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Heather Livengood
Status:
Pure-blood
Nationality:
English
Residence:
Barking, England
Function:
First year, Slytherin
Wand:
32,4 cm walnut wood and dragon heartstring
I have the name of a pink flower with a delicious smell. My mother didn't choose my name. It was only my dad's decision. She wanted me to be Claire, but dad preferred Heather. So I'm Heather.
When I was a little girl, I was living in the London's borough, in a little white house. In the front garden, there was a beautiful blooming heather, against the wall. When I began to walk, I was next to this pink heather, surrounded by its perfume. The day I received my Hogwarts letter, I was shrouded in its essence.
My parents were wizards. It was obvious that I was one as well. But I literally never did magic.
I don't see myself as a witch but as an artist. I like to create stories. My dad always says that I am a lonely person, that I need the other people to grow and evolve. But what if I don't want to grow, nor evolve? I want to stay the Heather my mother knew. I want to stay her daughter until I reach her after.
So I stay alone, I don't talk, except to ask for sugar to put in my tea. Then I take my hot mug and go to my room by my desk, and I write stories. I don't let anyone read them. They are mine. If you read and imagine them, you make them yours. And I don't want them to be yours.
Long ago, I had a friend, Leia. She and I were four when we first met. She was moving in the house next to ours, and my father brought me there to meet the family. We liked each other because we lived nearby, but in the reality, she wasn't my friend at all. She was the girl next door who has a large family with all loving cousins and aunts and uncles. She was the neighbour with the pretty eyes who always get an ice cream when we went to the park. She was the nice and chummy daughter my father would have liked to have. She wasn't my friend, she was my dad's friend.
Now I am in Hogwarts, trying to be invisible. But new people aren't invisible. They are as shiny as possible. Everybody look at them like they were aliens. Even more if you don't talk. They say that you are weird, that you lost your tongue. They whisper on your way to the dormitory, your black robe floating behind you.
I wish I were unseeable. Like my mother.