In hindsight this was a very low point of my life. I did well in Flying class the year prior, but I should have known that being good at flying didn't equate to being able to dodge bludgers and catch quaffles while flying. I nearly fell off my broom. Twice. But it's fine—I never liked quidditch that much. At least not after that.

1887 | Going into my third year I decide to be a realist, which is good, because even the addition of Earth Magic to my schedule does damage. It's not that I lack intellect or intentionally submit my assignments later (or in some cases not at all). In my first year at Hogwarts all my professors had come to know that if I wasn't interested in their subject, I wasn't going to do well. In classes I enjoyed—Herbology, Potions, Flying in first year—I thrived, but the ones that bored me? I was lucky to pass my end of term exams.

1888 | Fourth year. Very uneventful. That's probably because I spent half the term hunched over one two plants I was trying to cross-breed. It never worked. I still enjoyed it.

1889 | Fifth year was the year I had to make decisions. My grades improved a little, but only because I couldn't go more than a few weeks without being talked to by one of my professors. It didn't change what I knew in my heart, though: out of all of my classes, there were only two I truly cared about, and NEWTs were approaching quicker than the flowers I tried to plant on the Ravenclaw dorm balcony grew. My friends made me study at wandpoint, determined not to let me fail.

1890 | But I did fail. Hard. The day I opened my OWL exam results was not a pleasant one. Mama didn't say anything; she only gave me one of those wide-eyed glares. I could hear what she wasn't saying: Really, Madge? Papa was more willing to share his feelings, and I remember sitting at the dining room table with my face in my hands, crying. I'd disappointed him, and I hated it. He wasn't mad, and it somehow made it worse. After a long conversation we decided it would be best if I withdrew from school. On the bright side, I was immediately given a job at the family business, and no longer did I have to work under the supervision of a senior employee. I was Miss Bobbin to them now.... Well, I was always Miss Bobbin, but now it was Miss-Bobbin-Whose-Family-Owns-This-Place. Even better.

1891 | In early autumn Papa passes after a particularly nasty bout of influenza. The healers give him what they can, but nothing helps. Every child has a point in their life where they imagine what life might look like after the loss of a parent, and I did, too, but it paled in comparison to what it truly felt like. Meals are hardly palatable anymore, mostly because Papa's chair is empty but also because Mama's cooking dips in quality. She tries to be strong for us and for the first month tries to spend time alone with each of us, but then the solicitor comes and everything changes. He has news: there's another child, older than even [Brother], that Papa kept hidden from us. I can hardly believe it. [Sister] can hardly believe it. Mama denies it completely. But it doesn't change the fact: the shop belongs to The Pretender now. Cue my worst nightmare.

Personality:

Creative. Cheeky. Talkative. In possession of a strong mind that she only puts to use when she cares about a subject. Obsessive. Holds grudges—not forever, but long enough that it becomes tiring. Hardworking. Manipulative. Passionate.

Other:
Sample Roleplay Post: —
Name: Bree
Age: 22