Agathe Turner, First Year, Slytherin
Full Name: Agathe Turner
House: Slytherin
Age: 11
Wand: 30,2 cm aspen wood and unicorn hair
School Year: First year
Patronus: N/A
Species: Human
History/Background Story: Agathe Turner has always been an odd sort of child. Her father couldn't have been more aware of this fact. As a pure blood, it's vital that you stay in line. Agathe didn't care much for this line. Her father always said that it would keep her safe, that the so-called line was for her own protection. She couldn't get away with being different, unlike the more respectable pure-bloods. Her mother had left, leaving her family in a state of disarray, while this didn't bother Agathe, it bothered the other pure-bloods. Which meant that they were less than. While she was much better off than the "mudbloods", the social pressure on her family was suffocating. It was up to her to make the family proud, fix their social standing, and return to their former glory.
The constant nagging from the other respected families only got worse as she got older and showed no sign of magic ability. Every night she would pray (although she had never been a religious girl) that she would do any form of magic. That she would go to Hogwarts and make her family proud. One dreary night, the ball illuminated by invisible lights, she performed her first accidental magic. It wasn't anything remarkable, something that could be easily reversed without any trouble. But, staring her aunt in the face and watching as her mouth slowly disappeared felt like a weight off her chest. Like she had potential. That she could make her father proud.
Agathe Turner never felt at home. She never felt like she belonged. She was never lacking friends, although she didn't care for them. It seemed like people were just drawn to her odd disposition. Sometimes she thought that people only liked her because it made them feel better about themselves. Having been homeschooled all her life, she'd never gone to making friends the usual way. There simply was no place for something organic to form. She met people at social gatherings, but that somehow always felt forced. As 10-year-old Agathe was introduced to other pure-bloods and those with high enough social standings she felt unbothered to make any effort. The friends she did keep close were rather strange like herself, doomed from the start. Strangely, she found comfort in the sense of impending doom. The one constant in her life. It almost seemed funny, little 10-year-old Agathe, thinking about failing and what would come next. But she doubted if she did fail that she'd have another chance to even imagine what would happen afterward.
House: Slytherin
Age: 11
Wand: 30,2 cm aspen wood and unicorn hair
School Year: First year
Patronus: N/A
Species: Human
History/Background Story: Agathe Turner has always been an odd sort of child. Her father couldn't have been more aware of this fact. As a pure blood, it's vital that you stay in line. Agathe didn't care much for this line. Her father always said that it would keep her safe, that the so-called line was for her own protection. She couldn't get away with being different, unlike the more respectable pure-bloods. Her mother had left, leaving her family in a state of disarray, while this didn't bother Agathe, it bothered the other pure-bloods. Which meant that they were less than. While she was much better off than the "mudbloods", the social pressure on her family was suffocating. It was up to her to make the family proud, fix their social standing, and return to their former glory.
The constant nagging from the other respected families only got worse as she got older and showed no sign of magic ability. Every night she would pray (although she had never been a religious girl) that she would do any form of magic. That she would go to Hogwarts and make her family proud. One dreary night, the ball illuminated by invisible lights, she performed her first accidental magic. It wasn't anything remarkable, something that could be easily reversed without any trouble. But, staring her aunt in the face and watching as her mouth slowly disappeared felt like a weight off her chest. Like she had potential. That she could make her father proud.
Agathe Turner never felt at home. She never felt like she belonged. She was never lacking friends, although she didn't care for them. It seemed like people were just drawn to her odd disposition. Sometimes she thought that people only liked her because it made them feel better about themselves. Having been homeschooled all her life, she'd never gone to making friends the usual way. There simply was no place for something organic to form. She met people at social gatherings, but that somehow always felt forced. As 10-year-old Agathe was introduced to other pure-bloods and those with high enough social standings she felt unbothered to make any effort. The friends she did keep close were rather strange like herself, doomed from the start. Strangely, she found comfort in the sense of impending doom. The one constant in her life. It almost seemed funny, little 10-year-old Agathe, thinking about failing and what would come next. But she doubted if she did fail that she'd have another chance to even imagine what would happen afterward.
Last edited by Damion White on 7 Aug 2023, 06:17, edited 1 time in total.
Reason: Topic type