James Evans sat on the stairs, legs dangling, listening. The house was quiet, the kind of quiet that made every little sound feel sharper: the hum of the fridge, a car passing outside, the soft scrape of his mother's heels on the living room floor.
His parents were having the sort of conversation that carried weight without needing to raise their voices.
"…he's almost eleven," his mother said, carefully, as if weighing every word.
"I know," his father replied softly.
James stayed where he was. He didn't move closer. He didn't need to. He'd learned long ago that sometimes listening was better than speaking.
"He has a choice," his mother continued. "We promised him that."
Another pause, James could hear the quiet exhale of his father. "We promised him a childhood."
He pressed a hand against the railing. This mattered.
"He could stay here," his father said after a moment. "Ilvermorny. He wouldn't have to cross the Atlantic. He wouldn't have to leave everything he knows."
James thought about that. Ilvermorny. Easy. Safe. Familiar.
His mother's voice softened. "England… It's where I'm from, where Lily and you are from. And where everything started."
Hogwarts Stone halls and towers, mist curling over the rooftops, a world he'd only heard about from his mother.
"Because I'm almost eleven," James said, more to himself than anyone else.
"Yes," his mother said, kneeling so her eyes met his. She brushed a lock of hair from his forehead. Her gaze searched his face, gentle but insistent. "We want to know what you want. Not what we think is best."
His father stayed back, hands folded, watching. Always steady, always waiting.
"You have options," his mother said. "Ilvermorny, here in the States or… Hogwarts, in England."
James didn't answer right away. He looked at his mother, then at his father. Both were waiting, not pushing, just watching him decide.
"How long would we be gone?" he asked finally.
"Not gone," his mother said. "Just… somewhere new for you to learn."
He nodded. The thought of leaving the house he'd always known tugged at him. And yet… Hogwarts. A world of magic and history and things that were, until now, just stories. His chest tightened a little, but he didn't let it rule him.
"Can I think about it?" he asked.
His father's mouth curved into the faintest smile. "That's why we told you."
James glanced back at the stairs, at the hallway, at the rooms he had explored countless times. Then he looked at his parents.
"I want to see Hogwarts," he said. "Before I decide."
His mother's breath caught. His father nodded once.
"Then we'll go," he said. "And you'll decide with all the facts."
James felt a steady, quiet purpose settle over him. He wasn't being sent anywhere. He was being asked.
And what his choice would be his alone.