Post by Deleted on Feb 14, 2014 6:01:58 GMT -5
[presto]
SEVENTEEN
FEMALE
SLYTHERIN
MUGGLEBORN
STRAIGHT
LORDE
ELYSIA VIOLETTA ROSE-HALL
 AGE / DOB: seventeen, 18 july, 2007 FATHER: Garrett Edmund Hall (muggle) MOTHER: Bailey Margaret Rose (presumed muggle) you tuck me in, turn out the light kept me safe and sound at night little girls depend on things like that you are four years old, and you lie on your bed with your crazy, ever-invading fluffy brown hair spilled all across your soft white pillow. your small hands are clasped tightly together on top of the duvet, and your eyes are wide and sparkling and your mouth is parted slightly. you are fully transfixed on the story, your ears drinking in every word while your mind is providing the vivid images that roll like a technicolour film in your head. your father adds dramatic flair to his telling of the story because he loves the way you're absorbing everything, and the way you react to the romantic parts, the funny parts, and the scary parts. when he tells you of the girl wishing for her dream boy, your father can see that little wistful sparkle in your eyes, and he knows that you're dreaming of a prince of your very own. he smiles slightly to himself, because he knows that you'll grow up to become beautiful and a princess worth her own prince. he doesn't think too much of all the problems that may come with boys when you get older. for now, he's happy and content that you are still in love with fairytales and prince charmings, and he continues with his story. when he tells you of the animals dancing around the girl, making her laugh at how they pretend to be her dream boy, you laugh, too. your laugh is carefree and innocent, and your father revels in the sound. he even makes little dancing gestures and you laugh even more, your small nose scrunching up in delight and your thick hair dancing with the beat of your shoulders. a smile remains on your face as he continues his story, and more than anything, your father loves your smiles. each of your smiles tells him a story all on its own – like this one, it tells him that you want your own animal best friends, he's already predicting that tomorrow morning you'll be up at seven to beg him to buy you a pet. and he'll just smile and say, not today, darling, and you'll be put out, but not a minute later you'll be off talking a blue streak about what you'd just love for breakfast. it's when he gets to the scary parts that he absolutely adores your reactions. when the girl is about to fulfil the curse, you gasp and a worried v appears between your eyebrows. when the girl pricks her finger, you actually reach out for his arm with both of your hands and wail a soft no, eyes intent on him, on absolute tenterhooks for the rest of the story. he doesn't break the spell, even though he knows you're afraid, because he also knows that you know it's just a story, no matter how engrossed you are in it right now. he even makes it theatrical, his voice growing softer and louder and faster and slower as the story takes shape, and eventually you lie back down on the bed. he knows by your face that you are troubled about something, and he asks you about it. you tell him you don't understand why the girl in the story wasn't bright enough to understand that you weren't supposed to put your fingers on needles – you knew, and you were only four! you'd grow up to be much smarter than that girl, you promise him. if you could tell how much your father would love to laugh at your statement. you're so smart and brilliant, and he loves the things you say. he agrees with you, though, completely serious, before leaning over to kiss your forehead goodnight. of course, you immediately protest, begging him to finish the story, but he's adamant that you'll finish it tomorrow night instead. your forehead creases as your arms cross, but another quick kiss on the forehead and a soft i love you undoes your frustration as easy as flipping a light switch. immediately, you wrap your small arms around his neck and you tell him you love him back. and you do, really, because at four years old, your daddy is your whole world. brushed my teeth and combed my hair had to drive me everywhere you were always there when i looked back it's your daddy who reminds you to brush your teeth after that delicious omelette this morning. and it falls to him to be the one to wrestle your insane hair into a manageable, neat bun for your ballet class. you're six now, and you're starting your first class ever. your father can tell how excited you are by the way your great head of hair is shivering, like you are shaking in an intoxicating blend of nervousness and excitement. you're sitting patiently and trying your best not to move too much so he can take care of your hair, but it's clear that you are just so impatient to get out and go. he's the one who attends your ballet class, watching proudly from the sidelines with the other mothers. he's the only man there, but you don't find it strange – it's always been your daddy who was there for you, who else would have been sitting there but him? you smile and wave proudly at him in your standard light pink tutu and your pale beige ballet shoes. he waves and smiles back. his eyes are only on you. he knows that later, you're going to want to talk about every detail of what happened in the class, which girls are really pretty or really loud or really nice. so maybe you end up not liking the class after you realise you are not as graceful as some of the other girls. you are rigid and clunky and there's too much holding on bars and stretching of legs and your toes hurt in your shoes because the store had run out in your size. and you're not too comfortable in your tutu, to be honest. when you change your mind the next week, wanting to go to swimming classes instead of ballet, your father obliges. he picks a day when he doesn't work, calls up the closest swimming facility, and you're signed up for swimming classes. you like those much better. you like being in the water and you like blowing bubbles. when your father asks about your swimming, you smile brilliantly and reply enthusiastically that you had awesome fun. and even if the car stunk of chlorine for the next two days because you forgot your dry clothes at home and had to ride back all wet, your father would still drive you to your next swimming class. and if you fall off a pony while going for horse riding classes, he's the first at your side. he doesn't really ask how you are. instead, he just brushes you off and asks you if you want to get back on the pony. he's encouraging, but not pushing, and it takes you a couple more falls (one when the silly pony bucked) before you realise that horse riding is really not your cup of tea. he doesn't even complain about the sand that coats the seats and the floor of the car when you ride back from a day out at the beach with friends. you'd swum, then showered and dried and put on your clean clothes (you'd remembered them this time), but you traipsed around the beach again and sand went all over your legs and of course, when you rode in the care, you just had to sit with your legs on your seat. but he doesn't mind, not when you chatter about your day and finding sea shells and feeling the waves like the heartbeat of the ocean. he just smiles and shakes his head the next day, vacuuming the car quickly before he goes to work. it's always been your daddy, and he's always supported you with whatever hobbies you picked up or things you wanted to try out. he was there for every moment of your life, big or small, and you love to tell him about your day because you know he loves to listen. your daddy is your everything. you had to do it all alone make a living, make a home must have been as hard as it could be it's something pretty unexplainable, actually, so you don't try to explain it. it doesn't sound too unlikely, after all, your bookshelf falling on your head. not when it's built into the wall above your bed. the thing is, you don't know what's happened. all you were thinking about was that you were planning to read a book, and somehow there was a creak and then a crash and books and a big piece of wood came down on your head. it's a good thing you sort of knew it was going to happen, so you managed to pull your duvet to cover your face. still, your father came running at the noise, dug you out from the midst of the books, and demanded if you were alright. you'd never seen him that terrified, he was so pale and contrite. he thinks it's his fault because he's the one who made that bookshelf. he should have known better. you know it's not his fault, though, but there's not much you can say to make him feel better. he's not even worried about any hospital bills when he brings you to get your head checked up. for him, money isn't even close to comparing how much you are worth. you're not the richest family, but you're not the poorest, either. it's not easy for your father, as an only parent, to work and be there for you at the same time, but he manages. he works mostly when you're at school, going over business proposals and accounting charts. he begins his day with making your breakfast, then dropping you off at school, before going to his office and working until you come out of school. sometimes, he asks if you can go to your friend's place for an extra hour after school, he just has to finish some paperwork, but it's not often. usually, he's there at the gate, waiting for you and armed with a sandwich and fruit juice. he likes you to eat healthy as often as possible, and that's why you never really go to mcdonald's or fast food places. the hospital says your head is fine, there's no bruising or anything wrong internally. your duvet was your saving grace, but your father still doesn't stop berating himself inside. he doesn't let you see most of it, really, but you know by the constant worried look on his face that is still really bothers him. your daddy is your best friend – you know the looks on his face like you know the looks on yours. and you really want to tell him the truth, but you don't want him to think you're lying or making things up. see, he never notices the little incidents that have been happening like this since you were around five. sometimes objects come to you when you think about wanting them. the first time you noticed it happened, you were at breakfast and you were contemplating stealing some nutella while your father's back was turned. he'd said no more nutella, but you really wanted some more, but you didn't dare steal any. instead, the jar came sliding towards you, and of course at that exact moment he turns around, and he thinks he's caught you red-handed. you don't want him to think you're lying – you hear your friend lisa telling her mum that she'd seen a pencil zooming towards you, but her mum just tells her to stop making things up – so you don't tell him anything. when he tells you no nutella for tomorrow, you take your punishment quietly, staring bemusedly at the seemingly innocent nutella jar that doesn't move any more. that time at the beach, you'd found a really pretty shell right under your feet, and it looked almost exactly the same as the one you'd seen on the internet and fell in love with. you walked on the beach, saw the half-broken shells, and wistfully wished for that shell on the net, and you step on something and there it is. you crow excitedly to your father about finding the shell, and he's duly impressed that you've managed to find one as pretty as that. he says your special. you don't contradict him, because you have a feeling that you might be. but it doesn't really matter if you're just imagining these things; to your daddy, you will always be special, and you grew and prospered under his care like a sunflower and he is your sun. and when i couldn't sleep at night scared things wouldn't turn out right you would hold my hand and sing to me you are absolutely terrified. it is the night before you are headed off to this magic school, and you have no idea how tomorrow is going to shape up. at first, you couldn't believe that you're going to a magic school – you? plain little ely with her hair everywhere and your love for mysterious things like gem stones and fortune telling. your father tells you your mum was the same. you probably got your love of 'magic' from her. he tells you that she loved crystal balls and tarot-reading, and she couldn't seem to stay in one place. she always begged him to move around with her, and at first, he didn't used to mind because he loved her sense of adventure, but when you were born, he wanted them to live in a proper house and get proper jobs and give you proper structure as you were growing up. your mum could do it in the beginning, he'd said, but after a while she just grew restless. you don't try to feel hurt or angry that your mum left you because she didn't want to get stuck. it saddens you a little, but you think you understand what she'd feel like (you don't, really, but you try because you're fair and open-minded). in the end, you try not to let it bother you, though; after all, you've got your daddy and he's all you've ever needed, and all you'll ever need. he's the one who's making you a cup of warm milk to soothe your nerves a little and help you sleep better, because you just really can't, you're so scared and excited. your trunk is packed and waiting stoically like a soldier at the foot of your bed, while your owl, a tiny little thing with grey and white feathers and rather dreamy big warm brown eyes, sleeps in his cage. you can see his tiny chest moving up and down as he breathes. you drink your milk and you hope it'll help you sleep because you really need to wake up early tomorrow to catch your train. your first experience with the magic world, aside from the letter, was when you took a trip with your father to diagon alley. he couldn't believe the letter himself, and he was suspicious about what kind of trick it might be, so he came with you to the leaky and he had to look really hard to find it. thankfully, another wizard had been heading that way and you'd followed him in. you found your way into diagon alley easily enough, and both you and your father were completely gobsmacked at the sights. there were cauldrons and strange potion ingredients and moving scissors and broomsticks and wands and moving pictures and everything was so new to you. it made you feel alive. just the thought of it is enough to render the warm milk useless, you're excited all over again. your father comes in to check if you've finished the milk. you have; you give the mug back to him and murmur your thanks. as you lie back down, he kisses you on the forehead – maybe for the last time for a whole year – and he wishes you a good night and sweet dreams. he never fails to tell you i love you every night before you go to sleep, and tonight is no different. you suppose the milk does have an effect, as you're immediately drowsy when your father turns off your bedside lamp. it is with half-closed eyes that you idly watch him walk out of your bedroom. he pauses at the door to look back at you one more time. you can't see his face. instead, you notice that one hand is carrying a book. probably hogwarts: a history, a thick tome he'd found at the bookshop in diagon alley. he is spending nights reading all about your new world so as to keep up with you, and to try and keep you safe, even when he can't be there all the time any more. you are balancing on the edge of a precipice, but luckily, your daddy is just there, and you know he'll catch you if you start to fall. caterpillar in the tree how you wonder who you'll be can't go far but you can always dream you've spent all of one month at hogwarts, and already you're loving it. every day has something going on, something new to learn, something interesting to find out. it's like your life is suddenly on fast forward, and everything starts to blur into one huge, colourful, magical memory. you make new friends and you have strange classes where you mix awful looking things together in a cauldron and swish and flick at feathers. but despite it all, despite the suddenly fast track your life has taken, despite the fact that you're always so busy taking in the million and one things going on around you, you always set some time aside to write to your father. you've never written him letters before, but you're informed that technology doesn't work too well around the castle and owls are really the way to go in terms of communication. so you persevere and you send little pepper (the tiny owl with the grey and white feathers) out on errands every weekend with notes for your father. (you don't know it, but he's keeping them all in an old wooden box, along with your first booties and your baby blanket and your first teddy bear.) you have so many things to tell him, and you always want to include him in your world, that poor pepper often has to carry an envelope filled with three or four pages of parchment with your writing on both sides. you tell your daddy about your new subjects and what you learn each day. you tell him about your teachers, your classmates, your dormmates, your housemates, the random students you see in the corridor, the talking portraits, the suits of armour that walk around. you tell him about the weather, the lake, the whomping willow. you tell him about quidditch and the daily prophet and wizarding families and how you're coping with it all. you tell him about what you like to do and which subjects you're awesome at and fail at dismally. he reads every word and pays attention to every little detail. his letters are as long as yours. he likes to know about everything, and he asks you about the things he's reading. you're more than happy to provide answers, and if you don't know, you usually ask your wizarding friends or do some research in the library. your daddy encourages you to live your dream, reach for the stars, and you know that with him by your side supporting you, you can achieve anything you set your eyes on. wish you may and wish you might don't you worry, hold on tight you've been at school for a grand total of three and a half months, and already you're pining for home. it's not that you would ever change a thing for the world and miss out on the magical world, but rather you wish that your father could be there with you as well. you miss the late night talks you used to have about the latest book you're reading. you miss making breakfast with him sometimes. you miss him driving around with you everywhere. you miss telling him about your day every day after school, and you miss listening to him telling you funny stories. you miss his laugh, and you miss his love. you miss him kissing you on the forehead every night and telling you he loves you. so when you find out that your christmas holidays are in two weeks, you're overjoyed and of course the first thing you do is run to your dormitory and write out a letter. it's not really so much of a letter as an exclamation of 'daddy i'm coming home in two weeks!'. it's getting cold but you still send pepper on his way with a promise of extra bacon bits when he gets back. you are skipping when you head back downstairs for lunch. you very nearly scream when pepper comes back when you're getting ready for bed, but you keep quiet because your dormmates are almost sleeping. you let the bedraggled owl in, pushing the treats in a bowl at him and pulling at the reply excitedly. it's also a short note: your daddy tells you that he'll be there at king's cross at four pm and he's also very excited and of course he'll bring you your favourite sandwich and fruit juice, just like old times. i promise you there will come a day butterfly fly away the first snowfall cascades gently from the sky the first day you are back at home for christmas holidays. you wake up and the entire world is suddenly covered in white, so of course what would you do but open your window, take up a handful of snow, pat it down into a snowball, and sneak into your father's room to throw it in his face. you laugh raucously when he wakes up with a yell, before running out of the room with your hair trailing after you like a giant brown cloud. you can hear him move off the bed, but he doesn't come chasing after you. you head straight for the kitchen, pushing at your hair with one hand and pulling out slices of bread with the other. you've missed electronics and appliances, so it is with great flourish that you push down on the toaster. you pull out the fixings you both like for your toast – nutella, of course – and you put water in the water boiler and set it on. that's pretty much all you can do for now, but that's okay because your father's coming, you can hear him on the stairs. he works out his coffee for the morning while you spread the nutella on the bread. his official holidays from work don't start until the day after, so he's apologetic about leaving you alone by yourself today. but you don't mind, you might as well get cracking on that homework. which you also don't mind, because you absolutely love anything with magic. the christmas holidays pass like a breeze, a blur of snowball fights and hot cocoa and sitting in front of the fire reading. your father likes to look at your homework and ask you how your potions and your spells work, and you're more than happy to explain everything to him. you can't really show him much of the magic, because you're underage and you can't do magic outside of school, but you still explain everything to him as much as you can and with as many details as you can remember. he's doing a very good job of keeping up with you as you talk excitedly about your new world. he meets a couple of your friends when you're at the train station going back to hogwarts after the holidays. he makes friends with them easily, as if they were his friends, too. he extends an invitation to them to visit during summer, and he's smiling and laughing at their stories. he integrates himself in your world as much as he can, and you absolutely love him for it. it's when you get on the train and you're hanging out the window saying goodbye that the tears start to well up in your eyes. you're not sad that you're going back to school, you're just sad that you're leaving your father behind. you want him to see the things you see, too, because you know just how much he'll enjoy your new world. you think of him when you go into the library, because the endless amount of books could satisfy even his curiosity. you'll miss him when you get back to the castle. but the way he waves and smiles at you when the train starts to move... it's like he's letting you go. he'll always be there for you, you know that, but you're not just his little girl any more, and he understands, and he's telling you to be off and explore your world, find yourself. and that just makes you love him all the more, because he's your daddy and he's all you've ever known. turned around and you were there the two of us made quite a pair daddy's little girl was here at last when you come back home for your summer holidays after your third year, your father can see that you're growing up. already, you've changed a fair bit since he first dropped you off at the train station on the first of september three years ago. your hair is better groomed and he can see the beginnings of make up on your face. you talk less, and usually quieter, and you liked to do your own things. the relationship between you two hasn't changed much, but then again it's also changed a lot. for example, when he picks you up at the station, you don't scream in excitement or run towards him any more. instead, you just walk calmly up to him with a smile on your face (not as bright as when you were younger) and you hug him tightly after saying hi dad. at first, he's worried that something happened to you at school, but after a while he accepts that you've just grown up a bit. and the distance is another factor. he's no longer there to see you day after day. he doesn't see the incremental changes, almost unnoticeable. he only sees changes that occurred after a year apart, because you didn't come home during christmas this past year. you were too busy with essays and studying and your new subjects because you're suddenly feeling the pressure of your studies. and your father understands, of course. you made sure to send him letters every day during those holiday weeks. but your earlier, more teenage persona slowly evaporates the closer you get to home. he starts to see his little girl peeking through your quiet demeanour, he can see the sparkle in your eyes brighten and your laugh is louder and more frequent. he's missed you, his little girl, because he's looked after you for eleven years mostly by himself, seeing you every day and taking care of every aspect of your needs. but of course he also understands that his little girl is growing up, and so he's trying to remember that you don't need your nightly cup of warm milk or that you don't need him to check your homework every afternoon. but still, during those summer holidays, you make a point of doing all the things you used to do when you were younger. you are at home with your dad, the one person who's seen you through it all. you don't get to see him during the year when you're busy with astronomy and divination and watching quidditch matches and going to hogsmeade. so the weeks of just you two are special, and you take advantage of it. when it's just you and your dad, you feel like a little girl again, and your world is complete. looked away and back again suddenly a year was ten don't know how it got so far so fast the more years you rack up, the more memories you make, but you're not as determined as you were before in including your father in all of them. you always include him in the at least the big ones, though, so of course your father has to meet your first boyfriend when you're in fifth year. you bring your boyfriend home for christmas holidays, being mysterious in your last letter to your father that there was someone you wanted him to meet. (of course he knew already what was up. he's your father, and he knows you the best.) they get along fairly well, and you calm your worried nerves. of course, at the end of the visit, your father issues the usual fatherly threat that if your boyfriend hurts you, your dear old dad will pay him a visit. and your boyfriend is brave enough to look into your father's eyes and tell him that he'll look after you. and you smile to yourself, because your boyfriend is such a gryffindor and he's different than your more slytherin mind, but you still work together so well. your father's happy enough that you're happy, so he accepts your boyfriend grudgingly. he sees you spend more time on your mobile phone talking to him, and like it's been doing for the past five years, the house becomes more and more quiet. there are still those father-daughter moments, but they were less frequent and more special. and your father looks at you and sees his baby girl is growing up to be an independent woman, every day looking more and more like the mother she never saw. and your daddy starts to remember the way you smile, because it's softer now, not as bright as it was when you were younger. the make up on your face is heavier, accenting your face and bringing out the light blue of your eyes. your hair is deliberately fluffed now, a style that you've realised works best for you because it gives you personality, an identity of your own. and your dad can't help but be proud of his little girl all grown up, because you don't get into trouble and you're not into parties and your boyfriend is a proper gentleman. your daddy has raised you as best as he can, with all that he could and all the love he could muster. he's wiped away your tears and he's been there with you at your successes. he's given you everything that he's got, sacrificed for you, and he'd do it all again for you in a heartbeat. in his eyes, you are perfect. and yes dear, you don't understand it's not anything we planned kind of makes you think it's meant to be (it's a destiny) the older you grow, the more your relationship with your father becomes that of friends. you've always been friends, but it's even more apparent how comfortable you are with each other with the years that pass. he gets you a tub of ice cream and long-sufferingly watches romantic comedies with you when you and your boyfriend go through a rough patch. you tease him about that pretty lady who blatantly eyes him and flirts with him at that muggle cafe you two visit one afternoon. you play video games and have serious snowball wars and compete with each other in guitar hero. you give him advice when he decides to take that pretty lady from the cafe out on a date. you analyze over the date with him when he comes back. you make him breakfast when he's going to work, and you pack his lunch for him. he gives you advice of what to say to your boyfriend. he asks you what groceries you want and if you want those books you were eyeing last week. he brings you to diagon alley every wednesday during your summer holidays and sometimes he hangs with your friends at florean's. your friends tell you that your dad is cool, and you can't help but agree. sure, he's got those awkward lame moments when he tries a bit too hard or says something that shows he's clearly from a different era, but the fact remains that he's made the effort when they were kids so he's known them from the beginning. and they see how you interact with him, and they see that your dad is easy-going and open and a good conversationalist. he tries to understand the younger generation, and that gets your friends more than anything else. your mum may have left a gaping hole in your life, but your dad tries his best to fill in both parental roles. it's mighty awkward sometimes, especially in the beginning and still sometimes now. but that's all you've known, and you're comfortable with him and he's your best friend in the whole wide world, really. i always knew the day would come you'd stop crawling, start to run beautiful as beautiful can be you almost faint when you see the owl heading towards your window the summer after your fifth year. you've been dying to know how well you've done on your owls, and you are actually kind of freaking out just as much as you were before you boarded the hogwarts express for the very first time. your dad is snickering at the kitchen table because the sight of you freaking out doesn't happen all the often any more, and it's funny to behold because usually you're so calm and collected. the hair that you love to style in your trademark cloud is frizzing like there is static in the room, and you've no make up on your face. you woke up this morning and immediately headed for the window in the living room, pacing back and forth and back and forth. that's how your dad found you this morning, and an hour later, he's still at the kitchen table, reading the newspaper and every so often looking up to laugh at you. you must be on your thousand-and-third pace back when you happen to notice a fleck in the sky growing bigger and bigger, and you just know that is your future right there. you let out a squeal and rush to open the window, and again your dad laughs when your fingers fumble in your haste and you can't open the glass. he finally takes pity at your plight and pushes you gently aside to open it himself. he steps aside to let the owl in, and he watches amusedly as you chase after the bird, ignoring all obstacles such as the couch and coffee table, jumping on them in your haste to get to the letter. he's very proud of you when you tell him you've passed all your owls (passed, not necessarily gotten top marks, but you're happy with that). he takes you out to a restaurant that evening for a celebratory dinner and he tells you that he always knew you'd do good. you two toast your sodas as he congratulates you on your grades, and you can't help but appreciate how much your dad had to go through for you to get this far. butterfly fly away (butterfly fly away) got your wings, now you can't stay take those dreams and make them all come true you are heading back from your sixth year, and not that many things have changed. you are still independent, a woman of her own making. you don't bow very easily to peer pressure. you like studying and reading, and you're not very much into parties. you're rather quiet now, and reserved, but you have a laugh that other people like to hear. you should have been sorted into ravenclaw, but the brooding darkness of slytherin called to you. not that you are evil, just that you are fascinated by all areas of magic, and that means you're curious about the dark arts theoretically. (you usually keep this hidden.) you smile easily and not quick to anger, your presence is like a mountain, solid and true. you don't usually say a lot, but when you do, it is meaningful and comes straight from the heart. you aren't very frivolous. passing your owls has given you a heavier burden, actually, because now you need to figure out exactly what you want to do with your life after hogwarts. there's not much of a career for divination and astronomy, after all. but you know that no matter what happens, your daddy will always be there to support you, just like he's supported you through everything else before. he'll give you good advice and he'll help you in any way he can. your love and friendship is something that can never be broken, because you're all what the other had for years, and that love will always remain the same. butterfly fly away (butterfly fly away) you've been waiting for this day all along you've known just what to do NANII TWENTY GMT+1 |
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