CHAPTER 4

THE TRAIN RIDE TO ILVERMORNY was everything but bleak. French landscapes, drenched half in the wrath of the incoming winter, and half by the stubborn hold of summer, spread out as far as the eye could see. And the deeper we went through, winter seemed to be coming our way by the mile.

Relief flooded through me as I realized I had packed accordingly, or rather, Bridgette had packed my trunk accordingly.

America would be delved into the mouth of winter, and the intensity of the Huntings of the Lock being made to restrict into the midst of winter, had just started to strick me. Having never seen an unwanted— or les dorés before except in leather bound books stashed in the Beauxbatons library, I gathered they must be possessed by immortal hearts, for them to overlook this brutality in history.

How does one forgive slaughter so easily? I had nothing personal against Ilvermorny, or the American government of magic, but something inside me wanted to see them beg for mercy on their knees in front of an unwanted, at the receiving end of a curse. But these games? they seemed like a poor excuse for redemption if ever there was one.

The trolley man came by our compartment for the fifth time since the train had left the station, two hours ago.

"What took you so long?" Gabriel Chevrolet snapped, eagerly examining the bustling trolley for the fifth time, as he made to grab some more items, tossing them over to Jean Dubois for safekeeping.

Items which included two more mini bars of Rick's granola squirt— designed to give the illusion of eating and getting rid of hunger, without adding to the body.

"Every half an hour, I said," Chevrolet emphasized, and the robust man looked merely at him with half lidded eyes that showed no signs of understanding.

"Bring this fucking thing around every thirty minutes, êtes-vous à court d'audition?"

"Chevrolet," I chastised, my eyes narrowing at him, before flitting to the trolley man.

"Je suis désolé, c'est juste un idiot," I offered the man an apologetic smile, which he took with no sign of acknowledgement whatsoever.

"He's the idiot here," Gabriel hissed, shooting the man a tight glare. "The management ought to get rid of such incompetence."

"No," Bridgette chimed in, from where she sat beside me. "The management ought to have brought Rick himself on the train to satisfy your need for his granolas."

"Is that supposed to be your idea of a sexual joke?" Gabriel raised a brow mockingly. "Or are you keeping track of what I eat, Monet?"

"It's hard not to when you've been stuffing yourself for the past two hours," Bridgette scoffed, turning away to look out of the window, declaring the end of the conversation.

Her annoyance with the arrangement had been clear since we had boarded the train. To keep it easier to keep track of the six of us, Professor Fabien had assigned us compartments instead of letting us just decide upon whichever. Hence, in the strange turn of events, both of us were stuck in a compartment with Chevrolet and his puppet, Dubois. While Elias and Maximillian were put in with Professors Fabien and Basil.

Madame Maxime had an entire compartment to herself, a fact which I tried not to dwell upon for it only ebbed away with frustration at my patience, considering the comrades we were stuck with.

"Its so good," Chevrolet hummed after a pause, chewing on his bar deliberately loud, in an obvious attempt to annoy both me and Bridgette in equal measure.

Bridgette groaned, frustration radiating off of her in waves. Shaking my head, and with lack of nothing else to do, I leant in to grab a roll of newspaper off of the trolley before the man took it away for another half an hour. 

I unrolled it to find that it was the new edition of lumière un journal, with its dark headlines and pictures both big and small that moved and flashed with the speed of light. Having made up my mind to stay away from checking on the news since having read that last headline in Madame Maxime's office, I reluctantly turned the paper over to the first page— only to regret quickly later that maybe I shouldn't have. A stark headline emerged, in pulsating French. 

"HOGWARTS STUDENT TURNS UP DEAD, HARRY POTTER CLAIMS HE WHO MUST NOT BE NAMED IS RESPONSIBLE." 

I sat up, bringing the paper close and devouring the words the report contained, my brows furrowing at the details. The moving picture, covering a giant chunk of the page, was of a sobbing, hysterical man, being held upright by an astounded Albus Dumbledore. Amos Diggory, the father of the dead student, Cedric Diggory— read the tiny printed words underneath the anguished people. I swallowed, my throat tightening up as the anguish seemed to seep into the air above me. The paper felt heavy in my hands, and I wanted to burn it away suddenly. 

"Woah," Bridgette muttered, having leaned in and seen the headline. Then, her eyes narrowed as she caught onto something I hadn't. A line written dictating where exactly the death had taken place. 

"Wait, what? The Triwizard tournament?" She asked, her white painted fingernail underneath the words on the paper. "But, didn't Madame Maxime just return from that tournament with the delegation of students she had taken?" 

I looked at her, realization clouding inside of me. This must have already happened. The Beauxbatons delegation to Hogwarts had returned two months ago, the tournament had already ended then. But Madame Maxime hadn't said a thing about it, nor had the Beauxbatons students who had returned. Had they all been silenced with a charm? A student of Hogwarts— a participant of the Triwizard Tournament, turning up dead? Was that not cause for concern? 

"They must have hidden the news," I said, "To not cause panic amongst people." 

"So why release it now?" Bridgette questioned, her eyes on Amos Diggory's hysterical form as he sobbed and swayed on his stout knees in the picture. 

Not wanting to be left out, Gabriel Chevrolet grabbed another roll of newspaper and waved the trolley man off, flipping to the front page and hurrying to read the news we were fixated on. 

"Looks like they did keep it under wraps," He muttered after a pause. "That Potter boy appears to claim that he witnessed it." 

"But why release it now? Is not anyone panicking?" Brigette pressed, fearfully irritated. "What if He who must not be named is really back? What if they all know it, and that is why they hid this news for so long. I mean, when was the last time a student turned up dead on school premises?" 

"If Voldemort is back," Gabriel scoffed, shrugging nonchalantly as he said the wizard's name out loud, "Would we be leaving school premises to partake in some American school game?" 

"A student died, Chevrolet," Bridgette hissed, casting a glance at the glass compartment doors to make sure she wouldn't catch someone's ear. "How otherwise can you relate it? Harry Potter says the wizard is back, and then a student of Hogwarts winds up dead and everyone hides the news for two whole months. It makes sense." 

"Why would Madame Maxime be so eager to put all of us out there if she was sure Voldemort is back and is out murdering students?" Chevrolet snapped at her, his dark eyes intense, "What the hell would a wizard like him want with students anyway?" 

"Yes, we don't know that," I offered, lowering my voice in an attempt to calm off their heated exchanges, "We don't know if he is really back, and we don't know why they hid this information from us. But Chevrolet is correct, c'est vrai, Madame Maxime— or Ilvermorny in general, will not endanger student lives if Voldemort is at large again." 

"So? Do we just trust in the way and ignore what that boy is saying?" Bridgette looked at me, folding her arms across her chest, expression hesitant. 

"That is exactly what she is saying," Chevrolet mused, tossing the paper over to Dubois and leaning back in his seat. "He sounds like a stupid boy anyway, is the whole wizarding world supposed to believe in what little boys are saying now?" 

"You heard what Madame Maxime said, Dumbledore is bringing the boy to Ilvermorny," I ignored Gabriel and addressed Bridgette, "Why would he do that if he didn't think it was safe?" 

"And," Chevrolet added, a brow raised, "If Voldemort is back, which he is definitely not, America's probably safe. He'll just forget to get to it, look over it on the map. I mean, what dark wizard had anything to do in America anyways?" 

He snickered at his own jest, and Jean Dubois followed in sync. Ignoring them, I turned to Bridgette. 

"Don't fret," I managed, "Tout ira bien, I'm sure there is nothing to worry about." 

She nodded, and with a sigh, resumed looking out the window with its passing landscapes.

There wasn't anything to worry about. Every dark wizard had an era, no more and no less. Voldemort's era had ended when he was pronounced dead, just like Grindelwald's had with his defeat by Dumbledore. Dark wizards don't resurrect themselves— they take up space, cause damage, and eradicate themselves to be replaced by someone new. They don't come back. They have never come back, so why should one start now?

The train journey passed, regardless of all our reluctance and hesitance. Soon, my seemingly rattled psyche, which hadn't calmed despite the consolation I offered to myself, fell into softer patterns as the snow worn landscapes passed us by. America seemed to lay deep in the heart of winter, and every surface of every exposed bit of nature was covered in a thick blanket of white, painting everything in sight a glowing cream that complimented the stark blue and misty skies that shimmered above. Crows could be heard with intensity, even over the ratting whistles of the train, as we rolled nearer and nearer to the Ilvermorny castle that had just appeared like a single dot on the horizon.

"The train must be bustling with students at the start of September," Bridgette mused, tackling open a chocolate frog box from amongst the three she had grabbed from off the trolley as the trolley man rolled by for the umpteenth time. 

"Ilvermorny students in their robes—the express must've been shaking with chaos," She observed, examining the croaking frog now sitting in her palm and shaking its head, with its skin shining a deep brown. 

The Ilvermorny express did not leave from France, it had only made an exception for us, and I suppose that was why I had seemingly forgotten that this was indeed the Ilvermorny express. Meant for the transportation of the American wizard students, it felt a little odd to be sitting in a compartment on the express, knowing it wasn't meant for you. 

"What, you're stroking it?" Chevrolet snorted in distaste, bringing me out of my thoughts. 

His eyes were narrowed at Bridgette. "That thing's supposed to be eaten, it's not a pet." 

"How about you mind your own business?" Bridgette smiled at him, her tone sickly sweet, before she rolled her eyes and brought her attention back to the frog croaking on her hand. 

I picked up the iridescent card from the box she had tossed aside, a framed thing that displayed a picture of Agilbert Fontaine, the headmaster of Ilvermorny, in his sparkling robes and small eyes, a short beard that was streaked with silver and red. The man seemed to wink, if I tilt the card a certain way, his amber eyes glinting like he knew something I did not. 

"They keep the British candy without the British in it, si ironique," Gabriel muttered as he saw me observe the Agilbert Fontaine card. 

"Why would they?" I raised a brow, "Of course they'll have cards of their own professors, instead of the Hogwarts ones." 

Gabriel shrugged nonchalantly, "I'm just saying. Americans' are strange, that's all."  

I shook my head at him in disbelief, before my eyes found the window and sure enough, I could make out Ilvermorny in its entirety, sitting across a cut above a cluster of mountains of Greylock, its top surrounded my low hanging strips of clouds that obscured its heights from those looking from below or far beyond. 

"Looks like we're here," Bridgette spoke softly, her excitement seemed to have faded, what with every headline we had read since.

Though her demeanor was still strong, determined to make the best of what was to come, even if it was for only a month and half. The chocolate frog jumped off her hand, as it caught her distracted, and pounced out the half open window where it was taken by the wrath of the winds. Jean Dubois grinned, pulling down the glass window just afterwards. 

"That's it?" Gabriel scoffed, "Wow, what a let down." 

The castle was quaint, reminiscent of the olden castles of brick and stone. And though it was tall, its form was not daunting. With stone the color of storm clouds, and glass windows on turrets shining iridescent, the castle looked welcoming. It looked like a place to escape, a world tucked in the folds so as to not be found by any other except by those who sought it. Where Beauxbatons had always been mighty and grand— a tribute to all the wealth and power of the magic in France, Ilvermorny was a nod to the somber, a promise to the fainting threads of magic, a wind directing a spell. 

Despite winter stealing its way into America, Ilvermorny was as of yet, untouched by it. No snow lay around, though the dryness was evident in the atmosphere. 

The train rolled on, streaking into a small station built at the foot of the mountains and at a distance from the castle, to receive the students or other passengers. There, it came to a screeching halt. 

Just as it stopped, Professor Fabien, with Professor Basil on his shoulder, popped into our compartment. 

"Nous sommes arrivés, students," He clapped his hands, as though he had been hanging around to say just those words exactly, "Now, hurry up and get off board, your luggage will be taken off promptly and will follow behind us. We must head to the castle." 

The chaos of getting off the express hadn't been less than the one that had been exhibited when we were getting on the train, but after a few minutes, we were all gathered outside, watching the porters haul our suitcases off. Madame Maxime spoke again to the conductor, and it was her complimenting the smooth journey, for the conductor blushed and his shiny round head turned crimson as he pulled off his hat and stuck it under his arm in coyness. 

Then, leaving our luggage behind to be delivered to the castle by the aid of a griffin, we made our way towards the two carriages that lay in wait. 

Perhaps I saw them before anyone else did, but they were majestic— the beasts pulling the carriages. I walked up to one as the others got onto the carriage, and I stroked its head. Its glistening dark skin seemed to shiver underneath my touch, and a jolt of electricity ran through me that made the hair at my neck stand up. The beast seemed to growl inwardly, its eyes two black beads of abyss, so dark that I felt like I could stare into them forever. Thestrals. 

I had read about them, but never had I seen them before. They were supposed to be the shadows, creatures people hear of but were never supposed to see. They were supposed to be ghosts of the wizarding world. Their exact origin was unknown. 

"Those who see Thestrals are those who have seen death." 

A line from a text flooded my senses and I slowly retrieved my hand from the creature's head, a tingling feeling of loss threading through me at the attempt. The thestral turned its head to me, its obsidian eyes inquiring and curious. Its dark wings were flared wide behind its back, spreading out and seeming to cover the entire half of the sky from where I stood. 

"Dominique," Madame Maxime's voice poured into my ear like hot wax, a jolt bringing me to the present. 

She sat in the carriage behind the thestral, a brow raised as she regarded me. "We must not be late. Please get on the carriage."

"Oui, Madame," I spoke hastily, turning from the thestral and making my way onto the carriage. 

I took a cushioned seat beside Bridgette, only to find her regarding me suspiciously, just as all the other students were. My skin prickled under their scrutiny.  

"What were you doing?" She asked, eyes narrowed in intrigue. 

They don't see them, I repeated to myself, in an attempt to gather my resolve back up again. 

"Nothing," I answered with a shrug, before turning my face away as the carriage pulled on towards the castle. 

As we made on through the rocky road to the castle, cut between mountains and jagged road, I felt a strange sensation wash over me, and it made me feel sick. A gush of cool and warm air enveloped me at once, and the mark on my shoulder prickled, before it started burning as though someone had touched a scalding hot iron to it. 

I squirmed, biting the inside of my cheek so tightly, I tasted the blood I drew against my tongue. The air felt dense, it felt like it would suffocate me— crush me under its weight. Then, after a few seconds, the sensation passed and the atmosphere felt light again. And my mark calmed, though I knew it would still feel sore at touch. 

Professor Fabien started speaking, thwarting the possibility of missing an educational session even when outside of campus. 

"Ilvermorny was built sometime around 1624 in the early seventeenth century, students," The man began, his bright eyes gazing up at the castle in the distance. "It was founded by Isolt, James and their first students, Webster and Chadwick. Each named a house after their favorite magical creature: Horned Serpent, Wampus, Thunderbird and Pukwudgie." 

"I'm sorry, Professor," Gabriel Chevrolet interrupted, his dark lips pursed, "But that's irrelevant. Je veux dire, what are we to do with an American school's founding history?" 

"It takes a wise wizard's patience to cross a threshold of which you know already much about," Professor Fabien pointed out. 

"Well, I'd rather not learn about everywhere I am going," The student shrugged his shoulders. 

"If you will just listen, Monsieur Chevrolet," The professor hissed, before pulling together his resolve and continuing. "The Ilvermorny castle is protected by protective charms and shields meant to keep not only non-magics, but those infused with dark magic, out." 

I stilled. Was that what I had just felt? The protective charms of Ilvermorny detecting the mark on my shoulder? But I had still been allowed in. Those charms hadn't stopped me. While my mark was born of dark magic, I wasn't infused with it. At least, not yet. 

"Look, Professor," Bridgette's exclaim startled everyone, her hand pointed down below, near the shore of the sea that washed up against the black Mount Greylock. 

It was a ship of browns and blacks, a mighty ship that bore the large banners wreathed of white and red, a yellow and red crest etched in the middle, and on the several small flags that dotted the high ends of the mast. The sails were huge, a bold sight that swelled with the course of the winds. It had dropped anchor not far from the shore, and now a small boat detached was making its way to the safety of Mount Greylock. Carrying students wrapped in the identical colors of reds and browns, that same small crest pinned at their chests. 

For a moment, I wondered what it was like to travel by the sea. 

"Les Durmstrangs sont arrivés," Professor Basil noted, his tone firm as everyone gaped at the small boat approaching shore. 

They couldn't see us, for we were on a road high above, already nearing Ilvermorny gates.

"Always on time, are they not?" Madame Maxime spoke to no one in particular, her slight distaste for the school evident on her face. 

If there was one school Olympe Maxime was not fond of the notion of, it was The Durmstrang Institute. The school went opposite to everything Beauxbatons stood for, everything Madame Maxime stood for. It was rocks and rain, and the Beauxbatons were flowers and sun. Two separate, different, non adjustable sides of two entirely different coins, the world of these two schools was never meant to cross. 

As the carriage drifted on, I found myself turning back to steal a longer glimpse. I had never seen Durmstrang students before, partly because their delegations were never invited to Beauxbatons— due to the headmistress' indifference. They seemed like such enigmas, their kind relied on strength more than magic, a notion that was riveting to me. 

They soon fell out of sight, and we entered the Ilvermorny grounds. The air smelled of pine, of the icy coldness that winter brought along, of fog on an early morning, of the scent of dying leaves. As I stepped out of the carriage and onto Ilvermorny grounds, the gravel crunched under my feet audibly. Ilvermorny grounds were vast, though they were streaked with the season's neglect, and not a soul seemed to be in sight. 

Stealing my way to the front, I stroked the thestral, making sure nobody was noticing. At present, it was the inspection of these foreign grounds that was more compelling to the students than anything else. 

"Ah, welcome, welcome!" A loud voice called, and we turned to find a man scurrying towards us in his dark robes, a creased pointed hat on top of his head, his form lanky and lean with curves in his face that implicated hollowed out cheeks. 

"I am Professor Caldwell Faustus," The man exclaimed, a large smile pinned onto his face as he approached Madame Maxime, took her large hand and placed a kiss on top of it. 

He looked frail and weak in comparison to the large and towering Madame, and it made me want to laugh suddenly.   

"I teach Transfiguration here at Ilvermorny," The Professor continued, "And on behalf of our headmaster, Agilbert Fontaine, I have been sent to welcome The Beauxbatons School delegation and The Durmstrang Institute delegation to Ilvermorny." 

Stepping away from Madame Maxime, the professor shook hands with Professor Fabien, and gave Professor Basil a nod in acknowledgement. 

"According to my ravens, The Durmstrangs will be joining us in a moment. We shall all then make our way to the Grand Hall, where our school and staff await." 

I swallowed slightly as humor replaced nervousness in my stomach like a swirling pot of nightshade in a tonic. And sure enough, sounds of another carriage arose, with it slowly pulling up to the entrance of Ilvermorny behind us. 

***

A/N: 
I'm so excited to set up Ilvermorny as the background now for the next lot of chapters. Please click the star if you liked this part! It motivates me to keep going with this story.