Alfie Lyall

Rebelliously Wicked

Comic book Kid.

  • Joined March 2016
  • Member of Gryffindor
  • 0 House Points
  • 1st Year
  • United States


Ilvermorny; Horned Serpent

Patronus; Fox

So, my parents are split up..... I mean they WERE split up... or they still are since ones dead and ones alive..... Whatever. Its whatever. Moving on. Well not moving on chronologically, but with the lavish tale of my existence, narrated by me, Alfie Lyall. Anyways, it started with my parents meeting. My father Walter had an encounter with a woman whom at first glance, scared the absolute shit out of him. That was my mom. It was a full moon that night and with my father the curious slytherin he is, went outside and into the night from his Sheffield home. Not long after that he spotted my mom, ran away screaming, and she kinda... kidnapped him. In her defense though, she thought he was a muggle (or no-maji in my parts). He was kept semi-captive in my moms house. I say semi because I was the product of that. Since they knew both parties relatives would have realistically killed each other, both my mom and dad played a fun couch surfing game for 6 months in London (god forbid I become an American citizen), had me, named me, and after I was ready to leave the hospital due to the severity of my pre-matureness, took off and started a life together 3,459 miles away in Hoboken, New Jersey USA.

With all that backstory, I'm surprised I had such an easy childhood leading up to now. I mean living in a place like Hoboken, you got your shit shows and greasy guys coming from work, but it was what I knew. And it was what gave me comfort. It was kinda hard around the age of 6 though. My parents split, and my dad moved back to Sheffield. It wasn't some gruesome thing though. It was more or less a falling out and my father's yearn to go back to Sheffield. Here in Hoboken, yeah there's wizards and magical people around, but it isn't a big, friendly community that my dad's used to and got homesick. From years 6 to 8, I spent one month during my summer vacation "across the pond" with my dad. This stopped however, with the death of my mother one humid summer day. She was hunted and killed during the full moon. At 8 years old, I moved in with my dad, even though after my moms passing we still kept the house.

My elementary school days in England weren't fun. My teacher hated the way I talked, my old school took Spanish so I was no where near the new schools French curriculum, and I was picked on by kids for the way I spoke and how my diction was. My grades kinda plummeted too. However, only in English. I'd get tests filled with red markings because either through subconscious resistance to conform or because I actually forgot every time, I'd make spelling errors like leaving out the "u" in words like "colour" or "labour". I didn't mind all those things though. The kids who bullied me just gave me a bigger audience for stunts and pranks that I'd pull (with the help of magic). Ages 8 through 11 leading up to my Hogwarts acceptance letter were non-rememberable to say the least. Those were the nights I'd spend submerged in songs by Danzig and Pulp and comic books, stoned out of my mind as I would buy from the kid who would watch me whilst my dad was out. That was all the time. He always went to the wizard world. It was as if people forgot he fled the country for 6 years of his life. His friends knew he had a son, but my dad just didn't want me involved in the wizarding world if I didn't want to. To be frank, I wanted nothing to do with that world. I knew the vile things people called my father. The things they'd mutter on the streets. The derogatory terms they'd use. Usually some pompous Gryffindor. All because my father was sorted into Slytherin. This made me resent the Gryffindor House. My letter came on the 20th of March, and at the time I considered it the worst present I had received in years. Actually, I'd say second worst, and the worst being the diagnosis of my AdHd and BPD. After I received the letter, my dad revealed to me knowledge about my birth. According to him, he wasn't just being a pompous Brit, but he wanted me in Hogwarts rather than Ilvermorny. He wanted me to be apart of one of the four, actually pronounceable house names, and wanted his lineage preserved. I felt trapped on the day of my sorting. From the looks of approval as Slytherin kids heard my name, I could've sworn I was a shoe-in. My first choice would've been Hufflepuff, as I felt like I belonged there, but Slytherin was good. I remember that feeling of absolute joy knowing the chance I had of getting into a house I liked. Then I sat down. And was sorted into Gryffindor...
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