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Wolfie Brose
Status:
Pure-blood
Nationality:
American
Residence:
New York City, United States
Function:
First year, Gryffindor
Wand:
34,9 cm chestnut wood and phoenix feather
Appearance

Eyes set in a pale face, always searching, the rest of Wolfie is usually unusually still. Not too tall, not too small; with an easy, relaxed movement that comes from years of playing sports and a natural inner confidence. Almost always found in boy's clothes. She tries hard to make friends with other girls, but as shown by her dress code, she just feels more at ease with the rougher sex.

When no adults are about a cigarette may smolder in Wolfie's lips; and anyone else's who accepts her offer of a possible cancerous future. Just the one though. Cigarettes are hard to come by, her age. A strong deodorant spray guards from any nosy sorts come sniffing. It leaves Wolfie smelling of pine or lemon after partaking of her habit. Lips otherwise not engaged she speaks in a neutral American accent learned from the television rather than her parents.

Bio

If you domesticated a line of animals long enough would they all eventually come out nice and sweet? Perhaps, but the facts here show otherwise. No fault of any breeder though. Could of waited for all the right traits to show up. Could of made all the correct crosses across centuries. Even longer. But no. Nature always reserves a right. A right to weave old fate into new blood. For instance, a wolf-like specimen from German Shepherds. Or English ones, as in our particular case.

If we continued with comparisons, Wolfie could also be called the black sheep in her old blood family. A bit queer mixing a wolf and sheep metaphor though. A little queer is fitting for Wolfie though: Capturing various bugs and placing them in a spider's web; confronting the boy who eventually freed said bugs from their torment; beating that boy so bad he still can't bear to look her in the eye. Just one of many many incidents a young Brose lady should never find herself in, and yet here we are. Alpha among the neighborhood boys, Wolfie Brose.

And a wolf's instincts are hard to suppress. Especially that howl, and this wolf. And did Wolfie ever howl. Still does some nights, figuratively speaking. And poor mom and dad did try to stop her. Perhaps they were a little too strict, a little too stiff at times. Raising her old English style in the newer of Yorks. Or maybe not strict or stiff enough. In any case, she did eventually escape the big city and her parents. Along for the ride with some older friends. Ran away all the way south of the border, before turning back.

That wild blue skies freedom taught Wolfie one important lesson though. The value of self imposed limits. Not any actual limits, mind you. Just their value. But it's been enough to give her a new view on that way back old. That old past she must grasp and hold now, or leave forever. So she's reaching back now. Trying to. Come from her exodus in the desert.

And so a much more structured environment was very clearly in order after Wolfie's Mexico trip, as the family now refers to the latest of her "incidents". And just in time, conflicts on her trip awakened her magical ability. So now it's off to a third country for Wolfie, but more first world this time. To the old country and some boarding school. Hogwarts. Her folks hope she'll learn some charming new tricks. Such as don't be a pig and wolf down the last three hors d'oeuvre on a plate in a single breath. Absorb some of that English culture from the other children. And maybe a spell or two.

Oh, and do pay mind: Only mother calls her Wolfie. It's Wolfgang to you.

Or Wolf, if you prefer.