LYDIA lisanne vanderveer

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

Name: Lydia Lisanne Vanderveer
Age: Sixteen
Gender: Female
Year: Sixth
Face Claim: Nina Dobrev

Canon or Original? Original

Facial Properties:

Honestly, it's hard to describe Lydia's features simply when they're constantly changing. It's a rare quality, the way she's able to twist her face into so many expressions depending on her mood and goal. She's always got a goal, you see, always got something going on in that pretty little head of hers. What fun would life be without a goal? Boring, boring, boring, that's what, and she'd never want that. Variety is the spice of life, that's a fun little saying, and Lydia likes to apply that every day, styling her hair on whim. Sometimes she'll arrange it in pretty curls, because those are fun, and they bounce along with her all day, and who wouldn't want that. She straightens it quite often too, as she has the habit of running her fingers through her hair and that feels so lovely when it's straight and smooth. Curls are fun to twirl around her pinky though, so she takes that into consideration. So many little things. It's all in little things, really. The little quirks of her thin, dark eyebrows; the way she widens or narrows her expressively large brown eyes; the wrinkles that appear on the bridge of her tiny nose when she's deep in thought; the way she purses her pale pink lips enticingly, or pulls them into a pout when needs be. It's all the little things, dears, and Lydia's always been known to use those little things to her greatest advantage. Blink and you could miss it.

Physique:

She's not tall, but she's not short either, although you might apply the term "petite". The last thing you'd want to do, though, would be to underestimate her. It'd be a mistake, certainly, and maybe even your very last. She's stronger than she looks, deceiving even in appearance. Although she was brought up to be "ladylike" that never stopped her from running around with Gemma, and from beginning to run regularly whenever she could slip out unnoticed as she got older. She did exercises and stretches too, either ones that she taught herself or ones that she wheedled out of tutors. Lydia was never content with the thought of being a weak little girl, as easily as she always did appear to go along with whatever her father deigned appropriate for her. So she made sure to build up strength, both physically and mentally. It was a very peculiar mindset that she had, perhaps the very first way in which her paranoia presented itself. And while some who wanted to be prepared for anything might have trained with weapons, that was never something that Lydia bothered with, and not only because she wouldn't have been allowed access to such. She has her ways, after all. But no, Lydia's always focused on strengthening herself above all else, because that is the one thing she will always be able to rely on in this world. Herself. No one would have suspected that she was anything more than dainty, anything above physically inept. After all, she was sweet-tempered, gentle, a model of decorum, the perfect young lady. But appearances can be deceiving. And they always are where Lydia Vanderveer is concerned.


Wand Type: 12 inches, holly, with a fairy wing core
Wand Expertise: Defensive magic
Patronus: Golden eagle
Boggart: Gemma, because of the guilt and the emotions she represents

Personality:

Ooh, this one of Lydia's favourites, a good place to begin. Lust, or "excessive thoughts or desires of a sexual nature" is not something that she bothers to hide, oh no. What would be the fun in that? Ever since she and Gemma would sneak off to visit Gemma's friends or to go to some party, Lydia's enjoyed the tactics of flirtation. Boys are fun. They're handsome and cute and oh so much fun to kiss and play around with. She's a tease, you see. She couldn't count on all her fingers the number of boys she's kissed - or done worse things with - but there is a line that she's drawn firmly in her head. She's a virgin, after all, and she's not about to give that up for some random idiot just because he has pretty eyes or a yummy smile. Emotional attachment is something that's entirely unheard of for Lydia, with the exception of Gemma. The only exception. You could do as many psychological analyses as you wanted, and maybe even churn up some results, maybe blame it on the trauma she experienced so young. But for whatever reason, Lydia's always viewed people with deep detachment. They're fun to manipulate on whim, they're fun when they're complimenting her, but she couldn't really care less if anything ever happened to them. And the same sort of logic goes for boys: they're fun to kiss, fun to tease, fun to lead along, but when it comes to actual emotions? Sure, she might have a fleeting fancy or two but they're mostly interchangeable. At this point, it's almost become a game to her too: how far she can get without giving in, how many boys she can lead along and kiss and do all sorts of lovely things with, without actually doing, well, that. Perhaps it's a hidden romantic side that insists she not cross that line, perhaps it's the proper young lady in her, but either way, it is the way it is. Gemma was the only person Lydia ever had any sort of attachment to, but in the end it was all too easy to ignore that too. And now that she's at Hogwarts, with so, so many people and so, so many lovely boys to occupy her time, she's happy being as fickle as she pleases and just having some fun.

Something like this goes hand-in-hand with being a Vanderveer, does it not? Lydia's always lived with excess, always lived in a house full of expensive things, always worn expensive dresses, always had servants to see to her whims, always had the best of whatever it was she wanted. The Vanderveer family dined on rich foods and so Lydia's quite accustomed to that too. She went through phases growing up, sometimes eating perfectly normally, sometimes over-indulging, something eating almost nothing for days, just to see what it was like. When she was fourteen, the stress of trying to maintain such a perfect appearance and trying to keep her exploits a secret from her father drove her to developing an eating disorder. She struggled between starving herself and indulging, then purging for a short while, before managing to gain control. Not that such a thing is something that ever goes away, but she resumed a normal appetite. Even throughout it all, she'd had a detached sort of interest in what she was doing to her body, contemplating what it was doing to her with morbid fascination before her need to be strong, her paranoid self-preservation instincts, overcame such fascination. Over-consumption is also something that she's practiced with alcohol on a few occasions, although she can't say it doesn't unnerve her. She hates the thought of letting control slip and would much prefer to be alert, even if there is something delicious about the taste of some boy's lips while everything is spinning with giddy intoxication. It's dangerous - after all, kissing could lead to something else entirely when her inhibitions are lowered - but isn't any game more fun when there's a risk?

The pursuit of wealth, status, and power is something that characterizes anyone with the Vanderveer name, not only Lydia. Not that that makes her any less ambitious, or any less materialistic. To a certain extent. Lydia doesn't care about things in the way that most people do, no; if something happened to her entire wardrobe, if her house burned down, well, she'd buy herself new dresses and move into a new house and that would be that. But they would have to be the finest dresses and the most impressive house. Nothing less than that for a Vanderveer, no? Yes, she's spoiled, but why shouldn't she be? She's had everything she could possibly desire at her fingertips since the day she was born. In terms of her family, or emotionally, no, but materially, oh yes. Only the finest for Lydia Vanderveer. The same should go with those she associates with, but she doesn't judge too strictly. Does she look down on muggleborns and halfbloods? Yes, of course she does, of course she's superior to them by nature of who she is. Then again, she's Lydia Vanderveer, and she could say the same for anyone. But regardless, she'll still talk with those of lower blood; they amuse her. It's her chief emotion, amusement, and anything that can bring it out in her is worth keeping around, for a few minutes at the very least. After all, she still has her priorities. She's had it drilled into her enough times how the Vanderveer name is suffering, how important it is for her to be in all the right circles, know the right people, achieve, achieve, achieve. And she knows that. But she has her own life as well, one where she'd much rather focus on what's fun. As far as her father's concerned, she's a perfect young lady who associates with the right people, who can soon be married off to someone respectable. And Lydia, oh, Lydia would revel in the attention, but that doesn't mean she's going along with such a plan just like that. Like any order or rule from her father, it shall be obeyed to a certain extent, but you can bet that she'll still secretly rebel, as she's always done, or find some sort of loophole. She's always been good at that.

Ah, indifference. It's something that characterizes Lydia so strongly, and yet you'd never think of it as her most defining trait because it's such a subtle one by nature. She's grossly apathetic, though, more than could possibly be normal. Although she's been brought up to believe that she's indeed superior to non-pureblood witches and wizards, she's quite indifferent on the whole thing when it comes to socializing and her own life. She's like that with most opinions, ready to let them in one ear and out the other. She's indifferent to people as well, disturbingly unemotional. Completely lacking, actually. Psychopathy is characterized by such utter lack of emotions, and taking into considering her history and family background, and the way she acts, it wouldn't be surprising if she was diagnosed with such. But there's no need to label everything such; labels take all the fun away! She's Lydia, that's who she is. Call her psychopathic, call her unemotional, call her whatever you please. Yes, violence tends to hold a certain appeal in her eyes, another fascination, if you will. She's amused by pain, whether in someone else or even herself, perhaps because she's so distanced from it, and it means so little to her. Empathy is so entirely foreign to her that one could probably go as far as to say that she's never felt it. She doesn't care about other people. She doesn't care about much at all, to be honest, unless she decides that it amuses her, or is worth her interest. She's fickle as can be, and this interest can wane rather quickly if she decides that whatever - or whoever - has been holding her attention no longer seems as appealing. She's easily bored in this sense, but also easily amused, so it balances out. Other than amusement, however, many emotions are foreign to her, or at least rare. Whether she has psychopathy or not is irrelevant; it's a muggle term, after all, for a muggle disease that she couldn't care less about. She's completely undisturbed by violence, yes, and free of most emotional concerns, but, well... you can be judge of it.

And here is one of her most dangerous traits. She's got quite the temper when it's aroused and anyone who has the misfortune to be around or cause such a thing would regret it. Violence is something that interests and amuses her, remember? She reacts. She does what she feels needs to be done and then that is that. It doesn't even take too much to stir a reaction from her; she's always been paranoid in certain ways, overly so. It's not natural, the means she takes to preserve herself, the way she'll turn in anything in a heartbeat if she feels threatened. Such paranoia is surely a result of the trauma she's experienced in her life but regardless, it's there to stay. And she has a tendency to react quite strongly because of it. After all, she's a spoiled little girl who's childish in her need to always get what she wants, but she'll throw quite the fit when she doesn't. It's the difference between her external and internal emotions that's the most intriguing, though. When her anger truly snaps inside of her, truly snaps, it's like she loses all control, and yet you wouldn't even know it. A sort of calm takes over her, maybe even a smile, and she reacts, she does what she needs to do, even while inside, she's no longer thinking in a sane fashion. It's frightening, really. Appearances are deceiving. Such a total loss of control isn't common though; in most cases she can easily let it be known how furious she is if she wants to. In most cases, she's in complete control, as she always needs to be. Unfortunately for the rest of the world, though, Lydia isn't the sort who always thinks things through rationally and then decides whether or not it's worth being angry. She can be impulsive and tempestuous, ridiculously petty, and she'll lash out on a whim, because she feels like it, because she feels like being angry today, or she feels like screaming or making a scene. She acts how she wants to act, and reason is sometimes discarded. But she's only concerned with herself here. And when she wants something, she gets it.

My, oh my, sparking Lydia Vanderveer's envy is never a good thing. As much as she can act older than her sixteen years, there's still something innately childish in her and she absolutely detests feeling jealous of another person for whatever reason. It simply won't do. But she's observant, always observant, and she studies people, whether she admires them or not. The ones she admires are merely more likely to capture her interest - if they're not snubbed entirely. When it comes to actual socialization, Lydia's quite the chameleon, to be honest. She plays the part she thinks is necessary depending on who she's around, modelling herself as she sees fit. Sometimes, as with her father, this means acting in a way that the other would approve of, in the way that they want her to act. Other times, it means acting however she feels like acting, letting whatever whim is strongest take over. She can appear like a completely different person depending on who she's around and what mood she's in, making it extremely hard to form a solid opinion of her. But hey, if you're going to attempt such a silly thing, well, she's not about to make it easy on you. She's like a snake, shedding skin after skin depending on who she feels like being that particular day. She never attempts to truly change herself to be like anyone else, though - why would she? Envying someone else is common enough, but she'd much rather see to it that she surpasses them in whatever it is that has her envious. Or that they lose it. After all, if there's one thing Lydia can't stand - although there are many, truly - it's being bested. She likes to play her games, sure, but she's nowhere near a fair loser and if the tides are ever shifting that way, well, that's when things are bound to get ugly.

Why wouldn't she be haughty? She's a Vanderveer, haughtiness is embedded in her genetic code, for Merlin's sake. Those who call vanity a crime are those with nothing to be vain about, as far as Lydia's concerned. So she'll spend as much as time as she wants in front of the mirror, and she'll expend energy on her outward appearance without a care for that silly concept of "inner beauty", because after all, isn't confidence one of the most appealing traits a girl can have? It's better than glossy hair, better than kissable lips even - if it's merited, that is. As for Lydia? Take a look at the girl, of course it's merited. She looks nothing like any of the women in her family, who are all various shades of blonde, but she didn't miss out by any means. She's a Vanderveer; she was taught to be proud from the day she was born, and it's a lesson she's not about to forget. She's proud to be a pureblood, proud of her looks, proud of her riches, proud of her charm, and she doesn't give a whit about how becoming humility is or isn't. No one could practice temptation like this little minx does if they weren't at least a little vain, and Lydia's more than just a little. Self-obsessed, you could even say. But who else is she supposed to waste her time thinking about? The people that she does distract herself with never last long, she's too easily bored for that. And she operates on whim, expecting the world to continue serving up whatever she desires on a silver platter, expecting everyone to bend over backwards at her bequest because she's Lydia Vanderveer, and don't they ever forget it.


Likes:
+ Attention
+ Chocolates
+ Flattery
+ Kissing
+ Pretty boys
+ Dresses
+ Lace
+ V-necks
+ Mascara
+ Red lipstick
+ Rule-breaking
+ Winning
+ Blood
+ Secrets
+ Champagne
+ Screaming
+ Gold
+ The night sky
+ Dramatics
+ Manipulation

Dislikes:
– Her father
– Losing
– Firewhiskey
– Anything woollen
– Lip-gloss
– Lack of control
– Sunset
– Reading
– Cheese
– Poetry
– Weapons
– Nightmares
– The color grey
– Flat shoes
– Mediocrity
– Canaries
– Turtleneck
– French manicures
– Strong opinions
– Boredom


History:

Vanderveer. In Amsterdam, Holland, it is a last name that carries much prestige and background amongst the gossiping upper class families. Perhaps they pass on tales about Aleida Vanderveer, the demure maiden who married into the royal family in the 19th century. Perhaps they reminisce about Casper Vanderveer, the dashing politician from the early 1900s whose name was known all over the country. Perhaps they speak of Gabrielle Vanderveer, who forged a name for herself internationally when she became a renowned actress. Whomever they discuss - publically or behind closed doors - there is always the same mix of awe and bitter envy. As much as the spotlight loves the Vanderveers, there are those who do not, if only for the sole reason that they themselves did not have the fortune to be born with the illustrious last name and lineage that can be traced back to kings and queens of the Middle Ages. Every great and famed family harbours their secrets, however, and even the most highly esteemed Vanderveers are no exception to this rule. What would their dear public say if they knew the truth about this unreachable family - the real reason why they seem to shine and sparkle so much more than anyone else? What would they say if they knew that Aleida, Casper, Gabrielle and every other - with precious few exception - Vanderveer in the history of this great family, were so much more than merely human?

For, as well as being prominent members of the Dutch high society, the Vanderveer family also holds a position of power among the other high families. The wizarding families. After all, they are all wizards and witches themselves, of the purest blood. Those who aren't important faces amongst the muggle media work for the Dutch Ministry of Magic in Muggle Liaisons. It is they who ensure the proper bonds are held between the Dutch Minister of Magic and the King or Queen of Holland. It is they who fraternize amongst the muggle social circles and know what is being said. The more star-bound of them seek fame among the muggles, revelling in the limelight. But on the inside, they are laughing at these muggles. Their noses remain high in the air, for they know that as enjoyable as the adoration of muggles can be, they themselves are so superior by virtue of their blood. Indeed, the Vanderveers are constantly telling their children how it is such a fine line that they all must walk between the two worlds. Enjoy the riches and luxuries of the muggle spotlight as much as they wish but never forget that they are so much more than that. Never cross that line, etched in stone over and over again throughout the ages. If other wizarding families have any qualms about such a lifestyle, they keep such criticisms to themselves. The Vanderveers are still an old family, both in the muggle and in the wizarding world. And age means power. But no one can begrudge the public from their whispers and their rumour mongering. They're always whispering. Perhaps they're speaking of Aleida, Casper, or Gabrielle, those well-known and beloved faces. Or perhaps they're whispering about the latest Vanderveer to raise interest. Perhaps they're whispering about the family of Lord Leopold Vanderveer and the dark intrigue that has surrounded them for fourteen years. Perhaps they're whispering about what dark secrets the family could hide - dark secrets they will never guess at, not even in their wildest dreams.

Perhaps they're whispering about Lydia Vanderveer.

Leopold Lammert Vanderveer was the heir to the fortunes of Lord Hannes and Lady Georgina Vanderveer. Hanna Reinier was a stunning young woman and the only daughter of Frederik and Jacomina Reinier. The Reinier family was a wealthy wizarding family who could boast of pure blood and riches. They were little known amongst muggle society except for being another one of the old families of Amsterdam. Hanna had great ambitions and saw in the Vanderveer family an opportunity for her to seek higher fame without tarnishing her name. The Vanderveers were allowed to be known by muggles, to socialize with muggles, to employ muggle servants. They were the Vanderveers - there was no one to tell them not to. And so began her flirtations with Leopold, the man whom she saw from the moment they met at a gala as a means to achieve her dreams and desires. Leopold, in turn, found Hanna to be attractive and everything that he could want in a wife. She had the right background and what was more, she was fun. Instead of merely being prim and pristine as so many pure-blooded witches were, she had that extra sparkle that made her perfect for the Vanderveer family. He began to court her and after a sufficient amount of time - seven months - proposed. She happily agreed and they were wed a year later in a lavish outdoor ceremony. Not opting for crowds of over three hundred in attendance, Leopold and Hanna decided that the affair would be a rather private one. Exclusive. It would make it all the more superior, would it not? The Vanderveer and Reinier families agreed: yes, it would. And so, on the special day, the bride donned a gown of the finest white silk and walked down the aisle towards the man who would be the key to her freedom and the lifestyle she had always dreamed of. In shedding Hanna Reinier to become Hanna Vanderveer, she was embarking on the first day of her new life.

Indeed, Hanna Vanderveer was a much grander presence than Hanna Reinier had ever been. Delighted with the opportunities that presented themselves now that she held that esteemed last name, Hanna threw herself into the life of a socialite, roaming amongst the best and highest circles of Amsterdam society. Soon enough, her name was known among muggles and wizards alike - exactly as she had always wanted. The spotlight adored her and she, in turn, adored it. Newspapers claimed that her blond locks shone brighter than any others and cameras captured her dainty, photogenic features for everyone to see. She was in a state of heavenly bliss, holding in her possession everything that she had ever wanted and continuing to grasp for more and more with each new day. Leopold had been promoted within the Ministry and was becoming a well-known presence amongst the political scene as he worked at liaisons with muggles of importance - under the public impression, of course, of being nothing more than a bold, young politician. It was in this line of work that he first made the acquaintance of Chantal Viona Manser. She was a bright and charming assistant to another politician. She was also, of course, a muggle. Nonetheless, he couldn't help but be captivated by her, inviting her out for a round of drinks after the event. She accepted and they bonded over martinis, becoming more and more intoxicated with each other as they became more and more intoxicated by the alcohol. Leopold left that night having agreed to meet with Chantal two nights from then at a tucked-away little pub in the quieter part of town. And meet they did. She was every bit as intriguing as he'd remembered. Her dark hair seemed so alluring compared to the pale locks of most of the other women he knew. She was bold as well, saying whatever came to mind, and this too made her different from the demure ladies he'd grown up knowing. In short, she was nothing like any girl he'd ever met before. And he loved it.

Now, Leopold was not by nature a dishonest man but he found himself unable to stop thinking about Chantal after that night. His marriage with Hanna had never been based on love, merely serving a tool by which they could each advance in their own ways. He had never minded that, nor had he ever expected more. There was nothing wrong with Hanna; she was the perfect, poised young lady of society. She was the exact sort of woman that he was supposed to marry and they had done well by each other. But he had never suspected that someone like Chantal could exist. She was exquisite to him, in every way possible, and she quickly became an obsession. They started to spend more and more time together, the tension growing as all the while Leopold grappled with his own morals. He couldn't cheat on his wife. He wasn't that sort of man, was he? No, he couldn't be. It was too much to contemplate but it was the only thing he could think of, constantly on his mind. All the same, though he continued to meet regularly with Chantal, he refused to allow anything more to happen than a simple kiss on the cheek at the end of the night. They were becoming close and he found himself revealing things to her that he'd never thought about before. Things about how his life was so planned, so formatted, and he'd never really had a choice in any of it. Things about how perhaps he had gotten married too young, perhaps he should have waited for someone that he really loved. She in turn, told him about growing up in a fairly average family and always feeling that there had to be something more to life. About ambition and desires to go better places. They could relate on many subjects and where they differed in opinion, they would bicker teasingly before finally agreeing to disagree. It was just so easy to be around her and Leopold found himself able to relax in a way that he had never quite been able to before. He was growing more and more attracted to her, though, and she to him and it seemed only a matter of time before some of those clear lines began to be blurred.

And then one night, they were. Not only blurred but crossed entirely. Not just once, but repeatedly, for a period of months. Until everything changed one night. Hanna was used to Leopold working late and didn't suspect anything when he arrived home after midnight, internally guilt-ridden but allowing none of it to show. She wouldn't have noticed, anyways. You see, she had news for him, news that overshadowed everything else: she was pregnant.

It would be nice to say that Leopold ended his affair with Chantal after he found out that Hanna was expecting their firstborn child. Nice, yes, but not at all truthful. Hanna was swept away in her new world of impending motherhood and she was oblivious as he continued his indiscretions. There are some who would say that such a thing is bad luck for the child, the baby yet to be born. But at the end of the day, who can be the judge of that. In the case of this child? Most would deem the saying to have a great deal of validity. But that's just one example. Regardless, Leopold continued his affair with Chantal, even as Hanna's pregnancy progressed. And then, on December 16th, 1960, while one of the worst blizzards in all of Amsterdam's recollection raged outside, Hanna gave birth to a tiny, baby girl. She was three weeks premature, and so small, in fact, weighing only 4 pounds, 2 ounces, that the Healers placed her in a special incubator, much like the ones used in muggle hospitals. She wasn't developed enough yet, and there was nothing they could do about that. The first few weeks of the little girl's life were nervous ones, as Hanna and Leopold prayed that their baby would survive, their beautiful little girl. And she did. She was lucky, she was a fighter, and she was healthy in no time and ready to be taken home. Lydia, they named her. It was an unusual name, very English, and not one from the list of Dutch names Hanna had prepared, but as soon as they heard it, they knew what other parents meant when they spoke of "just knowing" that a name was right for their child. Lydia Lisanne Vanderveer.

If one ignored the fact that Leopold was still seeing Chantal, one could say that life was perfect for the happy Vanderveer couple for the next two years. They certainly appeared as if it was, the beautiful young couple with the gorgeous new baby. Lydia's hair grew in quickly as an infant, thick and dark, unlike the wispy blonde hair of most babies in the region. But it was beautiful, there was no denying that, a lustrous little cap over her tiny head that soon transformed into curls as she grew, starting to crawl, and then taking her first steps, and soon running around the large house. Indeed, it was only a few months after Lydia's first birthday that Hanna was excited to realize she was pregnant again. This time, she soon learned, with twins. Twins! Twice the excitement, twice the preparations to be made, twice the joy that would soon grace their small family. Nine months later, perfectly on time, Magdalena Stefana and Pieter Theodoor Vanderveer were born. Unlike their older sister, they were one hundred percent healthy. They were nine pounds eight ounces and nine pounds six ounces respectively, and they both had pale blonde hair already visible atop their head. Hanna and the twins were able to return home two days later, and the family settled into new bliss, albeit a very tiring one, with two infants to care for, and a two year-old daughter who was used to being the center of attention. But that's what they had servants for, after all, was it not? Yes, everything was perfect. For Hanna, for Leopold, for the twin babies... Perhaps not for Lydia. After all, she was used to having everyone's attention, exactly. But she was a good little girl, and she was excited to be a big sister. She loved her little brother and sister, she really did. Remember that. She loved them. She honestly loved them.

It was because she loved them that she wanted to see them that fateful night. It was because she loved them that she went into their room when she couldn't sleep, when her Mama and Papa were exhausted, to see her baby brother and baby sister. It was because she loved them that she wanted to hold them, that she dragged over the chest of baby blankets and climbed on top and into the hand-crafted wooden crib where they both slept. But there are some situations where it is the results that will always be remembered, never the intentions, and this was to be one of them. Because she fell. Because she picked up Magdalena in her arms and she tried to pick up Pieter too and then she slipped as she was climbing out onto the chest and she fell. Because Pieter slipped out of her arms and hit the hardwood floor head first. Because she was still clutching her baby sister desperately in her arms as she fell to the ground, crushing her against her small chest. Because Pieter died on impact when his still-not-fully-developed baby skull cracked and his brain was pierced. Because Magdalena suffered several broken feeble bones, one that jabbed out through her soft skin, and soon died of blood loss, after heartbreaking little wails ripped through the house. It was devastating, life-shattering, and it only took a few minutes. A few minutes for both of Lydia's siblings, scarcely a month old, to die. For her to be the cause of their deaths. For her to be the cause of all the misfortune to come. For the beginning of the curse of Lydia Vanderveer.

To say that what happened that night was a tragedy would be the grossest understatement. It was one of the maids that found the scene first, the two broken baby bodies on the floor, and Lydia. Lydia sitting there, her back to the chest, eyes wide as if with horror but strangely empty, the maid would later reflect. She was only two years old but she had clenched her fists so tightly at her side that her palms were stained with blood. She was completely silent. The maid, on the other hand, began screaming, and fainted, just as the other nearby staff came running and Hanna and Leopold were startled awake. They two came running, but when Hanna saw the scene she didn't faint, although she did fall to the floor. And she screamed and she screamed and she screamed and she wailed and sobbed and screamed for help, screamed for someone to do something, anything, something, someone! Leopold was horrified, trying to piece it together, trying to understand how, or what, and he couldn't do anything but stare at his daughter, the one who was just sitting there, the little girl with the blood on her hands.

The public story went that the twins had contracted an illness and died before they could reach the hospital, before they could be saved. There was a funeral and everyone wore black and everyone cried, except for Lydia. Lydia didn't cry. Lydia didn't talk either. She was silent for weeks after the terrible night; one might have believed that the trauma of it all had rendered her mute. Not that her parents really noticed. Leopold seemed to almost immediately try and drink himself into a stupor that would allow him to forget everything that happened and Hanna started taking whatever potions and medications she could get, spending most of her time lying in bed or wandering around the house in a daze. It was an accident. That's what they kept telling themselves when their thoughts strayed to their daughter, their one remaining child. It was an accident. But it was still hard not to remember the empty look on her face and the blood on her hands, the ultimate symbol of what she'd done, and it was still hard not to shudder every time that they did think about it. As for Lydia, she was still silent, a two year-old with no previous conception of guilt or blame or death, now faced with all. The maids tried to be there for her, tried to keep an eye on her through these troubled times, but there was something about the silent little toddler that unnerved even the steeliest among them. There was something wrong with that child, they whispered. Who had ever heard of such a thing before? To have such blood on her hands at such at a young age, to have done such a horrible thing... There was something wrong with that child. Something very, very wrong.

Even Leopold had trouble avoiding such thoughts. She was his daughter, his little Lydia, his baby girl... But there was something about her that unnerved him too now. He returned to work after a few months, tried to piece his life back together even though he would come home and drink until he passed out, or yell obscenities in no one in particular until tears were pouring down his cheeks. It wasn't fair. He'd tried to live his life decently, tried to be a good man. His affair was Chantal was the one thing he'd ever done that crossed the lines of common morality. And in his time of despair, with his mute little girl and his practically-comatose wife, he turned to her now. Chantal truly did have feelings for Leopold, and she tried to comfort him throughout this ordeal, despite how overwhelming it was. She didn't even know the true story, only what everyone else thought. They'd been sick. They'd died. Leopold was too ashamed to tell her the truth. He'd told her about wizards and magic but this was different, this was disturbing - what little girl causes such a thing, even by accident? No, it had to remain a secret. And that it did. Lydia was too young to remember but all the staff that had served in the house, who knew, seemed to disappear overnight, replaced by new ones. The old ones, the one who had known, were never seen again. The Vanderveers were a powerful family after all. And Leopold was becoming even more so, inheriting the title of Lord and moving the family into the old Vanderveer manor after his father passed away, only a few months after the deaths of Magdalena and Pieter. It was a loss that Leopold could barely bring himself to acknowledge. He had never been particularly close with his father, but it was too much too soon. What had he done to deserve this? What had any of them done to deserve this? There was a curse on the Vanderveer family, people started to whisper. A curse on Leopold and Hanna, a curse on the Vanderveer family...

The move to the family manor in which Leopold himself had grown up did little to improve the state of the small family. Lydia was still silent, never talking. She gestured sometimes with the maids, little flicks of her hands or fingers, but mostly she was just there. Silent. Her eyes large and staring. Studying, always studying. Hanna was still in a daze most of the time, drifting around the house or sleeping days away in bed, refusing to move. The deaths of her babies had done something to her that seemed irreversible. It had snapped something inside of her, rendered her into this pathetic state, drained the life out of her. Leopold had the ghost of his wife, his silent three year-old daughter, and servants for company; he was alone in a large house. It was as if they were all dead, frozen in time while the world continue to spin around them. So he hired Chantal as his own assistant, offered her room and board at the manor. It was all a ruse for the sake of the public, of course. His mistress was now living with him, living in his house with his family, and the servants were no idiots as to what went on between the two. Leopold claimed to be a mentor to Chantal; that was his excuse for why they were so friendly, why she ate meals with him so often, excuse after excuse after excuse. And as for Chantal? She had plans of her own. It was fine and nice for her to be living in a splendid home, with servants to wait on her, and a handsome lover she truly cared for, who truly cared for her too. But she began to dream of bigger things, better things. No one is 'good' or 'bad', but they are still susceptible to temptation and the idea of being Lady Chantal Vanderveer was more and more tempting by the day. So easy to achieve, too! Everyone knew that Hanna took so many potions these days, too many to count, surely, so easy for her to make a mistake, so easy for someone to perhaps switch them around, add a drop here or there... So easy...

There was definitely a curse on the Vanderveer family; no doubt remained in anyone's minds after Hanna was discovered dead merely two years after the sickness had claimed the lives of her twin babies. An overdose, maybe even a suicide, people whispered. She'd never been right in the head since the tragedy, and who could blame her for that. Parents never expect that their children will die before they themselves will - and certainly not when their children have barely been alive. Lydia was the one who found her mother dead in her bedroom, sprawled stiffly in her bed and already cold. Leopold was there too, he'd come up to try and entice Hanna down to dinner for once. Lydia skipped ahead of him into the room, going over to take her mother's hand, which dangled just off the bed, as if she didn't notice how cold it was, as if she didn't care. She looked over at her father with her wide eyes, and then back at her mother. Still holding her hand, she smiled, a bright smile, and then she spoke for the first time since that night. "Goodbye, Mama," she charmed in perfect Dutch, dimples flashing as she turned back to her father, who only now realized that something was wrong, that his wife was not passed out as usual, that something was very, very wrong.

Why was it always Lydia? Why was she always there? It was frightening, how often the child had been exposed to death so directly at such a young age. She should have been traumatized, but instead, it was as if she had been healed. She didn't cry at her mother's funeral; she smiled. "Mama's better now," she informed people, her words impressively articulate for her four years of age. Her father had tried to sit down with her, tried to tell her that her Mama was in a better place now, that she was in Heaven with Magdalena and Pieter. "Who?" Lydia had asked, her tiny forehead wrinkling. She didn't remember. Leopold had realized that the experience had scarred his daughter; the fact that she'd remained mute for nearly two years despite the help they'd sought from Healers and other professionals spoke of just how traumatized she'd been. But it appeared to be more to that, it appeared that she'd blocked out the incident entirely. She didn't remember any of it. Perhaps that could have been blamed on how young she'd been but it didn't unnerve him any less. He had other things on his mind, though. Hanna was gone, and that was shattering, even if she'd truly been gone for two years. It wasn't fair, Leopold found himself thinking again. What had he done to deserve such constant misfortune, such unbearable grief in his life? Was he really cursed after all? He tried to throw himself into work again, tried to find some way to live. And Chantal made sure that she was included in that picture. Two years after Hanna's death, they were married. Lady Chantal Vanderveer it was.

It was surprising, really, how normal Lydia was after that. Now that she was talking again, she became sunshine-y and sweet, flashing her dimples at anyone and everyone, wrapping the world around her finger one person at a time. She was spoiled, yes, as anyone in her family was ought to be, but she seemed to be surprisingly good-natured considering how traumatic the first few years of her life had been. There were still the odd little occasions - the first time she displayed magic, when the neck of a canary that refused to sing for her suddenly snapped - that put some of the servants on edge but they were soon forgotten as Lydia giggled and grinned her famous smile and all discomfort vanished. It was impossible to be angry with her, impossible to think that she was anything but the picture of innocence. Of course, maybe that's all it was: a picture, an illusion. She was always very controlled, after all, always an expert at manipulating situations and people to her advantage, whether through careful selection of words or maybe pulling the perfect pout that would get her off the hook for whatever it was. Her father was very controlling, you see, rigid in his desire that she be a perfect, proper young lady. There was enough criticism going around about the Vanderveers, especially with his marriage to a muggle of all people. It was unheard of, disastrous. It was all that anyone talked about for a while - behind the Vanderveers' backs, of course. It was a testament to where they had stood in society that no one said anything to their faces. They knew, though, of course they knew. So Leopold was determined that Lydia be perfect, and Chantal was just as determined, the little hypocrite. Oh, she loved to talk about wizards and purebloods to make herself feel elite now that she was part of this world, but she was the reason the Vanderveer name was in jeopardy, so who was she to talk? Nonetheless, Leopold was decided. He insisted on the finest education for Lydia, making sure she was schooled in English and French languages as well as in magic when she became of age. He was also overly protective of his only child, though, and for this reason arranged that she be schooled at home, instead of sending her off somewhere. He hired the best tutors for her and then that was that. One of them, Miss Davenport, Lydia's English teacher, had a daughter, also a witch, who came to live and be educated at the manor as well. She was a year older than Lydia and would become her very first friend. And her childhood love.

Gemma Davenport was friendly, outgoing, enthusiastic, and mischievous. She had a sunny smile and blonde curls and she and Lydia would run around on make-believe adventures when they were being taught. One day they were princesses, the next they were knights. Mostly, though, what they loved was breaking the rules. Leopold had so many, after all, and it was no fun to only play within the rules. They snuck out when they could - to run around when they were little, to go off and see boys when they were older - they explored areas of the manor they weren't supposed to explore, they even coaxed one of their teachers into giving them boxing lessons. It was just a silly thing, really, but it was when Lydia first decided consciously that she needed to know how to defend herself. The desire had always been there, manifesting itself in different forms of paranoia throughout her childhood, but it was now something firm, something to be acted upon. She did exercises, she went running with Gemma when they could sneak outside in casual clothing, and she picked up tips of self-defence whenever she could, learning how to hit someone in the nose to bash in their brain, or which pressure points are the most sensitive and painful. She could throw a punch when she was ten years old, and not a girly one, a proper punch. Gemma teased her for it, but Gemma teased her for everything. She had a cruel streak, you see, one that became more apparent as Lydia's feelings did. Gemma was her friend, Gemma was someone she had fun with, someone she looked up to and idolized. Gemma had the best ideas for adventures, Gemma proposed the craziest plans. Gemma was funny and silly and outrageous and beautiful and Lydia loved her. Not just how she would have loved a friend, no. She loved her like you only love your very first crush, like you only love the very first time. They were inseparable all throughout her childhood and she couldn't have said when she realized that her feelings for Gemma extended beyond friendship. Maybe it was when she was first jealous of one of the boys Gemma said she'd kissed. Kissing boys was no big deal, it was something that they both did in their early adolescence, learning to flirt and entice. Lydia liked kissing boys because she knew her father wouldn't have allowed it and she enjoyed secretly doing things she wasn't supposed to do, always waging her personal rebellion. Kissing Gemma, for example. She knew her father never would have allowed that.

It happened when they were sitting in the garden. Lydia was thirteen and Gemma was fourteen. Gemma was talking about something, talking and talking in her chatty way, and Lydia leaned over and kissed her on the lips. Gemma stopped talking. And she kissed her back, and then giggled as they broke away. From that point on, Gemma grew even more manipulative. She knew how much Lydia wanted to keep their kissing a secret and she resorted to threatening to tell whenever she needed anything from Lydia. There were a few more kisses here and there as Gemma continued to tease and take advantage of Lydia's feelings for her. It would eventually lead to her own ruin.

Gemma had always told stories, fancy tales and exaggerated rumours, but as her and Lydia grew older, the stories grew more and more cruel, more and more targeted at Lydia and the Vanderveer family. She especially enjoyed talking about Magdalena and Pieter, the baby siblings Lydia couldn't remember, the ones that had died of illness. It was a strange thing for a wizard or witch to die of, wasn't it? Perhaps they'd been kidnapped, Gemma would suggest, grinning at the discomfort such a thought produced in Lydia. Perhaps they'd never existed at all! she'd continue with a little laugh. Perhaps they'd been eaten by wolves, snatched away by kidnappers, the stories went on and on. They always left the same unease deep in Lydia's stomach, an unease that she couldn't explain, one that usually transformed into nightmares during her sleep, confusing nightmares she could make no sense of. Then one day, Gemma came with the real jackpot story, though it had nothing to do with the Vanderveers as far as she knew. She claimed she'd been talking to one of the maids, who'd heard a story once upon a time from a friend, who'd heard it from a friend. It was a story about a little girl who'd crept into the nursery at night, a little girl who'd dropped her baby siblings to the floor like dolls, a little girl who'd sat there with blood on her hands and no expression on her face even while the rest of the world was screaming and shattering around her. It was all rumour, spun up over the years into somewhat of an urban legend. And yet it left Lydia shaking, with worse nightmares than ever before, nightmares that seemed so real, memories just out of her grasp. She knew that that was her, she knew it with a deep-seated conviction, and it didn't surprise her. It felt right, like something she'd known all along. But that wasn't even the worst of Gemma's stories.

One day, when Lydia was sixteen, Gemma came skipping into the garden with a grin on her face, the grin that Lydia knew never meant any good. She said that she'd been talking with the cook, who'd been working for the Vanderveers since before Leopold and Hanna had even moved into the manor. This cook remembered when the new Lady Vanderveer had arrived, remembered what everyone had known about the business going on with her and the Lord Vanderveer. It wasn't the sort of thing to be talked about now, especially not with the little lady of the house, but that's where Gemma had the advantage. She was just the daughter of one of the tutors, someone who could sit in the kitchen and gossip away. The cook had even gone as far as to voice some of the suspicions that had been floating around when the previous Lady Vanderveer had passed away and it was these suspicions that a gleeful Gemma now brought to Lydia. She told her all about what a state her mother had been in before she'd passed away, how someone easily could have orchestrated the overdose, how everyone who'd been in the house had known that Chantal was Lydia's father's mistress, and that Hanna's death had allowed her to become his wife, become the new Lady of the house... So Lydia reacted. Gemma had her twisted around her finger in all the right ways, and she knew just how to get her worked up, just how to take advantage of her paranoia. It was all for the sake of gossip and stories but Lydia reacted. Lydia got up and went inside and marched up into the master bedroom. Chantal was sitting at the vanity brushing out her hair, as luck would have it. Lydia's father was nowhere to be seen, out and about somewhere. Lydia's voice was calm and controlled, almost conversational, when she spoke. "You killed my mother." Chantal turned around with surprised, forced a startled laugh out of her throat, told her she was crazy, pretended not to have a clue what Lydia was talking about. Lydia had her wand grasped tight in her hand but she slid it into a pocket in her skirt carefully. Chantal was a muggle. Chantal didn't deserve magic, and magic could result in involvement from the Ministry. Lydia was thinking calmly at the same time that she'd completely snapped emotionally, shutting everything else out. She turned around and walked out of the room, into her father's study. There was a display of different models of muggle guns along one wall, and Lydia reached for a revolver as if she'd done so a thousand times before. One wouldn't have thought that they'd be loaded with bullets but Lydia remembered sitting in here with her father one time as he'd showed them to her, as he'd told her how important it was to always be ready, to always have the advantage, the unexpected, on anyone else. So she then turned around and walked back into the bedroom, where Chantal was sitting in her chair shaking, wondering what to do now. "You killed my mother," Lydia repeated, but this time she smiled. "You filthy, muggle whore."

She was still smiling as she pulled the trigger and sent the bullet straight into her step-mother's heart.

It wasn't long before Gemma was there and her father was there and everyone was there, wanting to know what had happened and who had done such a horrible thing. But it was Lydia's father that spoke. He said that Gemma had done it. He said that Gemma had done it and he looked at Lydia and the expression on his face was cold and calculated and smug and she knew that she'd never hidden anything of her feelings from him after all. He wouldn't allow the blame to fall on his daughter's shoulders but he would make sure she suffered for what she had done. And so Lydia agreed. She agreed in front of everyone, despite Gemma's vehement denials, and she agreed later in front of a judge. And she continued to agree even when Gemma was taken away. And then when the ordeal was over, and her father looked at her and said with a stony voice "She was just a silly muggleborn," Lydia nodded and replied "She was just a silly muggle," and felt a pang of satisfaction that in their constant struggle, she at least had one triumph. Even if it had come at such a cost.

After that summer, Leopold decided that his daughter would be sent to school elsewhere. He didn't want her around anymore, not after what she'd done. He had covered for her, because she was his daughter, because to do anything else would have disgraced the Vanderveer name permanently, but he still wanted nothing to do with her. He was a hardened man and had become more and more so over the years as Lydia had grown up. He'd sought to always control her, shape her into the perfect young lady, but he'd also been aware of many, if not all, of her indiscretions. And in the end, she'd paid for them.

But what came now? Lydia was sent off to Hogwarts, a school of Witchcraft and Wizardry in England, where she would be in Sixth year. The idea of going to school in a new country where she would be forced to speak a language that is not her mother tongue would have been discomforting to Lydia were she not so excited by the opportunities that now presented themselves. Sure, sure, she was being "sent away" from home because of such a silly crime, but she would be in a school full of so many people her age, more than she'd ever interacted with before, and she'd be more free from her father's clutches than ever before. Oh, the fun to be had, well, she can only imagine...


Sample Post:

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{ C O N T R A C T }

I solemnly swear that I, Kabby, 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.

[Lily Evans]

accepted !