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Eira Llewellyn
Status:
Muggle-born
Nationality:
English
Residence:
Cardiff, England
Function:
Second year, Ravenclaw
Wand:
22,8 cm chestnut wood and unicorn hair
Eira’s home had always been a mix of new and old school. Her mother, tall with cropped short hair and calloused fingers, was always fiddling with electronics and bringing old computer and machinery pieces home. Her father, dowdy and always wearing mismatched socks, preferred paper and pen and constantly had ink on his fingers. Her brother, thirteen years older with a height towering over both their parents, was constantly experimenting in the kitchen and training to become a patissier. Each member of her family had their own niche and, some days, Eira wondered if she would ever find her own.

But perhaps it was this because, while her family stayed inside, Eira was constantly out. She’d tie her red hair back as best she could, pick up her journal — a ring bound sketchbook with creased pages, pressed flowers, and smudges of dirt — and head for the hills. Most days she’d go to Bute Park, and on the days she could convince her parents they’d all go to Parc Cefn Onn.

When she was younger, she used to receive books as gifts. Her grandmother had once seen her sketchbooks and sent her books on basic botany, but the letters would scramble on the pages and not even the easy words would stay still. She’d hide the books away in her father’s piles and go to her tablet instead on those days. Avoidance was clearly the right option here, she’d decided flicking through to a game about dragons.

As she grew, though, she found this wasn’t the only odd thing about her. Some nights her glow in the dark stars shone as if they were real and she could map constellations on her ceiling. One afternoon she’d watched her drawing of a butterfly rise from her sketchbook and fly. No one but her family believed her, though she was sure her brother was just humouring her, and her next birthday had butterfly themed cupcakes.

Eira was short for her age, but great at reaching hard to get places. She could easily slip through small gaps in doors and out small windows, and enjoyed hiding in trees. She wasn’t a fast runner and, out of her friends, the worst at tag but she could easily sneak around and hide from anyone despite the bright red of her hair.

Despite her sneakiness, Eira didn’t feel like she got up to too much mischief. She’d always been a bit adventurous in her own way — too adventurous, her father would say — and she’d always had the energy for more exploring. She was a little bit spoilt, she could admit that much, and her brother especially doted on her between bouts of goodnatured teasing. She was used to sweets every day and day-trips to parks, and she knew she was lucky her parents let her wander so much. Her teachers called her sweet when she wasn’t tracking in dirt and leaves, and her friends often had to pull her back when she would start to wander off after plants or bugs.

She was an adventurer, an artist, and she wanted to explore the world.