The American Enigma

Train to Sorting

By the time we returned home, Grandpa had made sure I had enough books to read over the summer. Some ranged from duelling–which featured quite a bit on Filius Flitwick–all the way to Quidditch. As he explained, Quidditch was much like muggle/no-maj basketball. A sport that, while not interesting to me, was quite the favorite of my dad.

That was another thing I had to unlearn. Muggle is what they call the No-Majes here. Which is surprising, cause the books I read in America, especially while imagining my arrival to Ilvermorny, didn't change the wording for books written by British authors. The only thing changed that I could tell was of some stone. No clue why though.

Uncle Ethan had sent me a letter, explaining that there were some signs of something happening in mainland Europe. A taskforce was set up by the Russian Parliament to investigate the actions and report back. Which, if they're honest, could easily mean a war is brewing.

But more importantly, dad told me that it would take another two years at the very least before they could move. Which was upsetting, but he had promised the current Ilvermorny Headmistress he'd stay and train his replacement next year. Mom was already making sure she could visit every weekend.

She also told me in no uncertain terms that I was NOT to do anything stupid.

Grandpa already told me that he expects me to break it by the time I arrive at school.

Shade, my new cat, was also extremely playful. He would occasionally grab a ball if he felt like I was on edge and play with it on my lap. It was effective, as watching him do that made everything slow down. Whenever he felt I was pushing myself to hard, or whenever I started wondering who Tom Riddle and Bellatrix Lestrange were, Shade was there.

It was honestly a nice relief. Grandpa had me practicing some spells, while talking about the many branches of spellcasting. For example, elemental magic is capable of being taught, whereas divination skills–being a seer–is hereditary. Another branch would be Legilimancy, but he wasn't sure if it was hereditary. There have been examples of both, yet also it being an inherit trait.

"Good morning Y/N. Are you ready to go to the station?" Grandpa greeted me as I made my way downstairs. It was barely eight in the morning, but I learned that he was always punctual. Never early, never late. As he filled my plate with food, I found myself losing my appetite. This has been the longest I've gone without seeing my mom and dad.

"Y/N, is something troubling you?" He asked softly, setting down his own cutlery and squeezing my shoulder gently.

"It's just that this has been the longest I've not seen my parents. I'm scared of disappointing them."

"That's a normal fear, but I'll give you the same advice I gave your mother when she was your age; the only disappointment you could give them is if you change who you are to fit in. Our personality influences our magic." He smiled down at me, before eating breakfast.

When we finished, he motioned for me to follow him. "You asked me before about my past, and it's time I told you. When Grindelwald made his rise, I had barely graduated from Hogwarts. Back then, it was expected that anyone talking about him was planning on joining his cause. I was no different. Not until I met the real Percival Graves." He paused, taking a deep breath. "I accompanied him to Britain, planning on assassinating him. Albus Dumbledore, however, had other plans."

"Professor Dumbledore stopped you?"

"Aye. He stopped me with kindness. My father favored my eldest brother, who became a member of Grindelwald's inner circle. Dumbledore taught me that a true family comes in many forms. That's why I'm telling you this; believe in yourself. Believe in doing the right thing. Not for the greater good, but for all involved." I just nodded, before noticing the things he had pulled out. A rather large trunk, with two bronze latches securing it. It was definitely refurbished, but there was a nice gloss of dark paint on the top half.