COSTA, Raven Lorelai

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Raven L. Costa, née Blackwood

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You remember feeling oppressed, sitting in the couch of the living room, with its dark Victorian style wallpaper and the dim, gloomy lighting that was in sore need of a change. Growing up in the household of the Blackwoods, a traditional pure-blood family, was not an easy nor a happy one, when you already had so many expectations bearing heavily down on your shoulders. As the eldest daughter of Emilia and Richard Blackwood, they were watching over your every moves like hawks, quick to drop some cold, biting comment on how your posture wasn’t graceful enough or to stop biting your lip like some commoner.

They weren’t easy on your younger sister, either, but you’d gotten the worst of it. The judging tones in your parents’ eyes or voices, every time you made a mistake on the piano or rashly spoke up instead of holding your tongue. You can still feel the burn of your mother’s slap against your cheek when you’d been audacious enough to talk back to her, the rosy imprint blooming against your pale skin.

Every time you recall the cold, looming visage of the dreary Blackwoods mansion, it’s like you’re once again pulled back to that cold, lonely place, with the light, airy, doleful piano music notes floating into the air. An odd contrast against the dark, foreboding image of the Blackwoods, who’d been tied with Death Eater families and even helped give shelter to some of them when they’d fled to escape persecution following the end of the Second Wizarding War. Unlike your family, however, you didn’t really share in their ideals. If anything, you didn’t want to be associated in any way with your family, for you never really felt like you belonged, every time you sat in the awkward family dinners and with the tense conversations.



So the moment you’d received the letter to the magical wizarding school, you felt a surge of joy swell within you, as you were more than desperate to escape the oppressive clutches of the Blackwood home in New Orleans. So it wasn’t a sad parting, no tears had been shed, no hugs had been given. The moment you turned around, you never looked back over your shoulder and a hidden, secret smile bloomed across your lips, and the second you’d settled into your new home at school, you were quick to shed and burn the boring, drab Puritan-like clothes that your mother made you wear. At school, you were much happier, carefree, and laughed more easily, as you found yourself surrounded by like-minded individuals. Soon, you found yourself dressing in clothes that hugged to your figure in all the right curves or clothes that were comfortable, but still aesthetically pleasing. Perhaps it was from your exploration of new fashion styles that you began to foster a dream of owning your own boutique, both for magical beings and No-Majs.

Then, one of your friends introduced you to the world of tattoos, and instantly, you fell in love with the art, decorating your own body with tattoos. They were your favorite form of expression, and even though your parents would highly disapprove of them, you didn’t care whether they liked it or not. You’d come home one day, and your parents were visibly shocked at your newfound change, but begrudgingly decided to leave it be. Although your mother wasted no opportunity to make some gripe about your new tattoo or your “scandalous” clothing.

Nonetheless, your parents decided to let you do what you want, feeling like you were a lost cause, and instead shifted their expectations onto your younger sister, which might have led to some strain on your bond with your sister. She seemed to harbor some frustration about being saddled with the responsibilities that should have been yours instead, and while you felt a little guilty about leaving her behind like that, you felt that she was more suited to the role anyways. Prim, proper.

As you worked hard in your studies, you were able to mold your own individual, assertive personality, and others could see that you were not one to take anyone’s shit. You weren’t someone that anyone could just walk all over easily, and if they tried to, well, damned they were.



One particular rascal had started hounding you, trying to flaunt himself as if he were the king of the world, but you weren’t interested in him, knowing very well of his notorious reputation for breaking girls’ hearts. How those girls ever found him likable was a mystery to you. Still does remain a mystery to you to this day, as you sometimes wonder about your decision from time to time. The king of assholes, more like, you’d once retorted in his face before flinging a hex on him that broke his nose. Time and time again, he just wouldn’t stop appearing everywhere you went, much to your dismay, but eventually he did begin to wear you down, and he started showing a side to you that you’d never expected. So, you finally relented to his requests for a real date, and before long, you found yourself in a wild, wild affair with Bishop that resulted in getting you pregnant at a young age.

You didn’t care much for how your family would react, but you also didn’t want to bring shame to the Blackwood name either. So you had two choices: either give up the baby and pretend it had never happened, or keep the baby and get married like it had been planned on purpose. You went with the more logical choice to keep the baby and married Bishop quickly before you graduated from school, figuring that once the baby was born, you’d just go your separate ways. Your family didn't seem to approve of the marriage, but they didn't protest much either, considering that Bishop was from another pure-blood family anyways. Something that at least satisfied your parents somewhat.

However, the moment you’d given birth to your new son and looked into his face, you couldn’t find yourself just letting go easily. And so, both you and your husband decided to start a new life together, with your son, Osias “Oz” Romulus Costa. Soon enough, you opened your own boutique, Fantastical Wonders, with the money that you’d saved up while taking up odd jobs during the majority of your schooling, while your husband opened his own bar.

And since then, you’ve been working hard to keep this family together, although you find yourself often exasperated with your husband’s moments of infidelity, but you don’t mind it, really, as you yourself aren’t exactly the picture-perfect, squeaky clean wife either.

But one thing is clear though: your son Oz is totally worth every moment, and you plan on making sure he’s spoiled rotten in a loving, caring house.