Name:
` “Don’t you dare say it.”
Devyn Elisabeth Castrow.

Age:
` “There is no such thing as ‘too young’, mother.”
Fourteen.

Bloodline:
` “Yeah, so I am different than the rest of my family, so what?”
Muggleborn.

Physical Appearance:
` “People that look good on the outside always get their way. They end up being stuck up or just extremely moody. I do not want that to happen to me. It’d be worse than looking like the thing Titania fell in love with in A Midsummer Night’s Dream, with Oberon’s help. So, I am happy just as I am, thank you.”

Devyn would be the very first to tell you that she is not pretty. Not pretty, not cute, not beautiful. She’s not even sure she wants to be any of those things. She’s at least a little happy with her appearance, no matter how she views herself. When she glances in the mirrors she can’t seem to avoid, she sees her mother’s unruly hair, her father’s far too expressive blue-green eyes, and her own pale skin with a pink undertone. She can barely ignore her disproportioned lips and her dainty nose. Her cheeks are too chubby for her to like, making her look as though she has retained a good deal of her baby fat. Her eyes are more almond shaped than round, hinting at her Vietnamese heritage, and her canines are more pointed than most people she has met. Her chin is thankfully cleft-free, no little dent-type-thing on it that attracts the eyes like bees to pollen. To her never ending dismay, she is also free of dimples. She does not have a single one of those adorable eye catchers like all the other lucky girls. Every time she thinks of it, though, she has to be a little relieved. At least there are no dimples to catch a guy's eye, let alone an arrogant one. That'd be just her luck.

When buying clothes, she has to shop in the ‘petite’ section, or else her clothes are too long. She sometimes comments that it feels as though it goes from thighs to knees to cankles to feet, her body forgetting to grow calves. She only reaches the chest of her stepfather, giving her a sturdy height of five feet, one and one-quarter inches tall. She wouldn't say that she's fat, per say, but she has a little bit of a pudge at her waist, at times, and she is rarely without rolls when she slumps down in a chair. Whenever she steps on, the evil scale at her muggle house reads a glaring "105.4", give or take a few decimals. Lately, she has been trying to change that incessantly, going back to an old ritual she had when her father lost custody of her. Her arms barely have any muscle in them, although her legs seem to make up for some of that. She's a definite runner, with a rather good endurance. Whenever she goes on a run -- which is quite often -- she always throws her hair up in a sloppy ponytail, and rids her face of all makeup other than a little eyeliner on the bottom portion of her eyes, sometimes not even bothering with the eyeliner.

Devyn's hair changes color often, going from blond to red to black to brown, and sometimes to more exotic colors like blue or purple. More recently, however, she has returned to her black hair similar to the color of a raven's feather. Her hair is layered extensively, giving her locks plenty of movement. Every so often, she utilizes her layers and teases her hair into a poof. Giving her a "sexed appearance", as her stepbrother enjoys saying. The longest layer reaches to just above her pant line, a little past her bellybutton. She still experiments with dye in her hair, although it is generally just highlights or parts of her under layer that ends up changing its color. Her long nails have just started to grow back from her biting-nail phase, something that lasted two years, five months, and twelve days. Her feet fit in size five shoes, anything bigger easily falling off of her small steppers.

Personality:
` "Why do I have to explain myself, explain how I am? Can't you figure it out yourself?"

nervous ; highly excitable; unnaturally or acutely uneasy or apprehensive ,
` apprehension ; an active state of fear, usually of some danger or misfortune ,
paranoid ; of, like, or suffering from paranoia ,
` paranoia ; a tendency on the part of an individual or group toward excessive or irrational suspiciousness and distrustfulness of others ,

Devyn is a very nervous and paranoid girl. This all became evident when she was seven or eight, she can't remember which. It has inflicted her all the way until now, and she is not quite sure if it will ever go away. According to her doctors, she has a paranoid personality disorder. As if it is proof of the matter, she refuses all medication from said doctors, partially afraid that they want to kill her, afraid that they want to destroy the freak of nature occasionally being forced to sit in front of them. It usually takes an extremely long time for her to give her trust to anyone, something only two people have had the privilege of holding. As long as it takes for her to trust people, it would only take one little thing to shatter that trust. If this happens, it may stop Devyn from approaching this person altogether.

She's jumpy, flinching at everything and nothing. Whenever she goes to sleep, she has to have her back against some sort of wall. She always checks the closets and underneath the beds of where she stays before laying down for sleep. It is generally hard for her to sleep unless she can see the sky, meaning that she always sleeps by a window she can easily look out. She is easily frightened, and extremely emotionally imbalanced. She has breakdowns and panic attacks quite often, and she shakes like a massage chair almost all the time. Her forearm is covered with a rainbow of different hair ties, all serving the same purpose -- covering her cut marks.

chipper ; in lively spirits; cheerful ,
quiet ; restrained in speech, manner, etc.; saying little ,
puerile ; immature; childish ,
candid ; frank; outspoken; open and sincere ,

Despite her problems, Devyn Elisabeth is a rather happy teenager. She laughs constantly, sometimes at something someone says, sometimes at something she thinks. She rarely smiles, but she does not always need to -- her eyes are the most expressive part of her, and she smiles with those ocean orbs frequently. Her lips do not part often to allow words out, preferring to be quiet and just observe. She is a far better listener than anything else, occasionally giving advice on one particular matter or another. Still, even though she is quiet, she is also very frank with people. She will not hesitate to say what she thinks if she is called on, or if she is just in one of her outspoken sort of moods. Much like those moods, she has random spurts where she is nothing but rude. And though she still says what she thinks at these times, her own thoughts are not the nicest things in the wizarding world.

Her laugh is heard far, far more often than her smile is seen. It is not hard for her to laugh her odd laugh, a sort of laugh between a guffaw and a giggle. She finds it annoying, but she does appreciate its ability to make others laugh -- even if those laughing at laughing at her instead of with her. If there is one sound that she loves, it is laughter. Anybody who laughs makes her eyes smile a little, without even knowing it. Small things can make her laugh or smile, and she is easily amused. It is hard for her to concentrate on most things, like the things that matter, but she can stargaze or stare at flowers for hours on end without losing focus. Child toys can amuse her for at least a half of an hour, no matter what it is.

astrophile ; person interested in astronomy ,
anthophilous ; loving or frequenting flowers ,
dendrophilous ; love of trees ,
nemophilist ; one who is fond of forest or forest scenery; a haunter of the woods ,

There are few things Devyn likes more than stargazing and flowers. She can name all the constellations, tell you the names of a good chunk of stars. She can tell you every meaning she has ever learned for every flower she has heard of and talk about them for hours without getting bored. She loves climbing, but only trees. Trees are a safety thing for her, and she rarely feels safer than when she is in a tree. It makes her feel more down-to-earth, despite the fact she is no longer near the ground that makes up the earth's surface. She enjoys exploring everywhere she visits, looking for every nook and cranny in houses and exploring the outside portion of places like she was Diana, the hunter. She can track an animal if the tracks are no more than a fortnight old, and even tell if the animal was scared, and if it was running or walking. She is obsessed with Celtic knots and the gods and goddesses of ancient cultures.

Character Background:
` “My background? Ugh. You just had to ask about that. Anything more personal you want to know, so you can dissect me like a frog with better accuracy?”

Her parents were separated by five years when they met exactly fourteen years before Devyn Elisabeth's conception date. The two chanced across each other at a party Devyn's mother -- Beth Jones -- had been invited to by her best friend's boyfriend. Her father -- Colin Castrow, occasionally known as C.C. -- had just decided to crash it. Apparently, it was lust at first glance between those two. The moment their eyes met across a horribly lit and body packed room, chemistry pulled the older of the two toward the younger. The male was a handsome man, with sandy blond hair, a strong jaw, and blue-green eyes filled to the brim with desire. After glancing over the petite seventeen year old with a soft face, shoulder length black hair, and dry mud colored eyes for what felt like hours to her, he asked her for her hand. Ever so hesitant but willing, Beth placed her small hand in his. Her hand seemed to disappear as his callused fingers enclosed around it, pulling her gently with him to the dance floor. "You never asked me if I wanted to dance," her mother had informed the surfer after a minute or two into a new song.

Colin pulled away a little, his eyes filled with fire, making Beth weak in her knees. "I know." And then he kissed her. For his rough hands, his lips were soft. One thing led to another and they ended up outside in the soft drizzling rain. The moon was high up in the sky, full as a plate of fresh cookies. It gave off just enough light for anyone looking to see two people lost in a moment of lust and passion. Anyone looking would see clothes on the damp ground of a strawberry moon night. And if someone looked at just the right moment, he or she would have seen the exact second of Devyn's conception. They never saw each other again for eight years.

Eight years, ten months, and twenty nine days later, Beth Jones saw a man she never thought she'd see again -- Colin Castrow. Not thinking clearly, she marched over to him and gave him the biggest smack she had ever given anyone before. "You bastard," she muttered to him. She was gearing up to say more when she felt two simultaneous tugs on each side of her. "Momma?" was heard, the word uttered by a young male with sandy blond hair and dry mud colored eyes. In his hand was another hand, this one belonging to a girl the exact same age with black hair and blue-green eyes. "What's wrong?" The girl asked her mother, tears welling up in the expressive eyes. Before the inquirer got her answer, she heard another voice. The voice was gruff and said only two words: "My God."

Two months later, a custody battle was thrown between the surfer who had no idea he was a father and the florist who had been aware of being pregnant two months after meeting the surfer. Somehow, the surfer won. Only months after being in his custody, Colin turned abusive. His law firm was failing, most likely because he spent so much time surfing rather than working, but there was no telling him that. The first time he hit his children, the first to feel his wrath was his son, Alecsander, then his daughter, Devyn. Insult after insult reigned down from his lips and he punched and kicked his children, hitting the with his belt and slamming them into chairs. At first, this only happened once or twice a month, and it was never as bad as the first one. Until the children turned ten. Then it felt like he punished them every day. Six months after enduring the worst torture they could imagine, Colin became too furious and went too far.

He came home from work and slammed the door to the garage, not even bothering to close the garage door. From that moment, Devyn knew she and Alec were in trouble. She ran him upstairs, being as quiet as possible, and put him in her closet. She told him to be quiet and sneaked back downstairs to check on her father. The first hit caught her unawares in between her shoulder blades. She let out a startled cry before she could stop herself and immediately started worrying. She did not want Alec to be hit again. Last time, he had gotten a concussion and two broken ribs, and that was only five days ago. Since then, she had been careful to hide him away from her father during his fury moments. As he punched and kicked her, she thought of her brother, younger than her by two minutes. She lost her concentration, however, when she felt one of her ribs crack. She cried out again, cutting it short when she realised what she was doing. She bit her lip and endured more hits, trying to get up and get away.

Her side felt like it was on fire, and her whole body felt battered and broken. She was so distracted by the fire on her side that she lost her self control as her father stepped as hard as he could on her right leg, propped up a little by her left. With that, it was snapped and she screamed louder than she ever had before. Tears streamed down her face, blurring her face. It took her twenty seconds to realise that her father had stopped beating on her. It still felt like he was, though, because of all of her broken bones and bruises. As she struggled to stay awake and not let the darkness overcome her, she did her best to turn and see why he stopped -- not that she wasn't grateful. To her biggest horror, she saw her brother being held in the air by a strong arm gripping his neck. His legs were kicking furiously and his fingers were clawing at the hand squeezing his trachea.

"Alec!" Devyn roared, full of fear. Tears were streaming down her face at a quicker fall rate and pain flared up unbearably to the point that she wished she would just die and get it over with. She tried to move, succeeding occasionally. She had moved barely two inches when the fight died from her brother, his life fleeing with it. And then it was all over. Her father's anger faded, her brother's lifeless body dropped to the floor into a blond pile, and her resolve and strength failed. Right then, she really did wish herself dead. She also wished the man she hated more than anything else in the world dead. She wished him the greatest harm. Sobs racked her body, her sobs making her sob even harder because of the pain it brought to her ribs. It didn't take long before her father was mad again, striding toward her, a cut dripping blood into his left eye. He roared something that sounded like "Shut up, you stupid ducking bore!" and then kicked her in the ribs, hard. Her world went black.

When she woke again, there was morning light raining down on her. She lifted her head from the wooden floor it was resting on and saw her brother, in the exact same place he had fallen. Stomach acid that came with having thrown up her food the previous night after her meek dinner went up her throat and onto the flooring by her head. Her vision went black again. Who knows how long later, she awoke again. She lay still for a while, ignoring the stench of her puke, closing her eyes to ward off the sight of her fallen brother, she built up her resolve. Slowly, she opened her eyes and wriggled her body experimentally, sucking in a painful breath at the sharp fire that went up her side and her leg at it. Even more slowly, she moved, going through her own vomit pile, to where her brother lay. She was crying uncontrollably by the time she reached him. She took in his crumpled figure, his legs bent at odd angles, his body pastier than it had a right to be, all through blurred eyes.

She didn't want to touch him, but she had to, she knew that. He deserved it. With pain overpowering everything else she was feeling, she rearranged his ten year old body. She was as relieved as surprised to find a phone on him. It was a house phone, as neither of them was allowed to have cellulars of their own. Using her shaking hands, she took it and dialed 9 1 1 on the familiar pad. "9 1 1, what is your emergency?" She started crying again when she heard the voice, although she didn't recognize it. After calming down a little, she licked her lips, wincing at the taste of the acid. "P-P-Please send s-s-someone to m-my h-h-house, miss. M-My baby b-brother -- No, m-my t-twin brother i-is d-d-d-d-de -- I - I can't say it, m-miss. H-He's not b-breathing, and m-my d-daddy had his h-hand a-around his th-throat. P-P-Please send someone." By the time she had finished, she was sobbing again, saying "ow" here and there. She told the lady at the other end where she lived and dropped the phone. She grabbed her twin brother's hand and smiled at him, not showing any teeth. "P-People are coming, Alec." And then she fainted once more.

Roughly six months later, her injuries pretty much completely healed, she received a letter for Hogwarts. She was relieved, to say the slightest thing, to get away from her mother. Her mother was a wreck after hearing what happened. She had left her flower shop and house in Minnesota and flown herself and Devyn to England -- far away from Colin. Unfortunately, far away from the buried body of Alecsander Christopher Castrow as well. After a year or so after living in their new home, Beth met someone else and got married, giving Devyn a stepfather and a stepbrother.

Special Request (available at Intermediate**):
` “There is absolutely nothing special here, I am disappointed to say.”

Desired House:
` “A house? What are the houses? You mean I have to belong to one? Like a dog?”
Anything my character seems to fit into, really. It is entirely in your palms.

Roleplay Sample:
` "Okay, okay. I'll try to prove my worth. But don't be cruel, okay? I am so far from perfect."

Devyn fidgeted anxiously with her clothes, awaiting her turn to walk up in front of everybody for what may be the most terrifying time of her life. Ever since the extremely large and wooden doors had swung open to reveal her waiting area -- along with every student ranging from twelve to seventeen, plus the professors – her heart had been pounding more than her father had hit her at home. She was shaking furiously, whether from fear or anxiety, she could not tell. Name after name was called as she turned this way and that. Numerous times, her fingers had found their way to her mouth and lost parts of the finger nail for it. Her eyes flicked here and there, absorbing every face she could see. The orbs on each side of her nose lingered here and there on the faces and the hems of skirts belonging to particularly cute or pretty girls before flicking off to see what else was there.

She took in the hat -- it talked! -- and moved onto the enchanted ceiling. She remembered reading about it somewhere, but she couldn't remember exactly what the book had said. With a small jolt, she noticed that the people in front of her were almost all gone. Her last name being Castrow, starting with a 'Ca', she had assumed she would have been already called. She began to worry, wondering if they had skipped her name to write on the list, if she had missed it, or if she was even supposed to be there. She became more paranoid, flinching each time she heard a voice and chewing down more of her nails. She had resorted to twirling her hair when her name was finally called.

"Devyn Castrow!"

She couldn't help but flinch when she heard it. She hesitated a moment, looking around. She saw many girls moving around in their seats, arching their necks to see the newcomer. A boy, they most likely presumed.

"Devyn Castrow!"

She sighed quietly, flinching once more. She released her hair and walked slowly up to the hat. She could feel the disappointed and confused stares of the girls hoping to see a cute new boy. So much for that. She suddenly felt even more awkward. Her robe seemed too long and too tight, her skirt seemed too short, her legs too ashy and white, her hair obtaining too many split ends, her feet too big. By the time she made it up the stairs to the uncomfortable looking stool upon which a beat up looking pointed hat sat contently, she felt like a clown.

The teacher towering above her seemed to stare down the annoyingly large nose to glare scrutinizing at her. "Devyn Castrow?"

"Y-Yes ma'am," Devyn replied, flinching once more. She hated her stutter, but it had started up ever since that one evening. The worst evening of her life. Her brother's last evening. Her flinch was also because she couldn’t tell if the teacher above her was a male or a female. She was hoping that she guessed the right gender, but hearing the chuckled and small bursts of laughter from the students at the table, she was not sure in the slightest. She turned her back as much as she could manage on the teacher and walked up to the stool. "Er . . . hello," she says nervously to the hat. There was no reply. Devyn looked toward the teacher for help, feeling relieved when the teacher lifted up the hat for her to sit. "Thank you." It was a muttered thanks, but one all the same. And with that, the hat was placed on her head.

The first thing she thought was, 'Eww . . . who knows how many times this hat has been worn? And what if the wearer had lice? Ew. Can magical talking hats even pick up the lice to give it to others? What if lice is crawling on my head, exploring my roots right now?!' She was beyond tempted to rip the hat off her head and run to the nearest shower, so she could wash the nastiness away. She hoped.

The thing on her head gave a chuckle, and to Devyn's ears, it sounded menacing. 'Well, well, well. What do we have here?' The voice trickled through her mind like smoke. She shuddered, gripping the stool out of fear and discomfort. 'A girl with a tragic past . . . interesting.'

"Not," she muttered in disdain, liking the hat even less than before. "Not interesting in the slightest. Will you just place me, pleased? I would rather not be psychoanalyzed like some poor soul being a test for psychologist interns." It took her a moment to realise that she had started talking louder and faster as her words kept flowing from her mouth. Her face didn't color, but it may as well have. She was embarrassed beyond reprieve, and her eyes showed it more in depth than flushed cheeks could have. "Oops." She heard what sounded like a breath being drawn by the hat on her skull -- do magical hats breathe? -- and she readied herself to be kicked out before she even started the term. She was surprised when a house was called and the sound of cheering became the only thing she heard.

Congratulations! You have been sorted into Hufflepuff. Welcome to Wizarding Realm!

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