<b>1. I am applying with my regular LJ account and not a sockpuppet or character journal. (Y/N)</b> Yes.
<b>2. What is your LJ username? What should we call you?</b> My LJ name is <lj user="orlanstamos"> but I go by Catie, generally.
<b>3. What is your email? Are you on AIM and/or Y!M and if so what are your ids?</b> My e-mail is email@example.com. My AIM name is Quimby pi and my Y!M name is quimby_pi
<b>4. What character would you like to play?</b> Charlie Weasley
<b>5. What does s/he look like? What is his/her wand made out of and how long is it?</b> Charlie Weasley is not
<b>6. Magically, what are his/her strengths? Weaknesses?</b>
<b>7. What side(s) is your character on?</b> Order of the Phoenix
<b>8. Give a paragraph or so describing how your character came to be on that (those) side(s), and when it happened, both in terms of your character's age, and the year.</b>
<b>9. How does your character feel about the war?</b>
<b>10. How does your character feel about killing?</b>
<b>11. What does your character's Boggart turn into? What is his/her Patronus? What might s/he see in the Mirror of Erised?</b>
When Charlie was little, his boggart was something else altogether. An animal stuck in a trap that he couldn't get loose, couldn't work out how to free it. Gave him a hard time too, feeling helpless in the face of an animal hurt. Now, though, (and he couldn't tell you when it had changed) the boggart has changed. Now it's his father, looking quietly infuriated as he explained that enough was enough. Charlie was too far away, gone too long, that he wasn't his son any more. No son of his would live so far or stay away so long.
His Patronus is a kneazle, a very scrappy, grizzled-looking one at that. If someone was looking closely enough, they might have recognized that it was actually the Prewett family's old kneazle, who'd been around for ages. She (the kneazle that is) was the first animal Charlie ever got close to, the first one he ever properly connected with.
Charlie sees the world laid out in front of him, being perched comfortably on a craggy hill, with someone's shoulder pressed comfortably against his own. He can't quite make out who it is, not yet, but he doesn't mind too much. There are stars peeking out and animals lurking and he can make the Burrow out down at the bottom of the hill, all lit up with family. Everything's quiet but nothing is still and all is well.