Chapter One: From Ipswich to London

April 27th, 1990

"You're a disgrace to the Ipswich family! Only an ignorant coward would refuse such knowledge I have bestowed upon you!" The angered shouting within the dark halls of an expansive mansion had begun to ring throughout the house.

Behind an ajar chestnut door two people were in the midst of a heated argument, one of the two was an elderly man and the other, a young boy. Aside from its occupants the room was empty, filled only with a few classic pieces of furniture similar to the ones found inside the castles of Europe. The expanse of the room was covered in dark swirls of emerald and gold, giving the room a false sense of depth. The room and its contents were minimal at best, but every detail added greater importance to the next: an armchair by the window and two others positioned around a large table, a vast fireplace, two walls dedicated to books and moving art pieces. The room was still apart from the heaving chests of the boy and man.

The old man stood in a regal manner as if he was of noble blood, ramrod straight with his hands clasped behind his back. His fitted black robes added to the impressiveness of his height and tight posture, and dazzled with their fluidity. His eyes were a dark, severe grey with an expression of displeasure, as if he'd never been impressed with anything in his many years. A long and sharp nose allowed him to literally "look down his nose at others", and his steep height allowed him to "live" above those around him gave the impression of cruel distinction. His pale skin had been tinted grey with age and decorated with drapes of wrinkled flesh, but his evenly cropped red hair had yet to entirely bleed out of its magnificent colour and only a few streaks of grey could be found within his thick locks. The air of a king swirled around him, the type of self-assuredness and confidence that drew people in. That, and his strong symmetrical features would have earned more than a few admiring gazes in his youth.

It was obvious that the older man was angry, his mouth was pulled into a thin line and his brow furrowed. Sadly, the recipient of his rage was none other than the little boy.

The small boy in similar black robes bore none of the older man's handsomely aged features, where the man was pale skinned with straight red hair, the boy had brown skin and dark curls upon his head. He looked no older than nine, albeit a rather good sized nine year old, but the taller man before him made the boy look much smaller. Unshed tears welled up in his dark brown eyes and his round nose flushed pink, but still, he did not make a sound. His hands were balled into white knuckled fists and his teeth were tightly clamped onto his bottom lip.

"You call yourself an Ipswich? How dare you! At this rate Arathyn will most likely be the next heir to the Ipswich family. I never thought I would live to see the day where one of my male descendants was demoted to 'Lady of the Manor'. You're nothing but a pitiful bastard, too weak to survive on his own! I should have never allowed your stupid mother coddle you, I won't make the same mistake with your sister. Stupid wench can't discern between a miserable runt and the family's crown jewel." The old man sneered, not oblivious to the young boy now shaking with rage. The old man raised a robed arm and pointed a menacing dark black wand at the child's chest in contempt.

"Maybe next time the dumb girl can give me a worthy grandson."

"How dare you insult my mother!" As the little boy screamed an unseen force threw the man backwards into a dark emerald chair. There was a loud crash and a look of surprise from the older man, it was a full five minutes before two other people burst in. The small boy ran into the arms of the woman and began to cry, while the man beside her ran to the man on the ground. The woman's expression was pained as she looked at the crying boy, "Witchr what happened?" She asked desperately. The boy ignored her and hid his face in the folds of her saffron dress. Eventually he resurfaced to look at his mother.

"M-mom." Witchr sobbed.

The close features made it obvious that the woman was the boy's mother, her brown skin was a few shades darker and her tight curls were tied together at the base of her neck. Yet, pieces of their resemblance were different, the boy's nose was narrower and the woman's ears weren't as large.

"W-well then I f-finally got him to tap into his magic. E-even earlier than your brother, your s-son will make a fine wizard, E-Elias." The older man was finally back on his feet with some help from the younger man. The man known as Elias was just as tall as the elder man beside him, he appeared to be a gentler version of the severe man, with brown hair and sparkling hazel eyes. There were also pieces of the young boy found in Elias' features: large ears, a long nose and the same soft expression in their eyes. As the young boy continued to sob in his mother's arms the young man turned towards the older man.

"Father, Witt just turned ten. He's too young to begin learning magic, especially if you're going to use the same method that you used to teach us." The young man argued in an even, seamless tone.

The old man let out a wheezing cough and shook off Elias' assistance, "Nonsense! He's at the perfect age now, I had to test him to see if he was worthy of being called an Ipswich. I, Gorlion Alkis Ipswich, as the sixth patriarch to the House of Ipswich will have no Squibs by my blood." Gorlion let out another hacking cough and straightened his long dark coffee robes.

Elias turned to look at his wife's worried face and then to their son, who still clung to her robes and cried.

"Elias." The woman pleaded.

"Father. Alita and I don't want Witchr, or Arathyn, being taught in such a harsh manner. They are too young to be drilled like this." Elias' smooth baritone voice was unwavering as he put an arm around his wife, and a sense of "that's final" was added to his statement.

Alita, still supporting the boy, gave a final scolding look towards her father-in-law and left the darkroom, Elias followed shortly, but not before turning to give a nod of respect to his grumbling father.

Elias had always known his father was a harsh and unrelenting man, he had been this way even when he and his brother were younger. They'd practice spells every waking hour and their inability to accurately execute a spell resulted in a hard smack to the face or, if it was really bad, they were forced to duel Orion, who was far too gifted for his own good. He'd never thought much of it before because that was all he had ever known, but now that he had his own children Elias knew he never he wanted them to suffer the same punishments as he. He had made a promise to himself and to Alita to never be like his father, he would raise Witchr and Arathyn without such an extreme form of discipline.

"Elias, he can't keep going through this, he's even begun trying to teach Arathyn. She's only nine!" Alita whispered angrily as she gently stroked Witchr's curly head.

"So help me Elias if this happens again, I'll put Devil's Snare in that old man's bed!" Alita went onto mumble something unintelligible before pressing a kiss onto the top of Witchr's head. Elias watched her turquoise wedding ring gleam in the firelight. He smiled softly to himself, this was his spitfire of a wife, the mother of his children and he couldn't help but love her even more each time he saw her.

Witchr had finally stopped crying and was able to stand on his own, he knew he was far too big to be relying on his mother, but every time he finished a lesson with grandfather he felt like a broken toy. Witchr hated his grandfather. He had never showed him any kindness. Witchr tried, oh how he tried, he endured every lesson, every cruel insult, and still, he never managed to earn any form of acceptance from his grandfather. After today Witchr was done trying.

When they arrived in the main room of the house Witchr was greeted by the smiling faces of his younger sister, Arathyn, and his grandmother, Madame Dresda. Like her husband Madame Dresda was a powerful witch, her deep hazel eyes held a soft motherly expression, yet, there was an intimidating gleam beneath it. Her dark brown hair had been tied back into a messy bun, her peppered coloured hair giving a wizened distinction. She had less wrinkles than her husband due to her ritualistic use of potions and balms, despite her being at the door of her sixth decade. Like Elias, she too had hazel eyes, but she was on the small side and easily dwarfed by her towering son. Dresda's olive skin was covered with a few defined wrinkles around her mouth and eyes from her many expressive years. The smatterings of freckles on her cheeks a pleasing sight indicative of her timeless youth and beauty.

Now, Arathyn was a very sweet girl and would most likely be a beauty in the future like her mother and grandmother. She and her brother both donned brown curls upon their heads and the same shade of brown skin, but unlike Witchr, Arathyn had inherited her father's eyes as well as the Ipswich family's ambition and ability. Although Arathyn appeared to be the next protégé in the Ipswich family, Witchr was no slacker either when it came to magic, but whereas he required copious amounts of force and encouragement Arathyn had a natural, subconscious knack for magic even at such an early age. Only a year younger than her brother, Arathyn was already proving to be a promising young witch and a devote younger sister as well.

"Witt! Witchr! Look what grandma gave me!" The small girl squealed excitedly as she waved her grandmother's wand. It was a rather slim and elegant wand, pale in colour and around thirteen inches in length, one could say it was a wand meant solely for the most sophisticated of witches. As she waved with wand a small poof of sparkles spewed from the end.

"Mother, should Arathyn really be waving around something that powerful?" Alita asked nervously.

The old woman simply smirked, "Nonsense! Our little Ara is proving to be a talented witch, why just yesterday I saw her executing a spell without a wand. With talent like her's you should begin her training this very instant." Her Bulgarian accent wasn't as thick as it had been in the past, but the ghost of her native tongue could still be heard.

"Well we can't exactly send her to any institute here in the States, the Ipswich family has been indefinitely banned from all Wizarding and Witchcraft schools within the Western hemisphere. And having father teach her is out of the question." Elias stated matter of factly.

The grown-ups continued talking and the two little ones remained oblivious as they argued over who got to play with the wand next. The spat ended abruptly when Arathyn cried out: "Grandfather!"

Witchr stilled, in an attempt to make himself unnoticeable. He could feel his presence just over his right shoulder.

"Father…" Witchr could hear his mother's cautious greeting and sense the tension in the room.

"Grandfather, I have been practicing my magic, sir." Arathyn was beaming with excitement.

"Show me what you have learned."

"May I use your wand grandmother?" The older witch nodded. Arathyn rose from the floor gripping the much too long wand in her right hand.

"Lumos." The tip of the wand swelled in a ball of light

Eventually Witchr stopped playing, and just watched Arathyn play happily. His sad smile went unnoticed by all, he had decided a long time ago he could not remain within this household. He couldn't handle all the Ipswich family rules and expectations. Witchr wasn't a leader and no matter how hard his grandfather grilled him, he'd never be the strong patriarch of the Ipswich family. Rather than be constricted by the family values, Witchr wanted to create something separate, something that was his.

Last Christmas Uncle Gorlois came to visit, he just appeared out of the fireplace in the study, Witchr's mom told him it was through the Floo Network. Gorlois was the black sheep of the family, he was one of the only two people a part of the Ipswich family to live outside of Massachusetts. His great grand aunt Moira going on three hundred who lives in Florida with her pet fruit bats: Gygarian Whippersnapper Illubis VI and Durella Poppering-Dawn. The rest of the family was scattered throughout Massachusetts, Witchr had to have at least fifty distant aunts and uncles and about a hundred cousins, he rarely saw them except for various holidays and birthdays. He was the fun uncle, he always brought exotic gifts and told amazing stories about his adventures. Grandfather didn't like Gorlois very much, he'd always seen him as a disappointment. Perhaps that's what grandfather thought of him as well, he was just another screw-up. Then again where else do screw-ups belong besides together?

August 16th, 1992

It had been two years since she had last heard from her brother, two years since he disappeared into the night. He had abandoned her, his little sister, their entire family without as much as a good-bye. Grandfather refused to let a "traitorous weak-willed sap" occupy his every waking moment, and wouldn't let anybody else mention anything about Witchr. Arathyn knew though, she knew that her parents would go looking for him in secret and they continued until one day they just stopped. Most likely grandfather had forbidden them from searching and Arathyn was forced to suppress her feelings in fear of upsetting grandfather. She was hurt and angry which is never a good combination for a young witch like herself, grandfather was beginning to lose his patience, she'd destroyed so many artifacts and windows throughout the manor she'd begun to lose count.

Despite Arathyn's outbursts her magic was coming along well, she had yet to purchase a wand (which she was supposed to have done with Witchr after his eleventh birthday) but grandmother kept trying to reassure her, "Trust me dear your powers are progressing so well I hardly think you'll even need a wand."

It wasn't the wand she was worried about, it was Witchr, they were supposed to have begun training together and to have grown up together. Now, not even their mother knew where Witchr was; there was no longer 'Witchr and Arathyn', it had been diminished to just 'Arathyn'.

"Arathyn! There's a letter for you!" As her mother called for her from downstairs, the ten year old girl set down the book she had been reading, Intermediate Transfiguration, and exited the library she'd been cooped up in for three hours. Zipping down the stairs into the kitchen the young witch was met with the sight of her mother sitting at a dark cedar table with a large spotted owl perched upon her shoulder sifting through letters. In the kitchen some dishes were cleaning themselves and an enchanted pie whizzing off into the oven. Another owl tittered around the wooden table anxiously, this owl was in the process of molting and appeared very unkempt. The older owl, Salem, held a dark eggplant coloured envelope in its beak, immediately, Arathyn recognized it. Snatching the letter, she stuffed the letter deep into the pocket of her dress and darted off up stairs.

"I'll be in my room if you need me!" She called before entirely disappearing upstairs. Now this was no strange occurrence, and although the young witch did her best to keep the letters secret her mother knew all about the purple envelopes and who was sending them.

Her room was on the second level of five, down a dark hallway with maroon coloured walls and ebony accents. Moving pictures and tapestries decorated the walls, mostly of her ancestors and other famous witches and wizards, despite the lack of windows the hall itself was kept well lit by a floating mass of enchanted water lilies, courtesy of her mother. The light from the lilies washed the room in a warm glow, creating shadows as the passed overhead.

"Hey Uncle Charlie, Uncle Harb, Pogue, and Uncle Chuck!" Arathyn greeted in a rush as she swept past the moving paintings on the wall. She didn't stay long enough to hear the complaints of the old wizards refuting such pet names and giving long speeches about their nobility and other nonsense.

Down the hall, past the portraits, marked the beginning of a line of dark, familiar wooden doors, each with an identical door mirroring it across the hall. Seven in total, the first two hiding a small study and a passage to the Master Library, followed by two bathrooms and a drawing room, and in the very middle of the hall two private rooms. The rooms were directly across from one another, each with a small plaque and golden door knobs. Each plaque had the same golden lettering with a prominent crest at the beginning and tail-end, the only difference between the identical doors were the names written in gold.

With the letter tightly gripped in her pocket, Arathyn burst into the door on the left. The room behind the simple door warranted every first time visitor a pause. It was a rather large room for any one person let alone a young girl. Its large four-post bed and other assorted antique furniture was more akin to a Victorian style, the soft mint walls one of the few contemporary features. Each wall had been decorated to look like a forest, and the leaves had been charmed to change with the season. The bed frame matched the forest theme as well, the base consisted of a weaving pile of roots, the young willow trees that served as posts stretched up to the high ceiling where the branches of each tree wove together to create a living canopy, before tumbling down and forming a green curtain of leaves on all sides. The bed was very much alive as well, growing alongside its owner, soaking in the sunlight from every angle. The larger window on the West side of the room let in the bright afternoon sunlight and a view of the Willowdale forest. For the generations the Ipswich family had lived in the expansive Ipswich Manor there had never been a need to fear being discovered by Muggles, magic sought to it that the impressive manor remained hidden.

Arathyn locked the door with a wave of her hand and with a hurried "Colloportus" plopped down onto the wooden floor. Carefully, she pulled the envelope from her pocket, keeping it tightly clenched in hand. It was rather small and slightly crumpled in the middle, and it was very oddly coloured, a purple envelope with lime green ink and a bright yellow stamp. The handwriting was very efficient and simple:

To: Arathyn R. Ipswich

1006 Ipswich Manor

Salem, MA

United States of America

As she opened the envelope a rush of excitement flooded her veins, this was a letter from her Great Uncle Gorlois in England! Arathyn had been writing him for some time venting about Witchr and life at home, her uncle had accidentally hinted he knew where her brother had run off to, but refused to tell her. Over the past few letters she had begun to break his resolve, and maybe this was the answer to her two year long question.

My Dearest Niece,

I hope this letter finds you in good health, I apologize for such a late reply there have been many errands to do around the shop as of late. I'm glad to hear that the family is well. You are so very lucky to have been able to tour MACUSA, when I was your age I would have done anything to go. I assume the manor is just the same as it once was, I would hope to visit whilst the weather is warm for once, but the shop is very busy so we will have to wait until Christmas. Hopefully your training is going well and my brother is not being too overbearing. From what I hear, you're proving to be a very talented young witch, and you are able to perform spells wandless as well. I am very proud to have such an amazing great-niece like you, and I know your brother would be very proud as well.

The disappearance of your brother has hurt you, to what extent I did not know until your last few letters. It is because of that letter that I have had a change of heart. I know how much you miss your brother and because of that I wonder if I made the right decision when it came to him and his situation. This is hard for me to say but I shall not dance around the subject. For these past months I have allowed Witchr to live with me in London.

Understand that he came to me desperate for help, and despite what you may think, I still uphold the Ipswich family code: "Never abandon your kin". I provided him with a place to live and everything he could possibly need, I did not think about the consequences of my actions. I could not lie to my family so I informed your parents that Witchr had left in order to escape the pressures of the Ipswich family. It was they who decided it was best that Witchr stayed with me until he decided to return. Witchr did not wish for you to know in fear you would be disappointed in him, so he swore your parents to secrecy. Witchr only ever wanted to prove himself different from what people believed him to be. He did not want to be bound to the Ipswich family ideals, and I empathized with him. I asked a favor from an old friend and enrolled Witchr in Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. He started last year, and I have never seen him so happy. His professors speak highly of him and he has made many friends. At times I see myself in him.

I am eternally sorry for every moment you were denied of your brother's companionship. I know the trials you face in the manor and although my brother and I are teetering on estranged, we were once the best of friends, so I understand the importance of a companion in that house. Whereas you may not be alone entirely, it is still a lonely place for a child. I do not know if you could ever find it in your heart to forgive me. If you were to bestow your forgiveness upon me I shall try my hardest to regain your trust and prove myself worthy.

Sincerely,

Gorlois C. Ipswich

Arathyn didn't know whether or not she would vomit, scream or cry. A flurry of emotions left her feeling light headed as she re-read the letter over and over again. She had found her brother, and lost any trust she had in her family. For months she had been asking him about any information surrounding Witchr and his whereabouts, each time she asked all she got were empty responses and lies on both ends.

Witchr was in London. Witchr was in London. Witchr was in London. He was in London and he was happy. Happy that he left them behind. Happy that he no longer had to deal with the Ipswich family "drama". Arathyn felt as if she had been abandoned all over again; she knew there had to be a reason why he left she just never thought it would be because of their family.

Jumping to her feet, she rushed over to her writing table to grab a quill and paper, the quill moved furiously as she scratched down each letter.

If you can get my brother, the third heir of the Ipswich family, into Hogwarts despite our family's legacy then I suppose you will have no problem arranging for my enrollment. I will arrive in London by Floo powder, be waiting.

Arathyn

Arathyn would bring Witchr back home, she would fix everything and he would once again know what it means to be proud of being an Ipswich. Arathyn didn't even think about her parents' say in this, she was flooded with rage and determination. Leaving her writing table, Arathyn went over to the window, pushing the glass open and letting in a fresh breeze from the open skies. Forming an 'O' shape with her lips Arathyn let out three long musical notes, and the same small creature from the kitchen landed on her windowsill. Carefully the ten year old put out her thin arm, the small barn owl used its sharp talons and clambered up her sleeve.

Cooing softly, Arathyn began to gently stroke the owl's feathers, the bird twisted its head in appreciation.

"Okay, Riley, this is for Uncle Gorlois, you've gotta be fast, alright? Now go."

The young girl handed the small paper to the bird and after he got a good grip the small owl took flight. Now it was time, she'd go to her parents and request to go to England, she was going to bring back her brother. She was going to find her brother, she was going to Hogwarts.