blood status: muggleborn clubs: hogwarts choir pronouns: she/her sexuality: questioning
BIOGRAPHY
Madonna might as well have written the song for Hestia herself. Material girl. And oh, wasn’t she just. Born into the top 1%, Hestia Jones was the plastic princess, the privileged daughter of the infamous self-made millionaire and his twenty-years junior wife, made ready for a trophy collection. He was sharp and she was beautiful – and Hestia came to embody them both perfectly, a toxic combination of lethal smartness and selfish materialism, all wrapped up in one perfect package. And yet, aside from characteristics as clear as day, Hestia never felt as if she knew her parents at all. Delivered one sticky July night, she was instantly palmed off onto the nanny – with clear instructions from her mother not to return her until she was interesting. At least her father had work (and later, she would find out, a second daughter) as an excuse. Her mother simply couldn’t care – a vapid soul who saw little more than what was beyond the tip of her nose. It would have been easy for Hestia to become just like her, an empty heiress like the girls she commanded from her first day at school. But, watching her, watching the emptiness with which she greeted her husband, how her life was a charade – an entire performance, Hestia knew she wanted more. She deserved more.
Despite an unquenchable thirst for something (call it ambition, call it power), her life was packed full of material goods – a ringlet haired girl ruling over a Chelsea Mansion Kingdom from when she could walk and talk. Although love and attention were in short supply (maids didn’t count, the amusing muggle-like house elves that they were), things were not – and for Hestia, money did indeed grow on trees. Had she been any duller, a blunter tool, this would have been easily satisfactory. She could have traced silk gowns, expensive dolls and diamond earrings and known that through her consumption, she too would be consumed. But, although her eyes would spark with delight at every gift her father brought home (always waiting on the table the morning after he returned, his newspaper carelessly discarded from where he had eaten breakfast without the family), it didn’t fill her up. It wasn’t enough. And yet, still just a child, she was unable to express her anguish, the emptiness which she felt. And so, she turned to actions. It was only then that she began to come alive.
At seven, most children are still consumed by imaginary friends and daring games. But not she. Sent to the most exclusive private school that money could buy (annual tuition totalled at £30,000) at four years old and thrown into a glistening, gilded world, it took her just three short years to throw away any juvenile fantasies and embrace the sharp cool reality. It was here she first learnt the games that would prove to be such an asset in the future. It was here that she mastered the ability of leading a heard, of proving yourself, of finding a way to stand out of the crowd – and to command respect. Where her father was a business tycoon, she was a Queen – whilst the other girls continued to pretend to be princesses. That word always felt a little soft for her. They could have their white lace. She wanted her sharp-cut diamond and hint of musk. It was through her experiences on the playground – and in the family dinners and galas she was slowly introduced to, that she began to feel a kinship with her father. She saw how people were afraid of him – and it made her smile. She saw how he commanded a room – and aspired to be just as he was. Once, she even entertained fantasies of growing up and taking over his company. As a general rule, she did things purely for her gain – but she found herself wanting to earn his respect, to impress him, for him to take her under his wing. And yet, there always felt like a distance between them, something hidden when he looked at her, something bitter in his expression. There were even times when she would catch her mother looking across the room, pure poison in her gaze. Something was amiss, with both of her parents – and as she aged, Hestia only became all the more determined to find out what it was.
Their lives – all three of them – were a lived fairy tale fantasy, a façade that shattered when the light faded. She wasn’t blind. She wasn’t oblivious. She noted the absences of her father – the same time every month. And soon enough, she would find the answer that plagued her thoughts. It happened when she was ten – two weeks before she turned eleven. Snooping around her parents bedrooms in search of gifts (she had presented them with a rather long list, but she was sure her mother hadn’t been paying enough attention) her eyes settled upon the most beautiful necklace she had ever seen. Stuffed full of jewels – utterly exuberant – it was exactly her taste. Beaming, she placed it back where she had found it – and searched for it two weeks later, amongst the gifts. When it failed to materialise, she looked her father in the eye, blunt and to the point. Where’s my necklace? And when her mother turned to glare at him – she knew that she had stumbled across something bigger. That night, her father ruined her eleventh birthday by forcing her to share it with someone else – and not just anyone else, but a girl just like her, half of her blood, halfway across the country. Her name is Gwenog. He told her. Perhaps one day you’ll meet her. No soothsayer, he couldn’t have known just how true his words would come to be.
Over the next few months, Hestia thought about that girl (she was never Gwenog, never humanised) a lot. She wondered whether her parents had ever been in love (or even liked each other) and whether it was Gwenog who had ruined them. She wondered if her father tried to please Gwenog more than her (through his pained expressions, it certainly seemed that way). And she wondered if he loved her more. He certainly seemed to be prouder of her – although for reasons she could hardly fathom. Competing against a girl who was just a shiver, more shadow than person, Hestia began to twist herself up at the mere thought of such a creature, the person who had ruined all of them without truly materialising. She had thought, the moment a fateful letter arrived in the post, that she had won. You are invited to attend Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Sat across the table, Hestia inhaled sharply – offered a hand into a world that was beyond imagination. Boastful and proud (happy to be selected, to be seen as exceptional, as someone special, as the best of the best) she had knocked on her father’s study, presenting him with the letter. His mouth dropped – but not for the reason she thought it had. That’s where Gwenog is. Despite her excitement, Hestia had scowled.
Still, over the next few months, she couldn’t help but admit her excitement – especially at the prospect of attending with Dorcas. Hand in hand, they jumped up onto the Hogwarts express, eyes firmly trained towards the future. Confident and self-assured, made wiser with her years of playing power games and issuing commands, Hestia had assumed she had it all under control. She had always known, practically from birth, that she had been destined for greatness, born to truly be someone – and here was her chance. She would be the first witch to turn up in faux fur and ruby earrings. She would bring some much needed class. Unfortunately, that was the direct opposite of what the world that awaited her wanted – and she would soon find herself treading deep water, on the brink of destruction. It only took two days for her to become exposed to the bleak reality she now found herself in – that her riches and surname meant nothing in this world – and that the only thing that mattered was something that couldn’t be bought, schemed or even earned. Blood purity was beyond her reach – and if the cunning snakeheads that surrounded her had it their way, she would be rendered rotten, made an outcast – slowly wilting. Screw that. Even at eleven, Hestia had known she wasn’t the flower. She was the thorn.
Blood might have been one thing she couldn’t buy. But status? Their world might have been one of magic, but witches and muggles are the same at heart – and some rules never change.
Overnight, she slipped into a new skin, one of polished emeralds, a sharpened snake with venom on their lips. A girl who aged beyond her years, she spoke with all the spite of someone far more seasoned, wriggling her way into the circles that her birth right excluded her from. There were a few who tried to stand in her way – who sought to tear her down. But no matter who they were – they quickly learnt their lessons. Unfortunately, on your way to the top, you’re bound to have to cut down on some dead weight. Her entire life, she had trod the line between sharp and poisonous, between tough and heartless. Well now, she veered towards the latter. It made her cruel, it made her hard – but in the end, it was worth it. And the chase? Well, making her way to the top was almost as good as it felt finally getting on top of the podium. Truly her father’s daughter, Hestia found a way to embrace who she became on the journey, a pure snake, right down to her cooling heart.
Now in her sixth year, Hestia’s status has been secure for forever. It’s easy for most people to forget who she is, for the fire in her eyes and the ice in her voice will force you to – and it isn’t as if she allows you to get a word in anyway. Continuing to walk the fine line between the privileged entitled girl she was as a muggle and the determined, powerful and ambitious witch she has become, Hestia is something the wizarding world has never seen – a warning, the brink of a storm. With cutting insults that can tear anyone at the seams, she’s quickly gained a reputation as both a sell out and a cut throat – and most people know better than to test her. And yet, the job is only half done. All around her, people turn their eyes away from adolescence and towards the future – with two words on everyone’s lips. Death Eaters. The consensus among her friends is to enrol in their ranks, pledge their loyalties to the man they call the Dark Lord – and continue their reign of terror on the outside. For Hestia, that’s another hurdle to overcome. Having trained herself on this goal, this life and this world for the past six years, she can see nothing else – and craves to be accepted among their ranks – to have that tattoo branded on her arm. And yet, being accepted by Slytherin house is one thing – the pureblood society? That’s quite another. But people should know better than to underestimate her – for she’s more like her father than he could ever see, his heir truly come to manifest.
CONNECTIONS
gwenog jones; blood is thinner. from the time that she was a little girl, hestia could tell that her family situation was different from the ones that she would witness in the books that she read. she had grown up in a wealthy area of london, with everything that she could ever want - but things were still off. her parents regarded one another with cold indifference, only seeming to smile or embrace one another when people could be looking on. her father would sometimes leave the house certain days of the month, and it wasn’t until hestia was in her adolescence that she knew why this was. she had a sister - or well, a half sister living on the opposite side of the country, a girl that was just a year older than her. and initially, as a child, hestia thought the prospect of having a sister would be something that she could cherish. but she began to pick up on cues of how this addition to their lives changed her own - of how it affected her parents relationship, of how it affected her own relationship with her father. and so, without having met the other girl, she slowly started to resent her. it was an all-consuming annoyance that burned in the pit of her stomach, and it only seemed to get worse as she learned more. upon going to school, she was thrust into a world that she wasn’t prepared for - a world that was ready to chew her up and spit her out, simply because of her lineage. slytherin was unforgiving to those who were born to muggles, which was why it was a cruel irony that she was dressed in the colors of green and silver from the second day in school. she’d learned from her earliest age that easiest way to earn respect was to be the best, and in her mind, to earn the respect of those slytherins around her, it meant becoming one of them. it meant joining them, and speaking their language of taunts and insults that spoke far too true to herself. it wasn’t until she was in school, however, that she truly met her sister for the first time - and learned that gwenog didn’t share the same fate of being a muggleborn. her mother was a witch, and so gwenog could be spared from the humiliation of having dirty blood. it enfuriated hestia and made her hate the girl even more, knowing that she was bound to this person for the rest of her life.
greta catchlove; the unforgettable. growing up in hestia’s world, money and power were equated with love and affection. her mother married her father out of love for his money, and not out of love for him - and her childhood was filled with other children and families who had like-minded virtues. because of this, her youth was littered with materialism, her companions being nannies and her needs being satisfied by the shiny objects. the one exception in this whole world was greta, the little girl who lived a few houses away from the jones’. greta was not wealthy or anywhere near as well-known as hestia’s family was - but she paid attention to her. she listened to her and she always wanted to be around her and to have fun with her, which was something completely novel to hestia. greta was soft and sweet and had an imagination as big as the entire city, which hestia loved to listen to. their personalities were different, hestia more outspoken with an air that seemed far too old for a person her age - a sharp contrast compared to greta’s quieter demeanor. but in a way, this helped the two of them to fit together even more. for once, hestia felt like she had someone that was finally hers - and hers alone. because of this, it made the bond all the more special to hestia, leaving her to want to protect it from anything that might interfere. she was always possessive, not wanting to let go to things she believed were rightfully hers. of course, they soon found themselves pulled apart upon entering the school, placed into different houses - and hestia found herself surrounded by a completely different sort of people. greta was the one person who had shown her that it wasn’t about the wealth or the money or the material, but that she truly cared for hestia as a person, and yet without her presence, hestia quickly succumbed to that same mentality that had been driven into her mind since she was young. now, greta can’t even look her in the eye, words no longer exchanged between the two of them from that point on. no matter how hard hestia tries to move on, she finds herself caught in the middle of the past and now, wanting to return to the way things were. greta’s name often comes up as a potential victim for her and her new ‘friends’ but hestia will not allow it. the protectiveness over the other girl still stands true, and if anyone tries to interfere, hestia will show her true colors in an instant.
kingsley shacklebolt; the project. the name shacklebolt is just like the rest of those that fall within the realms of the ones that hestia finds so distasteful on her tongue - pureblood children born into the privileged lifestyle without having to put in a single ounce of effort or work, and not nearly as much as the ones around them. people placed upon a pedestal in the wizarding world with no thought into what sort of person that they are or what type of impact they have the potential to make. people who managed to overstep and overshadow her in every way, just because of who they were born unto. in terms of the malfoys and the carrows or the blacks and the potters, it only served to place those children upon a higher level that they didn’t deserve and with opportunities they couldn’t understand the value of. kingsley shacklebolt, though - he’s the outlier to this whole logic. one of the members of these families that could have everyone in the wizarding world carrying out their every whim, a person who has the chance to do whatever he pleases without an apologies or remorse - and yet kingsley chooses to live a simpler life. he chooses to work hard and not rely on the silver spoon that he could’ve simply taken into his mouth and ridden his way through school without a worry. and for that, in a way hestia admires him and respects him. but at the same time, there’s flames of jealousy that burn within her, for he’s been given the option to do so. being a muggleborn, hestia has to work twice as hard and wear the tough armor of defense to be seen in the same respect of those around her with pure blood flowing through their veins. so although she may look on kingsley in a more positive light compared to people like lucius malfoy or alecto carrow, she doesn’t look positively upon him. no, that would be far too simple - that’s giving her power to someone else when it’s free for the taking, right for herself. if anything, hestia wants to toy with kingsley, wants to pull on his strings to see what makes him tick. there’s something so tempting about corrupting him and smear that good boy image with filth until he’s left with nothing.
sirius black; the easy target. the reputation of blood traitors is far more damning than those who have drawn the unfortunate of being born to the wrong person. and for that reason, in hestia’s eyes, it seems that the easiest way for her to continue to keep the stance that she holds within the group of slytherins, she needs to aim their sights on someone who is far below her. namely, that ends up being sirius black. and it’s not that difficult to sway people to direct their attention that way - his own brother seems to hate him, after all. hestia knows that time is ticking by, and within the next years, if she wants to stay at the top of the heap, she’ll need to prove herself worthy of a spot in the death eaters - something that could prove to be damn near impossible considering her status. but impossible isn’t in her vocabulary, and she’s willing to just about anything to do it, even if it means trying to screw up the remnants of a normal life that sirius has tried to put together for himself now. she believes that he may have caught on to what she’s attempting, but it doesn’t bother her. in fact, it just pushes her even harder to make her mark and show him that she’s not messing around. lately, he has continually been trying to talk to her about what she’s doing and the effects that it actually has, almost to try and force her to see the light. that right there is a joke in itself, for she finds it amusing that he’s continually trying to reach out to her, as if he’s trying to ‘save’ her. as if she needs to be saved. she knows what she’s doing, and she knows that this is the right course of action that she needs to be taking.
HESTIA JONES IS PORTRAYED BY NEELAM GILL, AND SHE IS TAKEN BY EMILY.