Maeve Blanchett | First Year | Ravenclaw
guys i'm gonna make this look pretty later i swear
Full Name: Maeve Blanchett
House: Ravenclaw
Age: 11
School Year: First
Species: Full human
History/Background Story:
Born to Laurel and Aster Blanchett, both talented wizards in their own right, Maeve grew up in a small home on Pentreath Lane in the south of England. Small, blonde, and altogether quite average, she never quite stood out amongst her peers as being notably strong or tall or beautiful. And it wasn't that she was introverted, per se, it was simply she found herself preferring instead to surround herself with parchment, flower pots, and potion bottles within the comfort of her own home.
At only a few years old, Laurel and Aster quickly found their daughter to be quite a handful, leaving a trail of debris and disaster wherever she went. Maeve never quite grew out of this endless fount of energy and chaos, and at eleven years old she was still searching insistently for new hobbies or learning, a whirlwind of curiosity and ingenuity.
A bit fantastical and perhaps detrimentally inquisitive, Maeve could often be found following her mother around her greenhouse, stealing glances at the plants, roots, and seeds that filled the room. Most went to supply the local apothecary, of course, but every year, in a small corner, there was a strange new growth, a leaf shape or a fruit she'd never seen before: Laurel's newest project. And although she'd never quite gotten a straight answer regarding the purpose of these experiments, she'd gotten the idea that her mother had experienced some rather varied levels of success.
Her father's workshop held no shortage of its own curiosities within its dusty shelves and disorderly drawers. Always a tinkerer, Aster fancied himself an inventor of sorts, creating both magical and non-magical devices he claimed would benefit the world. He took it upon himself to keep Maeve occupied during her downtime—a smart choice he began to make several summers ago following a bit of a messy mishap the family now referred to as the Ink Incident.
It was in this workshop that Maeve, just days before her seventh birthday, first showed hints that her family's magical lineage hadn't skipped a generation. Young, an only child, and a bit lonely, Maeve often pestered her father until he relented and helped her work on a project of her own, a concession which brought her great joy. It was merely a small sculpture, a mouse made of wire and bolts and tin to keep her company in her small bedroom, but it was the time Maeve got to spend with her father that kept her coming back. As Aster helped her twist the last whisker into place—the final touch on two weeks' worth of efforts and a final product that she was justly proud of—it began to move. All six of the mouse's small whiskers twitched before rolling into loose spirals, like a silly French moustache on the small metal rodent. Although absurd, Aster appeared to be overjoyed by this new sculptural detail, and the little companion still sits by Maeve's bedside to this day.