Ivy Wilde was born on the cool spring morning of March 10th, 2014. The winter chill still hadn't left, but her mum would insist that her birth was the beginning of the best spring Dublin had in ages. Ivy had always been a gentle child. She didn't have to speak over anyone or repeat herself. That was especially true when it came to her siblings, as she was the oldest of four, going on five Wilde children. Her parents were loving and encouraged Ivy to be curious and creative as equally as they had raised her in a home half built with magic.
Her dad works as a primary school teacher for a smaller school on the outskirts of Dublin, while her mum stays home with the kids, but she always has a knack for practical magic. Her dad, being a muggle, never made him shy to learn everything he could about magic, and the open communicative relationship her parents shared helped inspire Ivy to always ask questions and be observant to the world around her.
Ivy loves to read, magical and non-magical books alike, which inspires her own writings, which fill the bookshelves in her bedroom as she has gone nowhere without a notebook ever since she could write. While she may enjoy doodling, writing, reading, and listening to music, she spends most of her days at home helping her mum with the other kids. Being the oldest means something to Ivy, and she's never complained once about tying shoes, calming tantrums, or cleaning messes.
She had always loved stories about her mum's time at Hogwarts as a Hufflepuff. She could hardly believe it when she got her own letter. She has spent the summer before school daydreaming about what the castle will be like, if she will make friends, and has mostly looked forward to Transfiguration. Her imagination knows no bounds as she spends time imagining a candlestick becoming a bouquet, or a teacup turning into a mouse to run into the kitchen and scare her mum.

Ivy has shoulder-length Mahogany hair, hazel almond-shaped eyes that sit behind square glasses. She is 4'8 and has a small frame. She's pale but has freckles dusting her nose, cheeks, and shoulders.

Ivy is thoughtful and steady, often taking on more responsibility than anyone expects. As the eldest sibling, she feels a quiet pressure to keep things running smoothly. She rarely shares her own worries, preferring to stay calm for the sake of others. Though she doesn’t see herself as anxious, she can become overwhelmed when she forgets to ask for help or rest.
She is sensitive to the emotions of those around her and tends to shrink herself when others are upset. Her feelings run deep, but she channels them into drawing and writing, using her imagination to process the world.

The first time Ivy showed signs of magic, she was only three years old. It was still dark outside, the sky just beginning to pale at the edges, and the house was wrapped in a sleepy hush. From her crib, Ivy’s cries broke the quiet, soft at first, then sharper, more urgent. Her dummy had fallen to the floor, out of reach, and she stood gripping the rails with tiny fists, red-faced and tearful.
Her mother came in quickly, the sound of crying pulling her from bed. Just as she stepped into the nursery, the dummy rose from the floor as if caught by a string, floating through the air before landing gently in Ivy’s open hand. The moment it touched her palm, the cries stopped. She blinked in surprise, eyes still wet, and popped it back into her mouth like nothing had happened.