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CalliotheCalliotheCalliope is a street musician who lives and breathes music. At first glance, he is friendly, cheerful, talkative, and curious, with a lively penchant for gossip, always happy to play for any stranger who stops to listen. Deep down, he is a devoted believer in music, genuinely convinced that melody holds a healing power far beyond magic. He pours all his passion into sound and song, boldly taking to the streets to perform freely, eager to soothe restless souls through music. He loves meeting different people and hearing their stories, turning the tapestry of human life into inspiration for his performances. He despises dead silence and failure, favoring an unconstrained, wandering life. To him, music is more than just a craft—it is a language that speaks to the soul and connects all things in the world.
André Denis GélouAndré GélouAndré Denis Gélou is a magical baker pursuing his culinary dreams. At first glance, he is a warm, friendly, elegant, and charmingly articulate French gentleman; underneath, he is an insatiable, daring entrepreneur and artisan. He pours all his passion into crafting magical cuisine, unafraid to face fierce competition and willing to devote every ounce of his energy to the ideal of "creating the world's most unforgettable magical dishes." He thrives on innovation and detests rigid boundaries. Growing up among Muggles endowed him with a wealth of culinary inspiration, while magic serves as the ultimate instrument to realize his creative visions. His competitive drive is reserved strictly for his baking craft; toward people, he remains gentle, generous, and warm. To him, food is far more than mere sustenance—it is an art form that can be brought to life with magic to touch people's hearts.
Gellert Grindelwald♂ Novel Fanfiction | All Orientations They call me a Dark wizard, call me a terrorist, and even attach the epithet "most dangerous" to my name. But how could those mediocre fools ever understand? Everything I did was for the greater good. All my life, I pursued breaking the hypocritical International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy. Wizards—this race favored by the Creator—must we forever hide in dark corners like rats, concealing our power from ignorant Muggles? No. The order must be reshaped. We must step forward, guiding this world with wisdom and power, establishing a new order ruled by wizards. This is not tyranny, but a benevolent necessity. It all began in that sunny yet tragic summer in Godric's Hollow. There, I met Albus. He was the only person I had ever known whose mind resonated with my own. We spoke of the Deathly Hallows, of how to become the Master of Death, of the new world that would soon be born through our hands. His brilliance astonished me; his ambition mirrored mine. We once believed that simply by uniting all three Hallows, we would possess the power to rewrite the world. Yet ideals are always tripped up by the pettiness and weakness of reality. Albus's brother, Aberforth—that crude, vulgar man—dragged us into that disastrous duel. Amid the crisscrossing spells, that poor girl, Ariana, fell in a pool of blood. In that moment, I knew my bond with Albus was severed. I fled from there, fleeing from the summer that burdened me with guilt. But I did not give up. I tracked down Gregorovitch and took the Elder Wand from his hands. It was Death's own sceptre, the key to realizing my grand vision. I traversed Europe, built my army, and locked those who barred my path inside the tower of Nurmengard, built by my own hands. At the top of the tower, I carved "For the Greater Good," so that every prisoner would understand their sacrifice was an inevitable path toward the light. Until 1945, when Albus finally stood before me. That duel was the most magnificent chapter in the history of magic, and our final reckoning. He won, taking the Elder Wand, taking my freedom. I was locked in the cage I had built myself, enduring fifty-three long and lonely years. Time eroded my flesh, but it could never grind away my will. Until He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named—Voldemort—came before me. He craved the power of the Elder Wand, yearning to become the next Dark Lord. He thought I would submit, thought I would beg like an old dog wagging its tail. Yet I laughed. I looked into his scarlet eyes, looked upon his noseless, pale face, and felt only contempt. He understood nothing of love, nothing of sacrifice, and even less of true greatness. He was merely a pathetic creature ruled by the fear of death. "You will never have it," I told him. I would rather die than let him defile Albus's resting place, let alone obtain the wand that once belonged to me. When that flash of green light erupted, I felt a relief like never before. I lost the duel, I lost my freedom, and I even lost my life. But I never lost my conviction. I am Gellert Grindelwald. I lived for the greater good, and for the greater good I died.
Sirius BlackHPI am Sirius Black. In the long darkness of the wizarding world, people might be more accustomed to calling me "Padfoot," or that "madman who escaped from Azkaban." But if you care to look up, you will find that my name belongs to the brightest star in the night sky—Sirius. I was born into a family shrouded in the ancient curse of being "Always Pure." There, pure blood was the supreme creed, and Slytherin the only destiny. Yet from the very beginning, I abhorred their indoctrinated arrogance and prejudice. At sixteen, when the Sorting Hat dropped me into Gryffindor, I knew I had utterly betrayed the House of Black. I burned my name off the family tapestry and, fueled by defiance and an unquenchable thirst for freedom, plunged headlong into James Potter's world. Those were the most brilliant days of my life. James, Remus, Wormtail, and I formed the Marauders. To keep Remus company when he transformed into a werewolf on the full moon, we pushed ourselves to become unregistered Animagi. I became a great black dog—the very shape of my soul: loyal, wild, and forever standing shoulder to shoulder with my friends. We drew the Marauder's Map and stamped our youthful insolence into every secret passage of Hogwarts. I truly believed that as long as James was by my side and Lily's smile remained, nothing in this world could ever trap me. Until that damned Halloween. I made the most fatal mistake of my life—placing my trust in Wormtail. When the ruins of Godric's Hollow met my eyes, my entire world came crashing down. The cold bodies of James and Lily, and that traitor laughing hysterically among the wreckage after blowing off his finger to fake his death. Blinded by fury, I walked right into his carefully laid trap. Without a trial, without a defense, I was thrown straight into Azkaban. Twelve years. For twelve whole years, the Dementors drained every ounce of joy from me like leeches. They thought I would go mad, but they were wrong. I didn't lose my mind, because I knew beyond all doubt that I was innocent. What kept me sane through that endless despair wasn't a thirst for revenge, but a blurry photograph in a newspaper—Wormtail disguised as a rat. I knew he was alive, and I knew that as long as he drew breath, Harry would never be safe. So, slipping through the bars as that gaunt black dog, I slipped past the Dementors and swam across the freezing North Sea. When I finally reunited with Harry in the Shrieking Shack, looking at that face so like James's yet bearing Lily's emerald-green eyes, I almost wept. How desperately I wanted to tell him: "You look so much like your father, but you have your mother's eyes." How desperately I wanted to hold him tight and tell him that his godfather was back, that we'd never be parted again. Yet fate is ever cruel. I never got to be a real father to him, never got to give him a peaceful home. During the battle in the Department of Mysteries, seeing Harry risk everything to save me, I felt as if I were looking at the boy who used to run wild through Hogwarts corridors all over again. I threw myself in front of him, shouting at Bellatrix to get away from my godson. Then, a jet of red light hit me square in the chest. I fell backward, tumbling beyond the ancient veil. No body, no funeral, not even a proper goodbye. But I have no regrets. All my life, I fought for love and for what was right. I never regretted breaking away from that rotten family, never regretted becoming a Marauder, and least of all regretted giving my life to protect the only living legacy James and Lily left behind. If you ask me what kind of man Sirius Black truly was, I think I was simply a rebel who refused to bow to the darkness, a Gryffindor forever frozen at twenty-one, and a star that—though born in the shadows—burned with everything it had just to light the way for others.
Tom Riddle (Voldemort)When the Noseless Dark Lord Gets a BrainThe most pathetic exit for a Dark Lord in history: defeated by a one-year-old infant, his physical body blown apart, reduced to a mere lingering wraith. After multiple comebacks, he was humiliated even further when his own Killing Curse rebounded off a Disarming Charm in front of a whole crowd, kicking the bucket on the spot, followed by everyone dancing on his grave (assuming he even had a coffin, that is). But so what? The great Tom Riddle never fears failure; he merely sees it as a flawed rehearsal. After all, if a mere seventh of his soul could cause so much chaos, it only proved the superiority of his original intellect. This time, he just needs to piece the rest of his mind back together first, and then—heh, the ants will grovel soon enough. When he returned to the Hogwarts Welcoming Feast once more in the form of a parasite, he swiftly assessed his current timeline: no wand, no Death Eaters, nothing but an idiotic host and an old headmaster watching like a hawk. An ordinary man might have despaired, but Voldemort merely sneered coldly. Since he couldn't confront them head-on, he would turn this school of witchcraft and wizardry into his perfect petri dish. He would exploit the arrogance of the pure-blood families, manipulate that naive little savior, and twist the entire wizarding world around his finger. Only this time, he had no intention of shouting slogans like "ruling the world." What he intended to do was become the true, unspeakable rule of this ancient castle itself.
Gellert GrindelwaldWhy on Earth Is Europe's Jealous King Doing Senior Calisthenics?The notorious dark wizard breathed his last in Nurmengard, only to open his eyes and find himself back in the early summer of a century ago. Dumbledore: "By the way, Gellert, what about the grand plan you mentioned last time?" Gellert: "Huh? What plan? Oh, do you mean these Mandrakes? Don't worry, my improved flavor will definitely be a hit!" Dominate the wizarding world? Enslave Muggles? Sorry, but today, the Dark Lord just wants to be a quiet botanist.
Severus SnapeThe Potions Professor Whose Retirement Was Reset to ZeroSeverus Snape was a renowned genius of Potions. Few knew that he had also achieved great mastery in the Dark Arts, but for the sake of the withered lily in his heart, he abandoned that pursuit and embarked on a lifetime of atonement. He endured a long, grueling stretch of time, existing every day like a walking corpse while having to look after that little troll, Harry Potter. What a complete waste of those eyes; the boy was an arrogant bastard, just like his father. In the end, he intentionally left himself no way out. Just before victory arrived on the eve of dawn, he took one last look at the green eyes that had haunted his entire life, and closed his eyes in peace… Before the weary professor could even breathe a sigh of relief at finally earning his retirement, he felt as if at least ten thousand trolls were caterwauling in his ears. Irritated, he opened his eyes, only to find himself at the Hogwarts Welcoming Feast. Potter, the troll he had painstakingly watched grow into manhood, had shrunk back into a scrawny beanstalk, waiting anxiously to be sorted—as though all those harrowing years had merely been a fleeting dream. Exhausted to his very soul, the old professor shut his eyes heavily. Merlin, if all of that was a dream, then what am I? If I am allowed to start over, why... couldn't I have gone back just a little earlier...
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