Authors Note: Why hello there lovely readers! This is not the first story that I've posted on fanfiction, but it is the first story I've uploaded since I fell deeply and madly in love with Harry Potter. For full story (but honestly, who cares?) see my profile. I've spent almost a year with this story, not even writing it, but developing the characters and story line, and I'm honestly in love with it. I hope you guys are too :D And now, On with the show!

Disclaimer: I sadly own nothing of the Harry Potter series. Yet, I do own Isis Marie Montgomery and all of her ridiculousness, and my wonderful American Wizards(:

I was somewhere that was gloriously warm. It was so warm that the sunshine melted on my body and covered me in all of its love. I smiled as I surrounded myself with the gentle serenity of slightly rocking waves. I let out a sigh as I felt the cool sand squish in between my toes. But all too soon my sleep and my dream suntan had been ruined.

Some strange noise was coming from my pillow. What surprised me was that it sounded French. "Réveille-toi, chérie." Translation: "Wake up, sweetie". The voice sounded so gentle and loving, that for a moment I actually considered it. But, my bed was far too warm and lovely, that I cocooned myself in my blankets and I succumbed myself to sleep once more. I just got back to the beach when all of a sudden, there it was again. "Allons, réveillez-vous!" Translation: "Come on. Wake up!" Not really forcing me to get up, just pleasantly asking, pleading for me to get out of my bed. Nevertheless, it was keeping me from the calm ocean. Hush pillow I told it. This is sleep time. I tried to return to my beachy haven when the speaking turned deadly. "Isis, ne me faites pas obtenir le seau." Translation: "Isis, don't make me get the bucket." I rolled over and prayed for my pillow to stop speaking, but all of a sudden my blankets were ripped away from me, and my curtains were opened.

"Gahh!" I gasped as the sunlight streamed in and intruded into my closed eyelids. "Not fair!" I whined. It was far too bright and far too early. And then my mother shouted louder than she had before, (This time in English which meant she was really mad) "ISIS. UP. NOW!"

I sat for a moment, giving her my best death glare but I rolled over and placed my feet on the floor in defeat. "Good, now urry up," She ordered, "Your fazer and I need to speak to you." She ordered in her heavy accent. I simply groaned and said a very weak, "Yes, drill sergeant." With one more dirty look back at me, she was gone.

I staggered out of bed and looked in the mirror at my haggard appearance. My morning face reminded me a bit like my mother's when she was angry. I suppose that I was pretty on a normal occasion, getting most of my looks from her. And I also suppose that since I'm talking about myself that I should properly introduce myself: My name is Isis Montgomery, I'm 15 and I'm the daughter of a French aristocrat. And even though I don't care about appearance, I've decided it is time to shower, since I look like a street bum rather than an aristocrat.

I took one fleeting look In the mirror, and then slowly trudged into the bathroom, my slippers shuffling across the floor. I quickly moved through my morning routine: Shower, shave, dress, steal some of whatever mom is cooking, brush my teeth and dry my hair. As I was nibbling away at a piece of bacon I ran a brush through my long dark hair. Personally, I thought that my hair was too dark for my pale skin, but mother said I have a "complexion like crème fraiche. However, I LOVE my eyes- my wide round violet eyes. They kinda just light up my face, and Daddy says they look like gem stones. I'm obviously a complete Daddy's girl, but I love my mother. My Grandfather and Grandmere (as they say in French) were purebloods, so is my mother. You know, all that old money and stuff. She's not the typical pureblood though; she doesn't have that "pureblood mania" that everyone has. Only the glitzy glamorous life that comes with it. And can be sorta pretentious, too. Yet, she is completely oblivious to it.

My mother Appoline is originally from France, and my father William from Scotland. I was born in Paris, and lived there for a few years. Just as I was about to start school at Beaubaxtons, my father decided that France was too dangerous, what with the information my father had been hearing from work. So we took a trip out to my Grandparents out in Edinburgh and stayed there for a year or too, and I've just been homeschooled. We moved from city to city in Scotland, trying to stay hidden, according to my parents. So, my life is really a pain in the ass.

Did I mention that my family is a family of wizards?

Yeah, that would explain the "purebloods" I was talking about, the constant relocating, etc. Life is dangerous in the wizarding world. At least my parents are FINALLY letting me start at a real school. And I'm not going to any school, I'm going to Hogwarts! The greatest wizarding school in the entire freaking planet! It's where (gasp) Harry Potter goes! Dad's not looking forward to me going, but it's where he went so it was deemed "safe enough for his little lass". I think that he just didn't want be to go to Beaubaxtons like mother did. And maybe the fact that Dumbledore is headmaster of Hogwarts had something to do with it. NAHH, I think it's just the Beaubaxtons thing.

I finally deemed myself not hideous, so I trudged down the stairs to see what the "wardens" wanted from me. I made my way to the kitchen of our little cottage and found my mother whisking away at something and my father reading The Daily Prophet. "Morning Daddy" I said as chipper as I could this early in the morning, giving him a quick peck on the cheek. He was too absorbed in some article to respond by anything but a nod. I grabbed a seat and quickly plopped myself down in it as I eagerly awaited my mother's cooking. "La mere," I asked, "Qui est pour le petit dejuener?" I asked her. I was STARVING. Probably because I was just a bottomless pit, though. She smiled and said "Crepes zis morning for breakfast, ma cherie."

That meant bad news. My most favorite breakfast of all time, she was trying to sweeten me up. Why does she pick TODAY to tell me bad news? She already ruined my morning. I guess she sensed that I was on to her, so she asked me some stupid question about what filling I wanted in my crepe. So I turned to my Dad to see if I could get an answer out of him, but he was still reading, occasionally making a tsk noise when he read something that he didn't like. I waited for him to finish and then I could bombard him with questions, but he put down the paper and remained silent. Argh.

Mother set the hot crepe in front of me, warm nutella and strawberries oozing out of it, hot goey and deliciously sweet. Just as I was about to stab t with my fork and relish in all of its goodness, mother decided to tell me what she and daddy were up to. She picked up the paper, which she NEVER does. "Oh my goodnees, look at all zeese people zat 'ave gone missing. Zere are disappearances everywhere." I watched in awe as my mother read The Daily Prophet. My father then nodded in agreement. "Aye, I read that too. It's not safe anywhere anymore."

I was, intrigued, to say the least. They knew I read the Prophet every day, and every day it was always the same thing. Mysterious disappearances that the Ministry covers up, things like that. They know that I stay in touch with what's going on, (or what the Ministry SAYS is going on), they don't ever feel the need to school me on it. I know what's at stake here, I'm reminded everyday by their sheer absence. My parents work for the Order of The Phoenix, a secret society formed by Dumbledore for the purpose of fighting against Lord Voldemort. Pretty scary stuff, right? Apparently, they ran into some trouble a while back with the Lestranges, and thus the life of home schooling for Isis was born.

Anyways, back to my parents. They were now looking from the paper to one another, to me, then back again. It was like they were trying to see my reaction, whether or not they should continue speaking, and who would be the one to bear whatever bad news they had to me. It was my mother who continued. "Voldemort is starting to spread across ze globe, trying to gather as many followers as he can. And according to Dumbly-dorr, zere is a great amount of people in ze U.S zat don't really pay attention to all ze politics in Europe." I was going to ask what the hell this had to do with anything, but my dad continued right where my mom left off. "Aye, that's true lass. And since thay don't know much about what it is that's happening here, he believes that the Death Eaters will try to gather followers from there. The Order has very little members there, so Dumbledore was trying to see if anyone would like to volunteer to check out the Western Hemisphere," he finished with a small sad smile.

Woah, SERIOUSLY? He was leaving his family to leave for bloody America for months, without any answer as to how long he'll be there. And he was leaving me here with my pretentious, overbearing mother?

Or so I thought.

Ma mere then told me how at the moment it was safer in the U.S. "You see darling, zere are just recruits zere at ze moment, so zere is no fighting. Plus it is far away from ze Potter boy. So tze two of us decided zat it would be best for us all to move to America for a small while. What do you think?"

My mouth opened in shock, and I think my jaw just reached the floor, something that has never happened before.

I stood there for what felt like an eternity, looking back and forth between my parents. Staring into my fathers eyes, silently begging for it to not be true. I got a sad nod from him. I looked back to my mom. She was smiling wide, completely oblivious to my dread of our plans to move to America.

"I- I need a minute" I was able to stammer out. I hastily turned from the kitchen, into my room and slammed the door shut.

My room, I thought. I've had so many over the years, what with us moving all the time. Each of them was different, and I liked them in their own special way. But my room here, was definitely my favorite. It was small, but I didn't need much space. My bed was on right side of the room from where you walked in. It was sort of in the wall, I guess like an alcove. At one end of it, there are shelves where I store books, journals, stationary and some makeup (my miniscule amount, bought at the whim of my mother). On the left, I had my dresser that was always covered in books. My cozy reading chair was placed in the middle of the room, and not far from it was a small table that held an old style rotary-dial phone( even though we're wizards and don't need one, I thought it would look cool in my room!) and a small journal where I record my thoughts about books. At the opposite end from where you walked in would be the doors to my adjoined bathroom and my closet. The walls are a pale, cream color, and most of my furniture is a pretty white. The sun shines onto my room all day, happily dancing off the walls. The heather outside my window waves in the wind.

I didn't want to move. I love this home, and I love Scotland. Mother can't stand it here. She HATES the countryside. I mean, I guess that's kind of expected of someone who was born and raised in Paris. And Paris is amazing, it's true. It's probably the only city I like in the entire world. But with me, there's just something about Scotland. It's rugged, but not rough, old but fascinating, and with a gentle sweet side you couldn't imagine existed. It's so calm and serene. I don't know, I guess I got this from my father, the love of the quieter rural areas.

I know that if we move to America, it'll be to a city, like New York or something. I am going to die. I might have said that I love Paris, but New York is NO Paris. It's dirty, and crime ridden, and smelly. The people are rude, constantly moving, moving, moving. They don't stop to have a conversation, or admire the world around them. It drives me crazy. And then of course, it's all split up into different areas. There's poverty land, then there's uptown fancy shmancy socialite land. I can feel it already, mother is going to love it. Of course, she won't leave uptown I bet, so she won't see any part of the REAL world. I swear, she was raised by wealthy purebloods, and since she didn't acquire pureblood mania, I think she was hit with a double dose of snobbery, or at least an obsession with the finer, more expensive, pretentious things in life. If she was a muggle, I think she'd wind up as a… I believe the word is debutant? She tries to get me like that, made me take things like etiquette lessons as a child. It's completely unnecessary, and it drives me mad that she lives her life based off of that rubbish. The only thing I like about the fine life is the food. Seriously.

Oh, Smehkaleen. Why couldn't they just have killed me? And I know mother, she won't let me just go to Hogwarts while she and dad in another country. So that means

More Homeschooling. OR

Go to one of the American schools.

I've been homeschooled my whole life, and I swear, even though BOTH of my parents are aurors AND members of the Order of the Phoenix, they haven't taught me anything. They're too busy. And going to American school? HA! I would rather insult a Hippogriff.

It's just not… magical. At least not like Hogwarts is. It's not as old, or rugged. And America doesn't have all that random countryside land that Europe does to hide a school of that massive size. They're in smaller areas to conceal them better, obviously no ancient castle filled with history. I don't even want to imagine what it would be like to go American Wizarding School.

"ARGHH!" I grunted as I tossed my journal on my bed and then proceeded to pace around my room. I walked over to my owl Calypso's cage, and she nipped at my finger. "How could she do this to me, Callie?" I was royally pissed off.

Hogwarts was my dream for as long as I could remember, even when I was still living in France. Ever since my Dad was telling me about how majestic and magical and amazing it was. I finally had been able to settle on Beaubaxtons, and then the plug was pulled on that too. I homeschooled MYSELF, while my parents were away and busy. Now, for the first time ever I could get the chance to go to school, I'm going to wind up in an AMERICAN school? The injustice that has been committed is outrageous.

My journal, the only one who understands how I feel. I stroked Callie once more, gave her a treat, then I hopped onto my bed to retrieve my leather-bound journal, up on the shelf right above where my feet lie at night. I grabbed my favorite quill, and a pot of ink, and snuggled into the massive pile of pillows. I opened the journal, and before I began to do anything, I inhaled the scent of it. Mhmmm, as I breathed it in deeply. I remembered Daddy once telling me "Don't judge a book by the look of its cover, judge it by the smell of its spine." Silly, I know. But to this day I still have to check how a book smells when I buy it. When I go into a book store, even if I know which book I'm going to buy, I have to carefully select WHICH book it is. It can take hours, sometimes.

I decided that rather than just start venting about the whole "Move to America" issue, I would create a Pro and Con list of it all. I wanted to start positive, but, me being me, all I could come up with were Cons.

Cons about moving to America:

1) It's America.

2) It's not Scotland.

3) Their wizarding schools don't compare to Hogwarts, where I'd be forced to go OR

4) Continue to be homeschooled.

5) No Dumbledore either.

6) We'd be living in like, Manhattan or something.

7) It wouldn't have my room. (Okay, I know it's a stupid reason, but still.)

8) Their cattle is fed with genetically engineered corn, therefore its steaks do not compare to European steaks. (A VITAL REASON.)

9) There are no Crunchy bars. (Again, TRES IMPORTANT!)

And yet, the only thing I had on the Pros list was:

1) It's a fresh start. (A line my mother told me each time we'd move.)

2) At least I'd socialize with people my own age, at the inadequate school.

I know I was being childish about the whole thing, but you don't understand how tragically awful it would be for us to have to move! I could feel the venting coming on about my parents, I was just about to dip my quill into the ink and start to write, but there was a sudden rapping on my door, and as I jumped at the noise the inkpot tipped onto my bed. Smehkaleen. Before I could reply to who was outside my door, my father entered the room.

I gave him my best evil glare and said filled with fake malice "You tipped the inkpot." I grabbed for my wand, pretending I was about to duel him, which amused him greatly.

I looked at the mess on my bed, broken glass in a puddle of black ink. A quick flick with a "Reparo!" and the ink pot put itself together again.

"Impressive, but can you get the ink off of your bed before your mother screams?" daddy said, quite smugly.

I snorted, waved my wand and confidently said "Tergeo!" and looked at my father, who watched in awe that I knew that spell. There was still a small stain on the sheets, (stupid black ink on light blue) so a quick flourish of the wand and a muttering of "Evanesco!" did the trick. I was quite pleased with myself, and showed it, standing next to my bed looking rather proud.

He was defeated. "Alright lass, you win. Now, how do you feel about this move, huh? Come on, you can tell your old man," he winced, as his knees popped in an attempt to sit on the arm of my reading chair.

"Yeah, and don't ever forget your old." I snorted. "Seriously though?" I asked. He nodded.

"God dad, I-I just don't know. I love it here, in Scotland. I wouldn't even mind it so much if we were moving back to Paris, but America, Dad? Really? And you know how much Hogwarts means to me as well! AHH Smehkaleen!"

He chortled. "Smehkaleen. What the bloody hell does that even mean, anyways?"

I gave him a steely death glare. "Focus, please Dad? On the matter at hand? Not my teenage vernacular."

"Alright, Alright, settle down lass." He said. "You do realize what good it would do, you know. For us to move. AND for you to go to a school there. Rally up the other kids; get them to see the light, to form an opinion. We really need this; we need all the help we can get at this point." He frowned. "To be honest with you Lass, it looks like were losing, and we're completely outnumbered. If we want ANY hope in winning this war, we need followers. The move is an order from Dumbledore, and most likely unavoidable, and I would prefer it if you went without kicking and screaming. YOU can continue homeschooling, but Dumbledore said it would be good for you to try school there, though in the end the choice is up to you." He smiled a bit at me. "You're a smart girl, Isis Marie. And I know you'll make the right decision."

With that, he got up from the chair and walked out from my room. And he left me standing in front of my bed, totally frazzled.

Smehkaleen, did I have some thinking to do.