Post by joanna nolan on Sept 18, 2012 0:06:49 GMT -5
JOANNA JONAH NOLAN
Born amidst the changing leaves of fall to a lesser known pureblood family, Joanna became the only child of Jonah and Alana Nolan. As one of wealth and entitlement, Joanna’s childhood consisted of lessons in propriety, expectations, and boundaries. Her mother insisted on enforcing the proper social etiquette of pureblood society, and her father only ever stepped in should she need a reminder of the importance of rules and regulations. For example, when displaying the wanting length of her temper.
Not often did she lose her temper, it took push after push after push (falldown), but when she did, she was inconsolable. Full out on the ground, thrashing, screaming, every hateful and hurtful word out of her mouth, violent and uncontainable. Sometimes, her parents would have to hex her (or beat her, after all, a good SMACK across the face is often enough of a shock to the system to halt anyone) just to stop the chaos. Something. Disconnected. Inside. As she grew older, she learned to tame her anger. What was it that she was SO angry about ALL the time? Now, only ever in secret does she throw herself down on the floor when everything is TOOMUCH, and instead of screaming&raging, uses her words like daggers—short, sharp, and too the point—a very well placed point in the heart.
Despite a few stains on her childhood, Joanna grew up wanting for nothing. Upon entering Hogwarts she was sorted into Slytherin, after but a few seconds of debate with the sorting hat. Ambitious, Joanna preferred books to people, keeping to herself and easily rising to the top of her class. Of what use did she have for other human beings, except to use as steps (heels cracking spines) on her ascent to the top. The top, of course, of what? Her achievements barely acknowledged by her family—only more expectations, never settle, never settle for anything, you’ve walked on the moon but have you caught a star?Have you sailed the milky way?Good, but not good enough. So she worked harder. Became a prefect. Used a time turner to take even more classes, gather even more information, because information is power and knowledge is the key –
And then in sixth year, Horace Slughorn asked her the question: no, no, my dear, not what is it you want to DO with your life, but what is it you want to spend your life PERFECTING?
Anyone, anyone could flippantly flick charms around the room, and though transfiguration did require discipline, why would she spend her time with pincushions&hedgehogs? Potions, a true art, but what was art except to be appreciated, not practiced? More dark than defense, and while she did enjoy muggle music, she found little else about the topic worth while. Astronomy? As if she cared to stare away her nights at the sky. And so she thought. Only one class, that she found continually challenging, always changing, requiring a mastery of the basics and even then there would be translations that would stop her, grip her, fight her for h o u r s. Ancient. Runes. The call for perfection, an exact science, a delicate dissection of the lines and thoughts and runes, requiring concentration, dedication, and persistence—and most of all, a solitary confinement.
Joanna moved on to work in the field of ancient runes, providing translations and decryptions to various sources: historians, curse breakers, even the Ministry itself. And yet, yet it wasn’t… enough. Always looking to stretch herself further… and then she was offered a position, a position she never thought herself capable of—Professor of Ancient Runes at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. The thought flickered through her head—not capable—and she immediately accepted. The perfect place to continue her studies, and, to accept the biggest trial of all, educating mindless and ignorant children. Placing herself back in the circle of society and out of the solace of solitude: out of the frying pan and into the f i r e.
Joanna is just not quite right. Of course, who among the purebloods could claim to be quite right with so many genetic consistencies? And what is right, anyway? No right when everything and everyone are WRONG. She is a girl, no, not a girl, no longer a girl, but a woman with no one and nothing to lose (all ready lost, you see?). A woman scorned (by who?). Always a bitter taste in her mouth, breeding even more bitter words; Joanna has no qualms about speaking her mind, regardless of how crude, vulgar, or bold said statement may or may not be. In truth, she spends a vast amount of time being as off putting as humanly possible, offensive and defensive, quick to rise, slow to fall. Most of the time, she keeps her anger beneath the surface, behind the well ingrained facade of social etiquette, propriety, and professionalism—adept in the art of deception, a woman who could kiss|kill without pausing to take a breath inbetween.
Stubborn to a fault, Joanna finds herself digging her own grave , and continues to dig, dig, dig, even after she realizes she’s wrong: buried alive. Joanna would rather DIE than admit she was wrong, and if she HAS to admit it, then she isn’t going down alone—she’s taking you with her—teeth in jugular, preferably. Caustic and cold, aloof from everyone else. Though, deep inside, still in the dead, dead, dead heart of hers, something stirs every now and then. Kept under the lock and key of the cage of her ribs, she keeps any semblance of thoughts and/or feelings to herself, so used to ignoring them that she questions if they are truly even there anymore, if she is capable of having any sort of emotion at all. Probably not. Brains don’t have heart, only purpose.
Only one rule in life: Stand. Your. Ground. Never give an inch, and never back down. The minute you started to lose ground, you started to lose the battle, and everything, down to every last letter of every last word of every last conversation, was always a battle. Every meeting with another human being a confrontation of souls. And a first meeting? Set the tone for the entire relationship, whether short lived or long; whoever won the first confrontation had control, and Johanna desperately needs control (of something, of someone). Only ever when completely alone does Joanna ever let down her guard, shoulders sinking, eyes empty, heart broken, and when this happens, she does what she does best, bury herself in runes until she just can’t think anymore. Never will she settle for ordinary, only extraordinary.
please see Lily Evans posts.
