Disclaimer: Unfortunately I do not own any of the amazing works that J.K. has written. However, Isabella is an original character of mine, so I would appreciate it if you wouldn't use her without permission. Gracias.
Memo: The intro is written in the first person, so as to get a view of the character and to relate to the character on a more personal level, but the actual story will be written in the third person. In this story Dumbledore hasn't died and the war is on the verge of breaking. I'm sorry to all those who hate it when the original plot isn't followed, but this is the only way my story would have made sense. And if you don't branch off the original story at all, then what is the point of a fanfiction?
Dear Reader,
Hi there. My name is Isabella Maren Vito, and, despite the name, I look more Irish than Italian. My hair is the dark, chocolatey color found in southern Italy, but my eyes are a crystal blue, and my skin has more of a golden hue than olive-toned. Kind of a strange combination of features when you look at my parents, who are dark of eye and hair, with the traditional Mediterranean olive complexion. It makes the activity of pondering the identity of the milkman a much more interesting pastime.
Just kidding.
Both my parents were brought up in traditional Italian families that had immigrated to the United States in the nineteen fifties. They met through family connections, causing a small svandal when they ran off to Europe and eloped. I think that it was rather romantic, but hey, we live in a different era.
They became famous for their amazing photographs of wildlife and then three years later, my mom found out she was pregnant with me.
The first four years of my life were the best any kid could have. We traveled to Asia, Africa, South America, and the European mainland. Skipping over the British Isles, the most I ever saw of them was a dark mass obscured by fog through the minuscule window of an airplane.
Then came the big decision: public or home schooling? Well, my parents, being the somewhat practical Americans they were, decided that public schooling would be better for my overall social skills.
Boy were they wrong.
But we won't get into that now. Suffice it to say that thirteen years in the U.S. public school system was like living in a penitentiary with a secret arsenal. Hiding a secret as big as mine is not easy. The secret that really made me different from everyone around me. Even my parents.
An accident happened, so we moved to the United Kingdom, and that is where this story begins...