Margaret Adamson - 1st Year Slytherin

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ GRANDMA'S GARDEN ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ MAGGIE

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ Margaret, a girl with mid-length, slightly wavy dark blonde hair that glinted copper under the sun. Average in stature and build, she appeared unremarkable. She liked to wear light colors, she thought they were more harmonious to her complexion. Always neat, no accessories, two simple pearls as earrings. Her eyes were brown and had the slightest touch of green, right in the center. She was proud of them, she admired the complexity of her iris, a painting of its own right where she could never see. She loved blending in with the crowd. Yet, her eyes betrayed her, burning with an ambition and thirst for adventure that belied her outward calmness. In her, there was the quiet promise of a life far from ordinary, one filled with the thrill of the unknown—a life worthy of the pages of the most captivating novels.

HAIR	EYES	BUILD	SMELL
Dark blond	Brown	Average height	Linen
Wavy	Hint of green	Average weight	Lilac
Shoulder-length	Expressive	Fair skin	Rosemary

02. IN HER ━━━━━━━━━━━━━ MIND Beautiful things matter to her. She liked things organized to please her eyes and paid great attention to detail. The paintings she hung needed to be the right size, on the right wall. She liked her room to look like a magazine. Maggie exudes unyielding self-confidence, occasionally bordering on arrogance when interacting with those she perceives as inferior. She sees through superficialities, dismissing small talk and regarding excessive niceness with suspicion, seeing it as a cover for ulterior motives. Her wariness of overly nice individuals is evident, though she rarely addresses it overtly. Instead, Maggie subtly conveys her doubts through expressions and mannerisms, opting to let her actions speak louder than words.

Beneath their stoic exterior lies a wellspring of passion, a fire that burns with the intensity of a thousand suns. It is this inner flame that drives them forward, propelling them to heights of achievement that others can only dream of. They are the visionaries, the trailblazers, the pioneers of progress in a world that often seems content to stagnate. Their mind is a labyrinthine maze, each corridor leading to new chambers of insight and revelation. With every step, they navigate the complexities of existence with a precision that borders on the sublime. Their thoughts are like fine threads, weaving intricate patterns of logic and reason into the fabric of reality.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ MY BEDROOM IN PORTSCATHO ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ MAGGIE

Hogwarts Express
Margaret climbs onto the famous carmin train, meets a fellow 1st Year. Why on earth are her headphones not working?

Unfamiliar Sightings
Curious, the young girl wonders around the train in a quest for an empty compartment. Mission failed. But thanks to this, she meets some potential new friends.

A potion Partner ?
Margaret's first ever potions class could not be any worse. Spilled potion and angry whispering aren't a good omen for the rest of the year...

The Herbologist's Handbook
Could a herbology group project blossom into a friendship? Tale as old as time.

Invisible Strings
Bored out of her mind, Margaret decides to write a letter, hidden in a book. Who knows who the mysterious correspondent is?

Love Among All
After a long day of classes, she stumbles upon a student by the Great Lake. This girl's aura seems to push her to open up.

Divided by History
Victoria and Margaret meet again, left to work together for a History of Magic assignment... Will this discord ever end?

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ HIKE 23.08.23 ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ MAGGIE

Margaret and her sister Agnes grew up in Portscatho, with her Nana and Papa. Her parents were quite busy at the time. Although she missed them quite a lot, her fondest memories were in that house by the beach. In the summer, they'd wake up right as the sun rose to dip their toes in the fresh waters. She remembered the distinct smell of the harbor, and the waves rhythmically crashing onto the shore. With her sister she'd build the most magnificent of castle, ruling the beach for just an instant. When Papa died, Agnes and her went back to Knightsbridge in London and for a while all she wanted was to go back to the sea. Their apartment was nice, but sleeping with the windows open simply wasn't the same here. Margaret did get used to the city quite rapidly, she mostly enjoyed walks in the park and visiting all kinds of museums. Back in her room, she'd paint watercolors of things she had witnessed, enjoying mostly nature paintings.

On her 9th birthday, Margaret had woken up to the soft light cast indirectly into her room, quite soft since it had rained all night. There was something she loved about the rain in the city, perhaps the smell of the wet asphalt or the calming fog settling itself onto the buildings. She let out short sigh of frustration and sat at her desk. She opened the box, dipped her brush in water and started to paint what she wished to see. A beautiful countryside, shy clouds in the distance, and umbrella stuck in a tree. Before she could continue, she had to change her water, she'd hate for the sky to take on a greenish tint. As she came back, she noticed the strangest thing, the umbrella had disappeared. She stared at her painting for a few seconds, wondering if she was going mad. No, there had been an umbrella, right there. Her eyes scanned every corner of the canvas. Wait. There it is. On the ground. Is it... moving?. Yes, yes it is. It seems like the wind is rolling it further and further. Margaret watched as the umbrella slowly rolled out of frame, as is she had never painted it in the first place. Her painting came to life, the wind rustling in the leaves, the grass dancing in the breeze.