portia BURKE

[portiaburke]

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{ A B O U T . Y O U }

Name: Artemis
Gender: Female
Age: Sixteen
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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: Portia Erigone Burke
Age: Fifteen
Gender: Female
Year: Fifth
Face Claim: Lucy Hale ♥

Canon or Original? Original-Canon? ^^

Facial Properties:

Ever since she was very little, Portia has always been told that she takes after her mother’s side of the family. Personally, of course, she could never see the similarities, not when she was four years old, and actually saw her mother, but later on in life, looking back at pictures. Sure, their hair was the same color, and maybe the shape of the face, too, but apart from that, she’d always thought it a bit insulting that she was compared to her. But truth is, she does look quite similar to her. Like Cressida Burke, her daughter’s face is round and small, with a defined chin that juts out most of the time, and a high forehead that has an appeal of regality. Portia’s nose is pretty small, but proportionate to her face. It’s dainty and slightly pointed upwards. Her lips are average-sized, and pale pink, unless otherwise made up with lipstick of a darker shade, usually applied by either Cassie or Maggie, as Portia doesn’t usually care enough to wear makeup herself. However, she does admit, although would deny any compliments of the sort, that her eyes are her most enchanting feature. They are a light, murky shade of green-brown, and when her eyelashes are accentuated with mascara, stand out in contrast to her pale skin. Over them are her two eyebrows, which are thick, for a girl, and almost always arched upwards, a natural expression for her. Portia’s hair is a blessing to her, as it’s ridiculously easy to manage, and if it were not, it would be a mess all of the time, because she wouldn’t dedicated herself the time to fix it. Thankfully, though, her dark brown locks fall around her face down just past her shoulder blades on her back in soft curls, or nearly straight waves, depending on the weather, most of the time. Portia usually wears her hair down, or maybe if she’s in a good mood and has time for it, straps on a headband of some sort, or pulls it back into a half-ponytail, but complicated buns and hairstyles? Not her thing.

Physique:

Portia has always been the shortest out of her little clique with Cassie, Rachel, and Maggie. Standing at 5’2, she’s shorter than most people her age, but, being one of the oldest girls in her year, the difference isn’t that noticeable most of the time. For this reason, and despite the fact that she doesn’t usually care much about her appearance overall, Portia tends to wear high heels when she attends parties; not because they’re comfortable, far from it, but because they make her feel taller, at least, and it’s better not to be looked down upon by everybody and their brother when she walks by. In day to day, however, she usually goes for ballet flats or lace-up boots. Like her face, the rest of Portia’s body is also extremely pale, and she’s been teased mercilessly throughout her life that she couldn’t tan if she were next to the sun – only freckle and burn. Portia has always been very slim, due to her eating little in her life, and exercising enough, and though she doesn’t obsess over the fact, she does try to keep her weight, and eat well, and maintain a healthy diet. Her hands are also kind of small, but proportionate to the rest of her body, as is her neck, which is why she doesn’t love to wear scarves, because it makes her look like a pygmy, in her opinion. However, long coats are not out of the question, though she’s always preferred a more rock style; leather jackets and hoops and belts. Portia is far from conceited, or self-important or anything like that, but she does have self-respect, and that includes her body. And yes, though Portia is very fond of kissing, she’s not going to let any guy get beyond that anytime soon, no matter how hot or convincing he may be. This is about herself, and until she’s ready, her body’s her own.

Wand Type: 14” Vine, Dragon Heartstring.
Wand Expertise: Best for Herbology
Patronus: A black panther.
Boggart: It used to be her parents, burned to crisp, shapes rising off the ground, haunting her, but recently it has changed to Septimus Travers, stalking her house, killing everybody she cares about, yelling at her to love him.

Personality:

To say that Portia Burke is complicated would be an overstatement. In all honesty, she’s pretty easy to figure out, once you grasp the concept that she can be two very different people. She’s not technically bipolar, but were her condition any more defined, it could be classified as such. Very simply, Portia doesn’t do well around strangers. Ever since her parents died when she was very little, she became unsure of herself, of who she was, of what people thought about her, of what she was supposed to do, and insecurity took over her character until the present day. When she’s around people that she doesn’t know, or that intimidate her in one way or another, whether it be physically, verbally, or mentally, Portia immediately builds up a wall around her, and she won’t let anybody break through. Because she doesn’t know how to defend herself against whatever the threat may be, she acts, using a straightforward colloquial term, like a bitch. She can, and mostly comes off as one to those that don’t know her well, and usually turns people off. She doesn’t like to invite people in, and very rarely talks about what she’s feeling or what she really thinks, if it’s not to one of her pseudo-sisters. Not even with her cousin, who, apart from the girls and her grandmother, is the closest relative she has. Portia is very reserved and introverted that way, also related to the issue of insecurity that she feels. She’s afraid of being judged in a way, but wouldn’t ever admit it. For this reason, she also loves spending time alone and appreciates the worth of silence. This is another defining trait of hers- wherever she may be, Portia doesn’t like to talk much. As a matter of fact, if it were up to her, she’d never talk at all, unless it was absolutely necessary. She has a personal policy of never saying more than enough, and it’s a rare occasion when she yells or loses control of her words. She’d have to be extremely upset for that to happen. However, although she doesn’t like to express feelings much through words, her eyes can usually convey everything she really thinks. With one silent glance, Portia can tell you everything.

However, in a strange manner, although she’s afraid of what people may think of her, Portia has never cared much about anything. The only exception to this would be her everlasting friendship with Cassie, Maggie and Rachel, and her immediate family, and even then, she doesn’t express it through actions or words, she just does. Portia isn’t usually dedicated to something for long, and can have a very short attention span when something doesn’t fully interest her. Because Portia can stay stony silent during an animated conversation, and not make the smallest effort to be nice or inviting to other people, she can come off as self-important, but, as previously mentioned, it’s a defense mechanism. Although school is important to her in some aspects, and the magic is interesting some times, Portia doesn’t put too much effort into her studies, and her grades are pretty average most of the time. She does what’s asked of her, but the bare minimum, never more. She doesn’t understand what the point is of doing more than what’s required – minimums are there for a reason, and that’s not to surpass them. However, something that she does love to do, which requires time alone, and acts as a creative outlet for her, is writing. What she doesn’t express or say out loud, she pours onto parchment. She loves to write stories, drabbles, different scenes with different characters. She likes to develop imaginary personalities and relationships between different types of people, and write them out. When Portia enters this state of solitude and creative flow, she usually is off-limits to anybody that tries to contact her, unless it’s one of her pseudo-sisters with an emergency of some sort, and will get more than angry if she’s interrupted. This isn’t likely, though, because most of her writing time happens during late night, when everybody else is asleep and she stays up in the common room, or when there’s some sort of party that she doesn’t’ want to go to, and stays in her bedroom writing instead. Ever since she was little, she’s liked to write, which her cousin always thought was extraordinary since she was never very fond of reading, and yet, her vocabulary was impeccable, so it had been determined a hereditary skill.

On the issue of her parents, Portia has always been very straightforward about it. She doesn’t get overemotional when talking about them, and although she barely remembers how they were like, she knows their faces, and she knows that happened to them and can remember snippets of how she felt during the time. But with time, it was as if she grew out of it, or simply stopped caring – at least, that’s what she tells herself. She has Cinna and Darren now, and her parents couldn’t have done anything better than they can, so it’s not a big deal, right? Many people are hesitant to ask her what happened, or how, but Portia, if she knows them and isn’t in a particularly foul mood, has no problem in explaining, of course, with only the necessary information to get an idea. However, as much as she can tell herself that she doesn’t care much about it, ever since the accident, her relationship with her younger sister changed. Portia can’t explain it if you asked her, but something about seeing her sister has always reminded her of the time when her parents were alive, and that has always bothered her, so she simply categorized her sister into the stranger section, and never bothered to form a relationship, or bond with her. Apart from that, as time passed, Venia grew to be everything that Portia hated in a human being. Shallow, self-absorbed, vapid talker, and overly perky. So if, as they both matured, there was ever any chance of that bond appearing, it was cancelled as their personalities developed, and it was certain that they wouldn’t ever get along. This is always Portia’s reply when questioned as to why she and her sister never talk in school, or during the summer vacations. They just have nothing to say to each other. Portia has a very big problem with people that lack maturity, like her sister. She can’t understand vulgar jokes, and wants to throttle people that think you have to get drunk or do crazy stuff to prove themselves to the rest of the world; what for?

Then there is the issue of hemoglobin, more commonly known as blood. Portia could pinpoint the exact moment that her obsession with the substance started, in that class in fourth year, but she doesn’t like to think about it. It’s something extremely personal to her, more than her parents’ death, more than her relationship with her sister, more than her writing, or her best friends. This is something she hasn’t told a single soul, for reasons she could never quite fathom. For fear of being thought a freak? Or sent to rehabilitation? Or because she herself was scared of it, or embarrassed that it happened to her? She wasn’t sure, but she never would, she swore to herself. But it’s not a disease, and it’s not too creepy, she always tries to comfort herself with that idea, that she’s not a vampire or anything- she’s not addicted to blood, and she doesn’t go crazy around it. It’s just...sometimes, in the utmost privacy and solitude, she likes creating blood somehow, if she’s particularly bored, maybe pricking her finger, and touching it, smelling it, smearing it over parchment in patterns. Maybe it’s not the most usual habit ever, but as long as nobody finds out, and she doesn’t start obsessing over it and going to the lengths of hurting herself too bad to obtain it, she’s not going to do anything to stop.

But the most sensitive characteristic of Portia’s is her need to feel safe; secure. It was also the reason why she got into that mess during her last summer. Although for Portia, it’s next to impossible letting people in, not girls, not boys, not teachers of any sort, she does have, like most human beings, that craving to be protected. She’s independent to a fault, but when she starts adapting to another person, and depending on them in a way, like she has with Cass, Rach, and Maggie, it’s hard for her to let go. Portia hates being watched, noticed, or being paid compliments, she feels scrutinized and she doesn’t like being observed, but if she’s the one interested enough to approach another person, as was the case with Septimus Travers, and she grows accustomed to their face, and comfortable enough to talk about her life, she becomes attached. Portia’s insecurity leads her to want to feel safe and protected, and her dislike for immaturity tends to make her interested in people older than her, whose maturity has already developed, and who are over gossip and parties and the teenage life that she so dislikes. And if that person happens to be cute, and a good kisser –Portia really likes kissing- then she’s done for, at least for a while, as long as she needs him. And as long as he respects her age, and her need for separation and independence.

That was her first and last mistake that summer.

Likes:
+Silence
+Not saying much
+Being alone
+Writing
+Sleepovers
+The night
+Blood
+Traveling
+Being independent
+Privacy
+Kissing
+Feeling safe

Dislikes:
–Sleeping
–Rules
–Loud music
–Loud people
–Rants
–Being watched
–Being complimented
–Intimidating people
–Gossip
–Immaturity
–Surprises
–Her sister

History:

It was midday on September 19th when Finnick and Cressida Burke delivered a baby girl into the world. Naming the baby had been an arousal of conflict for the couple; Cressida had always wanted to name her firstborn girl like herself, and her mother, and her grandmother alike. She was convinced that it was a family tradition that couldn’t be broken, and that any other name would bring bad luck to the baby and the family, but Finnick was insistent that he wanted another name. He wanted a fresh name for his daughter, something powerful, with character, something that would single her out as somebody special amongst other girls her age. It was only when the baby arrived that Cressida looked at her, and she simply couldn’t see her being named the same as her. All her resolve faded, and she agreed to Finnick’s choice of a name: Portia. It had history, it had strength; it was perfect.

Portia Erigone Burke was brought home to a well-accommodated house in Nottingham, England, which Finnick and Cressida had purchased after getting married three years previously. Their dream had always been to start a family, and now, they were finally getting it. Portia was a healthy baby, if quite a small one, and for her mother, she was the perfect one. She ate, she cooed, and she slept the entire day long. She rarely made a noise, and almost never cried- it was too good to be true, but that’s how it was. Portia grew up with a loving father and mother, who wanted what was best for their baby girl and were willing to make that dream family come true. Finnick was an investor in the Northern parts of England, and Scotland, and made good money out of the business; that, as well as the small family fortune to his name, made up for the wealth of the family. Their lifestyle wasn’t grand, but it was more than enough for the three of them. Cressida spent her days at home taking care of the baby, at least for the first year of Portia’s life. When Portia turned one, her parents decided that she was old enough to travel with them. From a very early age, both Finnick and Cressida had always loved to travel. Whenever they could find time, they would go visit ancient ruins, or Apparate from place to place, follow Wizard tours and muggle tours, explore every corner of the world that they could find- and they were determined to takeh their daughter with them. At the age of one and a half, Portia had already been to Mexico, Japan, and Ireland, and Finnick had been mapping a new travel plan to Spain when a new surprise came for the small family.

So, like, I was born when Portia was two, and she was already babbling stuff and she could walk, and I was still just a baby that our parents had to take care of. But I was a very cute baby. Not too chubby, but not sickly skinny either. The thing is, I was kind of jealous of all the stuff that my sister got to do, and I didn’t, but I totally grew out of that later, so don’t worry. Anyway, like I said, I was born, and I was the center of attention, and really, the only close family we’ve ever had besides our parents are Gammy, and Cinna, our cousin. Her mum passed away when she was very little, and she’s always been super close with my mum, so we always got to see her. And Gammy was never really into babies that much, but she was nice enough. She brought us candy, which was always good, but that was when we were a bit older, and I could actually chew and stuff. So since like, my parents loved to travel and stuff, they always took us on their trips, unless they were super long or dangerous ones – they liked to do crazy stuff, I think once they went like, hiking or something, for a month; like I said, crazy – and it was super awesome. I loved going on trips, even when I was like, one or something, because it meant being away from everything you know for a while, and experiencing loads of new stuff, and then coming back. And if we didn’t go with them, my father would always get us stuff, like souvenirs or candy from new places, and pictures so we could see where they went. I remember that me and Portia used to love it when they came back from a trip, because they would Apparate in the house and we’d heart he pop and know it was them, so we’d run from our rooms and daddy would be there with his arms open, heaps of bags beside him and mum, and he’d pick Portia up while mum picked me up and they’d hug us and tell us all about their trip, and I never really understood a thing, I just watched them tell us, and thought it was the most fascinating thing ever, because I was a baby, and they were my mummy and daddy.

I think it was a few months after my second birthday; I was still growing out my teeth, when my parents told Portia and I that we were going to stay with Gammy for a while because they were going on this trip that we were too little to appreciate, and that they’d be back soon, to be good, and they’d see us in a little while. Of course, we were upset at the moment that they left – I cried for three days straight, and Portia didn’t. She never cried when our parents left, and I always felt weaker than her because I did, but Gammy said it was okay, and that I shouldn’t worry because they’d be back. One of the things I’ve always loved about Gammy is that she never lied to us. Even though we were little and sometimes the truth was too much for us to handle, or a book talked about things we wouldn’t understand, she wasn’t condescending. She told us straightforward, whatever it was, and if we didn’t understand, she’d tell us that we would later on, but she never ever lied to us. That time that she told us that our parents were coming back in two weeks, it was the first and last time she’d lie.

I really hate it when tourists come and see me. We don’t go and parade around their homes like we own them. We don’t take cameras and pictures of them whenever we feel like it, invading their privacy. Why should they do it to us? And that particular day, I was angrier than I’d been for the last hundred years. My mate and I had just hatched a littler of babies. They were four days old, and still barely knew how to walk, and their fire wasn’t under control. All we wanted was some privacy to take care of them, have some time as a family. But we weren’t afforded even that. Our caretaker, a Wizard by the name of Buddy, he was gone for the day, and another guy had come to take his place. I didn’t like this new guy; he treated us like we didn’t have feelings, like we couldn’t understand what was going on. He didn’t take the necessary precautions with the group of tourists that had come that day. I was angry, and I needed to go hunt something to feed my babies, and the tour guide didn’t let me leave. He kept using clankers at me, so I’d stay in my place – and I had enough. I flew out of my nest and blew a gigantic torching of fire from my mouth, burning up the entire section of the forest we were on, and roasting the rather large group of tourists. I wasn’t proud of that, but they were invading my space, and I had to defend my family. We fled after that, took refuge somewhere in Australia, where dragons can be free in the outback – a cousin of mine took us in. They were the last Wizards we ever saw.

It was a bright, sunny morning when I went downstairs to eat breakfast with my granddaughters and the daily owl flew in through the window, bringing the Daily Prophet; when I saw my daughter and her husband’s face on the front cover under the headline ‘DRAGON GONE WILD’. I can barely express how devastated I was by the news. My second daughter, dead like the first, with two daughters more left orphans. I didn’t know what to do with myself. My husband had been dead for twenty years, and I was already taking care of my other granddaughter, Cinna, whose mother had died during childbirth. And now I was left with these two young girls; I was well past my time to be raising children, but they were my granddaughters, daughters of my daughter, and I loved them. The authorities found a will that stated that Cinna would be the legal guardian of the girls as soon as she would take them and meanwhile they were to stay with me. Cinna was twenty one at the time – she was still young and carefree, and I was not going to take that liberty away from her. The funeral was arranged, although the bodies weren’t found, replaced instead by heaps of ashes. Portia and Venia weren’t aware of what was going on. They were four and two years old, respectively. They were little girls in need of their mother and father, and they had been taken away from them. I explained to them that their parents had gone to a better place, and that they would not see them again, but that they loved them very much, and nothing was ever going to change that. They didn’t fully understand, of course. Portia grasped more of the concept than Venia, who could barely say two words, but still, she asked for her mother over and over again, and it killed me to have to tell her that she wasn’t coming. Portia was always very quiet after that, I remember. She had already been introverted, but the loss of her mother had made her almost mature. She was still a child, and yet she spent most of her time sitting around or thinking by herself. I watched Portia and Venia grow for a year; a hard year in which I struggled to do my best to help them grow, and Cinna visited nearly every day – she had a special relationship with the girls, and Cressida was wise to have made her the guardian. I could only do so much at my age. And yet, Portia and Venia never seemed to be together much, play together much, although I tried to get Portia to take care of her little sister, she was almost indifferent to her. It was as if she didn’t know her. And they were little, I understood that, children, still, but even children build relationships, and I could never see one forming between the two.

I’ve always had to live with my mother’s death in my conscience. She died giving birth to me, as they’ve always told me, and although nobody blames me, I blamed myself. How could I not? She gave her life to save mine, to make mine, and she was never a part of it. My father left her when he found out she was pregnant with me – they were never married. It was many years of my life before I understood that, and many years before I formed my resolve never to meet him. I’ve lived with my grandmother ever since; Gammy, we’ve always called her, but the one person that has really been there for me like a sister, almost like a mother, has been my aunt Cressida. She was about thirteen years younger than my mother, and that made her about six years older than me. We’ve always been as close as can be. She was the one person I could always rely on, whom I could tell everything to, who was there for me when I got hurt, and who helped me make the best choices in my life. She supported my decision to study to be a Healer, and encouraged my relationship with Darren, the man who would become my fiancé. She was there in every single most important moment of my life, and I was there for hers. I was her maid of honour, and her bridesmaid, and Portia’s godmother. It was my fourth and second to last year of training. I was living with Darren in a small apartment in London, and checking up on Portia and Venia, my nieces, as much as I could between going out and training, since their parents were on a trip, and I knew how it upset Venia when they weren’t there. I got a visit from Gammy one day in St. Mungo’s, where I trained, and she’d been crying. In that way I received the news that Cress and her husband, Finnick, were dead. I didn’t handle the news well in the beginning. I refused to believe it, even when the newspaper was shown to me, and I started screaming and shouting obscenities in the middle of the Hospital; my boss told me to go home for the week, take a break. I went home, and I locked myself up in my room. I wouldn’t even let Darren in; he had to sleep on the couch in the small living room that we had for two days. I didn’t eat anything until my stomach was literally killing me, and I had to open the door. The first thing that met me outside was Darren, who pulled me into a hug and let me cry myself to sleep again in his arms. I got better, day by day, for months, while I was selfishly locked up in my own world of grief; I had barely spared a thought to Portia and Venia, who had just been left orphans, just like me.

When I had pulled myself together enough to handle seeing them, I went to Gammy’s house, where the girls were staying, and I could tell they hadn’t processed the news yet. I understood. It would be years before they fully comprehended what had happened to them. The sight of them, sitting there, innocently reading picture books brought me to tears again, but I knew that these girls needed me, and I stayed. I came back to spend time with them nearly every day for the next year. Cressida had made me legal guardian, and as Portia’s godmother, I had already agreed to take care of them in the case of something like this – but I had never, in my wildest dreams, imagined this day could possibly come, but now that it had, I couldn’t have had it any other way. I had to take care of her daughters like she took care of me. I loved her, and I loved them, and it was the least I could do for them. Gammy and I made an agreement that I was to finish my education for the next year, and then I would take them in. I knew how much it was costing her to raise these two girls, when she was already way past her time for anything, let alone being a mother figure again. So I did. The year passed, I got my Healer diploma, but I refused the job until the girls were both safely off to Hogwarts. For now, my sole purpose was to take care of them. Portia was five years old, and Venia just three when they moved in with me and Darren. He took everything in like a true gentleman, and I could not have done it without him.

In my family, etiquette, decorum, and class had always been of the utmost priority for any son born into it. My brother, Erik, was born nine years my senior, and we never shared any sort of brotherly bond, being that apart with the ages. He was already going to Hogwarts as I learned how to walk and talk. My mother took care of me like a prince, and encouraged me to be the best that I could be; the best that she wanted me to be. I was forced to take piano and ballroom lessons when I was little, and learn to speak French, and all sorts of things that I didn’t understand how they could be useful in the future, but my mother wanted me to learn, and when I did, she was proud of me; so I did. I was ten years old when my brother came home one day, announcing his marriage to a girl I didn’t know. I didn’t know how to react to this, my brother was my brother. He was still a teenager to me, not some man ready to be married off. I was still in kind of a shock, and when my mother made a scandal and started shouting names that I’d never heard before at them, I assumed it was because he was too young to marry. When they left, I asked my mum if Erik was going to marry that girl, and she told me that no, he wasn’t, that I didn’t have to worry. I wasn’t worrying, I never saw him anyway, but I still thought that age was the problem. It took me a few years and a few experiences of my life to learn that the problem hadn’t been age; it had been that the girl wasn’t a witch, like everybody I knew. She couldn’t do magic, she was a muggle. My mother had used that word with such contempt, that I had no choice but to assume that it was a terrible thing, but when they did get married, and I went with her, the girl didn’t seem like a bad person at all. She even smiled at me, and, at ten years of age, that was all it took for me to decide that I liked her well enough. But that isn’t my story. My story continues when I went off to Hogwarts, and in the middle of my sixth year, I met the girl of my dreams; Cinna Dolohov. I remember the first time I learned her name. Professor Binns was taking attendance in the first class of the year. I was in Ravenclaw, and she was in Gryffindor; she was a year younger than me, and I had never seen her before. But that day, she raised her hand and called out ‘Here’, and I was done for. I don’t know if it was her long, dark brown hair, or her full lips, or the expression of maturity in her face that got me, but from that day on, I was head over heels in love. Cinna and I started dating about a month or so after that, once I’d worked my charm enough for her to accept me as her boyfriend. We never broke up after that. I graduated, she graduated, and that was that. We were still together. I loved her, and she loved me, and when I suggested we move out into an apartment in London, she agreed instantly.

When I found out that Cressida, Cinna’s most beloved aunt, whom anybody could have called sister, had died with her husband, Finnick Burke, I knew that Cinna was going to need more support than ever before in her life. She wouldn’t eat for days, and though I tried to coax her out of the room, she wouldn’t budge, until she did, and then all I could do was hug her, and tell her it was going to be okay, and that no matter what, I was there and I loved her. Cressida and Finnick Burke had left two young daughters to her care; Portia and Venia. I remember that when I heard their names for the first time, I thought they were gorgeous, and fitting for being Cinna’s relatives. They matched, somehow. I had met the girls before, since Cressida and Cinna had been with each other almost all the time she wasn’t with me, and they were little angels. Portia never cried once, and Venia was adorable with her bright blue eyes and curly blonde locks. And when I saw Cinna’s determination to be a good mother to them, it was all I could do to swear to myself that I would be a good father, as well. The moment that the girls moved in with us in our apartment, I knew I had to make Cinna a promise. A promise that I was a part of this new family of hers, a promise that I would never leave her side, and that she could forever count on me. That promise took shape of an engagement ring, and she accepted. We didn’t get married yet; we decided to wait; the last thing the girls needed right now was a wedding to worry about. Together, we were going to make this family work.

A few months later, I decided that my brother and I should get together again. I was kind of lost with the whole parenting thing, and he had four children of his own. One of his daughters was Portia’s age and Cinna and I agreed that Portia needed somebody to rely on right now, somebody her own age: a friend. She was five and a half years old, and her life had been surrounded by adults. The girl’s name was Cassandra, and it was almost tangible the instant connection that the two girls made. Portia was always so quiet, so reserved, and Cassie was a sweetheart. They became best friends, and helped my brother and I to form that bond that had never had the chance to grow in our childhood. His wife, Jeannette, was a wonderful woman, and I didn’t see what the problem with my mother was, about her bloodline. Throughout my Hogwarts years, I had learned that there were many people that thought they were better than everybody else because their blood was ‘pure’ – direct Wizarding line, people like my mother. But I thought differently, like Erik, I didn’t care about blood. Cinna was a little different in that aspect. Although she wasn’t rude about it, like my mother was, I could tell that she wasn’t fully comfortable being around a muggle. She’d been with muggleborns her whole life in school and after it, but never people without a hint of magic. Eventually, though, she grew to be more at home with them, and Jeanette, being a charming woman, grew on her so that they became friends, too. We spent lots of days together, after that. Erik, Jeanette, Cinna, me, and the children. Christmases, Easters, birthdays; you name it. The relationship with Jeanette was also good for Portia and Venia, I agreed; I wanted to teach them that blood didn’t matter – that it was the person whose veins it flowed through that made the difference, and I think I taught them that lesson on my part, although I could never convince Cinna not to hint that Wizards were better than muggles anyway. But the girls were happy, I could see. I could tell that for the first time in almost two years, they finally felt home.

I’ve always hated Cassandra. Always. I was little, and I had a sister whom I thought was the most awesome person in the world, obviously, but Portia never looked at me twice. I think she blamed me for our parents’ death, somehow, even though I had nothing to do with it. She never played with me once after it happened, and at first I didn’t think anything of it, I was little, but then I understood. And then Cinna and Darren became our guardians, and they were amazing to us, and we had fun together, but Portia and I barely spoke more than civilized conversation. She was almost six, and she should have been wanting to play dolls with me, or at least boss me around, but most of the time, she just ignored me. It got worse when she became tight with Cassandra. They were inseparable. They spent almost every day together, and when the girl went to muggle school, they saw each other on the weekends, after school, slept over at each other’s houses, baked cookies together, played dress-up; all those things that she should have wanted to do with me she was doing with her. And it drove me crazy. I thought that was the worst of it, but not even a few months passed after they became the bestest of friends, when another girl joined their little group of six year olds. Her name was Maggie, and she was a muggleborn. That meant that both of her parents were muggles, it was ridiculous. She became Portia’s second best friend forever, and I would have had to beg for a scrap of her attention if I’d wanted it. But by the time that I was five, and old enough to understand that I wasn’t wanted, I got friends of my own. There was a boy my age in the floor below us in the apartment, but I could never forgive my sister for abandoning me all my life. As if that wasn’t enough, one day, there were four girls playing in my room; the one I shared with Portia. A brunette called Rachel or something. Another muggleborn- Portia really knew how to choose her friends. Oh, no, but they were the best of friends! And they came over all the time, and made more sleepovers and shrieked into the night, and told each other everything, and if I ever asked what they were doing, Portia would tell me to go away, and that it was secret.

Darren was nice to me, though. He played with me when Cinna was too busy fixing Portia’s hair, or taking her to Cassie’s house, or something. He’d tell me I was special, and I was beautiful, and that one day I would have magic of my own, and go to a school where my life would be wonderful. And I couldn’t wait to go there. But of course, Portia got to go first because she was older. When she got her first signs of magic when she was seven, I had a temper tantrum and I hit her. I broke one of her teeth, and Cinna had to regrow it. I also didn’t get any pudding that night. And worst of all, was that all of her little friends were showing magic, too. And they were all so super excited to go to Hogwarts, and it would me amazing and they just couldn’t wait. And I still had to wait two more years after her. In that sense, I was almost glad that she left. It meant that I had Cinna and Darren’s attention all to myself, and I was the one they’d be taking to get ice cream with her friends, and I was the one that would get to have sleepovers, and have secrets. But it didn’t work out that way; nothing ever does. The boy that lived in the apartment, Rory, moved halfway through the year, and I didn’t have cousins my age that I could talk to. And so began my life alone.

Portia’s life at Hogwarts was everything that she could have asked for. She saw Cassie, Maggie, and Rachel every day, had classes with them, spent sunny days outside by the shade of a tree talking about anything and nothing, and organized random sleepovers like they had their entire lives. Being able to have a wand and perform magic herself was exciting and incredible, and she was more than eager to start during her first year. It was a few years into school that she realized it wasn’t going to get more exciting than that, and she started losing interest. By her fifth year, she barely paid attention in classes anymore, she didn’t like most teachers, and the idea of rooming with other girls wasn’t that amazing anymore, but at least she had her spirit sisters, as she called them. They quite literally were- Portia couldn’t remember a time when she hadn’t known Cassie, or Maggie, or Rachel. They had been through everything together, and always would.

She was around fourteen years old when she discovered her bloodlust. It was an accident, how it happened. She’d been in the back of some class, thinking about Merlin knew what, when suddenly somebody shrieked at something up front, and she jumped, snapping her teeth and biting the inside of her cheek hard. Never one to acknowledge any pain too publicly, Portia swore and dipped her finger inside her mouth, testing to see how much blood there was. Quite a lot, actually, and her finger came out dripping in the red substance. And there was something about the way that the light from the window hit the dark, thick red liquid that entranced her. Portia touched the blood, and felt it between her fingers, smelling the deep, rusty odor of it until it dried up a dark color on her fingers. The taste wasn’t very appealing, but the smell was kind of intoxicating, when it was abundant, and the feel of it. It was just so...it was almost creamy but...thick and, she had no clue what she liked so much about it, but she did. From them on, she didn’t seek blood, but she could smell it, and when she hurt herself, she never rushed to get aid, but spent some time staring at the drops of red oozing from her skin, and examining it. She never did this in public, however, in fear of being thought mentally ill, or a vampire, or something. She never really told either of her real sisters, either, even though they told each other everything. It was just one of those things that she wanted to keep to herself. Besides, she didn’t know they’d react to that, and she didn’t want to risk it. Her friends were everything to her, something good to hold onto after everything, and she’d never let them go.

It was easy to get Portia Burke to fall in love with me. She was an innocent, naive sixteen year old that was led by an understanding appeal on the face of a handsome man. We met during the summer, before her sixth year at Hogwarts; she was almost seventeen, and she was guarded, reserved. It took a while before she fully opened herself up to me, but she liked me from the beginning, I could tell, which she later told me was key to forming any type of relationship with her. But in the end, she told me everything. She told me about her parents, her grandmother, her cousin Cinna, her cousin’s fiancé Darren, where she lived, how she’d always felt intimidated by her sister, how her best friends Cassie, Maggie, and Rachel meant the world to her, how she was sick of school, how she hated parties, and how she couldn’t stand to be with the young, immature people in her grade. I was mature. I was twenty four, and I listened to her as she opened herself up, I gave her advice. She didn’t like that, I found. I also found that she did like kissing. A lot. But not more than that, never more than that. She was as guarded with her body as she’d been with her mind. But we kissed a lot. It was a shock to her when I told her I was married, and she refused to speak to me for a week, but she came back. I told her that I hated my wife, and that our marriage had been arranged, and how she made my days worth living. She liked that stuff, girls always do. The summer was interesting, it was hot, and it was fun with her. Portia was more vulnerable than she let on, but she stuck with me, still, but I forced her to keep it a secret. I couldn’t have word of this getting out in any way, and schoolgirl gossip was the worst. I had a reputation to maintain. The summer neared its end, and I don’t know what happened, but Portia came up to me one day, and she told me she’d had enough. That it had been great while it lasted, but that she wanted to start acting her age again, and she didn’t think it was right to cheat. I didn’t like that; not one bit. I told her she couldn’t leave me, that I needed her, but she was stronger than I’d thought. So I had to use other methods, I couldn’t stand my life, and with her teenage troubles, she’d taken my mind off my own. I now depended on her as much as she’d depended on me in the beginning. I started threatening her. At first, she thought I was joking, but when I killed her cat, she knew I was serious. She started freaking out, she was scared. I didn’t want her to be scared, but she gave me no other option. I couldn’t have her leave me alone. I said that if she told anybody about this, I’d personally hurt her cousin, and her sister, and her friends. I knew how much she cared for them; maybe she didn’t like her sister, but she loved her in the end. Portia cried. I’ve never seen her cry before, but she cried then, and she told me she hated me. I didn’t believe her. But she kept true to her word, and she still saw me. She still will, until I don’t want her to, because nothing will tempt her to ignore my threats, she’s too vulnerable for that.

My name is Portia Erigone Burke, and this is the next chapter of my life.

Sample Post: Please refer to anything by Amycus Carrow, Emmeline Vance, Maylene Bell, Frank Longbottom, or Sebastian Travers. (:

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[Andromeda Black]

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