BRIDGET calliope TAYLOR

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Name: Ellie.
Gender: Femme.
Age: 18 going on 6.
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{ A B O U T . T H E . C H A R A C T E R }

Name: Bridget Calliope Taylor. Calliope, after the Greek Goddess. Mum and Dad were a little nerdy.
Age: I'm sixteen. My birthday is April first.
Gender: I'm a lady.
Year: Sixth.
Face Claim: Carey Mulligan.

Canon or Original? Original.

Facial Properties: There honestly isn't anything too exciting about my face. My hair...hahaa, well, if anything is exciting on me, it's my hair, but that's only because I like to change it a lot. Lately I've just had it pixie cut, but the color changes a bit. I think I'm going to settle on this lovely shade of dark brown, though, but who knows, I used to have it a lot longer, past my shoulders, and I miss it like that, but it is just hair after all. My forehead is a bit on the bigger side, now that I think about it. All four fingers. And then there's my eyes....oh, eyebrows first. Those are a light shade of brown, they're a bit thick and filled out too, with a nice arch. I like my eyebrows. And my eyes aren't particularly exciting. They're almond shaped and brown. I've always wanted blue eyes. My nose has a bit of a wide bridge, and it's a tad bit concave and the bottom of it is quite buttony. My lips are a light pink shade and they're very bow-y. And then I have a little mole on the left side of my face. ...My left. Oh, and I have huge dimples. I normally don't smile with my teeth because I hate them. But I do smile a lot, just with my lips. I don't wear lots of makeup, normally just a bit of mascara and eyeliner and I'm good. Sometimes I don't even bother with it. My skins is a bit on the paler side of ivory. I don't like being tan much, and I burn really easily. I...suppose that's all?

Physique: I'm a bit tiny, really. I'm only about 5'3”, last time I checked I weigh about seven and a half stones. I'm not frail or anything, I'm just...small, and squishy. And I'm not really one for working out, either, but I do love eating. I was blessed with a good metabolism, because Merlin knows if my weight reflected at all the amount of food I consume, I would be morbidly obese. I don't really have the perfect hourglass shape, but I do have a feminine figure, which is nice. My waist is small, and my hips are bigger, so I guess that's what I mean by that. And then there's my boobs. They're small. 32B. I really wouldn't mind having bigger boobs, really, but what can you do about it? Nothing. ...Or, you know, where a push up bra, but it's not like I need to show off my assets anyway. My legs aren't particularly shapely, another thing that annoys me a bit, but not enough to get me off my butt and working out, hahah. So I generally keep those covered up. Oh, I hate shorts. I get cold in them too easily. ...That was irrelevant, I'm sorry. And this isn't really about my body, necessarily, but at the same time it is, so I'll mention it. I have three tattoos. The first is “one day i'll fly away” written on my left wrist in white ink. There's another, rêve, on the inside of my upper right arm in black. And the third is a line from one of my favorite songs, “limitless undying love which shines around me like a thousand suns It calls me on and on across the universe”, and that's in black across my ribs and side. I'd like to get a few more, but I haven't decided what yet. There's a few lines of Latin I'm interested in, and an old french saying I think is lovely. We'll see. Oh. And my nose is pierced.

Wand Type: 8 2/3 inches, Kaya wood, Boomslang venom core.
Wand Expertise: Transfiguration, Astronomy.
Patronus: A swan. I'm still trying to figure it out, so don't ask me.
Boggart: My grandparents dying. I...the thought of it really terrifies me. And I know I'll still have my cousins and aunts and uncles, but...they're the people who raised me, and they're getting old. Just thinking about them being gone stresses me out.

Personality: I will admit to being a bit shy around people when we first start talking – that is, assuming any talking is happening in the first place. I'm not always good at being an initiator, which is a tragic, really, and I wish so desperately that I wasn't that way but at the same time I'd still rather hide behind my book and just watch a person than actually endure speaking to them. What if they find me strange? And then I tell myself I really shouldn't give a rat's ass whether or not they find me strange, and I don't care (at least I don't think I do) what some no one I'll probably never talk to again thinks, but something will always hold me back. Maybe it's the unknown; maybe it's just that I'm a fool who lets hundreds of opportunities fall through her fingers on a day-to-day basis; maybe I really am a coward who cares too much about what people think of her. Whatever reason, it doesn't change the inevitable: the chances of me actually getting off my arse and speaking to someone new are slim to none. It's not like I won't speak to someone I need to talk to, like at the store or the bank, and if a conversation springs from that then jolly brilliant, but approaching someone for no reason has never been my strong suit. Naturally, I'm a bit apprehensive when people speak to me for the first time – but I'd rather it be them than me, so it's a bit of a relief. But people don't generally go out of their way to speak to me, for whatever reason; although I suppose thinking about it now, talking to people out of the blue isn't exactly within a lot of people's comfort zones. I generally keep to myself and I don't really enjoy trifling with pointless conversation that make awkward moments go by faster. I'd rather ask someone what's going on inside their head than ask them how they are – the former gives you so much more information, and it's certainly more interesting than the typical “good” or “all right” or “fine” you get when you ask someone how they are.

I suppose you could say that I fit the stereotypical smart kid; I'm generally quiet, I'm shy, my nose is always in a book. Learning is one of the greatest joys of my life – whether it's about a concept or a person or a place or a moment from the past, whether it's historically important or something personal from a friend's life, I just love to know everything. I don't see much of a point in living if you're going to close yourself off to knowledge – I absolutely abhor the idea of just sitting around, staring at the telly, letting my brain rot. Then again, I suppose you could learn some important things from the telly, but you know what I mean. I don't really not like any of my classes to be honest, although I do particularly enjoy Transfiguration and Arithmancy. I don't necessarily study a lot; I guess it just varies on how much I need it, really. I'm not the type to spend hours every night studying, but I've had to do it sometimes simply because I was behind in my classes. Oh, and I have a bit of a thing; if I start reading a book, I absolutely have to finish it. I can't handle not finishing a book - it'll just annoy me, wondering what I missed. I'm not the type out to impress the teachers, though; even though I almost always know the answer to a question, I probably won't answer. Unless I'm called on. Which does happen a bit more than I'd like it to because the Professors know I'm smart based on my grades. I guess I'd like to be successful eventually, something I know will be possible if I keep my marks high, so that's a bit of a motivator. I just don't know what I'd like to be successful doing. I'm very ambitious in that I want to do a lot of marvelous things, but not in the sense most “smart” kids are. I'm not pining after some high-up position at the Ministry or anything, because I don't think that'd make me happy. That doesn't mean I don't have dreams, though.

Continuing from that note, I...I really don't know what I want out of my life. There are too many things I want to do with myself that I don't even know where to begin. There are a few jobs I'd like to hold maybe at the Ministry. I'd love to work for the Prophet. I wouldn't mind owning my own book shop in Diagon Alley. I want to author a novel someday. I want to travel the world. That's just too many things for me to handle right now, especially, when I'm supposed to be figuring out what I want to do what with Graduation approaching (hah, I say it like it's this year), but I'm anxious and I wish I knew what I wanted. That's one of the things about me, though. I appreciate too many things and love too many things and see the beauty in too many things to make a proper decision. I'm so sodding indecisive about everything, I'm hardly able to decide what I want for dinner at night and I certainly can't decide other things that are actually important and relevant. I get torn between different ideas and concepts and honestly, half the time I don't know what I believe. I definitely don't know what I want – well, I do know what I want, but...the list is just excessive. And naturally, I'm torn between just deciding on one or two things or just saying fuck it all and trying to do everything. And if I ever managed to decide between those two, I wouldn't be able to decide what one or two things I wanted to do, and if it was the latter I wouldn't be able to decide what order to do all the things in. I just feel so pathetic sometimes because I feel like I want everything (which also makes me feel incredibly selfish) but then I think about all the people who didn't really want much of anything and they're middle-aged and sad and bored and haven't really lived, so then I start to think about whether or not it's them with the problem, and having big dreams is the way we're supposed to be. ...I just think way too much. I can't turn my brain off, and I always think about different scenarios and possibilities and all the wonderful things that could happen, or how things that have happened could have happened differently and there's thousands of alternate realities playing through my head all the time and I can't shake them, or the idea of them.

That's the thing about me, though. I have too many big ideas. I want to have an epic life – no, I ache to have an epic life, full of adventures. And I'd run away, and get completely and hopelessly lost, and I'd hitchhike and meet all sorts of seedy people (but the seedy people never fail to be the most interesting), and I'd finally find a place to settle down and it would be cheap and the water would be cold and it would be tiny but it would be home, except not really because I'd spend most of my time away and in town, struggling to learn a foreign language and bargaining in the market and meeting eyes with beautiful, dark foreign men who can't speak English well but try to buy me a drink anyway, and there would be whirlwind romances and terrible heartbreak and drunken nights and healing and so many mistakes and so many more triumphs, and I would be happy. I'd probably be completely broke, but I would be happy. I can't imagine living a future that doesn't include me gallivanting across Europe, and honestly, if that means never making a name for myself and becoming a hobo, I'm okay with it. Then again, there's the part of me that wants to live in some beautiful city like Paris or Madrid or Istanbul, and I'd have a good job and I'd be successful and wealthy and I'd have a gorgeous man friend who'd woo me and romance me like I'd never been before, and I'd wear pencil skirts and blouses to work and silk lingerie to bed and I'd live in a fancy apartment, with so many windows, so I could see the whole city. And I'd probably make friends with the homeless on the way to work. And I'd have a couple of dogs and a tank of goldfish. And it would be lovely. There is a part of me that wants to add suburban life to this list, but honestly? I can't imagine myself living in one of those cookie cutter houses with a husband and three kids. Not yet, no. I want it – eventually, maybe when I'm 30 and have cured my wanderlust. Until then, I will literally cringe at the idea of living in a suburb. Being middle class. Merlin, just...no. I'd rather have it all, or nothing at all.

I'll admit, I'm a hopeless romantic. I'm not exactly the boy-crazy type. I don't run around and fawn over every cute boy that turns the corner – actually, I don't find myself attracted to most of the guys at school – but that doesn't mean I don't want a boyfriend. I'd love a boyfriend. I'd love to have someone love me, to have someone who'll listen to me when I'm rambling on and on, to have someone help me make decisions since Merlin knows I can't make one by myself, to have someone to cuddle with and someone to tell me when I have food in my teeth and someone to buy me chocolates and flowers. But in all my little daydreams, the men I'm with are always older and handsome and there's something about them that you can't really find in the boys at Hogwarts. Maybe that's what it is. Boys. Maybe that means I like older men, but hell, I hardly know, I'm not even familiar with too many people of the male gender in the first place. I love love, though. I love the butterflies and the feeling that you can't breathe and the wobbly knees and the red cheeks, and finally holding hands for the first time ever and being so happy you can't stop smiling – oh, God, what am I even going on about. I haven't actually experienced any of these things. This is what I get for reading too many romance novels. Alas, I cannot undo the reading of them (or the obsession I've got with them – and no, these romance novels are not the steamy kind) so I guess I'll have to deal with my unrealistic expectations for the rest of my life. I guess there isn't really a reason that I haven't dated anyone except the right person just hasn't come along yet. Which is okay. I'm not in any huge rush. But when the right person finally does come along...oh, Merlin, I know I'll become an insomniac because my mind will just be reeling, thinking about everything and anything involving him, and all the adventures we could have. I want everything (as previously stated, I really am selfish when it comes to this sort of thing, aka my own happiness oh Merlin I'm going to hell), like picnics, and rain-kisses and running through fields holding hands and collapsing on the ground and just staring up at the sky all night until the stars come out, and falling asleep under them. See? I'll stop there. Because I know if I really get going I'll go on forever, and all of my expectations are so unrealistic it's sickening.

I am a little bit of a pessimist, though (just a little), because there's a big part of me that wouldn't be surprised at all if none of the beautiful things I've thought up don't happen. There's a big part of me that's paranoid that strangers are actually mass-murderers. There's a big part of me that hates the world, because there's so much hate in it (what a fucking hypocrite I am). And there's so much corruption and so many selfish people (again with the hypocritical thing) who don't see the dying people, who look past them, which makes me sad. And then I realize in the end the world is always going to be like that, since teaching love is such a radical concept blah de blah de blah, and it sucks. It really does. And I think about all the poor people and the dying people who have no one and I think about how awful it is, because everyone should have someone, and everyone should treat everyone like a brother or sister. Oh, that's another thing I don't understand: war. I feel like there's so many racist undertones in war against countries. Just because a person was born to a certain family who lives in a certain place doesn't mean they stand for everything their country stands for, so why do we even have bombs? It's clashing ideas that really begin it all, and what ever happened to negotiations? And empathy? And I don't think world peace is even possible. Which is also sad. Because it should be. Because in the end we're all just living here, trying to live our lives, and trying to be happy. And sure, there are some people out there who are honestly bad people. ...Although it's certainly up for debate whether or not that's in their genes or the environment they were brought up in. ...Which brings me to a whole different argument, so I'll just stop. The point of this paragraph: if people just loved everyone, I think everything would be happier. But people don't love everyone, and there's hate in the world, and there always will be. I admit, I've sort of gotten to the point that I begin to think about beautiful things, but then there's always that nagging thing in the back of my head reminding me that just because it seems that way, it really isn't, or it's going to die eventually, or it'll never happen, etc. It sort of haunts me.

I'm a bit more on the honest side. If one of my friends asks me if I like their dress and I don't, I'll tell them. Of course I'm not going to be an awful bitch about it, hah, but I'm definitely very reliable when it comes to the truth. The idea of lying has never really appealed to me and I am what I am and I think what I think and I'm not going to lie to someone and have to deal with those lies in the future and deal with the potential hurt that might come along with that decision. I don't know, I'm not much of a people-pleaser (again with the selfish), and I'm not about to say something to make someone happy. And in the end, you know, my opinion is just an opinion. And an opinion of mine isn't even that trustworthy in the first place, because clearly I'm neurotic, but one thing you can always expect from me is the truth. ...Then again, if I need to lie, I will. It's not that hard. If I get myself into a situation I just don't feel like dealing with, fuck yeah, I'll lie. ...But it's not often that I get myself into a situation I don't feel like dealing with, so. I don't really beat around the bush with people, and if I have a question, no matter how embarrassing or awkward it might be, I'll ask it. I honestly don't really care, hahah. I think this probably makes a lot of people uncomfortable, but...eh. I don't think friendships can really be close until you've asked those pesky questions. It helps you trust a person a lot more.

Clearly, I over-think everything. I love analyzing and thinking up different ideas and concepts. And this gets in the way. It does a lot, because I over-think things so much I don't know what I think anymore – that does seem to be a bit of a recurring thing with me. Not knowing. Even though I know so much. I guess I just don't really know about myself. ...Which is a little bit ironic, because I've ranted on so long. Merlin, I need a psychiatrist. Anyway, yeah, being an over-thinker gets in the way of not only making decisions, but also silly things like forming theses for essays and picking sides and other things. I worry a bit, too. If my friends go missing or they're sick or anything. Because, you know me, I end up thinking about all the possibilities and when things like that happen you never know what could really be going down so if I don't know for sure what's really happening I might freak out. I love my friends a lot, I really do, they mean the world to me. I don't know what I'd do without them and I...well, I'd like to think I'm a good friend. I'd say I'm pretty loyal and I like being around for them whenever they need me...and, well, when they don't really need me but we just feel like goofing off together anyway. My friends are the people who see who I really am; not saying that I put on some sort of facade in front of other people, but being a bit more shy and reserved I don't exactly open up to people I don't know. My friends know the part of me that rants endlessly about things I'm passionate about, the part of me that loves breaking out into dance at random moments, the part of me that goes into mental breakdown if I'm stressed and don't have access to a kitchen (I like baking when I'm stressed). I'm not necessarily out to be mysterious, but there's definitely a lot of things about me that people have no idea about.

That is, unless you try to find out.

Likes:
+ Those moments when you're with your friends and you don't think it's possible to get any happier.
+ Listening to music that reminds me of things that've happened in the past.
+ The feeling you get when you finish reading a book.
+ * with a big grin * Being surprised.
+ Singing jazz.
+ Holding hands. Holding hands with anyone – a sweet boy I like, my friends, my cousins, my grandparents, even strangers.
+ Forests.
+ Being asked questions I've never been asked before. Especially the uncomfortable ones. But then that good feeling you get after you answer, too.
+ Stolen glances.
+ Dancing. I was never classically trained, and I'm not all that good but I like it anyway. It makes my heart happy.
+ Something that never fails to cheer me up is meeting interesting people.
+ The smell of sunscreen, for some reason. I think it because it reminds me of being little.
+ I've got a bit of a thing for Disney movies. Whenever my grandparents couldn't get me to calm down before bed, they'd put something on. My favorites were The Jungle Book, Peter Pan, Sleeping Beauty, Bambi, and 101 Dalmatians. Fantasia scared me a lot, though.
+ Greek mythology. My Grandpa taught me a lot about it.
+ Baking.

Dislikes:
– I've never cared much for close-minded people. They irritate me far too much and I lose my patience.
– On that note, I don't really like losing my patience. It makes me feel a little guilty.
– The typical pure-blood mindset.
– I really hate the smell of baby powder. It gives me a headache.
– I cannot handle overly-smelly perfume. And girls, if you decide to bathe in perfume, at least choose a perfume that smells nice.
– I don't care how shallow this sounds, but when my hair isn't cooperating with me.
– Not being able to make a decision.
– I don't like rooms that are too clean, but I don't like mess either.
– It really upsets me when people are mean to House Elves. ...And when people are mean to other people too.
– Starched clothes.
– Realizing that I'm just a coward who'll probably never do all the things I want to do.
– I'm a nail biter, which annoys me.
– Seeing my friends hurt is rather saddening. Especially when I can't do much of anything about it.
– Honestly, downtown London. What sort of Brit am I, I know, don't get your trousers in a knot, but everyone there is always dreadful and grim.
– Getting bad marks. I have nothing else to say on the matter.



History: I'll always wonder what would be worse; hardly remembering them at all or actually having solid memories of them. I guess I'll never know, but in the end it's still very sad and tragic. My parents got into a car accident when I was about four; they went to a work party. They both had been drinking, and...I guess Dad thought he would be fine. He drove over the center-line and hit a semi-truck head on. Dad died immediately, and Mum was taken to the hospital, but she died when she was being operated on. My future baby brother or sister died as well. Nobody, not even Dad knew about it then, but the doctors found out when they did the autopsy. Mum might've not even known either. The truck driver lived, though, which is nice. He still comes around. I call him Uncle Pete. He buys fish from my Grandpa. Spoils me rotten, too. Everyone tells me they were lovely people, though.

My Mum's name was Gloria. Gloria LaFave. She was the fifth of six children – Madeline, Jack, Elise, Lydia, Gloria, and Sam. They lived in Godric's Hollow. I'm not sure how many generations of purebloods they'd had – not enough to be considered uppity and legitimately important, but it was enough that they were invited to a few of the larger pureblood gatherings. Nana and Papa didn't really care about blood, though, and I don't think anyone in our family ever has. We all just kept on falling in love and marrying other wizards, which I suppose worked out nicely in our favor when it came to society. Everyone always told me Mum was an adorable little girl, and that I looked just like her. We had the same giggle and smile and everything. I guess she laughed a lot, she was always really lively and happy and out there. She made friends with basically everyone too. Apparently she was the sort of girl who was super popular, but she'd sometimes sit with the loners during dinner or whatever. One time Uncle Jack showed me a picture of her waving and smiling at the camera from the Yule Ball, way back in the year she was crowned Queen. I don't know, sometimes I wonder whether or not I'd like her. Like, if she were my age, would she be that annoying, too-preppy, and probably very slutty girl I wish would just go away? Or maybe she was more of the Hufflepuff type, the really sincere kind who everyone liked simply because they were just too sweet not to like. Who knows. It could really go any way with her. Mum's personality sort of evades me. But she was in Gryffindor. And on the Quidditch team for a few years. I don't know, Nana and Papa are certainly upper middle class. What if she was the girl who was nice to everyone just because she was an attention-seeking, vapid, narcissistic child who simply just wanted to be liked and popular? ...Really, what a strange thing to wonder, whether or not I would hate the sort of girl my mother was. I'm not going to think about this anymore.

Dad, on the other hand, was the classic nerd. ...Well, I don't want to say nerd because he was never obsessed with Dungeons and Dragons and he never wore a pocket protector to the extent of my knowledge, but he was very smart. His name was Apollo. After the Greek God. And his older sister's name is Cassie, after the constellation. And his older brother's name is Winston. ...After the politician. Funny, because Uncle Winston ended up going into Law and Aunt Cassie is an astronomer. Daddy couldn't just go off and become a Greek God, though, so instead he majored in Ancient History. Dad's side isn't magical at all, so he had to go through school like any Muggle would. He really was a bit of a geek, though. He played drums in a band and had a seriously extensive collection of vinyl records, which I have inherited. He liked watching sports and drinking beer and getting into trouble every now and again. Uncle Winston informed me he was absolutely terrible with girls, though. He'd always end up being awkward or he'd try to woo them, and make himself out to be a douchebag. Really suave. I guess he got better at it after he went to University. In his defense, he went to an all boy's school. And he never got out much, because he was either playing music with his friends or studying. Grandpa's told me a couple of really funny stories about him. I think I'm a lot more like him, my Dad. Whether that's because of the genes or because I was raised by the same people who raised him, I have no idea.

The story of how they met is a bit wild; Dad was at the Grocery one day, half way through his third year at Uni, and my Uncle Jack was there as well – dragged there by his Muggle girlfriend. They started talking about meat. Yes, meat. And grilling meat. And halfway through the conversation, the subject of school was brought up, and it turned out the girlfriend also went to Oxford, but she'd graduated a few years earlier. And this brought up an entirely different conversation that ended in, “I'll see you on Saturday!”, and Uncle Jack and Dad became quite good friends. And then Uncle Jack realized Dad and his sister were the same age, and how they might suit each other, so eventually Uncle Jack introduced Dad to Mum. At this point, they were twenty, and Mum was working as a Healer and Dad was still in school, but they found a way to make their relationship work because they really did like each other. And finally Dad proposed, and then I happened. Mum was a bit pregnant at the Wedding, but I don't think anyone really cared that much because no one in our family is too religious and everyone was pleased about them settling down. Dad took two years off from school right after I was born and started working at a Law Firm, just as a consultant, even though what he really wanted was to go back to school to get a Master's Degree in History, but with a wife and a baby he didn't really have the time or money to go back. Mum stopped working all together to raise me, but she went back when I was right about three. There's a little daycare at St. Mungo's, though, which helped a lot. In all the pictures, we look like such a happy family. Dad was always making ridiculous faces, I was always smiling and laughing, and Mum always looked like she stepped right off the damn Miss United Kingdom stage, even if she wasn't wearing any makeup. And then the accident happened.

I was so little, I didn't really understand at first. Grandma told me a little while back there were nights she'd just sit up crying because I'd ask where they were, when mommy and daddy were going to come back, and one time Grandpa was holding me on his lap and I told him he smelled like Daddy and they both broke down crying. Stories like that make it sound like I'm so much more damaged than I am, though. Of course I said all those things; my mind didn't really comprehend what death was. But growing up I had my Grandma and my Grandpa and they loved me so much, and eventually I knew mommy and daddy weren't coming back, but that was the way it was and I just lived with it. I say I came out fine. I wonder a lot what things would've been like if they were still around. Whether or not Dad would have gotten that Master's Degree (at the time of the accident, he had already started going back to school). Whether or not I'd end up more like Mum was. Whether or not I'd end up hating them – which I don't think I would, but relationships with parents can be complicated sometimes. And I wonder what it would be like to have a younger sibling, too. Aunt Lydia told me Mum always wanted to have a lot of babies, so I could have been the oldest of eight! Ha. What a change that would be.

People ask a lot whether or not I remember them, and honestly, I don't know how to answer that question. Sometimes I think I remember things, but then I realize that no, it was just a moment I'd seen in a picture, or it was from a dream I'd had, or something like that. I think there are a few things that might be legitimate memories, but they're so vague. I think the reason I remember them is because when I was little I missed my parents, and wanted to remember them, so I thought of those certain specific moments that had happened recently. One of the things I can remember is Mum kneeling down and hugging me. She was wearing a grey shirt. I was in blue footie pajamas. I can remember the feeling of her holding me and how warm her body was and how she smelled clean like soap, and I can so faintly remember the sound of her voice. But it's so short. And I feel like there was a time when I could remember more memories, like I can remember being seven and thinking back on so many more things but I can't remember what those things were that I was remembering back then, which sounds strange, I know, but it is what it is. I think it's probably better that I don't remember them too well, though. I think it'd hurt more if I did. It'd be like taking away a lifelong love suddenly and not being able to do anything about it and not being able to do anything to get it back. Like peanut butter. I love peanut butter, and if someone were to tell me that peanut butter doesn't exist anymore, I would be devastated. I love peanut butter, the most any human could ever love a food. But loving a human is so much more intense and intimate than that, and I wouldn't be able to handle losing my parents now because I'd be too attached and too used to them and I'd love them too much and I think I'd let memories of them consume my head.

It is a bit weird, living with your grandparents. Because they're not your parents, but they still have to treat you like a child, like their child, and technically you belong to them. It's just that they're so much older, and it's really weird when my cousins come over because they're all “Oh yaaaaay Grandma and Grandpa”, you know, and the relationship they have with them is the way your relationship with your grandparents is supposed to be, and most kids don't live with their grandparents so for me it's just...strange. Because I live with them, and they take care of me, and they basically are my parents. It's okay, though, and I love them. Grandma is a bit more on the uptight side – well, not so much uptight as she is old-fashioned, but she's super adorable anyway. She's definitely a better disciplinarian than Grandpa. She likes sewing things for me, and knitting. She gets super irritated when she tries to crochet and sometimes she ends up swearing, which is hilarious to me because she rarely ever swears. Grandpa is a bit rough around the edges, and sometimes he says things to me with such a straight face but they're just the scariest things, but then I realize he's joking but I won't laugh because what if he isn't joking? But then he says he's just kidding and we both crack up. He's hilarious. He's gone through a lot in his life, too, so he's the best story teller. Grandma is never around for stories, though, it's our own little thing. I don't know if it's because Grandma wouldn't appreciate Grandpa talking about his previous lady loves (and he had quite a few) or if it's because she'd call him out on all the tall tales he tells, but it doesn't matter because they make my imagination go wild. He's super hard working because he's a fisherman, but at the end of the day when he comes home he's always smiling, even if it's a bit forced. I love them both. A lot.

Oh, and one of the best things about living with your grandparents is that the cousins visit a lot. And we have an absolutely ridiculous family Christmas. Everyone. Everyone comes, including everyone from my Mum's side of the family. The death of my Mum and Dad sort of united everyone in support for me, which is strange, but I guess we all ended up liking the other's family so much we decided to make that enormous Christmas a tradition. It's just funny seeing my cousins from my mom's side calling their not-actually cousins from my Dad's side their cousins. There's a lot of inside jokes with us. Nana and Grandma usually end up gossiping in the corner drinking a bottle of wine, Grandpa and Papa never fail to get in an argument over politics or football, and the cousins usually end up playing a mass game of hide and seek in which someone usually ends up getting either hurt or stuck somewhere. One time my cousin Jimmy broke the rules and went outside and ended up climbing a tree, and no one could find him for hours and he ended up with hypothermia. On Christmas. And it's always enjoyable having everyone complain about who has to sit at the kiddie table, because all of the cousins are so perfectly spaced out and normally the cut off point at the adult table is sixteen and we have three sixteen year old cousins right now, so it's just a damn joy. There's a lot of us, about thirty, so it's absolute chaos. Christmas is my favorite holiday, though. Mostly for that reason. The ridiculous, chaotic multiple family Christmas.

It was a bit strange growing up because everyone knew I had magical powers, and we were just waiting for me to show signs, and my poor Grandma and Grandpa had no idea what to expect and my cousins always told me (and sometimes showed me) the great things they could do, which was good but also bad because after our visits with them were over I'd be thinking about that magic all the time and wondering when I'd finally show signs. The first time I did, I was six, standing in my Grandpa's library, trying to reach a book from one of the top shelves (Naturally. Hah.). I couldn't quite get it, but I really wanted that book, and then it just...levitated off the shelf and right into my hand. I screamed, mostly because I was excited but also because it was just...it was just the strangest thing that had ever happened to me and I even felt a little bit tingly inside. I was so excited though, because I was worried maybe I wasn't actually a witch and my mom's genes weren't strong enough or something and that I'd just end up being a Muggle but after all the stories my cousins had told me, I wanted to go to Hogwarts so badly. But finally doing magic was great. It was hard to contain myself at school, and it made me a little sad because I realized a lot, if not all of the kids at my primary school were going to stay Muggles for the rest of their lives and I'd be shipped off to Hogwarts. I got over it though, because Hogwarts basically made every single one of my dreams come true. And it was a beautiful thing.

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{ C O N T R A C T }

I solemnly swear that I, ELLIE, 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.

[Andromeda Black]

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