Dawlish, John.

Example Role-play (100 words min.):

It was with a faint popping sound that a man dressed in a long, brown trench-coat appeared out thin air in the middle of the Atrium in the headquarter of the British Ministry of Magic. John Dawlish,  a tough-looking wizard with very short wiry hair, looked around, scanning the practically deserted hall with his gaze. Mr. Dawlish, whose mere presence was likely to be enough to strike the attention of most people whom he had yet to cross paths with. In height he was about six feet, but so excessively lean that every time he was to take off his long coat, seemed to be considerably taller. His striking gray eyes were sharp and piercing, and his thin, hawk-like nose gave his whole expression an air of alertness and decision. Despite the fact that it was a highly polished and slightly slippery wooden floor that the Auror was passing over with an ice-cold, unflinching determination, there was no sound of his steps as he crossed it, heading for the hall with the golden lifts. If not all of them, at least most of the employees in the devision had learned to move quietly, silent as shadows by the fourth month in the Auror Training Program. A quite basic skill of anyone who had received proper guidance while going through the art of Stealth and Tracking, and with time, it actually became a subconscious force of habit.

A badly shaved wizard in peacock blue robes seated behind a desk to the left lowered his Evening Prophet and looked up as he closed in on his desired destination: "'E - evening there, Mr. Dawlish, sir." the Security Wizard said while stifling a yawn, stuck a hand into his pocket and pulled out a pocket watch in silver and consulted it with a sleepy glance. "Working late again, eh?"

The Auror eyed him briefly and gave him but a curt nod as he passed by, not even answer the question. He had far too much on his mind at the moment to partake in pleasantries with members of the Department of Security. Mr. Dawlish finally at the end of the hall marched through the gates into the smaller one beyond, where at least twenty lifts stood behind wrought golden grilles. Walking over to the closest one, producing his wand as he did so and tapped it lightly, and a puff of silvery fog was emitted out of the tip of it, moving swiftly through the grilles and darted upwards with the sound which resembled a pan flute, directed to locate whatever level the lift found itself in and notifying the unfortunate lift attendant instructed to take the graveyard shift that a Ministry Official sought transportation. It took a minute or two, but then, with a great jangling and clattering, the lift descended in front of him, and the grilles opened itself. If one were to judge based on the younger man's facial expression, as well as a small, dark spot on the chest of his robes where he apparently had drooled, the wizard had presumably fallen asleep on duty at some point. The Auror stepped into the lift, making a mental note that the Head of the Magical Maintenance Department would hear about it in the morning. The grilles slid shut with a crash and the lift ascended slowly, and it was obvious that the lift attendant tried to avoid catching the Auror's eyes, as he was staring at the ceiling of the lift, his lips tightly together, as if avoiding to breath to much. Shortly afterwards, without passing through any of the other levels, the lift finally came to a stop,  abd as the doors opened, the cool female voice and made its usual announcement:
 
"Level Two, Department of Magical Law Enforcement, including the Improper Use of Magic Office, Auror Headquarters and Wizengamot Administration Services."

As he stepped out into the just all too familiar a corridor lined with doors, advancing swiftly through it and rounded the corner, walked through a pair of heavy oak doors and emerged in a cluttered open area divided into cubicles. He stood for a moment and looked around in the dark, empty room and conjured a large ball of light with his wand that soared to the center of it and stopped in mid-air, illuminating everything. Usually, the room would be full of life. Usually, if he had been working normal hours that is, it would be buzzing with talk and laughter, the inter-ministerial memos would be zooming in and out of cubicles like miniature rockets, and he would have a more stable daily cycle by far, and would naturally be fit and ready for action at every waking moment. However, only the adrenalin that pumped through the very core of his being as he gradually found even more traces of where Sirius Black might have been or might be hiding next, kept him going these days.

Due to his almost around-the-clock absence from the headquarters these days, Mr. Dawlish had not actually got much sleep for the past four weeks; an exhausting job indeed, even if he did so voluntarily. Actually, it would not be a lie to answer plainly yes, if anyone ever were to ask if he felt as though it actually took a toll on him, spending so much energy and time on searching for the notorious escapee from Azkaban. However, he doubted anyone, be it colleagues or friends, had noticed much. In an act of defiance from what could be viewed by some as emotionally weakness had it been about a decade since he could find himself in mortal danger and be incapable of keeping a straight face around his co-workers. However, now alone and undisturbed, he finally let go of the otherwise tough, ambitious facade and exhaled heavily and rubbed his eyes tiredly as he started to go towards his own cubicle. Now that he had lowered his guard, the man who now stood there was an exhausted man who would like nothing better than to lie in his own bed in his own home. Even his walking was different, not upright and energic as before, but slow and unsteady, both caused by fatigue and sore feet after hour-long walks throughout the country. The Auror let himself fall down on the hard wooden chair at his desk, placed both elbows on the tabletop and buried his face in his hands, eyes closed. His breathing went heavy and slow, and it is undeniably with a tremendous effort on his part that he let his hands fall, looking drowsy on a map of Great Britain where little red pins were glowing like jewels. John opened one of his drawers and picked up one of the very few pins left from the bottom of it, and stuck it at the last location he had been visiting tonight and and reached for the quill to his right and dipped it in the emerald green ink and started scribbling, determined to finalize his report even though the handwriting was significantly more incoherent than usual. However, four lines of text later, he tilted forwards and ended up on top of the parchment with a small thud, but he did not straighten himself up, nor lift his head. John Dawlish had finally dozed off into a much needed and peaceful sleep...

Other questions

Is English your first language? Difficult to say, as this is my first day here. (Or night, I finished the RP sample at 12:30 in the night), but I have definitively listed this forum among my favorite sites already, and that can be taken as a good sign, right?
Active time on site per day:
Is your username your character's first and last name capitalized? Yep.
Are you over 13 in real life?: I'm 20.

Accepted