The Little Pureblood [1]

Chapter 6: Leaving Home

I woke up early enough in the morning to know that no one else was awake yet. The house was silent. I jumped out of bed and immediately rang the bell for a house elf who was then told to draw me a bath.

While this occurred, I went into my new closet, where I found a smaller wardrobe there waiting for me. All of the clothes I needed for Hogwarts were already packed. Thankfully mom had spent time to send me a new wardrobe from one of her favorite stores in Milan here for when I would come home to visit. I placed a blue shirt of glimmering fabric with  grey pants on my bed, awaking Oliver from his slumber.

Oliver stood at the side of the bed glaring at me. He was definitely not a morning person like myself.

When I heard the water from my bathroom stop I knew it was ready and so I untied my hair from its braid, unstrung my night gown and slowly emerged into the heavily perfumed water of lavender and sage.

Thirty minutes later I was changed, my hair was dry and hanging down my back. A tray of what was called an English Breakfast was served on my desk where Oliver already sat waiting for me to sit alongside him.

I grabbed the bacon from my plate and gave it to the cat who ate it happily alongside me.

Stupid cat.

By the time I was finished eating, my bed was made, my bags for Hogwarts were gone, obviously already packed in the paid driver's car and the sound of others moving about were heard around me.

I pushed away from my desk, forgetting about the tray of half-eaten food and walked off to the library in the house. Oliver followed alongside me like a creepy shadow the whole time.

After picking a note book from the desk in the library, I walked to the main hall where Damion and Theo stood, already dressed nicely for the day.

Damion was busy adjusting his collar in the mirror while Theo held his dark feathered owl in her cage in one hand, the other holding out treats to his new pet who gladly ate from his palm. I felt sick from watching the scene.

When everything was packed, Dad rushed us to the car and ordered the driver to drive fast to Kings Cross Station.

During the car ride, I started to imagine what I was going to face. Many people were going to say something about my accent. That was a guarantee. I must make my accent a wanted trait rather than just something to be nagged about. After all, I was not going to change my accent just to please people. That would be too exhausting.

"We have arrived, Mr. Fontaine. Would you like me to carry your bags to the station?"

"Is that even a question, Bargs?"