Blood of Ipswich: A Harry Potter Fanfic

From Salem to London

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. I hope you will respect our wishes, father." 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 carrying their small boy, gave a final scolding look towards her father-in-law and left the dark room, 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 brothers were younger. He'd never thought much of it, but now that he had his own children Elias knew he never he wanted them to suffer the same difficulties as he. He had made a promise to himself and Alita to never be like his father, he would raise Witchr and Arathyn without such an extreme form of discipline.

"Elias, Witchr can't keep going through this, Gorlion's even begun trying to teach Arathyn. She's only nine!" Alita whispered angrily as she gently stroked Witchr's curly 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 carried around, but every time he finished a lesson with grandfather he felt like a broken toy. Witchr hated his grandfather. For all the times he'd hurt him and insulted his mother, all Witchr wanted to do was make-make him disappear! He would never allow him to talk about his mother or anyone else like that again.

When they arrived in the main foyer 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 and 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 her an air of wisdom. She had less wrinkles than her husband due to her ritualistic use of potions and balms despite her being at the door of her ninth decade. Like Elias she too had hazel eyes and she was easily dwarfed by her 6'4" son. Dresda's skin was an olive tone and there were some defined wrinkles around her mouth and eyes from her many expressive years, she would've been beautiful in the past.

Now, Arathyn was a very sweet girl and would most likely be a beauty in the future like her mother. 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 protegé in the Ipswich family, Witchr was no slacker either when it came to magic even at such an early age. Only a year younger than her brother, Arathyn was already proving to be a promising young witch each day, 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 13" in length, one could say it was a wand meant for the most sophisticated of witches. As she waved the 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 dear! Arathyn 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.