"Write every day," my stepmom, Julia, demands. She releases me, and I'm suprised to see that her eyes are glistening like wet coals. Her skin is a warm caramel, while mine is a paler shade. She's mixed, but I had assumed she was just tan until I met her parents.

Her accent is British as anyone's here in London, and I know it's strange to anyone listening when I amend, "Once a week," in an American accent.

Let me to explain. My father met my mom through a family friend. She was visiting. They exchanged numbers. They called. A lot. They visited, like, five times a year. And then they announced to me, albeit awkwardly, that they were dating.

That was six years ago. I'm in England now. They're married, and Dad's moved to London so they can be together. 

And I've been taken out of my school and country. Hogwarts, here I come, I guess. Goodbye, dreams of Ilvermorny.

Dad hands me my suitcase and hugs me fiercely. My hand slips down as we pull away, hitting a slight bulge in his back pocket- his wand. Dad broke the whole "wizards and witches are real" news two years ago. It was shaky- Julia stayed at a hotel for three weeks before coming back- but we've gone a long way since then, and she loves sending me howlers whenever I'm at Sasha's house, my witch friend. 

I glance down at my wrist, at a weaved blue bracelet, slightly frayed. Sasha has a red one, and Lila has a yellow one. We're the primary colors.

The problem is that only Sasha is a witch, not Lila. Phones don't work at Hogwarts or Ilvermorny, and while me and Sasha have promised to write, I'm not sure how to contact Lila yet.

I shake off the bad thoughts. I'm fine.

I give Dad a quick peck on the cheek. "Bye, Dad, bye, Julia. Love you both!"

"I love you too, sweetie," Dad says. "Do well in school. Study."

"I expect letters," Julia demands. "Lots and lots of letters." I smile.

"We'll see, Julia."

We exchange one more round of goodbyes before I step into the train and search for a seat.

//

I slide open the door and immediately prepare to shut it. A boy lies sprawled across the  booth, with a stupid smirk.

That sets me off. I'd love to wipe off his grin, so I slide into the opposing booth and raise a brow before flicking my gaze across his outfit, taking in his dark brown hair, a shade darker than mine, and hazel eyes. His clothing's a little rumpled, and his hair is a little messy, but I certainly can't find anything to comment on. He glances up and down my outfit, too, his smirk growing wider. I resist thinking any insecure thoughts. I know what he's doing because I've done it myself.

His stupid British eyes cutting right into my-

And before I can stop myself, I'm saying (in an extremely British way, accent and all), "Wotcher. Bloody uncomfortable seat. How do you do?" As an afterthought, after a lengthy pause, I add, "mate."

He stares, his mouth parted slightly. "Is that a joke?"

My accent is forgotten. "The only joke is you."

He blinks.

"Sorry, I take it back. Jokes have meaning."

A minute, maybe two, passes by.

His lips slowly curve upwards. "My god. You're American."

"Bloody hell," I say Britishly. "He speaks."

"What on earth are you doing here?" He continues. "You should be at Ilvermorny."

"Don't discriminate."

"What are you doing here?" He repeats. "Did you get kicked out or something?"

"First year, remember?"

"Americans," he says it like it's a curse.

I sit straighter and narrow my eyes. "What's to say I'm not British?" I exaggerate the accent. "Lookie me trousers, bloke. Fancy a cuppa? Some biscuit with your tea?"

"Oh, for-"

The door slides open. A petite, pretty girl with widened, dark eyes stares at us. "Um. Can I. Sit here?" She asks faintly. She looks so panicked that I'm afraid she's going to fall over. I don't need to be caught alone (I don't count that creature as a person) with an unconcious person. "Sit on down," I say britishly. 

"Nice to meet you?" Poor girl looks so confused. I blame it on the boy.

"Absolutely chuffed to bits! Would you prefer cream with your earl grey?" I pick up an imaginary cup and pretend to drop it. "Ahh, bloody tea! It spilt!"

"Shut up," the boy snaps. "For the love of god, shut up."

The girl's eyes are overblown. "Um. That was. Funny?" She breathes.

"I try, I try," I say gallantly, dropping the accent. She looks  relieved. "Ah. You're American. That explains why you sounded so-"

"Moronic? Stupid?" The boy offers.

"-off," the girl mutters. "I was going to say off."

A trolly lady wheels into our room. "Candy?" She offers. The boy takes out a few- wait, I know this. Ok, so the brown ones are Sticklers. No, they're Knots. Sticklers are the silver ones.

He exchanges the knots for a few candy bars. I shake my head when I'm offered. I have a granola bar somewhere in my purse.

"What's you're name?" The Asian girl asks me. "I'm Christina."

"I'm Silver," I reply.

"That's.. cool," she says.

The boy doubles over laughing. "No it's not. It's weird."

"And, pray tell, what is your name?" I say sweetly.

He scowls. "Nox."

I smirk. "Isn't that a girl name?"

Christina's eyes dart between us like a tennis match.

"I can't understand mumblers."

"I can't understand stupid."

Her eyes pop and her mouth parts.

"Speak up."

"Shut u-"

"WHAT ARE YOUR WANDS LIKE?" Christina bursts, then gasps for air. "Mine is silver lime wood with a unicorn hair and it's ten inches and is a little flexible."

I blink. "I don't have mine memorized. It's ebony wood with dragon heartstring, though."

Nox frowns. "Dragon heartstring and beech wood."

We glare at each other. "Mine," I say carefully, "is about thirteen inches."

"Mine," he says smugly, "is flexible."

"Mine," I snap, "Is springy."

"Mine," he drawls, "is-"

"WOW WE'RE ALMOST THERE," Christina wheezes, pointing out the window. "It's Hogwarts," she gasps.

"I heard that the staircase moves," Nox whispers.

"I heard that the portraits talk," I say at the same time.

We slowly turn and glare. "I heard," Nox says, "That there are ghosts."

"I heard," I hiss, "That there's a lake monster."

"I heard-"

"GUYS IT'S COMING UP!" Christina clutches her chest, which is rising and falling rapidly. 

Soon enough, we're here. And I can't help but wonder what's going to happen now. With a glance at my new classmates, I stand up in preparation. It's going to be different, that's for sure. 

Although I may need to work on my British accent.