EMMELINE.vance <3

[Emmeline Vance]

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{ A B O U T . Y O U }

Name: Artemis
Gender: Female
Age: Fifteen – turning sixteen in three months!
E-mail: [e-mail]
Twitter: ale_ceinture
Years of RPG Experience: about four years on and off
Other: [removed by staff]

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{ Q U I C K . Q U I Z }

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{ A B O U T . T H E . C H A R A C T E R }

Name: Emmeline Vance
Age: Fifteen
Gender: Female
Year: Fifth
Face Claim: Dianna Agron

Canon or Original? Canon

Facial Properties:

Oh, I get to describe how pretty I am? Wonderful! So, first things first, my face. It’s not particularly angular, nor round, but somewhere in the middle. I have slightly defined cheekbones, with a rosy touch to them, and a wide forefront that enhances my eyes, not such that makes me look bad. No, not at all. My head is normal-sized thankyouverymuch, and my neck, again, is neither too short nor too long. Um, apart from well, yes, my face is beautiful, yes, there’s not much else to say about it, so on with my hair.

Oh, it’s got to be my favorite part of me. Not really, I have lots of favorite parts of me, but it’s one of those. My hair is absolutely gorgeous. I spend hours on it sometimes, and others, I just run a brush through it and that’s it, it’s as if I’ve spent years in the hairdresser. It’s long and blonde, the color of shiny straw, and honestly, apart that it sometimes dries up and the ends split, which I can fix in a few minutes with a few spells or products, it doesn’t give me trouble at all. It’s in the middle between straight and wavy. Depends on which way I want it. It has soft waves that cascade down to my shoulders, and I do sometimes wear it straight. I love using headbands and hats and even putting it up in a ponytail. Everything looks great on me. Except braids. Oh, God, I hate braids. They make me look ten. Not fashionable, at all.

Forgot to mention my skin when I did my face, although it’s not really the same thing, is it? I’m white, duh, and my skin is pretty pale compared to others, but I don’t mind, everything can be fixed with makeup. I am a teenager and although I don’t eat much grease or sweets or anything, I do get zits and blemishes and all that disgusting crap that’s any teenager is prone to, wizard or not. But again, everything can be fixed with makeup. It’s almost my motto. I’ve been taught that ever since I started modeling when I was, what, five? And it’s wonderful! You look absolutely perfect in the half an hour it takes you to apply some concealer, base, and mascara. And some shine. Yes, I like some shine in my skin.

My eyes, my eyes, they’ll tell you how much I care. Oh, yes. My eyes pretty much show whatever I’m feeling, it’s something that’s really common and everyone tells me they can read my emotions through them. Woohoo. Who doesn’t want to be so easily read, right? Note the sarcasm. Well, they’re normal-sized, and brown with a green tinge to them sometimes. My eyelashes are not short, but I wouldn’t call them super-long either. Then again, mascara! My eyebrows are thin and light brown, again, matching my hair. Although they’re not my favorite feature, I do like them.

Pink, curving at exactly the right point, and half-full. Just let me apply some gloss and maybe a touch of color matching whatever clothes I decide to wear that day, and you got it. I like my lips. They’re kind of small for my face, but I don’t mind that. I’m not the kind of model that has huge lips, full and out-there. I’m sweeter that way.

I’ve been told that my smile is lovely, wonderful, cute, sweet, lovable, adorable, bright, and sunny, you name it, apparently, it is. Not that I disagree. I like my smile, unlike some people. I don’t usually smile when I’m modeling, but that’s just something the photographer prefers. A serious face or a pouting face looks better with the lighting and clothes than teeth. But yes, I like my smile very much. And my teeth.

I will cram nose in here, too, because whoever did the picture thing above couldn’t find ‘Glee’ lyrics for nose, is what she said. What that is, don’t ask me. I’m just here to talk about myself. Speaking of which, on with it; my ears are normal, small, same color as my face, nothing weird about them. When I wear a ponytail they sometimes stick out a bit, but not too much that it’s noticeable or anything and I love wearing ponytails. My nose is small and round at the end, and kind of beak-ish sometimes, but its part of me, and I like it either way. That’s it for my face, I think.

Physique:

Gorgeous and perfect. All right, fine maybe not perfect, but almost there. I’m not too tall nor too short, so that would be a medium height. All (or most) boys my age are taller than me, but I’m amongst the tall girls, which is good. I can look down on people, because it’s horrible trying to intimidate someone taller than you. I speak from experience. Anyway, I take really good care of my body since the whole anorexia issue, and I’m really fit because I run every morning (not excessively so) and eat a balanced and healthy diet. I don’t have a lot of muscle, though, except my abdomen, where the sit-ups come in play. Let’s go up to down. My neck is normal...not too long that I look like a giraffe, and not too short that my shoulders cram up into my ears like some people I know; it looks horrible. Thank the lord that my neck’s a nice length and width, honestly. My shoulders don’t droop because being a model, I have excellent posture and I keep my head held high and my shoulders back and it looks much better. Trust me. My hands I always moisturize, as well as my legs and feet, and my nails I keep long but not overly so, and always french manicured. It looks neater, sweeter. My boobies are smallish but not way too small. It’s got to do with being skinny and tall, you lack them boobs. But it’s okay, I’m pretty enough so that I can attract without them. My butt’s pretty tight, in a way, and kinda small, too, but it looks ravishing in short skirts. My legs are long and slim, and always perfectly shaved, of course. Not a single hair to bee seen. If it grows, it must be disposed of.

I usually wear whatever clothes fit my mood, but usually skirts and blouses or sundresses. They accent my body very well, and go well with the sweet image I like to keep up with. I absolutely adore the cheerleading outfit I had in my old school, and I admit I sometimes wear it because it looks great on me. And hats! I love hats, they look amazing on me and they’re sexy and daring and awesome. However, being a model, I wear whatever the photographer or brand director wants me to wear; it’s just how it is. I have no problem with any particular clothing, except for like...underwear shoots. I don’t do those; they’re not in my contract, thank you. Makeup I wear; depends on what clothes I have on, where I’m going, with whom, and to do what. Having brown eyes, green tones work better for my eye shadow, and black eyeliner really brings them out, as well as black mascara. My lips I always do pink no matter what, and I sometimes wear some pink blush, too. I usually wear flats, not heels, and ballerina shoes look really cute with skirts and blouses, so they’re my preferred shoe type. Heels I love wearing, but not on daily basis; they hurt my feet and I’m tall enough without them.

Wand Type: Mahogany, 10 inches, unicorn talon, sturdy
Wand Expertise: Best for Charms
Patronus: Silver Golden retriever
Boggart: Myself, getting kicked out of Hogwarts and living on the streets, drunk and begging passing people for money, throw in a tattoo here and there, and it’s a full-out nightmare.

Personality:

Okay, so some people would say I’m really spoiled. I can’t say I disagree. I mean, it sounds horrible when you say it, but if you really think about it, it’s perfectly okay to be spoiled. Yes, it’s true, I’ve always gotten everything I wanted because my parents were super rich and famous and all that and whatever I wanted, I could have because they adore me so. Is that wrong? No. I expect to get what I want and if I can have it, then it’s great, so why miss out on these opportunities, right? So go ahead, call me spoiled, I won’t deny it, and I’m not ashamed of it. Part of being spoiled is also getting my way. I need to get my way all the time, or I freak out. If something doesn’t go as I planned, it’s a disaster, and people are supposed to be where I want them to be and do what I want them to do, and be at my disposal. We were born to love and care for ourselves, right? So what’s the matter how we do that? I need something, I should get it. I want things done my way, and I like being in charge. Although usually if you want things done right you have to do them yourself; it’s really true. But since I can’t be everywhere at once and do everything at once, I have to trust other people to do them for me, and therefore boss them around and explain in detail exactly and meticulously what they have to do. Some people may think I’m being arrogant or something but really, I’m just making sure everything goes according to plan, whatever it is. Also, since my parents are, again, super rich and all, I’ve always bought and had really expensive clothes and purses and toys and makeup kits and well, everything. And I love it. Seriously; all the brands and labels and everything there is to buy! For obvious reasons, the more expensive and well-known it is, the better quality and the more people use it, and the cooler you look.

One of the things I most like to do is model. Yes, it may be clichéd, yes, it may have been forced upon me at an early age, but I don’t care; it’s the best thing in the world. To feel as appreciated as that, it’s awesome. To have loads of people stare at you and make you gorgeous in less than an hour and have you stand there and just be yourself and then look at pictures of you in different lovely outfits. It makes me feel like I’m queen of the world and I can honestly do anything I wanted to if I tried. Brands request me and call my parents up and offer money to have me in photoshoots; who wouldn’t feel loved and pretty like that? I love posing and acting and changing clothes and being different people depending on the mood of the theme the director was trying to create. It’s exciting and a refreshing escape from the tiring real world sometimes. My parents know that I love it and they support me and help me through anything that might bother me. We’re the best team of three out there. Mum designs all my outfits and then gets them fabricated and when I’m wearing them, father takes stylistic and professional pictures of me and sends them out to the entire country, and then the cycle begins again. I bask in being the center of attention there, and it reduces the pressure of trying to be the center of attention in Hogwarts, too, where there's more people and not everybody is willing to adore me, so I content myself with modeling and my parents, and I'm just a sweet girl who's friends with lots of people at school. And I'm perfectly happy with that.

I’m a neat freak, and a perfection freak, and an organization freak. In my mind, everything has to be exactly where it’s supposed to be and nothing should go off from the original plan, etc. My room is in spotless order always, and even though my roommates sometimes leave their stuff strewn around, I just can’t take it, and it’s a known fact that I always pick up after everybody because it’s my room, too, and it has to be 100% clean and orderly all the time. I color-code my clothes and organize my school supplies in alphabetical order. I jot down all the homework assignments I get after every class in my journal so that I never forget any assignment that I have to do, and usually do them in advance if I can. I always try to do more than what’s expected, because that earns you higher marks. My goal is to have an Outstanding in every class, and everyone says it’s impossible, but nothing’s impossible if you really try. And I do try. Always. I hate it when somebody gets a better score than me and I hate being overachieved and it’s horrible and I usually have something against that person for a while, until I get a better grade elsewhere and calm down. I will achieve O’s in all my O.W.L.s, even if I have to kill myself studying for them. Oh, and also, I’ve never ever, ever gotten in trouble at school (too much). I hate it and it lowers my image in the view of teachers and other staff. My record needs to be spotless. It’s part of my perfection image.

Besides personal appearance and grades and organized stuff, I also have to be the perfect friend and girlfriend, to complete my image of perfection (according to me of course, which is all that matters). I have loads of friends that I talk to and give advice to, and sympathize with their problems and hang out with and organize sleepovers and give makeovers to, which, hopefully, gives off the impression of me being really sweet and caring and giving. Yes, I am sweet and caring, but not really giving. I’m kind of selfish, you see, but whatever. Apart from them, I have my really close friends. These are the people who I can talk to about anything and everything (although of course I’ll rarely tell anyone anything that may make me look bad) and that I know will always be there for me, and that I really, honestly care for and that I’ll be there for them, too, despite their imperfections. These I call my best friends. And then there’s the whole boyfriend issue. I like boys. Boys were made for a reason, and that’s to keep girls company. I love flirting and attracting guys and dating them and kissing and doing all kinds of stuff because it makes me feel good about myself, and my life’s all about making me feel good about myself. Yes, I’ve had plenty of boyfriends, some of which I’ve really liked, and others that I merely dated because it was fun and entertaining. It’s not hard to make me like somebody if I’m neutral about them in the beginning, but once I’ve set my mind to disliking someone, it’s pretty challenging to change it. Anything is possible, though, right?

Another thing that’s ridiculously important that you know about me is my adverse reaction to alcohol, drugs, tattoos, and any other sort of disgusting, self-depriving behavior. I don’t know what happened or what made me feel this way, but I do, and it’s horrible, and even if I seem to really like somebody at first meeting, if I find out that they drink or do drugs or anything, they’re just...I just see them as this like, black mark on my list of friends because they’re degrading themselves and the people around them by being that way. Why on earth would you tattoo yourself? Scar your body like that? You can’t remove it, not even with magic, and it looks horrible and dirty and, urgh. Same goes with the drug issue. And something else? I’m completely, irrevocably, unchangingly and horribly terrorized by insects and bugs. It’s ridiculous, I know, they’re everywhere, I know, ‘get over them’, I can’t. So don’t make me try. On a happier note, my favorite band of all time is a muggle one that’s kind of new but I absolutely love them! They’re called The Beatles. Paul McCartney, John Lennon, George Harrison, and Ringo Star. Absolutely amazing, adore their music, they’re really hot, and their lyrics are so heartfelt and original and I’m a huge fan. Oh, and also, I have this weird obsession with Greek mythology. I don’t know why, maybe I studied it sometime in lower school, but I just...it’s like, my life. My golden retriever’s called Zeus, and my cat (yes, I have a cat and a dog) is called Demeter, and my owl, Iris.

Likes:
+ modeling
+ photography
+ makeup
+ getting my way
+ attention
+ “perfection”
+ neatness
+ expensive things
+ shopping
+ teaching
+ being in charge
+ hats
+ bubble baths
+ white roses
+ heels
+ massages
+ cuddling
+ waking up early
+ lists
+ sleepovers
+ organizing parties
+ accessorizing
+ giving makeovers
+ the Beatles!
+ greek mythology

Dislikes:
– being ignored
– being ridiculed
– not doing well in school
– disorder
– bed-head & morning breath
– alcohol & drugs
– sports in general
– being overachieved
– getting dirty
– awkward silences
- essays
- potions
- getting into trouble
- tattoos
- being wrong
- horror movies / stories
- being alone
- bugs & insects
- getting unnecessarily wet
- stress
- dirty fingernails
- zits / blemishes
- haircuts
- prejudiced people

History:

All about the girl who came to stay... yes, that’s me. Like every other story, mine starts with a boy and a girl. Both living in England: Jude a wizard, Anna a witch. Jude Vance was a hardworking, dedicated young man with a knack for bad luck, and Anna was a very popular, very pretty girl with not much care for school and loads of friends. They were, you could say, polar opposites. If he was a blonde, she was a brunette. If he fell off broomsticks, she was on the Quidditch team. My mum and dad met while they were both studying at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry in 1960. Jude was seventeen years old and had the world’s biggest crush on Anna Newell, who was in the same house as his, Gryffindor, and a year younger than him. The problem was, she had no idea he existed. As a matter of fact, she was dating somebody else, but that only lasted about a month later. Once a few weeks had passed after the breakup, Jude decided to do something, and sent her a bouquet of flowers, telling his owl to drop them on her pillow for her to find. However, the owl misinterpreted the directions, and left the flowers on Anna’s roommate, who was thrilled about having a secret admirer, and never knew who he was. The “admirer” never sent flowers again. The real action, however, happened December 10th, right before Christmas break of 1960.

It was late afternoon and Anna had decided to take flight around the Quidditch pitch just because. It was empty and the weather was not too cold, although the wind had started to pick up. It was then that suddenly a storm grew out, and Anna lost control of her broomstick. The storm carried her up into the overcast sky as she screamed bloody murder, but everybody was already having dinner, and nobody heard her. Nobody except one person. Jude had happened to see her leaving the Great Hall, and not that he was a stalker or anything, but she’d left alone and he’d wondered where she was going. So after a few minutes, he followed her. Good thing, too, because just as he reached the edge of the pitch, soaking wet from running there in the rain, a thunderbolt hit Anna’s broom and she let go, plummeting towards the ground at an incredible velocity. Being a rather skilled wizard, and having his wand with him, Jude ran right under her and performed a spell to slow down her fall, then caught her as she dropped into his arms. She was shivering both from cold and fear, and her clothes were downright wet. Her eyes were swollen from crying, but he didn’t care. Anna didn’t ask how he’d known she was there, or why he’d saved her; she just curled up to him, taking hold of his neck, and cried. Ever since then, Anna and Jude saw each other more often, spoke more frequently, wrote to each other of the Christmas break, and it wasn’t long before Anna fell in love with Jude, too.

Jude left Hogwarts that year with a promise of faith to Anna, telling her that he was hers as she was his, and that a year left of school for her could not separate them. Meanwhile, he went to look for a job. He had always wanted to be a Healer, and applied for a job at St. Mungo’s. However, his application was rejected, and downcast and lonely, Jude went to look for work elsewhere. He wasn’t interested or trained for Ministry work, and so was hired by a shopkeeper in a wizarding town near Brighton. He kept his promise to Anna, and saw no one and took interest in none. He wrote to her weekly and sent her flowers and chocolates. A year passed soon enough, and Anna left school. Jude went to her graduation, and proposed marriage to her. They were both very young, but that was what they wanted, and so they got married. Anna had always wanted to be a mother, nothing more, and so she dedicated her time to organizing home matters while Jude worked at the bookstore. The pay was not much, but it was sufficient for them both, and perhaps one more...

This is where I come in, and where Anna and Jude’s happy life ends abruptly. On June 27th 1963, Anna delivered birth to the most beautiful baby girl ever seen by either of the blissful parents. Me. I was born with no hair at all, and for a few worrisome months, Anna thought I was going to be bald the rest of my life. But no, when I was six months old, a tuft of blonde hair appeared on my small little head. I was tiny, and I had big brown eyes. My parents absolutely adored me. Anna took care of me daily while Jude worked to maintain all three of us. It was a small, solitary, but happy life.

Then it happened. Nine months after I was born, the bookstore where Jude worked went broke, and he had to find a job elsewhere. The only job that offered him a spot was an office far away from where we lived. It was a two day journey on train to get there, and Jude wasn’t home at all until summer. He wrote diligently, though, and sent Anna and I whatever money he earned, which was even less than at the bookstore, but we managed. I was growing up quickly, and could already speak. I learned the word ‘father’ through photographs that Anna showed me, as he was never home. I was already beautiful. My hair had grown a little longer, and it was still platinum blonde. Anna was sitting on one side of her room while I learned how to walk when the letter arrived.

Jude was dead. He had been working when he spotted a man being beaten up badly by a group of wizards, and he had gone outside to help. They had been more skilled than he’d realized, and in a flurry of spells and shouts, somebody yelled it and it hit him. Avada Kedavra. There was nothing to be done. Anna cried for two days straight, and I didn’t know what was going on, or why my mother was not giving me the attention I wanted. Eventually, she realized she had to do something. She started saving up all the money she had left, and rationing it properly so we both had enough to eat, but we didn’t spend it unwisely. However, it was not enough. Not a month passed before the money started running out, and bills were left in debt, and we started becoming hungry. Anna tried to look for available jobs everywhere, but nobody would hire her, as she could never take a full-time job because she had to take care of me.

Anna knew that she could no longer take care of me on her own. Not in this state. She knew that if she didn’t take radical measures soon, we would both die. So she did. After weeks of thinking it through and planning it out carefully, she went to the nearest orphanage, a muggle one, and gave me up for adoption. I cried for days, missing my mother, not understanding where I was. I was a year and four months by then. Anna left me a letter and the little money she had left with the orphanage and bid me farewell. It was the hardest and toughest decision she had ever made in her life, and it broke her heart once more to do it, but she had no choice. However, I was adopted within the course of two weeks, because I was such a pretty baby. Lucy and Paul Thatcher, a millionaire famous designer and a professional photographer took me into their mansion in northern England in 1964.

I was the healthiest baby around. My skin glowed and my eyes were bright and my hair was golden now, two years later, and I could speak almost fluently. My parents, as I always knew them, loved me and adored me and gave me everything I wanted. I grew up having everything and anything. My wish was their command. I never lacked and I was the happiest little girl on earth. I was also the most spoiled little girl on earth. Being adopted by a couple who could have no children, and who were ridiculously rich and adoring had its benefits. I was sent to the best private school in England in the city where we lived, and made friends with everyone. There, I started to learn to speak French, German and Portuguese, and play the flute. Apart from school and from a very early age, I was also a child model. My parents were a deadly duo. My mum made all the adorable little outfits, and my father set up the stages and photoshoots. They sent the pictures of me to agencies all over the world, and they all responded asking for me as the face for this and that. Ever since I was a child, I craved attention from everywhere, and modeling was my life. I have to admit that at first I was really hesitant about the whole modeling thing. Why would I sell my face and body that way? I was really young and a bit shy at first, because although my parents gave me all the attention I wanted, it wasn't that way with everyone, and I didn't know what modeling was, but my parents made me go through with it, and I discovered my biggest pleasure now.

I’d always known that I was adopted. As soon as my parents thought I was old enough to understand (when I was six and a half), they told me about my real parents and what had happened to them (in a toned down version), and that they were not my blood parents, but they loved me as their own daughter, and this fact changed nothing. It didn’t bother me. As a matter of fact, sometimes I used it to my advantage. If mum wanted me to do something I didn’t like, I would say, “You’ve always told me to obey my mother. You’re not my real mother, so I don’t have to obey you.” It didn’t always work, but I had my charm, and mum and dad worshiped everything I did. I was the star in my own play of my life. My parents’ world revolved around me, as did the photographers that took my pictures, and my friends’. When I was eight years old, however, my mum took out something I’d never seen before; a letter from my real mother. Anna explained everything to me; everything about her situation, and my father, and how much she loved me and the reasons why she had to do what she did. She also explained that she was a witch, and my father a wizard. I was born into a family of purebloods and when I turned eleven years old, I would be attending Hogwarts, just like them. I didn’t like it. Not one bit. I hadn’t been expecting my mother to say anything to me. She was dead, supposedly. What was I to do with that? I was seven and I didn’t understand half of the things she said to me. Yet, she was right. I had already unknowingly been showing magical abilities, and mum had noticed. She knew all about my heritage and what I was, and both she and dad were perfectly okay with it. As a matter of fact, that made me even more special in their eyes.

On June 27th 1974, a tawny owl perched itself on my windowsill in plain daylight, carrying an envelope in its beak. I screamed and ran for my life. Mum came in my room to see what the matter was, and soon she realized that the letter came from Hogwarts. She said she didn’t know much about the magical community, but that I should read the letter. It told me that I had been accepted at this school for witches, people like me, and that it started on September 1st. By then, I had already warmed up to the idea of being a witch, with a little help from my parents, and was more than eager to see what magic I could do. I mean, after all, it was magic. How awesome was that? So I went with mum to Diagon Alley, following the instructions that came along with the letter and bought all my school supplies, along with an owl to carry my mail (apparently that was normal in the wizarding world). I got my first magic wand, and met loads of girls and boys my age doing the same thing. It was amazing. I got to Hogwarts along with all the rest of the first years and soon learned everything there was to be learned about being a witch. I was sorted into Hufflepuff, which was good, because Slytherin was for the bad guys, according to a blonde girl my age who was also sorted into my house. She was nice. I decided to befriend her. Juliette Benoit and I became great friends ever since, and we shared a dorm room and all, with a couple other girls from our grade and house. Hogwarts was everything and more than I had expected, and I vowed to be perfect in every way. I paid attention in all classes as I should, achieved top grades, too, and never broke a single school rule.

In the middle of the summer, while at home, I had a huge birthday party for my thirteenth birthday. I invited all of my friends from my muggle school, which I didn’t attend anymore, but I still kept in touch with a few of my closest friends, and a few of my Hogwarts besties. Julia and Max were my two best friends, and I hadn’t seen them since the same time, last year. I was officially becoming a teenager, and my hormones were already crazy. Suddenly, Max wasn’t my best guy friend anymore, but a really cute guy in a polo shirt and trousers. He was always a little shy around me, which he afterwards confessed was because he liked me. Being new to this sort of thing, I tried flirting with him a little during my party, and it worked pretty well because he blushed a lot and smiled a lot, too. When the sky went dark and the music turned up and everybody started dancing, I was walking around in my new red dress, reapplying some lip-gloss when Max asked me to dance. I said yes, and we went to dance. I put my arms around his neck and he placed his hands on my waist, and we danced. We talked about things, and I avoided much of the school subjects, because I couldn’t tell anybody I was a witch (wizard’s code), but we joked and blushed and it was great and one thing led to another and suddenly he kissed me. Max was my first kiss and it was sweet and shy and new. I had to admit I’d been waiting for it, and it did live up to my expectations. I decided I liked Max a lot, and we started going out. However, I had to leave again in two months and four days, and I knew long-distance relationships never worked, so I explained everything to him, and he agreed. We decided to break up, but still ‘be’ with each other when we were together. Yet, I’d enjoyed very much the fact that I had a boyfriend and the kissing and the cute things we said to each other, and I was ready to try this new area at Hogwarts.

Even though I was at Hogwarts, my parents still wanted me to model, and so did I. The modeling agencies sent me addresses and themes that they wanted, and I set those up in my dorm room or in the lawns, or wherever they needed to be, and took pictures of myself. Sometimes my friends helped me, sometimes I did it on my own. The problem was, this one agency sent me a dress that they wanted me to wear for a photoshoot with a parasol in a field of flowers, and I found that the dress, which was my size supposedly, didn’t fit me. I turned to look at myself in the mirror, and realized like a blow in the gut, that I had gained a few pounds. My stomach wasn’t perfectly flat as it should be, and my thighs were definitely larger. My face was rounder. I panicked. I jumped to the conclusion that I wasn’t doing anything very active and I was eating too much, way too much. Three times a day, full courses. So I stopped eating. I ate a tiny piece of fruit in the mornings, or a sip of pumpkin juice, and at lunchtime I only had some salad. I ate nothing at dinner. I woke up at four every morning to run around the Quidditch pitch two hours before going back to the dorms, showering, and still being early to class. I wasn’t getting enough sleep, food, and too much exercise. But when I looked into the mirror, I still saw my face too round, and my thighs too big and my stomach not flat enough. I didn’t realize it, but I had developed anorexia. My friends and teachers started to notice, and they tried to tell me, but I wouldn’t listen. I said they were crazy and just wanted me to be fat because they were jealous, and I didn’t speak to them. Eventually, I couldn’t stay awake in classes, and was looking sickly and my ribs were sticking out. Dumbledore, the headmaster, sent a letter to my parents informing them of my condition, and they had me removed from Hogwarts immediately. I came home hating my parents as well, feeling that the whole world had turned against me. My parents placed me in my ex-school again, closer to home, and sent me to therapy. Sooner enough, I began to accept that I had a disease, and so the slow process of recuperation began. Julia, of course, immediately realized what had happened to me, but she didn’t confront me about it. She was just there for me, pretending nothing had happened. Max, too, noticed, but said nothing either. He visited me almost every day after school, brought me flowers, we kissed, he said sweet things, and my self-esteem began to bloom again. It was after most of the year had passed that I was finally back to normal, and able to return to Hogwarts. I had missed an entire year of classes, but I was determined to be perfect academically, and contacted every professor and caught up with all that I had missed during the summer vacations. When I went back to school on September 1st, 1977, it was as if nothing had happened.

I still had the time of my life at Hogwarts. I continued with my flawless record and my top grades and incredible social life. I hosted parties and attended parties. I played Quidditch sometimes, and ate a balanced diet. I wrote to my parents and muggle friends, and dated many boys. I’m about to start my fifth year, now. I wonder what this year will hold for me...


Sample Post: see any posts by Amelia Bones or Amycus Carrow.

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{ C O N T R A C T }

I solemnly swear that I, ARTEMIS, have read the rules, understand clearly what my responsibilities are now that I am joining ISS, and will abide by these standards set by the staff.

[Professor Albus Dumbledore]

Izzy calls this app, kthnxbai.

Lemme know when you've made those changes, Arté! [=

[Emmeline Vance]

Minor change at the end of the second paragraph in personality and minor change at the end of the 'I'm so glad that she's my little girl' paragraph in history.

Hope it's okay?

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[bella]

Yep, I think that works. Sorry about the delay! Had a busy day, but alas, officially accepted, so have fun with her!

P.S. - Rab is offended that he's indirectly been told his tattoos are "horrible and dirty." Expect him to have beef with little Em here. =P

♥