- Messages
- 20
- OOC First Name
- Rowan
- Blood Status
- Unknown
- Relationship Status
- Too Young to Care
- Wand
- Curved 14 Inch Rigid Ash Wand with Erumpent Hide Core
Tadgh was used to second hand clothes. Second hand everything, really - his wand was pretty much the only thing he really remembered ever being entirely his. The self-consciousness had become a low, constant undercurrent of his life; awareness that at any given moment his peers might be staring at him, judging him, making assumptions about the kind of person he was just because he was visibly poor. He was used to it, but it didn't get any easier, the awareness quietly tickling at the back of his neck everywhere he went.
Being at Hogwarts had strangely made it worse - in the city, anyone you passed on the street you could be reasonably sure you would never see again, so... whatever. But Hogwarts was a closed ecosystem - he was going to be seeing these same people every day for the next seven years. They'd watch his oversized, shabby robes grow too tight, trousers riding up to show his ankles before he was finally able to replace him. They'd know him as the kid whose books were ripped and stained, whose trunk had someone else's name on top, crossed out with his own written underneath. It was the reputation he was going to be stuck with, and he was already sick of it.
So, it was insult on top of injury when Tadgh felt something against his hip, followed by the clatter of wood on the floor. He stopped mid-step and looked down, realising with horror that a hole must have worn through the pocket of his robe, because his wand had slipped right out and landed on the floor. The one thing that was his, that had only ever been his, and the rest of his things were so sh*tty that he couldn't even keep hold of it properly. "F*CK!" He snapped, bending and quickly picking up the wand, fuming quietly to himself as he tested his other pocket for holes before jamming it in there.
Being at Hogwarts had strangely made it worse - in the city, anyone you passed on the street you could be reasonably sure you would never see again, so... whatever. But Hogwarts was a closed ecosystem - he was going to be seeing these same people every day for the next seven years. They'd watch his oversized, shabby robes grow too tight, trousers riding up to show his ankles before he was finally able to replace him. They'd know him as the kid whose books were ripped and stained, whose trunk had someone else's name on top, crossed out with his own written underneath. It was the reputation he was going to be stuck with, and he was already sick of it.
So, it was insult on top of injury when Tadgh felt something against his hip, followed by the clatter of wood on the floor. He stopped mid-step and looked down, realising with horror that a hole must have worn through the pocket of his robe, because his wand had slipped right out and landed on the floor. The one thing that was his, that had only ever been his, and the rest of his things were so sh*tty that he couldn't even keep hold of it properly. "F*CK!" He snapped, bending and quickly picking up the wand, fuming quietly to himself as he tested his other pocket for holes before jamming it in there.