Post by isaac christopher emerson on May 10, 2012 19:31:33 GMT
| [atrb= border, 0, true][cs=2][bg=080808] MINISTRY OF MAGIC DOCUMENT | |
| [bg=252525] [/style] | [bg=252525][style=overflow: auto; width: 300px; height: 300px; font-family: georgia; font-size: 10px; padding-right: 5px; padding-left: 5px; color: #909090; line-height: 100%; background: #252525; ] FULL NAME: Isaac Christopher Emerson. GENDER: Male. DATE OF BIRTH: October 7. SEXUAL ORIENTATION: Hetereosexual. CURRENT RESIDENCE: Hogwarts; London, GB, UK. CURRENT OCCUPATION: Student; St. Mungo's volunteer. HOGWARTS HOUSE: Hufflepuff, Year 7. BLOOD STATUS: Muggleborn. WAND: Birch wood, 12 inches, flexible, unicorn hair. PERSONALITY: I’d like to think everyone likes me, who wouldn’t? That of course isn’t the case. Slytherins like to make me the butt of jokes, and I don’t give lazy people the chance for excuses. Procrastination is a bad habit, not a permanent disease. Unfortunately no one treats it as curable and just laughs it away. Also, I guess some people think that I am given extra attention in class, or that it isn’t fair I was receiving non-verbal magic lessons at a young age. Of course these students don’t realize that otherwise I’d be completely useless at magic without it. Since non-verbal magic isn’t usually as strong as normal, vocal spells, it’s not like I was trained to be any better than them... simply given a better chance at being equal. I’d say my hard work deserved it, anyway. It’s nice to surprise people with my non-verbal magic, though. I’m also very good at lip-reading... although I’m still having troubles with the longer words. I’ve never been able to actually hear, so it’s a weird thought to learn to lip-read a language that I’ll never actually use correctly. The magical world in general is amazing; there’s always another twist or turn that I would never have thought to be possible. My favourite thing in the wizarding world would have to be my girlfriend though- not to be cliche, but I’d not be where I was without her. I just wish she were in the Hufflepuff house with me, instead of Ravenclaw. I guess that’d be asking her to change though, and I wouldn’t want that, I think. There are a few things I cannot stand, even with my characteristic tolerance. I absolutely hate it when people are so unable to understand my childish pantomiming (for those who cannot understand my signing, of course), that they try to ask my to talk instead. They claim they’d be able to deal with it if it came out sounding slurred. I prove them wrong each time. Those who spend a lot of time around me are quick to learn familiar signs, though, and ask no stupid requests. Related, I don’t like Care of Magical Creatures, for while I can generally lip read, have a friend sign me the instructions, or something else, I like to be able to see what I’m supposed to be doing in writing. Charms is a favourite class of mine as a result. Since Care of Magical Creatures is often outdoors, there’s not so much exposure to books or anything. Lastly, I hate laziness, but I think most Hufflepuff students do! It’s not always obvious to others that just because I cannot hear, I am not useless at magic. I’ve been working on non-verbal magic for years now, and I think it’s nearly up to par with other students’ verbal magic. I wouldn’t know since I’ve never really duelled anyone before, but I’d place a bet I’d not lose too easily. My strength isn’t in fighting or protective magic, though. Instead, I am known for my healing magic, including potions and herbology. The matron-in-charge of the Hospital Wing once told me that the healing magic I’d used for another student had been very effective on her burn. I didn’t say it, but I was proud of myself that day. I love to help others, and am a great helper or listener— no hearing jokes intended, really —if any younger students need help with something. I don’t mind helping them out with their essays or potions recipe comprehension or something. On the other hand, my eagerness to help can make me a bit of a push-over, until I realize the other person is just being lazy and rude. Uh, well, I am deaf. It’s not always useful, I guess. I should like to hear, but what can you do? I get along, and try not to get too frustrated with spells or relationships. Nevertheless, I’d never really want to be able to hear the things many people say; I find that some people are rude and spiteful, even when I cannot hear the poison in their voices. It’s bad enough seeing it plastered on their face. I therein fear someday being able to hear stuff like that....although I also fear not ending up with a job in Healing. They’re really picky and being able to hear your patient is often necessary. I’ve not started at looking for newer jobs though. BACKGROUND: My mother’s name is Ellis Flannigan and the best way to describe her would be to call her stressed. It would seem as an insult coming from anyone else, but she knows I use it as a compliment. I find that oboe-players often tend to be frazzled, jumpy people so it’s not unusual for her to be this way. She’s often seen as a blur, running from one room to another, checking her wristwatch or phone for the time as she squeezes in a little more practice time. I don’t think she’d ever truly planned on being a mother, so I was an added responsibility. Imagine her shock when she discovered I could never realize the beauty of music. She claims every time I return on break that she’s been practicing a piece of music that I would just love, but I think she’s just dying to share her love of music with me. Sometimes it hurts that I cannot partake of the world which moves my parents so well. Then, I laugh to myself as I realize I’m literally part of a world they can hardly imagine. In that way, I suppose we’re like diplomats between two separate galaxies, enjoying amiable relations. My father, Ezra Emerson, is the rock of the family, as standard as that might be. I like to place this on the fact that he’s a cellist. If you haven’t noticed, I am well-exposed to different instrumentalists, and therein notice personality traits amongst certain musician types. For example, I’ve never met a percussionist that while somewhat cocky, isn’t unprepared to take on a completely new role. I’d suppose that said trait would be necessary, since they have to know how to play about a billion different instruments in rhythm. Similarly, my father’s experience with the cello makes him simple and sturdy, whilst not losing his ability to say what he wants. I can always depend on him to keep mum balanced, keep her from driving herself into a stress-induced stroke. They’re both die-hard musicians of the same orchaestra, and often talk music to me. My sister is very close to me, although we try to give each other plenty of space during classes or when we’re both in the Hufflepuff Common Rooms. We don’t look all that much alike, apart from the typical Emerson features, so luckily we’re not always being surprised by people claiming we “look so similar”. Since my family was going through learning sign language with me, my sister’s also taught in signing, although she’s slightly faster than my parents are. We did spend a lot of our time together as kids, so it is natural that she’d pick up quickly on talking to me that way. We were best friends our first year, but as I started spending more time with the girl that’d quickly become more than just my friend, we’ve grown a little apart. I think she was a little worried I was leaving her behind at first. I was born on October 7th, as was my fraternal twin sister. I think it was an ironic slap in the face delivered by the universe when my mother became pregnant with twins. The woman was so frazzled her whole life... to add having both a son and a daughter while on tour was obviously the world’s attempt at humour. Yes, that’s right. I did say while on tour. You see, my mother is the principle oboist for the Royal Philharmonic Orchaestra, based in Britain, where we live. She was on tour — actually, I forgot to mention that my father was also in this orchaestra — in Sweden at time I was born. They enjoy telling the story of how her water broke right before they were to go onto stage and her husband had pointed at the puddle under her with his cello bow, telling her that she’d accidentally knocked her water bottle over. After Ellis had her twins, exhausted from the ordeal of forcing a tiny human form out of her uterus, she grew even more tired to hear the doctors gently tell her that the boy had been born with the inability to hear. Of course, Ezra at first refused to truly believe that I was deaf. He’d told my mum that I’d just need a couple of days to get used to the world was all. I cannot expect that he’d known any better, since I didn’t have any deformities easily seen; my hearing system just didn’t form properly. Needless to say, I never did gain my hearing back, and in between everything else in their busy, musician lives, they took it upon themselves to learn sign language. When we were in school, I had a special teacher that taught me sign language professionally, but I favour the memories of my mother teaching me how to sign “popcorn” or other silly things. I actually proceded through classes fairly averagely. Since my parents were always on tour, we often stayed with one grandparent couple or the other during school days. When we were on break, we’d travel with them on planes, getting great seats to watch them play in countries all over the world. Of course, I could never hear them play, but I could see it— the way they devoted themselves to their music in a way which was impossible for them to do for their children. When we had turned eleven, my sister and I both got a shock. When an owl flew through an open window in the hotel we were staying in while we were in Estonia and told to us how were were accepted into a school of Witchcraft, my mother at first claimed that the owl must have been trained by some form of satanists, trying to recruit children into their demonic ranks. My father also thought the owl had been trained, although he refused to buy into my mother’s story. He figured it was probably just a silly prank. The fact that the sender seemed to know their children’s names and ages caused concern, though. They promptly switched hotels, claiming that the first had a pest problem. After returning home from tour, however, they still discussed the strangeness of this letter and from whom it could have been sent. What truly had us convinced, however, was when the woman managed to conjure a pidgeon of grey from thin air, and then easily cast it into the form of an intricate necklace. People believe with their eyes, and so my parents agreed to allow my sister and meI into the wizarding community, stumbling through Diagon Alley, figuring out that non-magical money was to be traded in for things called “galleons” and “knuts”. When we were trying out wands, I think my parents nearly had a collective heart attack at the ruckus we caused with each incorrect pairing. The wizarding community wasn’t a place for my mother, with her habit of being startled. We left our parents and our old schools for our first year in the wizarding world, both happening to be sorted into Hufflepuff. During this first year our relationship was strengthened as we both experienced things neither of us had gone through before. I was surprised to find out on the train that the spells the woman had used were normally accompanied by a vocal command. When we found this out, I initially thought I’d be sent back to my parents, as I could hardly make intelligible speech, with any luck. Sorting was somewhat awkward, with my inability to hear anything said or asked by the Sorting Hat. Luckily we’d been in line before the sorting ceremony or I’d have known not when to go up. I didn’t know that there were different houses which depended on traits— no one had mentioned it on the train. It was a lucky coincidence that I happened to be sorted into the same house as my sister. I’d just followed where she went; the smiles of the Hufflepuff table as I joined them hadn’t registered on me. Later, after the sorting ceremony I was approached by the same professor who had displayed magic to me for the first time. They wrote to me of how the teachers I would be studying under would give me written instructions and that I would be enrolled into a non-verbal magic class, even though it was typically for older children. I walked away, feeling a bit confused, and told my sister of what I’d been pulled aside for. She seemed to be a bit jealous that I was entering a non-verbal class, but that would change. Being a muggleborn child, I’d never seen magic truly performed before the professor that came to visit my sister and me. To be expected to perform magic was quite the challenge for any child. Throw in the fact that they cannot accurately use invocations, and there’s a bit of a challenge. For two-thirds of my first year, I was struggling as if I hadn’t cared to even practice. I struggled in such fashions, including Charms, DADA, and Transfiguration, which were my least favourite subjects during my first two years. Ironically enough, Charms would become one of my favourite classes. Potions was simply magical chemistry, and so it never made me upset too much. I only began to make progress in wandless magic in the last portion of my first year, with success in the typical “match-into-needle” transformation. Other students had managed it months ago, but it was the beginning of my magical take-off. I had honestly began to question whether or not I had wrongly been invited into the school. In the subsequent years, I was able to climb my way back into the material that was relative to what our year was studying. Luckily this occurred before fifth year and I did well enough on my O.W.L.s. I really am trying to cram in any time I can, preparing for the N.E.W.T.s though. I want to impress St. Mungo’s with high scores; I’m not even sure if they’ll take me as more than a volunteer. During my third year is when I met the girl who would become my girlfriend. She was in the Ravenclaw house and we were paired up together in Care of Magical creatures. I think she thought I was stupid at first, as I didn’t answer her (although I could read her lips, I was too shy to respond to her, instead choosing to look at her long black hair). She’d known about a third year student who was in a non-verbal magic class, but never knew why or who it was. She’d quickly found out when I managed to bind the redcaps we were dealing with without speaking. Her eyes lit up then and she immediately took interest in finding out as much as she could about non-verbal magic from me. I could tell she was used to being the one telling others about things. I enjoyed her attention and hardly noticed when her interest deviated from non-verbal magic to learning to sign and my likes and dislikes. By my fifth year we were a couple; I’d managed to invite her to a Hogsmeade visit and asked her whether she was interested in being more than just friends. Her answer was to sign back a strong yes before kissing me on the cheek. She then laughed as I turned redder than a Gryffindor scarf. We’ve had our ups and downs, but we’ve stayed together so far. With the end of Hogwarts coming so close, we’re both holding our breaths as we approach that cliff. I’m not sure whether or not we’ll still be holding hands after we jump or if we’ll be taken by two different winds through life, but I’m more than willing to see her through to the end. |
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ISAAC EMERSON | SEVENTEEN | HUFFLEPUFF | MARCUS HEDBRANDH | RODERICH
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