The Lost Heir of Ilvermony

The Lost Prince

Tracey is putting on her cloak singing happily, “I’m goin’ where the cattle roam where the sun shines.”

I laugh from my bed. “It's sunny here?”

“It's also 32 degress here. I don’t know if you don’t freeze that coat so thin.”

I laugh as the Pukewudgie enters our room the oldest one Old William is here he snickering at Tracey’s words. “The carriages are here.”

Tracey stands pulling on that. “I’ll see you next year.”

“I’ll send you a snowball.” I say as the room empties of creatures. Almost one one is staying here. I would stay forever if I could.

Pulling me into a hug she sighs. “I’ll send you some real sunshine.”

I feel like crying. I'm so happy to be here learning magic with people like me having friends. I'll miss them. I’ve only ever missed my mother, she’s not coming back, watching the carriages pull away they’ll be back. Taking my coat from the bedpost I move through the castle with ease. Being so far from the city and it sounds the first month here I couldn’t sleep so I want to walk. By Thanksgiving I knew my way around the castle better than anyone in my year, a skill used to get up to my favorite tower.

Setting a jar on the ground I tap my wand to it “Incindo.” A small fire burns in the jar warming the exposed area. Setting out my ink and quill and ink I start on an essay for Dark arts defence. Winter homework was light. I can get it all done in two days which leaves eight days of no work. A pair of heavy feet thump up the steps. 

“Don’t you ever get cold?” Thomas was still here; he didn’t tell me he was staying. He is in black coat lined with warm fleece and black Ilvermonry cap, his hands are gloved too.

“Why are you still here? I thought your parents would want you home.” He was the golden boy with Josie trailing him like a puppy it was funny to watch.

He sits down looking at my jar of fire impressed with it but not saying so. “It's election year Dad is in the Denali ski resort wine and dining votes. Next year I’ll be home as part of the wholesome family life.”

I keep writing scoffing, “Sounds fun.”

“It's boring and I have to listen to the same old stories each year. Back to my question aren’t you cold?” Thomas pulls at my thin coat it was only good for fall weather as a stand alone garment.

I shake my head. My hair is longer now with regular showers. I'm able to have it longer, “Not really I have my jar and I layer up fairly well I don’t get cold anymore.” I smile at him in his fine coat, “You’re a tenderfoot winter in Boston would kill you.”

“You don’t live in a no-blood foster home do you?”

Dipping my quill in the ink I looked up to his eyes, “I never said I did that’s just the story.”

He scoffs his breath white. “You're a homeless witch, how is that even possible.”

Closing my book I sign with anyone. “I like to think of it as free living. When you leave this place do you miss it?”

“Yeah this is the best place on earth.” His eyes lit up the memories of happiness.

Putting a lid on my ink, I agree with him. “Ah but when you leave do you like where you're going to?”

His whole face changes, the warm pools of happiness dry up replaced by deep longing. “No, I hate being my father's trophy son. He has my whole life planned out; he wants me to be just like him.”

Putting my stuff in my second hand school bag I stand with satisfaction. I touch my wand to the jar taping the fire. “Reducto. So your the rich boy with no freedom and I’m the poor the girl with no expectations. I’d rather have layers and freedom then a warm cage. Merry Christmas.”