Blood of Ipswich: A Harry Potter Fanfic

From Salem to London

April 27th, 1990

"You're a disgrace to the Ipswich family! Only an ignorant coward would refuse such knowledge I have bestowed upon you!" The angered shouting within the dark halls of an expansive mansion had begun to ring throughout the house.

Behind a slightly ajar chestnut door two people were in the midst of a heated argument, one of the two was an elderly man and the other, a young boy. The old man stood in a regal manner almost as if he was of royal blood, his eyes were a dark, severe grey with an expression of displeasure, as if he'd never been impressed with anything in his many years. His pale skin had been tinted grey with age and decorated with drapes of wrinkled flesh, but his evenly cropped red hair had yet to entirely bleed out of its magnificent colour and only a few streaks of grey could be found within his thick locks. A long and sharp nose allowed him to literally "look down his nose at others", and his steep height allowed him to "live" above those around him.

It was obvious that the older man was angry, his mouth was pulled into a thin line, his brow was furrowed and sadly the recipient of his said rage was none other than the little boy. The small boy looked nothing like the man before him, where the man was pale skinned with straight red hair, the boy had brown skin and dark curls upon his head. He appeared to be no older than nine, but the taller man before him made the boy look much smaller. His dark brown eyes had begun to well up with unshed tears and his round nose had flushed pink. His small hands were balled into fists and his teeth were tightly clamped on to his bottom lip.

"You call yourself an Ipswich? How dare you! At this rate Arathyn will most likely be the next heir to the Ipswich family. I never thought I would live to see the day where one of my male descendants was demoted to 'Lady of the Manor'. You're nothing but a dirty blooded bastard, I should have never allowed your mother's unclean blood into this family!" The old man sneered at the young boy who had been trying so hard not to cry out. The old man had lifted up a robed arm and pointed a menacing dark black wand at the child in contempt, but the boy could no longer keep his mouth shut.

"How dare you insult my mother!" As the little boy screamed an unseen force threw the man backwards into a dark green emerald chair. There was a loud crash and a look of surprise from the older man before two other people burst in through the door. The small boy ran into the arms of the woman and began to cry, while the man beside her ran to the man on the ground.

Based on their shared traits it was obvious the woman was the boy's mother, her brown skin was darker and her tight curls were tied together at the base of her neck. Yet, pieces of their resemblance was different, the boy's nose was narrower and the woman's ears weren't as large. The woman's expression was pained as she looked at the crying boy, "Witchr what happened?" She asked desperately.

"M-mom." Witchr sobbed.

"W-well then I f-finally got him to tap into his magic. E-even earlier than your brother, your s-son will make a fine wizard, E-Elias." The older man was finally back on his feet with some help from the younger man. The man known as Elias was just as tall as the elder man beside him, he appeared to be a gentler version of the severe man, with brown hair and sparkling hazel eyes. There were also pieces of the young boy found in Elias' features: large ears, a long nose and the same soft expression in their eyes. As the young boy continued to sob in his mother's arms the young man turned towards the older man.

"Father, Witt just turned ten. He's too young to begin learning magic, especially if you're going to use the same method that you used to teach Orion, Collin and I." The young man argued in an even, seamless tone of voice.

The old man let out a wheezing cough and shook off Elias' assistance, "Nonsense! He's at the perfect age now, I had to test him to see if he was worthy of being called an Ipswich. I, Gorlion Alkis Ipswich, as the sixth patriarch to the House of Ipswich will have no Squibs by my blood." Gorlion let out another hacking cough and straightened his long dark coffee robes.