There are few situations that make one cunning. They are as follows: survival in an abusive household, family traditions and morals passed down, mistrust of other people, and finally, the ambition to be the most powerful person in a country.
Anyone that met Ms. Isytha-Edette Wilson would not of course, put her in any of these categories. Her parents, whom everyone knew since both were in the PTA and Board of School Governors since Izzy could talk, were quite the opposite of the abusive controlling parents that made up the rest of the seats. ("Oh, Izzy, we just find it so fascinating!") And with that, their family morals were on display for the whole world (well, town) to see.
Izzy made friends fast, and her loyalty to them made them in turn be just as loyal back. She put her faith into people and if you so much as thought as letting down those big brown eyes, you would instantly hate yourself.
But, ambition. That was something that Izzy seemed to lack. Sure, she was smart, and worked hard at her school work, but she was never interested in it. She got straight A's, yet would sit and gossip with her friends. She didn't want to seem to do anything with her life at all.
By the end of her Year 5, she was top of her class and also had the entire year at her feet. However, she never took notice of how when she walked into school everyone quieted to watch her. She simply continued on with whatever conversation she was having and smiled at her close friends as she passed them by. Walking through the school to her class, a small following would always form, hushed and watching her. Always mesmerized by the way her ponytailed blonde hair went back and forth and back and forth.
At the end of the summer holiday, when about to start Year 6, there was a hush that fell over the entire school but for an entirely different reason. It was three minutes before class would start on the first day of school and Izzy was not there. Her friends (who hadn't heard from her since the end of July) were suddenly hounded, being questioned left and right about where she was and why she wasn't there. Had she moved? Surely not, this was a small town in northern England after all, and everyone knew everyone. If she had moved it would have made it into the papers. Was she sick? The whole school (but especially the 11 year old sixth years) was in a silent buzz all day about it. It could even be said that in the teacher's lounge it was being discussed.
Izzy woke up to the morning sun spilling through her windows, hitting her right in the face. It was the last day of July and that meant school was starting soon. She groaned and got up, knowing her mom wanted to go school shopping today to get her new clothes and notebooks. She sleepily made her way to the bathroom, easily slipping under the warm spray.
Meanwhile downstairs, the post was pushed through the mail slot. Mrs. Wilson picked it up, rifling through it before seeing a thick yellowed paper with fancy curved lettering on it addressed to her daughter. Assuming it was her new school list ("I thought we already received that.") she left it on the kitchen table for her daughter to come down the stairs. Mrs. Wilson then continued with the pancakes she had been making. When she had woken up that morning the ingredients (as if by magic, but she knew it was just Mr. Wilson setting it out before he left; he was so thoughtful) for pancakes had been sitting out on the counter.
Izzy came down soon after the first batch of pancakes were done, and she grabbed a large stack before Mrs. Wilson was about to start on another one. Izzy frowned.
"Mum, what did we say about making more than one batch of pancakes in a day?"
Izzy's eyes flashed for a second, twinkling before being gone in a flash, as if nothing had happened. She sent a bright smile to her mother who started about how smart her lovely daughter was, putting away the ingredients.
As Izzy sat at the table, she noticed the letter, immediately picking it up to examine. One look at the seal on the back told her that it wasn't from her school.
"Hey mum, what's this?" Her voice was back to the childish innocence that colored all 11 year-olds voices.
"Oh, I figured it was from your school, they sure chose some funny paper this year, yeah?"
"Well can you open it? The wax on the back is too hard for me to get off."
Mrs. Wilson came over and picked up the letter, easily splitting it open and pulling out the letter. Upon reading the top letter, her face paled.
"Mum? What is it?" Izzy asked, her fork falling to her plate with a clatter.
"You - Nothing, honey. No matter what, don't open the door."
Mrs. Wilson abruptly turned around, starting on washing the dishes, and placing the letter next to her on the counter.
"No, mum, tell me what it is. What do they want me to bring to school this year? It can't be that bad, you're on the Committee Board!" Izzy looked intently at her mother, starting to fidget in her seat to get at the letter, but containing her nervous curiosity.
"I told you, it's nothing." Her mother's voice was sharp and quick, a voice Izzy hadn't head used on her before.
Izzy's eyes narrowed and she worked her jaw. For one so small she looked almost like an adult. Almost.
"Mummy, that letter is mine."
Mrs. Wilson paled further. "It was a mistake, sent it to the wrong person."
At this Izzy stood up. She walked over to where her mother was washing the dishes, and as she got closer, the letter flew up into the air and floated towards her. She caught it in midair, used to the little things that would happen whenever she was feeling particularly emotional: which happened much more than her parents would ever admit.
"What did we say about doing that in the house?" Mrs. Wilson questioned quietly.
"I wanted my letter, and you wouldn't give it to me," Izzy simply stated. She pulled out the pieces of paper (what was this stuff even made of?) and quickly read it.
Dear Ms. Wilson,
We are writing you to inform you that at 12:00 P. M. sharp you will receive a knock on your door. It is pertinent that you accept the meeting so that you may be enrolled into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Everything will be explained to you at that time.
Yours sincerely,
Minerva McGonagall
Deputy Headmistress
Izzy stared in awe at the piece of paper in her fingers (were they really shaking?) With her head spinning she looked at the next piece of paper ("Parchment," something in her subconscious told her). This one read more like what would go out to everyone, the text more formal.
HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY
Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore
(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock,
Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)
Dear Ms. Wilson,
We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.
Term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July.
Yours sincerely,
Minerva McGonagall
Deputy Headmistress
"But today's the first of August." Izzy's eyes fell to the letter, but then looked at the first again and sighed. Maybe that's why they had to send someone there, to tell her that they forgot to send hers out, and she was too late, there wasn't a spot for her anymore. She immediately put the thought from her head. Of course she already knew she was a witch; there was no other explanation for everything that she was able to do. But now, she won't be able to train. She had begged her parents to try and find her a school. And when they refused...well, she couldn't have them remembering that.
Izzy set her jaw and looked at the clock. It was already 11:30; she had thirty minutes before some unknown people came to her door and explained just what had been going on her entire life.