eleanor gwendolen ollivander likes this
Post by Galen Francis Ollivander on Jan 3, 2019 15:56:50 GMT -7
Galen Francis Ollivander
exclusively goes by frankie, hardly anybody knows his birth name is galen any more.
age and birthday:
30, 8th of August 1995
gender and pronouns:
half-blood squib - purchase pending.
frankie looks much like his playby. he is 5'9" and broad-shouldered. having never been a small boy, he was rather chubby as a young child, before he grew in to his shape and discovering a love for hockey at his public school. this was the subject of much ridicule when he was close with his family. he has a few tattoos; two theatre masks on his upper right shoulder and a large Celtic style cross on the left side of his ribs. both completed while he was struggling alone in the muggle world. as for scars, he has aged scrapes on both knees and a long, jagged scar across his right hip - both injuries treated by muggles.
education and jobs
High School: Dulhaven College in London
Graduated With Honours.
EX: Junior Doctor. Currently performing any odd jobs available for squibs. As well as bartending at a muggle bar at night.
- being right
- good whiskey
- the hum of an engine
- a good, treated wood
- motorcylces & vintage cars
- snooty wizards.
- blood purity
- feeling inadequate
- crowded places
- hatred towards muggles
right now frankie just wants to feel alright. each day offers a new struggle and he's flailing. he thought he'd found his niche in the muggle world, but not anymore, that crashed and burned. whatever the case, his success happens in the muggle world.
pine, and the chemical scent of a good polish. the bitterness of a good, aged whiskey and fresh, starched linen.
he ultimately fears complete failure, even though he feels he's already reached that precipice and landed headfirst on the other side. currently, frankie doesn't know how he could get any lower.
Most of the time, Frankie feels sure that he knows who he is deep down, but just as soon as he thinks he does, he finds something else about him that doesn’t quite fit. He’s always known he was clever, but not naturally, only because he always tried to be. He feels the overwhelming desire for affirmation, but any time he has received it from outside sources has felt disappointed by what he’s been given. Worryingly, Frankie feels extreme dislike for himself sometimes, over-thinking his own self-worth and coming up empty. The lack of understanding and support from his family has led him to be rather jaded about his capabilities. Formerly, he was hungry in his pursuit of knowledge, but following his breakdown finds no desire for it at all anymore. He is sure he’ll be stuck in a dive bar and cleaning hotel rooms for the rest of his life - it is sobering, but he is resigned.
Despite his lack of self-belief, Frankie is actually rather multifaceted. He is good at carving wood, and has made many small ornaments and pieces of furniture for friends and family. In the muggleworld, he found an affinity for engines and can take one apart and put it back together again with his eyes shut. He was known as a ‘handy-man’ back in the muggle world, but never put much flack in to it. In fact, he was half-way through building his own motorcycle when he had his breakdown at work. The project is currently gathering dust in a shed in his parents garden - he can’t bear to look at it at the moment.
This is, of course, not aided by Frankie’s extreme insecurity. While his parents never meant to foster this in him, their complete lack of interest in his muggle achievements led him to have no belief or pride in any of it personally, either. He covers this with a constant stream of self-deprecating humour and heavy drinking when possible - though it is made increasingly difficult under his parents watchful and concerned eye. Overall, this has led to an extreme restlessness in Frankie. He knows deep down that he’s smart, and capable, but feels no desire to pursue this as an adult. Whether he’ll find motivation or simply fade in to the misery is yet to be seen, but he’s done trying for the moment. .
Godric's Hollow, England
Garth Ollivander - father, 62, retired wandmaker, half-blood.
Clara Ollivander – mother, 58, homemaker, muggleborn.
___ Ollivander – sister, 34-35, wandmaker & current owner of Ollivander’s, half-blood.
Eleanor Gwen Ollivander – sister, 25, wand-makers apprentice
Gabriel Augustus Ollivander – brother, 20
___ Ollivander – niece/nephew (older sister’s child), 14, current 4th year student, half-blood.
Garrick Ollivander – great-grandfather, 116, retired wandmaker, half-blood.
he has a very fat orange cat named garfield.
We are products of our parents; not only biologically, but mentally too. A patchwork of genetic pieces and minuscule mannerisms. Galen Francies Ollivander bites his nails - just like his mum does, at the corners until they become ragged and sharp and then he bites the skin around them. He hates the taste of pumpkin, it’s like eating a candle - just as his father would say. But, of the things he has inherited from his parents, he never did end up with the most important thing of all, the most expected of him - he wasn’t magical.
The second child, but first born son, of Clara - muggleborn, and Garth Ollivander - half-blood, the two were thrilled to learn that they had their prized son. It had always been tradition for the first male heir to inherit the Ollivander’s sacred skill in wand-making. To mine the protected forest and learn the ways that had marked the Ollivander name in the history books for centuries to come. They were the famous wand-makers, wizards used to come from all around Britain, sending their young children to be examined and gifted their one true magical companion. And even as time had passed and other competing wand shops cropped up, determined to innovate and change how people purchased their wands, the Ollivander's favoured tried and proven traditions. And so, they named their son Galen, and he was revered.
Even as a young child, Galen - later named Frankie - was already learning about the Ollivander’s complex and prideful history, every Ollivander was taught the same, even the females. It was something they were extremely proud of. The success of their shop and the overall respect for their craftsmanship. In fact much of Galen’s infantile years were spent without seeing much of his father at all, except when he regaled them with tales. Garth spent much of his time holed away in his studio, the house a humming hub of magic and secrecy - though Galen never noticed. For, even though he was taught of their history, the finer details were kept private. ‘Each wand-maker has his own way’, Garth would tell his son, ruffling his hair, ‘Just as you will have yours’. And Galen grew fascinated by the, almost religious, practise of it all.
However, as time went on, Galen began to fall behind his siblings. While they were already learning to play on little practise brooms, and causing mischief with their building abilities - unchecked and wild - he was disturbingly quiet. He was good with wood, had an artistic and deft ability for whittling, but it meant nothing without magic. Just a quirky hobby. His parents didn’t notice what he lacked at first, simply deciding that he was a late bloomer, just a shy, introspective boy. That eventually it would build to a crescendo and his true prowess would show its face, it had to. But, as the years went by, and Galen still didn’t display any proclivities or typical warning signs, the family began to suspect the worst. Had they produced a dud? The first recorded male squib on the Ollivander line in centuries? Garth refused to believe it, the shame unprecedented, and began pushing Galen in ways that left the boy physically and emotionally exhausted.
If he wasn’t being pushed to exercise, he was being visited by Healers and magical counselors. Was he nervous? Was something bothering him at primary school? Perhaps he was being bullied, Galen had always been a bigger boy - hefty, as his father would say. But, the reality was that nothing was wrong at all. He was healthy and interested. He hadn’t suppressed his magic, he loved the idea of it all, so why hadn’t he presented? The pressure grew and Galen soon began to become angry and introspective - frustrated by his own failings.
By the time Galen turned 10, the Ollivander’s were resigned to the fact that there was just something ‘not quite right’ about their son, and had just given birth to another boy, to the extended family’s relief. Their attention, which had been focused on him for a great deal of time, began waning and he felt the chill of it even as a child. They even stopped calling him Galen, it wasn’t instantaneous but over time and inevitable. His muggle friends, which he’d attained while at a muggle school, had always found the name ‘Galen’ too posh and old-fashioned. They’d taken to calling him Frankie for as long as he could remember. Eventually, the nickname bled over and both parents felt more comfortable referring to him as Frankie than Galen. It was as if Galen had died, their treasured heir, and all that remained was poor, ordinary Frankie. At 11, when no letter of Hogwarts admittance arrived for him, it was of no surprise. Frankie was a Squib - of magical blood, but not a trace of it active and wanting.
The years that followed were strange for Frankie. His older sister, an unforgiving and ambitious girl, dismissed Frankie in a way that made him feel entirely invisible, just as she wanted. His parent's seemed distracted by a growing competition among competing wand-maker shops. And, his younger sister seemed determined to change Frankie's fate. Sweet and driven, she would drag her older brother around like a dog on a leash. When their parents were distracted by their youngest son, as they often were when Frankie was around, she would hustle him in to cupboards filled with boxed wands. Frankie had lost count as to how many she’d made him hold, just to see. Nothing ever happened, they just felt like smooth, well carved twigs. He never said no, because it would surely upset her beyond reason, but every time he held those precious wands, something in him ached and shriveled. She was sent off to Hogwarts at 11 and Frankie was so relieved that he felt guilty. He was tired of disappointing her.
In the cold wake of his parents lack of attention, Frankie began focusing on whatever shred of success he could manage. At school he clawed his way to the top. An academic over-achiever in many subjects including Biology, English, Higher Math. None of it really inspired him, but he felt an unwavering desire to be the best. Perhaps if he succeeded in something his parents would look at him with some semblance of pride again. It wasn’t so much that he’d never had it, but that he had and he’d lost it. Their approval was like a drug he couldn’t quite kick. But no matter how many times he was awarded for his intellect their attention was fleeting. They’d smile, try their best, even ask him about how he was doing, but Frankie could tell they didn’t really care. Magic was their entire lives - even to his muggleborn mother, who had never quite loved life beyond the veil. And Frankie simply couldn’t touch it.
After graduating from high school, Frankie left the Ollivander home with the intention of never looking back. He didn’t do it with fanfare, he didn’t even confront his parents for their combined neglect - while still harboring resentments and anger, he never really had the guts to blame them, he knew they lived him, it just wasn’t enough. He simply packed his things, wrote a goodbye letter for his beloved little sister, Nell, and left. Away from it all, Frankie actually grew to appreciate the nuances of a muggle world. From afar, his parents paid for his place at the University of Cambridge, where he studied medicine with the intent of becoming a doctor. All of the effort he’d put in made him clever, but having grown up completely immersed in the wizarding world, he struggled to socialize in the beginning. That meant that his main focus was his studies, with his social needs becoming secondary. He didn’t do ‘lunch dates’ and ‘catch ups’. Frankie did ‘binge-drinking’ and ‘party drugs’. If he couldn’t remember what had happened the next day, well he considered it a success. It was the only way he let off steam, which probably explained why he eventually burned out.
The years went by and Frankie found his unique pace. He was a respected student and eventually, a well trained junior doctor. He invited his parents to his graduation, but his mother fell ‘ill’ unexpectedly and his father was, unsurprisingly, off on a research project somewhere in Europe. It had stung Frankie in a very hard and brutal way, but he still managed to smile when he’d seen Eleanor. She’d become everything they’d wanted for him, but to him, she was still his annoying little sister. It was the only saving grace that stopped him doing something stupid that day. And the only reason he succeeded in his placement at a hospital following graduation.
While he was very capable and unbelievably disciplined, Frankie began to lose speed as a graduated doctor. Time began slipping away from him and he started to question everything he’d ever done and why. His parents lack of attendance at his graduation like the final nail in the coffin. After all, he’d only tried so hard to be a doctor because he’d thought his parents would approve - they had immense respect for Healers. But, he’d never really thought about whether or not it was what he wanted. He’d always loved working with wood, and still carved as an adult - almost like a punishing reminder of what he lacked. He was good with engines and was attempting to build his own motorcycle in his limited free time. But with nothing else to ‘achieve’ his attention waned and his work became less of a need and more of a requirement, which exhausted him beyond belief. He didn’t have the passion for a true doctor. The schedule unforgiving and the pay below par. He was living a half life and so began drinking even more. He got tattoos and made some ‘unsavory’ friendships. Anything in an effort to feel a thrill, to feel anything at all. He was depressed, and had been for much of his young adult life. So, when he did burn out, it was long and hard and unforgiving.
Like every working day, on Frankie’s 29th birthday he got up, he got dressed, and he headed in to work. His therapists have told him multiple times since that he could not have done anything to stop what happened next. It was a busy day, as every day was, and no doctor can save everyone. All Frankie remembers is that a young girl died and he couldn’t stop it. He doesn’t remember her name, or what exactly happened to make him flip as he’d done, he’d seen patients pass on before. All he remembered was that, less than 12 hours later, he would be hospitalized and considered ‘catatonic’. He’d hurt himself and was making no sense, his words a string of nonsense and his mind strung tight. They eventually had to sedate him and when he awoke up his mother was sitting by him, looking grim and uncomfortable in a muggle hospital, she stood out like a sore thumb.
After 12 weeks of in-house therapy, Frankie was released, but didn’t return to his little flat with his muggle roommate. Instead, his family had packed his things, and for the time being he would staying with them. Nobody spoke about what had happened and Frankie had no desire to be the first to broach the subject. Suddenly, he was back home in the same bedroom, which had since been converted in to a plain spare in is absence. He suddenly had all the attention he’d ever wanted and more, his mother and father followed him around like ghosts. And when it wasn’t them, he’d find house elves dusting the skirting boards with their ears pressed against his closed door, guiltless and shrewd. It was stifling and not at all what he’d expected it to be. It felt like he was floating in the grey area between worlds. Like a muggle trapped among wizards, without the benefit of being blind to it all.
site events reaction:
Frankie has very little to say in the recent events plaguing the wizarding world. He has spent much of his life, until recently, in the muggle world. This means he is ignorant to the disappearance of Harry Potter, the creation of the Purifiers, and knows only of the explosion at Kings Cross through Muggle news outlets. His understanding and desire to understand any of it in detail is non-existent. Frankie finds the drama between wizarding communities fickle and pointless - you're magical, why are you fighting about it who is most magical, or deserving of magic? Beats him.
tia plus 11...