Post by Evie Flint on Mar 4, 2014 7:45:10 GMT -5
[presto]
fifteen
female
hufflepuff
half-blood
experimenting
juno temple
raegan elise rickett
 August 4th, 2009, 4:13 am, Tuesday Morning at St. Mungo's - that's the exact time and moment when Raegan Elise Rickett was brought into this world, welcomed by her doting parents and her year old sister, Ainsley. But as far as she can remember, there had always been three of them - Ainsley, herself and her younger sister, by two years, Clarissa. She never had a memory of her family being anything other than the beautiful pentacle it was - her sisters who she loved and who loved her more than anything; her hard working parents who came home each night and kissed her before she went to bed; and her large, influential relatives who didn't hesitate to adore her either. Of course, there were always moments when Ainsley got everybody's attention at a gathering for being such a smart girl, or Clarissa was doted on for being the precious baby girl. There were moments when Raegan resented having had only two years of everybody's attention before her sister came along - effectively throwing her into the middle child syndrome stereotype. But she was never consciously aware of this lack of attention. She loved her sisters too much to ever imagine competing with them for attention. As far as she was concerned, they deserved all the attention they received; and she received her fair share of it. Notably, this was of the notorious variety. She was always the one who had the tasteful humor and pranks up her sleeve, entertaining guests with a joke or two, and always, always making sure her subject of comedy was never truly offended. In fact, as a child, Raegan was the sweetest girl you could possibly imagine. Not for her were tantrums or anger or bratty moments. She was thankful for all she had, and alright with all she didn't. Having a mother who worked with the government, and a father who met Quidditch team players of all sorts of back stories, she'd learned over the years that the class her family belonged to was more exclusive than it looked. This surprisingly mature thinking of hers led her to have a lot of good conversations with the adults who surrounded her - ministry friends of her mother's, her father's colleagues and team, her aunts and uncles, and all her older cousins. It was unlikely for her to spend all her time playing with toys - she was conscious enough to spend enough time with her nannies, so they didn't feel like servants, and gave some attention to her toys so they weren't wasteful. Sometimes, she even curled up next to Ainsley and watched her as she read, or made her read aloud to her. Sometimes, when her mother was clearly very tired to have a full length conversation with them, she'd quietly kiss her cheek and take Clarissa to bed, braiding her hair and telling her stories until she fell asleep. To anybody who saw Raegan (truth be told, she rather enjoyed it when people called her Raegan Elise...but that was something she only heard when she was being thoroughly scolded for something) they'd know that she didn't have a favorite parent, just as she didn't have a favorite sister. Whether it was getting ready for a party with her mum, or flying with her dad..reading with Ainsley or playing with Clarissa..she enjoyed spending time with her family in every way possible. Having got into her night clothes, one summer night, she was writing in her diary (another new hobby she'd acquired), when she felt an uneasy sense of foreboding. Perhaps the wind felt oddly cool or the nightlight oddly dark, but a few minutes into the process, her father came into her room with an expression on his face she can never forget. Now, she looks back to that expression and calls it "The Face". The face, which like a glass window, is cracked into a million pieces, and you can see each piece clinging to each other before it crashes to the ground. The face, which signified his transition - the face he had as he explained to her that Mum would never be coming home again. Raegan still doesn't remember the details of everything the night her mother died. In some ways, everything was very clear and very blurry at the same time. She sometimes thinks that her expression must've been something like The Face too. All of nine years old, sweating and panting, as she ran up the stairs to the attic, her hair pinned properly in place for the funeral, black dress draping her slight figure, silver, old brooch pinned to her dress, feet tucked in shiny black sandals, the girl who never, ever shouted or threw a tantrum - she screamed at the top of her voice. She'd known that the wooden panels of the room would drown out her voice as she shrieked and shrieked and clutched her head until her throat hurt too much to do it anymore. She fell asleep there, some time later. The two years after that put Raegan through a transition which nobody could've ever imagined. Her once silken, pin curled golden locks, now resembled beach-stripped, saline water waves which she no longer cared for. Her rosy skin turned a sickly pale. Her smile became dimmer, her words became sharper, her temper became louder and her mind became younger. It was almost funny how she'd matured so quick and now seemed to be dialing backwards on the clock, her actions becoming reckless and words loud and too truthful - like a young child who needed a disciplining from its mother. Unfortunately, there was none to provide this. Rae - that was what she called herself now, no longer going by the name her mother had given her - was lost. She knew her sisters were worried for her, but she never took her time to narrate her troubles. After all, all three of them were in the same position. As Rae found Ainsley taking on the role of their mother, and Clarissa being eyed closely by herself, the once barely noticeable middle child syndrome came knocking on her door again and this time, she let it in. A year later, when Ainsley went off to Hogwarts, she wrote to her often. She never asked her about Gryffindor, or school, or how everything was at home, or which new girl their Dad had brought home (To be honest, looking back at it, she thinks she overreacted to the whole thing - her shriek of fury as she walked in on her father mid-embrace with one of his lovers, the way she ripped down the hallway curtains just from her need to sink her nails into something, as the truth of his affairs became known to his girls.) She was just a child then. She knew that her father neglected her in favor of whoever was warming his bed that night - but she eventually grew used to it. She'd rather have him shuffle through girlfriends than find a woman to settle with and attempt to replace her mother. No...she didn't write about any of that. Instead, she wrote her stories. She wrote ballads, and poems, and stories, both fiction and otherwise. She wrote essays and reviews and scripts to silly plays. She knew Ainsley loved to read - so she gave her something to read, instead of revealing something more personal. Something like how sometimes she felt an aching in her chest before she even realized where it came from. Or how, sometimes, she'd get short of breath and as she stared at her fingers, to count to ten, she'd only see hands too similar to the mother she once had. No, she didn't write about any of that. A year later, an entire year of temporarily playing mom to Clarissa, it was her turn to go to Hogwarts. The train held little interest to her, a ride which she spent most of with her head leaning against the window and her eyes closed, pretending to be asleep. Already, she knew she wasn't going to be with her sister. She was no Gryffindor, neither was she smart enough to be a Ravenclaw, nor cunning enough to be a Slytherin. She already knew she was a Hufflepuff. But still, the moment the Hat shouted it, she felt a sinking in her chest as she realized she'd been put in her father's house. Rae had no trouble making friends at Hogwarts. Initially, her big mouth and unmasked words were what she used to try and keep people from coming too close. Little did she know, that without an inert talent of cruelty (for she was still the same girl somewhere inside), her loudness wasn't loud enough to deter people - only loud enough to attract. She made fast friends with many, not belonging to a single circle, but being friendly with all. Everyone knew who Rae was - but only her sisters knew Raegan Elise. In some ways, she was still the same. While her words had taken a different tone, she still spoke things which people her age couldn't always relate to. Like she used to as a child, she hung out with those who were older. And with hanging out with them, she gained a ticket into the adult world a lot earlier than some of her peers. At first it was just the occasional class skipping, to go lay down by the Lake. Then it was the progression into sneaking into the Forbidden Forest. Then it was the hiding behind the undergrowth of the Groundskeeper's hut to get stoned. Rae took it all in, a little at a time, until it consumed all of her. Smoking, drinking and getting high by the age of fourteen, Rae was already the talk of the town. She remembers the time when she found herself snogging a seventh year boy at a party and a passerby scoffed the word "slut". The boy she was snogging mumbled something under his breath ("sexist pig") before resuming their task. Rae didn't care. She already knew she was exactly what the passerby had called her - the only difference was that she didn't see it as an insult. As the years passed by, she knew she wasn't setting the best example for Clarissa, nor was she impressing Ainsley. She could tell her sisters thought that this new "Rae" character was only a way for her to shout at their dad to pay attention to her again. Rae lets them think this. But, she herself, doesn't feel like she's at any loss. She knows in some ways she's still the person they think she ought to be. She's clever, and mature in her thinking. She's smart and gets decent grades. She's loyal and adores her sisters, her family and her friends to bits and would kill for them and die for them, as well. So what, she asks, if she's louder, angrier and more confident in her desires and sexuality? So what if she isn't quiet or shy anymore? So what, if she doesn't hold back from saying what's on her mind, or being impatient in what she wants, or rude to those who are rude to her? She loves to point out that her sister, an advocate of feminism, should be proud of her as she makes her own choices. She doesn't feel like she's putting on a mask at all - in fact, this is her with her old mask ripped off. But anybody who could take a walk through Rae's maze of a mind would know that as much as this is who she is, she hates it. She hates herself; she hates those women who have her dad's attention; she hates those women who have the attention of the people who are supposed to dote over her; she hates herself. Ironic that she cites her sister's feminism, when she indulges in internalized misogyny. It's ironic how she hates everything her father does; yet with the same house, same hair, same eyes, same words, same mannerisms, she's turned into him without even realizing it. It's ironic how she hates remembering what her mother's death did to her, yet she spends hours each night, writing a diary, where everyday she writes the same passage over and over again - a passage describing her mother, so that she doesn't forget what she looked like or the things she did. It's ironic how she says she hates men and that they're pigs, but still eyes them and undresses them with her eyes. It's ironic how she says she hates women and they're bitches, but still imagines undoing their clothes and giving them the time of their life. Rae is a contradiction upon a contradiction, less like a book, and more like a badly fixed shawl whose frayed ends are woven together full of mistakes. In fact she's no different from her house colors - shades of yellow and black, clashing and jarring against one another. This summer, is no different than others. She comes home from school, yellow and black decorated trunk dragging behind her, lighter in breast pocket, and a torn bow in her wavy hair. She wakes up in the afternoons, hung over from a party of the previous night, the smell of weed on her tongue and somebody else's cologne on her neck. She spends her evenings with her siblings, so that they don't get on her case. And then she's going out for the night again, sneaking out while dressed to the nines and coming back only in the dark hours of the morning. In fact, just this morning, at 3 am, she was writing her diary, eyes bloodshot from a slowly sinking high. She wrote of Betty - a muggle girl she'd met at a party one of her muggleborn friends had hosted. Betty, who had meant to go home sober and early because next week she was going back to stay at her boarding school while her parents went off to Thailand for a vacation and this night would be the last she'd spend with her parents until the Christmas Holidays. Betty, who Rae had snogged and taken up to a spare room and given her virginity to, and then as they lay naked together, drank with her until the poor Muggle girl fell asleep. Betty, who would have to now stand alone on her platform next week to catch her train, without getting a kiss goodbye from her Mum. Betty, who for at least this school term, would know what it feels like to not have your mother see you off to school...or to not get a chance to even say goodbye - Betty who would know, for a fraction of a second, what it feels like to be a Rickett girl. Once Rae was done narrating this tale, with shaking hands, she once again indulged herself in the ritual of remembering her mother and forgetting herself, at least for a little while. brooke 19 ist (gmt+5:30) |
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