03-25-2013, 02:11 PM
Full Name: Clara Natalie Lewis
Nicknames: "Clara" is pretty short already, so not directly as such. In her ... "employment" though, she often has to come up with aliases and fake names on the fly. At some point, for at least a minute or so, she's probably answered to every female name in the English language and shed it just as fast.
Birthdate: August 1st, 1868
Current Age: Fourteen
Occupation: Student; Flower Girl, Petty Thief, Con Girl
Hogwarts House: Ravenclaw
Wand: Holly, 10.5", Firm, Manticore Hair
Blood Status: Probably muggleborn (father unknown)
Social Class: Lower
Family: Mother: Natalie 'Natty' Lewis - Prostitute - 1845 - 1875.
Father: Unknown - Was of Chinese origin and a sailor in late 1867.
Appearance: (Probably going for Younha Go for a playby - would this be acceptable? http://cardcaptorstacey.co.uk/younha/image...her/younha1.jpg )
Clara is a fairly slight girl. Standing barely above five feet and quite petite, something that years of growing up rough in the slums didn't help. Though she never met the man and likely never will, her father's Chinese origins are responsible for much of the girl's facial features. As a young child, her hair was often dirty and tangled, her face dirty and generally unkempt. Since coming to Hogwarts, her personal hygiene has ... quite improved. She has a reactionary compulsion these days to ensure a 'perfect' appearance - her raven-black hair parted straight down the middle, both makeup and magical techniques to keep her face looking fresh, etc. She can come across as a bit flustery about her appearance, but with so little else going for her, she doesn't feel she really has much of a choice.
When at Hogwarts, she almost exclusively is found in her Ravenclaw Robes, both out of a certain pride in her House - as well as a rather desperate attempt at hiding the fact that she's both a muggleborn and a rather impoverished one at that, so really doesn't have much she could wear without feeling shamefully self-conscious. In recent years though, as she's been getting better at her 'profession', she's taken to wearing some of the jewelry that she's 'found', both as a means of gloating and trying to improve her perceived status and desirability.
History: Poor Clara, it would seem, had nearly all the cards in the deck stacked against her even before birth. Her mother, 'Natty' Lewis had been one of the more desperate sort of prostitutes, belonging to a cheap and rather shady brothel just beside the docks, hoping to satisfy the never-ending hunger of sailors for flesh in exchange for a few coins. Clara herself had been the product of a 'night session' her mother had had with a Chinese sailor who hardly spoke a word of English, but evidently was able to communicate his intentions with her well enough anyhow.
It seems that despite her hard place in life, Natty had had something of a heart after all - though she could have easily abandoned the infant in some or another back alley, as the desperately poor were often want to do in such circumstances, Clara's mother had tried her best to raise her baby. For the first few years of her life, Clara had grown up in the brothel beside her mother; from a very young age being taught to beg in the streets, forage, steal, or whatever else to make ends meet in the miserable world that was theirs.
From Clara's earliest memories, her mother had been a rather sickly woman, growing deeper and deeper in debt to the matron, who eventually came to see Natty and Clara as far more burdens than assets, and shortly after Clara's sixth birthday, had thrown the two of them onto the streets. Natty had tried her best to come by money however she could to look out for her daughter, but more and more, the reality was that Clara effectively had to look out for both herself and her mother's wellbeing as her mother's health deteriorated worse and worse.
The worst day in Clara's life had been Christmas Eve 1875. Begging, stealing, going without food for sometimes days on the end to save up moneyhe'd finally saved up enough money to buy medicine that an apothecary had told her would treat her mother's condition. Ecstatically to finally have it, she'd ran back to her mother, only to find the older woman had died, leaving Clara truly alone in the world. Her grief juxtaposed against the jubilation the rest of the world seemed to be enjoying on Christmas Day, from that moment on, she developed something of a very great resentment for the society that had done that, everything to her and her mother.
The next few years of Clara's life were quite rough, transient. Drifting from place to place. She was too young for any legitimate work still, but needed to eat. Begging, she found, seldom really worked, only building her growing resentment at the outside world that seemed perfectly content to leave her downcast and miserable. So she turned to stealing, pickpocketing. Bread from bakeries, a purse or two from some prissy upper class woman. At first she'd get caught often, thrown in a cell overnight, sometimes beaten. But as it continued she grew better and better at it, until it was completely second nature to the girl to walk into a marketplace and return to whatever abandoned building or crevice she'd found at the end of the night, belly full of food she never paid for, and sometimes a few pretty baubles to add to her collection.
Though she never fully trusted anyone after her mother's passing, between her few brief stints in jail and places of association, she came to make the acquaintance of others of her ... 'profession'. She learned from them, a lot. What neighborhoods the police were in at what times during their rotations. Which officers could be bribed or ... otherwise convinced to let those like her ... pursue their trade, and which couldn't. Cons, tricks, schemes to fool the gullible and rich - the very sort she was growing to despise anyhow.
Clara caught onto it like a fish to water. With an innocent - some would say adorable, if quite dirty and unkempt - face and smile, who really would expect her of wanting to rob every single arrogant prat in the city blind until they knew the sort of misery they condemned her to. They deserved it after all, didn't they? The rich, the cruel, the heartless. Anything she did to them was far less than they deserved anyhow.
By ten, she was working in tandem with several other con artists of various ages, something of a child prodigy in the field. Often she'd pose as a flower-selling girl in order to distract the attention of wealthy-looking patrons of shopping districts while her accomplices ran through their pockets; the closest ruse she ever had to a legitimate job. By now she was old enough for at least some jobs - kitchen aides, cleaning, house servants perhaps - but the very thought of working in such a degrading, servile position to the rich and arrogant who had made her life so miserable made her stomach turn in revulsion.
In the summer of 1879, shortly before Clara's birthday, a rather unusual event happened. While 'working' the crowded streets of London, she'd been approached by a rather tall man dressed in what Clara thought had to be a somewhat odd set of robes. Or more precisely, she'd been tapped on the shoulder from behind while trailing her latest 'mark' that she was sizing up. Whirling around to face the man, her first fleeting thought was that he'd been an undercover police officer and he'd caught her. She looked the man over warily, ready to dash away into an alley at the first sign of trouble.
"You must be Clara?" the man asked her. She'd nodded, confused as to how a man she never thought she'd seen before would have known her name. "We have a lot to talk about," he continued, and the more paranoid side of her brain started once more fearing he was a cop. But ... somehow, he didn't really seem like one. She wasn't actually sure what she thought he seemed like at the time. Very ... different from most anyone she'd met, yet in an odd way, familiar, like her more than anyone else.
The man took Clara into a nearby restaurant and bought her lunch, sitting across from her, Clara quite taken aback at the sudden act of charity, even such a small one, from a stranger; almost an alien concept to her. She certainly wasn't about to turn down a free meal though, and so even had tried to avoid showing a scoffing look when the man introduced himself as ... a wizard, and member of staff at a school for witches and wizards. And that, apparently, she herself was a witch.
Really, how gullible did the man think she was? Anyone with a lick of sense knew that witches and wizards only existed in fairy tales. Other children, the more stupid sort, the sort she could prey upon in the streets, might believe in such rubbish, but not she the clever, cunning Clara Lewis. If not for the fact that he'd bought her food, she'd probably have laughed in his face, made a jeering remark, and ran off.
But ... as he continued. Though she didn't want to admit it... Some ... of what he was saying... sort of ... actually seemed to make sense. There had been a few times where ... strange things had happened. Weird, freak occurrences, almost unexplainable by the natural understanding of the world. There'd been one or two times when she'd been unlucky, and caught in the act, and chased, sometimes even cornered. Then suddenly, inexplicably, she'd find herself somewhere else, a safe distance away, out of eyesight of her pursuers. Or times when she was almost certain she'd been seen yet her victims seemed to act as if she wasn't there.
The jaded young girl who was already so convinced she knew so much more about the world than most anyone else and was perfectly capable of taking care of herself put up a show of false bravado, asking the man for proof. To which he'd smiled a bit, and claimed he thought she might ask as much. Telling Clara to follow after him, he led the rather skeptical girl to a shabby looking pub that she'd passed nearly every day before without a second thought of it - the 'Leaky Cauldron'.
Restraining herself from rolling her eyes, figuring she'd humor the man who'd bought her lunch, Clara followed him inside to a rather different shop than she'd imagined, uneasily returning the glances from the patrons who seemed ... similarly different, like the man who led her there. Following the man through the 'back wall', for the first time Clara saw the wizarding world outright with her own absolutely wide eyes.
From there it was rather a blur, the next few months. The man had shown her around to the wizard shops, even bought her a few treats. She'd been enthralled, elated. Here, finally, was absolute proof that she was different, 'better' than all of the fools who'd looked down on her all of her life. They might be richer than her, wear fancier clothes, live in nice homes and sleep in soft comfortable beds while she eked out a living on the streets, but she was going to be a powerful witch, one of the few elite, and then the world would finally be at her fingertips.
Though near the end of the tour, reality began to sink in. She was still an impoverished 'muggleborn' with barely a penny to her name in even the muggle world, and no money at all in theirs. Even if she was part of an 'elite' group, she was still in a familiar, absolutely low tier within it. There were a few absolute necessities, mostly secondhand items and the like, that the school - 'Hogwarts' would provide for her, but beyond that, she was on her own.
As the man left, she had to return to the streets that'd been her 'home' so long. It was a sad farewell, but a hopeful one, because she'd be leaving them for good soon, wouldn't she? As she woke up the next day, she'd considered it all to have been a very strange dream, until she once more entered the 'Diagon Alley' to test it. For a few days, it'd seemed a perfect, idyllic escape to the terrible 'muggle' world outside until ... she found out the hard way that some witches and wizards could be just as cruel and pretentious as upper-class muggles.
Based on her dress, she was obviously a muggleborn, and a fairly poor one at that, and more than a few were quick to point out their derision at the fact. Just as she had before with the muggle world, Clara had vowed to herself that someday, somehow, she'd rise to become one of the most powerful witches the world had ever seen. And then they, all of them, who'd looked down on her would be sorry.
Any such nasty thoughts were long gone when Clara got on the Hogwarts Express - albeit with secondhand robes and used books - off to the school where finally she'd learn to be a witch. The first few days were absolute euphoria for her. A living fairy tale. An actual castle - like the princesses in the stories used to live in. For one brief while, her future looked bright.
She was sorted into Ravenclaw - the Hat had told her she was 'clever', and she smiled at the compliment, glad somebody finally acknowledged that about her, so didn't even think to question it.
The first year wasn't absolutely without its bumps along the way of course, but it was so infinitely better than the life before, that Clara hardly cared. Every day she had three guaranteed meals in a hall with more food than she'd ever seen in her life, slept in a soft, comfortable bed, and learned about magic. It really was like being a princess from the fairytales.
Then came the last day of the term. And with it cold hard reality. She was, for the summer, thrown back on streets of London. Well, not literally, but she had nowhere else to go from the King's Cross station. Going from Hogwarts to ... that, was absolute misery. And, adding insult to injury, the school had very specifically forbidden her from using any magic off school grounds in the presence of muggles. So even her dreams of using her witchery to help her 'career' were out.
It was back to pure basic wit and slight of hand to eke out a basic existence. At least for the summer. And for the next four years, with some variation, that was basically it. During the school term, Clara stayed at Hogwarts, studied diligently, loved most of it, definitely considered it her true home; then came the abysmal summer, and with it the shame and misery of returning to the muggle world she grew to despise more and more each time she was forced to return to it.
Too ashamed for her 'friends' - in the loose way she used the term - to see her like that, Clara as a rule never kept any contact with them over the summer. Even going to Diagon Alley was far too risky; she might bump into someone she knew, questions would be asked, all that. So she simply ran around stealing and scamming. Getting better and better, more charming, more convincing.
Some of the better scams even allowed her to save up some money that she could convert to wizard currency at Gringotts to use at Hogwarts during the terms. And some of the jewelry she'd stolen could make her look wealthier, of higher class than she actually was. Things were getting a bit better, maybe?
Time would tell she supposed. Fourth year was a pretty critical one, as it involved studying for the OWLS, the scores on which would more or less make or break her in the wizarding world for any possible careers that'd give her a better chance at life.
Personality: Clara. doesn't. trust. anyone. for starters. Never fully at least. Years living on the streets with only her wit and slight of hand to keep her alive kind of did that to her. As far as she's concerned, just about anyone alive probably would stick a knife in her back, at least proverbially, the first chance they get if it's to their advantage to do so. She certainly lived her life that way.
She has 'friends', sure, acquaintances too. The sort of people that she's polite to, shares some experiences with. But at the end of the day, it's all about forging connections with people who can somehow, hopefully, get her out of her desperate states. Some she might even genuinely enjoy the company of, but...
Self-advancement comes first. By any means necessary. She's not particularly actively malicious; certainly not the sort of girl to go around causing gratuitous suffering to others pointlessly - that'd only earn her more enemies, the last thing she needs. But she's definitely not above taking advantage of others to get ahead in life. She's particularly built a life around that in the muggle world - albeit out of necessity - but similarly in the wizarding world, she's also trying to get ahead. She's not so much 'evil' as just ... a tad amoral and basically just trying to survive.
With her 'friends', it's kind of a two way street. If they're able to help her out in practical terms, she'd be 'loyal' to almost extreme ends, but should that help lapse, so too does her affinity for them.
Despite her double life as a muggle criminal, at Hogwarts Clara is actually quite a diligent student. For a number of reasons, the biggest of which is that her own position at Hogwarts is fairly precariously dependent on a scholarship which only good grades can guarantee. That, and she really, really likes Hogwarts. It's definitely nicer than the life she'd have otherwise. And ... the material can be very interesting and ... practically useful. She's honestly a pretty bright girl, despite, or in some ways perhaps, because of, her upbringing. However awkwardly she might otherwise fit in with the wizarding world at times, she's definitely a Ravenclaw.
Also, while she'd never dream of admitting it, she has a rather strong sort of self-loathing due to her background. While it's impossible to fully hide the fact, she despises the reality that as a 'muggleborn' - and of a pretty shoddy background as a muggle at that - she occupies a pretty low social position. So she tries her best to obscure that part of her past. Almost obsessively just wearing her Hogwarts robes and the few other bits of witch clothing that look semi-respectable she managed to scrounge together over the years. As much as she can, she tries to avoid anything to do with her muggle background when around witches and wizards, hoping beyond hope to 'pass' as 'higher' blood status than she really is.
She also has somewhat of a grudge against Slytherin, as a few people associate with that House gave her a rather hard time as a muggleborn. But if it were to her advantage, she'd put that aside in individual cases.
The same self-loathing also manifests kind of paradoxically as surface level arrogance. She's a fairly good student after all; she's been given absolutely terrible cards in life, but she's gotten decently far. In a sense, that makes her 'superior' to others, right? She definitely despises those who get by simply by birth rather than talent - an all too common thing in the world - and thinks herself innately their superior, for actually working for what she has. But she's not so spiteful as to be above 'befriending' those of upper classes who by some fluke or another won't shun or look down on her.
For 'love', she's pretty cynical of the idea; even more so than platonic friendship. Her mother was a prostitute, and while she herself would never dream of degrading herself to that degree, she's definitely quite practiced using her 'feminine wiles' to her advantage in her scams in the muggle world. And for a promising enough (as in well enough off) young man, who'd look past her background, she'd leap at the chance of using such for self-advancement. But, while she's certainly found some guys physically attractive at points, at this point, she's nowhere near trusting enough to be open to a relationship in any real sense.
At her core, Clara isn't necessarily a 'bad' person. Just a hurt girl really angry at the world and most of those in it; but if by chance someone actually treated her decently, and looked past all her baggage, and somehow managed to earn her trust, she'd probably be willing to return the favor.
Sample Roleplay Post:
The soon-to-be fourth year Ravenclaw was far, far from the life she'd become accustomed to at Hogwarts now. As with every summer, she'd gone through the necessary metamorphosis from diligent student to con artist. It ... was nothing to be proud of surely, but it beat starving to death or selling herself; and it wasn't as if those who'd looked down on her her entire life deserved any less.
Normally really this sort of thing had become sort of second-nature to her, but today she was a bit more nervous. Teeth chattered a bit as she walked by the jewelry store she'd paced past a dozen odd times already today alone. It was a more audacious plan she had in mind now. Not motivated strictly by the necessity of survival as cheaper prizes had been, but perhaps simple vanity. She was tired of every day of her fifteen years of life having to carry with her the obvious signs of her poverty.
With ... a nice necklace, people would respect her more, right? It'd make her 'job' easier - people would trust her better. And, back at Hogwarts, she'd command more respect, wouldn't she? Probably?
It was now or never. If she kept pacing in front of the store, the shopkeeper was sure to notice her, and that'd raise suspicion. The con would be all but impossible to pull off. Her hands were still shaking a bit, her right hand clutching the end of the fake necklace inside of the deliberately long sleeve she wore in one of the few relatively nice articles of clothes she wore. Clothes for cons just like this.
Steadying herself, she ran the opposite hand through her ebony hair and then touched her sleeve once more, making sure the fake necklace was still wound tightly. If it fell out before the proper time, it'd all be for nothing.
For a few moments, Clara made her way across the store glancing this way and that, as casually as she could look, at the various items. But the true item she was after, the nicely made gold necklace with a real sapphire pendant, that she saved for last.
Running her fingers over the cool metal almost lustfully, Clara called the shopkeeper over. "Excuse me ma'am," she asked, "Could you be a dear and help me try this one on?"
The older woman nodded, taking the necklace - Clara's target - in hand, and leading her towards the mirrors. Standing behind the witch, the muggle woman slipped it over her neck. Clara shuddered a bit, hoping to pass it off as being sherely from the cold metal touching her skin. She looked it over in the mirror momentarily, admiring the reflection. A reflection she hoped to be able to see time and time again when it was hers once and for all.
"It's ... beautiful." Clara said, flashing a soft smile. "I wonder... I hope this might not sound odd, but I'm rather fond of sapphires. Could I, perhaps, hold it up to the light for a better look?"
The woman looked slightly annoyed by the girl's request, but nodded her head, following Clara towards the light, the woman's eyes like a hawk never leaving the piece of jewelry. For what seemed like an eternity, Clara held it upwards, above her head, waiting for the other woman's gaze to leave for but a split second, but it never did.
Damnit! She'd have to improvise. But that was fine. She was good at that. Quick on her feet. The only way she could have survived so long after all.
"Jessi, is that you???" Clara called out suddenly, as she whipped her head over her shoulder to look behind her, calling out to a random female patron, who looked at her confused. "Oh, I guess not." she muttered, a slight frown.
Though in reality, she was elated. In that split second, the exclamation and turning of the head together had been enough to make the shopkeeper drop her vigilence, if but momentarily. But a moment was all it took for the necessary snapping of the wrist and dropping of the arm, the motion she'd practiced ten-thousand times before, necessary to quick-as-a-flash switch the real piece of jewelry for the fake one.
"Sorry." Clara muttered, turning to the shopkeeper. "I was expecting my friend Jessi to show up here to buy this for me. I guess I need to go look for her. I'll be back in a bit, alright?"
And before giving the older woman a chance to respond, Clara thrust the momentarily convincing fake in her hand then started to walk towards the door as quickly as wouldn't arouse suspicion. As soon as she cleared the doorway and sight of it, she broke into an absolute sprint, giggling from an adrenaline rush. She'd done it. A beautiful necklace now to adorn her neck. Maybe, at long last she wouldn't be so looked down upon any more.
OOC:
Name: Hidori (don't ask)
Age: 23
Contact: PM me.
Other Characters: N/A
How did you hear about us? Google + Magics
Nicknames: "Clara" is pretty short already, so not directly as such. In her ... "employment" though, she often has to come up with aliases and fake names on the fly. At some point, for at least a minute or so, she's probably answered to every female name in the English language and shed it just as fast.
Birthdate: August 1st, 1868
Current Age: Fourteen
Occupation: Student; Flower Girl, Petty Thief, Con Girl
Hogwarts House: Ravenclaw
Wand: Holly, 10.5", Firm, Manticore Hair
Blood Status: Probably muggleborn (father unknown)
Social Class: Lower
Family: Mother: Natalie 'Natty' Lewis - Prostitute - 1845 - 1875.
Father: Unknown - Was of Chinese origin and a sailor in late 1867.
Appearance: (Probably going for Younha Go for a playby - would this be acceptable? http://cardcaptorstacey.co.uk/younha/image...her/younha1.jpg )
Clara is a fairly slight girl. Standing barely above five feet and quite petite, something that years of growing up rough in the slums didn't help. Though she never met the man and likely never will, her father's Chinese origins are responsible for much of the girl's facial features. As a young child, her hair was often dirty and tangled, her face dirty and generally unkempt. Since coming to Hogwarts, her personal hygiene has ... quite improved. She has a reactionary compulsion these days to ensure a 'perfect' appearance - her raven-black hair parted straight down the middle, both makeup and magical techniques to keep her face looking fresh, etc. She can come across as a bit flustery about her appearance, but with so little else going for her, she doesn't feel she really has much of a choice.
When at Hogwarts, she almost exclusively is found in her Ravenclaw Robes, both out of a certain pride in her House - as well as a rather desperate attempt at hiding the fact that she's both a muggleborn and a rather impoverished one at that, so really doesn't have much she could wear without feeling shamefully self-conscious. In recent years though, as she's been getting better at her 'profession', she's taken to wearing some of the jewelry that she's 'found', both as a means of gloating and trying to improve her perceived status and desirability.
History: Poor Clara, it would seem, had nearly all the cards in the deck stacked against her even before birth. Her mother, 'Natty' Lewis had been one of the more desperate sort of prostitutes, belonging to a cheap and rather shady brothel just beside the docks, hoping to satisfy the never-ending hunger of sailors for flesh in exchange for a few coins. Clara herself had been the product of a 'night session' her mother had had with a Chinese sailor who hardly spoke a word of English, but evidently was able to communicate his intentions with her well enough anyhow.
It seems that despite her hard place in life, Natty had had something of a heart after all - though she could have easily abandoned the infant in some or another back alley, as the desperately poor were often want to do in such circumstances, Clara's mother had tried her best to raise her baby. For the first few years of her life, Clara had grown up in the brothel beside her mother; from a very young age being taught to beg in the streets, forage, steal, or whatever else to make ends meet in the miserable world that was theirs.
From Clara's earliest memories, her mother had been a rather sickly woman, growing deeper and deeper in debt to the matron, who eventually came to see Natty and Clara as far more burdens than assets, and shortly after Clara's sixth birthday, had thrown the two of them onto the streets. Natty had tried her best to come by money however she could to look out for her daughter, but more and more, the reality was that Clara effectively had to look out for both herself and her mother's wellbeing as her mother's health deteriorated worse and worse.
The worst day in Clara's life had been Christmas Eve 1875. Begging, stealing, going without food for sometimes days on the end to save up moneyhe'd finally saved up enough money to buy medicine that an apothecary had told her would treat her mother's condition. Ecstatically to finally have it, she'd ran back to her mother, only to find the older woman had died, leaving Clara truly alone in the world. Her grief juxtaposed against the jubilation the rest of the world seemed to be enjoying on Christmas Day, from that moment on, she developed something of a very great resentment for the society that had done that, everything to her and her mother.
The next few years of Clara's life were quite rough, transient. Drifting from place to place. She was too young for any legitimate work still, but needed to eat. Begging, she found, seldom really worked, only building her growing resentment at the outside world that seemed perfectly content to leave her downcast and miserable. So she turned to stealing, pickpocketing. Bread from bakeries, a purse or two from some prissy upper class woman. At first she'd get caught often, thrown in a cell overnight, sometimes beaten. But as it continued she grew better and better at it, until it was completely second nature to the girl to walk into a marketplace and return to whatever abandoned building or crevice she'd found at the end of the night, belly full of food she never paid for, and sometimes a few pretty baubles to add to her collection.
Though she never fully trusted anyone after her mother's passing, between her few brief stints in jail and places of association, she came to make the acquaintance of others of her ... 'profession'. She learned from them, a lot. What neighborhoods the police were in at what times during their rotations. Which officers could be bribed or ... otherwise convinced to let those like her ... pursue their trade, and which couldn't. Cons, tricks, schemes to fool the gullible and rich - the very sort she was growing to despise anyhow.
Clara caught onto it like a fish to water. With an innocent - some would say adorable, if quite dirty and unkempt - face and smile, who really would expect her of wanting to rob every single arrogant prat in the city blind until they knew the sort of misery they condemned her to. They deserved it after all, didn't they? The rich, the cruel, the heartless. Anything she did to them was far less than they deserved anyhow.
By ten, she was working in tandem with several other con artists of various ages, something of a child prodigy in the field. Often she'd pose as a flower-selling girl in order to distract the attention of wealthy-looking patrons of shopping districts while her accomplices ran through their pockets; the closest ruse she ever had to a legitimate job. By now she was old enough for at least some jobs - kitchen aides, cleaning, house servants perhaps - but the very thought of working in such a degrading, servile position to the rich and arrogant who had made her life so miserable made her stomach turn in revulsion.
In the summer of 1879, shortly before Clara's birthday, a rather unusual event happened. While 'working' the crowded streets of London, she'd been approached by a rather tall man dressed in what Clara thought had to be a somewhat odd set of robes. Or more precisely, she'd been tapped on the shoulder from behind while trailing her latest 'mark' that she was sizing up. Whirling around to face the man, her first fleeting thought was that he'd been an undercover police officer and he'd caught her. She looked the man over warily, ready to dash away into an alley at the first sign of trouble.
"You must be Clara?" the man asked her. She'd nodded, confused as to how a man she never thought she'd seen before would have known her name. "We have a lot to talk about," he continued, and the more paranoid side of her brain started once more fearing he was a cop. But ... somehow, he didn't really seem like one. She wasn't actually sure what she thought he seemed like at the time. Very ... different from most anyone she'd met, yet in an odd way, familiar, like her more than anyone else.
The man took Clara into a nearby restaurant and bought her lunch, sitting across from her, Clara quite taken aback at the sudden act of charity, even such a small one, from a stranger; almost an alien concept to her. She certainly wasn't about to turn down a free meal though, and so even had tried to avoid showing a scoffing look when the man introduced himself as ... a wizard, and member of staff at a school for witches and wizards. And that, apparently, she herself was a witch.
Really, how gullible did the man think she was? Anyone with a lick of sense knew that witches and wizards only existed in fairy tales. Other children, the more stupid sort, the sort she could prey upon in the streets, might believe in such rubbish, but not she the clever, cunning Clara Lewis. If not for the fact that he'd bought her food, she'd probably have laughed in his face, made a jeering remark, and ran off.
But ... as he continued. Though she didn't want to admit it... Some ... of what he was saying... sort of ... actually seemed to make sense. There had been a few times where ... strange things had happened. Weird, freak occurrences, almost unexplainable by the natural understanding of the world. There'd been one or two times when she'd been unlucky, and caught in the act, and chased, sometimes even cornered. Then suddenly, inexplicably, she'd find herself somewhere else, a safe distance away, out of eyesight of her pursuers. Or times when she was almost certain she'd been seen yet her victims seemed to act as if she wasn't there.
The jaded young girl who was already so convinced she knew so much more about the world than most anyone else and was perfectly capable of taking care of herself put up a show of false bravado, asking the man for proof. To which he'd smiled a bit, and claimed he thought she might ask as much. Telling Clara to follow after him, he led the rather skeptical girl to a shabby looking pub that she'd passed nearly every day before without a second thought of it - the 'Leaky Cauldron'.
Restraining herself from rolling her eyes, figuring she'd humor the man who'd bought her lunch, Clara followed him inside to a rather different shop than she'd imagined, uneasily returning the glances from the patrons who seemed ... similarly different, like the man who led her there. Following the man through the 'back wall', for the first time Clara saw the wizarding world outright with her own absolutely wide eyes.
From there it was rather a blur, the next few months. The man had shown her around to the wizard shops, even bought her a few treats. She'd been enthralled, elated. Here, finally, was absolute proof that she was different, 'better' than all of the fools who'd looked down on her all of her life. They might be richer than her, wear fancier clothes, live in nice homes and sleep in soft comfortable beds while she eked out a living on the streets, but she was going to be a powerful witch, one of the few elite, and then the world would finally be at her fingertips.
Though near the end of the tour, reality began to sink in. She was still an impoverished 'muggleborn' with barely a penny to her name in even the muggle world, and no money at all in theirs. Even if she was part of an 'elite' group, she was still in a familiar, absolutely low tier within it. There were a few absolute necessities, mostly secondhand items and the like, that the school - 'Hogwarts' would provide for her, but beyond that, she was on her own.
As the man left, she had to return to the streets that'd been her 'home' so long. It was a sad farewell, but a hopeful one, because she'd be leaving them for good soon, wouldn't she? As she woke up the next day, she'd considered it all to have been a very strange dream, until she once more entered the 'Diagon Alley' to test it. For a few days, it'd seemed a perfect, idyllic escape to the terrible 'muggle' world outside until ... she found out the hard way that some witches and wizards could be just as cruel and pretentious as upper-class muggles.
Based on her dress, she was obviously a muggleborn, and a fairly poor one at that, and more than a few were quick to point out their derision at the fact. Just as she had before with the muggle world, Clara had vowed to herself that someday, somehow, she'd rise to become one of the most powerful witches the world had ever seen. And then they, all of them, who'd looked down on her would be sorry.
Any such nasty thoughts were long gone when Clara got on the Hogwarts Express - albeit with secondhand robes and used books - off to the school where finally she'd learn to be a witch. The first few days were absolute euphoria for her. A living fairy tale. An actual castle - like the princesses in the stories used to live in. For one brief while, her future looked bright.
She was sorted into Ravenclaw - the Hat had told her she was 'clever', and she smiled at the compliment, glad somebody finally acknowledged that about her, so didn't even think to question it.
The first year wasn't absolutely without its bumps along the way of course, but it was so infinitely better than the life before, that Clara hardly cared. Every day she had three guaranteed meals in a hall with more food than she'd ever seen in her life, slept in a soft, comfortable bed, and learned about magic. It really was like being a princess from the fairytales.
Then came the last day of the term. And with it cold hard reality. She was, for the summer, thrown back on streets of London. Well, not literally, but she had nowhere else to go from the King's Cross station. Going from Hogwarts to ... that, was absolute misery. And, adding insult to injury, the school had very specifically forbidden her from using any magic off school grounds in the presence of muggles. So even her dreams of using her witchery to help her 'career' were out.
It was back to pure basic wit and slight of hand to eke out a basic existence. At least for the summer. And for the next four years, with some variation, that was basically it. During the school term, Clara stayed at Hogwarts, studied diligently, loved most of it, definitely considered it her true home; then came the abysmal summer, and with it the shame and misery of returning to the muggle world she grew to despise more and more each time she was forced to return to it.
Too ashamed for her 'friends' - in the loose way she used the term - to see her like that, Clara as a rule never kept any contact with them over the summer. Even going to Diagon Alley was far too risky; she might bump into someone she knew, questions would be asked, all that. So she simply ran around stealing and scamming. Getting better and better, more charming, more convincing.
Some of the better scams even allowed her to save up some money that she could convert to wizard currency at Gringotts to use at Hogwarts during the terms. And some of the jewelry she'd stolen could make her look wealthier, of higher class than she actually was. Things were getting a bit better, maybe?
Time would tell she supposed. Fourth year was a pretty critical one, as it involved studying for the OWLS, the scores on which would more or less make or break her in the wizarding world for any possible careers that'd give her a better chance at life.
Personality: Clara. doesn't. trust. anyone. for starters. Never fully at least. Years living on the streets with only her wit and slight of hand to keep her alive kind of did that to her. As far as she's concerned, just about anyone alive probably would stick a knife in her back, at least proverbially, the first chance they get if it's to their advantage to do so. She certainly lived her life that way.
She has 'friends', sure, acquaintances too. The sort of people that she's polite to, shares some experiences with. But at the end of the day, it's all about forging connections with people who can somehow, hopefully, get her out of her desperate states. Some she might even genuinely enjoy the company of, but...
Self-advancement comes first. By any means necessary. She's not particularly actively malicious; certainly not the sort of girl to go around causing gratuitous suffering to others pointlessly - that'd only earn her more enemies, the last thing she needs. But she's definitely not above taking advantage of others to get ahead in life. She's particularly built a life around that in the muggle world - albeit out of necessity - but similarly in the wizarding world, she's also trying to get ahead. She's not so much 'evil' as just ... a tad amoral and basically just trying to survive.
With her 'friends', it's kind of a two way street. If they're able to help her out in practical terms, she'd be 'loyal' to almost extreme ends, but should that help lapse, so too does her affinity for them.
Despite her double life as a muggle criminal, at Hogwarts Clara is actually quite a diligent student. For a number of reasons, the biggest of which is that her own position at Hogwarts is fairly precariously dependent on a scholarship which only good grades can guarantee. That, and she really, really likes Hogwarts. It's definitely nicer than the life she'd have otherwise. And ... the material can be very interesting and ... practically useful. She's honestly a pretty bright girl, despite, or in some ways perhaps, because of, her upbringing. However awkwardly she might otherwise fit in with the wizarding world at times, she's definitely a Ravenclaw.
Also, while she'd never dream of admitting it, she has a rather strong sort of self-loathing due to her background. While it's impossible to fully hide the fact, she despises the reality that as a 'muggleborn' - and of a pretty shoddy background as a muggle at that - she occupies a pretty low social position. So she tries her best to obscure that part of her past. Almost obsessively just wearing her Hogwarts robes and the few other bits of witch clothing that look semi-respectable she managed to scrounge together over the years. As much as she can, she tries to avoid anything to do with her muggle background when around witches and wizards, hoping beyond hope to 'pass' as 'higher' blood status than she really is.
She also has somewhat of a grudge against Slytherin, as a few people associate with that House gave her a rather hard time as a muggleborn. But if it were to her advantage, she'd put that aside in individual cases.
The same self-loathing also manifests kind of paradoxically as surface level arrogance. She's a fairly good student after all; she's been given absolutely terrible cards in life, but she's gotten decently far. In a sense, that makes her 'superior' to others, right? She definitely despises those who get by simply by birth rather than talent - an all too common thing in the world - and thinks herself innately their superior, for actually working for what she has. But she's not so spiteful as to be above 'befriending' those of upper classes who by some fluke or another won't shun or look down on her.
For 'love', she's pretty cynical of the idea; even more so than platonic friendship. Her mother was a prostitute, and while she herself would never dream of degrading herself to that degree, she's definitely quite practiced using her 'feminine wiles' to her advantage in her scams in the muggle world. And for a promising enough (as in well enough off) young man, who'd look past her background, she'd leap at the chance of using such for self-advancement. But, while she's certainly found some guys physically attractive at points, at this point, she's nowhere near trusting enough to be open to a relationship in any real sense.
At her core, Clara isn't necessarily a 'bad' person. Just a hurt girl really angry at the world and most of those in it; but if by chance someone actually treated her decently, and looked past all her baggage, and somehow managed to earn her trust, she'd probably be willing to return the favor.
Sample Roleplay Post:
The soon-to-be fourth year Ravenclaw was far, far from the life she'd become accustomed to at Hogwarts now. As with every summer, she'd gone through the necessary metamorphosis from diligent student to con artist. It ... was nothing to be proud of surely, but it beat starving to death or selling herself; and it wasn't as if those who'd looked down on her her entire life deserved any less.
Normally really this sort of thing had become sort of second-nature to her, but today she was a bit more nervous. Teeth chattered a bit as she walked by the jewelry store she'd paced past a dozen odd times already today alone. It was a more audacious plan she had in mind now. Not motivated strictly by the necessity of survival as cheaper prizes had been, but perhaps simple vanity. She was tired of every day of her fifteen years of life having to carry with her the obvious signs of her poverty.
With ... a nice necklace, people would respect her more, right? It'd make her 'job' easier - people would trust her better. And, back at Hogwarts, she'd command more respect, wouldn't she? Probably?
It was now or never. If she kept pacing in front of the store, the shopkeeper was sure to notice her, and that'd raise suspicion. The con would be all but impossible to pull off. Her hands were still shaking a bit, her right hand clutching the end of the fake necklace inside of the deliberately long sleeve she wore in one of the few relatively nice articles of clothes she wore. Clothes for cons just like this.
Steadying herself, she ran the opposite hand through her ebony hair and then touched her sleeve once more, making sure the fake necklace was still wound tightly. If it fell out before the proper time, it'd all be for nothing.
For a few moments, Clara made her way across the store glancing this way and that, as casually as she could look, at the various items. But the true item she was after, the nicely made gold necklace with a real sapphire pendant, that she saved for last.
Running her fingers over the cool metal almost lustfully, Clara called the shopkeeper over. "Excuse me ma'am," she asked, "Could you be a dear and help me try this one on?"
The older woman nodded, taking the necklace - Clara's target - in hand, and leading her towards the mirrors. Standing behind the witch, the muggle woman slipped it over her neck. Clara shuddered a bit, hoping to pass it off as being sherely from the cold metal touching her skin. She looked it over in the mirror momentarily, admiring the reflection. A reflection she hoped to be able to see time and time again when it was hers once and for all.
"It's ... beautiful." Clara said, flashing a soft smile. "I wonder... I hope this might not sound odd, but I'm rather fond of sapphires. Could I, perhaps, hold it up to the light for a better look?"
The woman looked slightly annoyed by the girl's request, but nodded her head, following Clara towards the light, the woman's eyes like a hawk never leaving the piece of jewelry. For what seemed like an eternity, Clara held it upwards, above her head, waiting for the other woman's gaze to leave for but a split second, but it never did.
Damnit! She'd have to improvise. But that was fine. She was good at that. Quick on her feet. The only way she could have survived so long after all.
"Jessi, is that you???" Clara called out suddenly, as she whipped her head over her shoulder to look behind her, calling out to a random female patron, who looked at her confused. "Oh, I guess not." she muttered, a slight frown.
Though in reality, she was elated. In that split second, the exclamation and turning of the head together had been enough to make the shopkeeper drop her vigilence, if but momentarily. But a moment was all it took for the necessary snapping of the wrist and dropping of the arm, the motion she'd practiced ten-thousand times before, necessary to quick-as-a-flash switch the real piece of jewelry for the fake one.
"Sorry." Clara muttered, turning to the shopkeeper. "I was expecting my friend Jessi to show up here to buy this for me. I guess I need to go look for her. I'll be back in a bit, alright?"
And before giving the older woman a chance to respond, Clara thrust the momentarily convincing fake in her hand then started to walk towards the door as quickly as wouldn't arouse suspicion. As soon as she cleared the doorway and sight of it, she broke into an absolute sprint, giggling from an adrenaline rush. She'd done it. A beautiful necklace now to adorn her neck. Maybe, at long last she wouldn't be so looked down upon any more.
OOC:
Name: Hidori (don't ask)
Age: 23
Contact: PM me.
Other Characters: N/A
How did you hear about us? Google + Magics
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