Post by luka on Jul 21, 2013 10:26:26 GMT -6
| [atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, width: 460px; background-image: url(http://i44.tinypic.com/34fb0ns.jpg);-moz-border-radius: 0px 0px 0px 0px; -webkit-border-radius: 0px 0px 0px 0px; border: 4px ridge #7a9aa9, bTable][tr][cs=2] nikolai luka berkov. nineteen. hufflepuff. 11 inches, rowan with unicorn hair core, slightly swishy. anton yelchin. | |
[rs=2] | Right... so, what do I say here? I’m not exactly good at... speaking and stuff. Okay: introductions. The name is Nikolai Berkov, although I’d rather people just call me Nikki. It’s just easier to say. I’m nineteen years old, and originated from Russia. As to why I’m at Hogwarts still will be explained, but first... I-I was born in Russia. Wait, I mentioned that already, didn’t I? Oh well. It was a smallish town with the name of Zaraysk - don’t try to pronounce it, please - which is just southeast of Moscow. It was a lovely place to live in my first thirteen years, although I’m sure my childhood would have been better if only both my parents were alive. Mama died just after giving birth to me, and therefore I only knew her face from photographs, while Papa... Papa was heartbroken after my mother’s death. He didn’t like me in the slightest, since he blamed me for Mama’s death - he avoided me as much as possible, so I spent the majority of my time with my mother’s sister, Aunt Viktoriya. She was the only person I trusted with anything, and would always tell her about any issues I had, since she could be guaranteed to assist if she was able. There was only one thing I had promised myself never to tell her, and that was about the strange events that began to occur around me when I was nine. The first time was when I fell from the tallest pine tree and stood up with no bruises or broken bones; I was completely unmarked. The most memorable for me, however, was the time I was led in bed trying to shut out the darkness that I hated so much, and a slight light appeared by my head, just enough to ease my fears about what lay in the blackness. I wasn’t scared of the dark that night, but I was scared of something: myself. I told Aunt Viktoriya in the end. There was only so long I could keep something so big from her, and there was no way I could lie myself out of the situation when she found me crying on my eleventh birthday. I had figured that I was cursed, since all my issues seemed to just cause trouble - however, my aunt gave me a different view. She told me that day that I was what she called a ‘half-blood’- half muggle, half wizard. It had turned out that all this time, my father had refused to let me know about my mother’s past because I didn’t deserve to be a part of it - but my aunt believed that I was worthy. My father stopped contacting me when Viktoriya removed me from the education system, with a plan in mind to teach me magic herself - I had practically lived with her for the past few years, since I hated spending time at home. It was obvious within a year, however, that this was never going to work. I had a secondhand wand, no textbooks - the only thing I was any good at was Quidditch, and it was unlikely to get me a job. So, instead, my aunt contacted Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry to see if she could get me a placement. It was true that there were wizarding schools in Russia, although it was known that none of them were as good as Hogwarts; and despite the fact that I was a year late, I was enrolled in the first year. Due to the fact I was so small, I managed to fit in with the other children anyway. I wasn’t liked. I’m still not, not really. I guess I can see why: after all, I’m the annoying Russian kid who, even after nearly seven years in Britain, still hasn’t quite managed to get a grip on the language. I hardly ever pass classes with anything more than the bare minimum, the only thing that I can do being Quidditch, in which I outshine the entire class. Not only this but I’m quiet and get nervous easily - I’m prone to missing out words when my nerves get the better of me. Still, that’s not to say that I don’t have good qualities: I’m caring. Rather, I would be if I actually had anyone to care for. I’m especially good at reading people, and can tell when they need a friend or when they need to be alone - also, I’m a good listener. Basically, I’m the perfect little Hufflepuff that everyone expects me to be. And right now, meeting everyone’s expectations suits me; no one can hate me for being the person they want me to be. I sort of like... everything. W-well, nearly everything: everything except loud people, rain, heat, the dark and cats. They’re scary beasts; I’m pretty sure that they can stare straight into your soul. And apart from that? I’m not sure what else there is to say. I guess... my one dream - at least for the moment - would be to have one friend that I can actually trust. I’m not a bad guy; there’s gotta be someone who’ll like me, right? Actually, ignore that. Ignore all of this. Just... walk off and carry on talking to your friends. I’ll have one of my own at some point- don’t worry about me. I’ll be okay: I always am. |
nell. thirteen. nine months. |