Marjorie Highvale descended from one of the poshest and most wealthy pure-blooded wizarding families in the world. With that in mind, one might then be able to predict and understand the way in which this spoiled rotten eleven year old behaved and conducted herself on a daily basis. She was peculiar. Not peculiar in the sense that most young children are; Marjorie was peculiar in that she knew exactly what she wanted and how she was going to get it. Cute, perfect little words spoken in just the right tone, accompanied with girlish frowns and quivering lips made it that Marjorie Highvale more times than not got her way and what she wanted.

Marjorie stood at the height most girls did this young in their life. Beautiful blonde tresses fell down a pale, soft face that was perfectly symmetrical. Nothing about her appearance seemed imperfect and most could tell she would be just like any of the other Highvale women, blonde and beautiful. Her eyes were a deep ocean blue with hints of green, likely from her mother's side of the family. She clothed her body in silks and dresses that were sewn to fit her body perfectly by the family tailor. Other times she wore clothes that were outdated, likely hand-me-downs from from grandmothers, but were elegant and beautiful all the same. When she was permitted or could go unnoticed, Marjorie would throw on her mother's makeup and earrings and prance around like the beautiful witch-socialite she has been groomed to be since birth.