𝐕𝐈𝐕𝐀𝐂𝐈𝐎𝐔𝐒 - the wizarding world

I. L'ACADÉMIE DE MAGIE BEAUXBÂTONS

I. L'ACADÉMIE DE MAGIE BEAUXBÂTONS
__________

Sounds of fishermen carrying crates from the docks onto their boats came from outside Ivy Evans' bedroom window. The Evans cottage was located on the top of a five meter-high cliff overlooking the busying harbour of Pittenweem. Theirs was the only one that stood there, with a big garden full of flowers and vegetables and a cobble path that ran down the hill and into the village.

The cottage wasn't big or roomy, by any particular means. Instead, it was a small, two-bedroom house with stray roofing that had one bathroom and the entire ground floor was one big room that had both the living area and the kitchen. Ivy's bedroom was a four-by-five space with a one-person-bed, a small closet and a tiny desk propped beneath the large window. She loved it.

Ivy had trained herself to be up at an early time, when the sun was only just beginning to rise. In her pyjama's she stomped down the wobbly staircase and spotted her dad starting a fire in their large fireplace.

"Morning," she grumbled. She might wake up early, but she didn't wake up bright. She stepped into the kitchen and grabbed the kettle from the stove as she made herself a cup of tea.

"Good morning, sweetie," Oleander returned as he stood up, dusted his hands off and joined her in the kitchen, taking a seat at the other side of the kitchen bar. That was the place they ate every meal, if they didn't take it outside in the garden. But seeing that they were in Scotland and the weather often didn't agree with them, they were almost always inside.

Ivy, with closed eyes, took a careful sip of her steaming tea. "Why are you up so early?" she asked, her distant Scottish accent that she'd picked up from the village rising to the surface in the early morning. "Doing inventory?"

Oleander hummed in agreement. Mr. Evans, as the villagers knew him, was the owner of a giftshop at the harbour. Pittenweem was, for all its glory, a popular tourist attraction. Around every corner were bed-and-breakfasts that were almost always full and Oleander took full advantage of the tourists' full pockets.

"I need you to visit the post box today, when you're down to the village anyway." He stood up from his stool and walked behind Ivy, hugging her tightly as he kissed the top of her head. "And happy birthday, Ivy."

"I'm too knackered for this, dad. Are we expecting post?" she grumbled.

Oleander hesitated. "Maybe. Probably."

"Fine, but I don't trust the bloke at the post office. He's got that beard and he just looks all dodgy. Like, is it really that hard to take care of your facial hair?"

"Rubbish. Klaus is a proper man, Ives. Don't bother the poor bloke with your shenanigans."

Ivy stood up after she finished her tea. "I'm going to ignore that you just said 'shenanigans' and if I get offed while at the post office, I'm haunting your arse," she said and ran back up the stairs to her bedroom, where she quickly pulled on her denim over-alls with a red and white striped shirt underneath. She pulled a quick comb through her hair and braided it, with great difficulty, in two braids down her back.

When she got downstairs, her bulky, black boots stood ready for her at the exit and she stepped outside, grabbed her bike and raced down the hill at a dangerous speed.

"Alright there, Ives?" Mr. Banks from the butchers called out as he glimpsed Ivy racing through the cobbled streets.

"Peachy, Mr. Banks! Say hi to the wife for me!" Ivy replied loudly as she continued peddling, her old bike creaking and groaning beneath her. She came to an abrupt stop outside the bakery.