The tale of Philip Glade is not as complete without a mention or two of the tales that preceded his. Of Joel Glade and Gloria Wellspring.

Glade and Wellspring

As you can imagine, Gloria came from a full blooded Wizard family, one with not more than 3 generations, herself included. They were fairly adept in Transfiguration spells, some even having made the change to Animagi with quite a successful streak, something her cousins were no doubt able to continue perfectly. Herself? She was a lot less inclined to changing herself into an animal for no real reason other than tradition. Her love was in giving people a little bit more color, a little bit more prim and proper. She wanted to be a fashionista.

Joel, on the other hand... Halfblood son of a Halfblood and a Muggle. No real heritage to be said there. Joel wasn’t even too sure if he’d receive a letter when he was of the age. But his parents continued to support him, and a bit erroneously building up his expectations for the wizarding life he’d lead. Neither were too concerned with what kind of future he’d choose, as long as it led to one he’d find himself the happiest in.

Now, how did these two meet, you ask? Well it wasn’t until much later in their life, you see. Gloria ended up putting her family’s expertise to full use in her quest to finding the best and most satisfactory results in wizarding fashion, from special materials to exclusive charms and spells, while Joel, well, he went through a different path. He’d actually become a painter. A wizarding painter at that. While his skill was pretty debatable among the community, he was accepted into it all the same due to the scarcity of those wishing to become part of it.

As all good things, it all started with a funeral. A rather important member of the general art and entertainment community of the wizarding world. While neither of them were all that accomplished, one’s duty to their community compelled them to attend regardless. During the gathering afterwards, over canapés and a glass of wine, a comment flew about the painter’s drab appearance. Paint here and there and a rather uncharming clothing choice. A retort was thrown back regarding the fashionista’s lack of color coordination. They were married and expecting nearly a year later.

While the Wellsprings were a full blooded Wizard family, they were a fairly recent one with Muggleborn beginnings, so a marriage with a Halfblood was not under their list of objections, albeit they were apprehensive of Joel’s lifestyle, decorum and rather unstable profession. But then, their daughter had finally bloomed into a rather successful fashion designer, with all the benefits of one in such a position, including a rather large income, enough to help support Gloria’s soon-to-be family.

Accidents and Origins

Philip was born on the rather murky afternoon of January 4th. No rainfall, just a freezing wind and some really nasty-looking clouds. Healthy in weight, tone and general behavior, he was their ray of sunshine. Named after his great-grandfather for good luck, nobody would realize how amazingly accurate it would be in jinxing the boy’s existence in the future.

Seeing as both of his parents were artists, a lot of his early childhood consisted in attending art events, fashion galas and a lot more of the sort. But, much like the man he’d been named after, these were not things that seemed to interest him. Yes, his mother’s designs were definitely charming and pretty to look at, but enough of them were enough to make the boy want to jump out of his seat and run back to the car. Same could be said about the rather impressive enchanted portraits his father and the other artists painted.

Fair would be the adjective used to capture the essence of his parents’ raising methods. Philip’s curiosity would lead him to want to see what his parents were always cooking up, and like the doting parents they were, Joel and Gloria were more than happy to show him. Gloria more so than Joel, who required solitude to paint at his best. Having their child being interested in their crafts was a delight, even if he couldn’t understand half the words they were saying a lot of the time. Art theory and fashion designing were… beyond his child’s brain, and it stayed somewhat like that through the coming ages.

From early on, he was definitely not the strongest boy in the neighbourhood and coupled with his curiosity, restlessness and tendency for the clumsy, Joel’s hands were free enough to be the one tending to any scrapes or bruises his son acquired, while Gloria had the job of lecturing and punishing him for any misbehavior. None of which was done in public, of course. Even if the punishments were light, and the lectures caring with a side of strictness, there was no need to be making a scene in public. The words “We’ll talk about this at home” would be etched into Philip’s mind for life.

The education he received was only fair for one with his ancestry. His father wanted him to have at least a basis on whatever he’d want to do with his life, much like his parents before him, and his mother wanted her darling son to learn something about their world. Basic history of the world, basic societal Muggle and Wizard knowledge and etiquette, it was all for him to be aware of his surroundings as a young Wizard who would soon be going to a proper wizarding school. Because of course he was going to a wizarding school.

While his father’s side was once again of the mind they should prepare the boy to be his best self, his mother’s side wanted to make sure their ancestor’s name was well-treated and not complete and utterly shamed out of existence. The introduction the boy had to Transfiguration and the family tradition seemed to go well until a certain incident with uncle Finneas, who jumped out in his goliath birdeater Animagus form, attempting to put a small fright into the boy.

That was their utter undoing when it came to following tradition however. Scared and feeling threatened, Philip’s unconscious did what any of his lineage would do. A rather forceful magical push back sent cousin Finneas flying straight out the window. No harm done to him, but that was one hell of a wallop. Not only that, but the fright placed some rather nasty thoughts in his head and, while fascinated with the art of Transfiguration, the change to Animagus was not something he’d enjoy for himself at all, thanking his mother for having never done something like that to herself. The thought of his own mother being something as scary as that sent shivers down the child’s spine.

While all that was going through his head, his family in general just stared for a second, before his younger uncles ran out to help their cousin. He was found comfortably laid on a hedge, back in his human form, a bit startled and confused over what had happened after he’d transformed into his Animagus form. Once everyone was back inside, there was one thing everyone had gotten to know from this incident. The magic coursing through Philip’s veins. Not to mention it solidified the presence of both himself and his father in the Wellspring tree, even if it didn’t dispel a good deal of the objections they’d placed on the artist who was more likely to throw a sharp comment or quirky retort whenever it was his turn of joining the conversation.

Philip himself had only realized what had happened after his family had explained properly exactly how a wizard’s magical abilities would awaken within the children who possessed the potential. And while he was sorry he’d done that to a family member, the fact no one was angry didn’t quite sit well with the boy, magic awakening or no. Call it an inherited characteristic of his father. He immediately retaliated, retorting that cousin Finneas could’ve been hurt and instantly apologizing. The man simply laughed, accepting the apology and saying next time he could try it with a wand if he wanted to. Which honestly didn’t help the boy settle down, but little could calm a child like Philip when he got like that anyways.

The Letter

Eventually he’d approach the age where all young wizards and witches would expect that oh so famous letter. And one day, so it came. Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Nobody was entirely surprised. It was only natural, after all. Nobody on the adult side, that is. Joel and Gloria, his mother’s family, even his father’s family, they all had expected him to get the letter and that only served to boost their confidence and their esteem, both of their family and their son. Philip read the letter and had to take a few deep breaths. Would he be able to learn more about Transfiguration? Would his family force him to change into an animal after he graduated? Would they just turn him into one?

Excitement, mixed with fear, relief and a guttural instinct to walk straight into a wall. That last one being his physical reaction when he was finally given a moment alone. Everything he’d been taught so far was the small potatoes. According to everyone else, this was do or die for his future. Why? He honestly didn’t know, but that was the reality of life and he’d have to bear with it, like his parents and their parents had gone with it.

Textbooks, clothes, utensils were all fairly easy tasks once the boy was (shackled by the wrist) grabbed by the hand and (dragged) led to each store. These were tools he would undoubtedly need in the coming years at the school. Albeit he found the Potions materials quite… daunting. The tricky part was convincing him that an owl was the best way to communicate with them from inside the school. The boy was pale and panicking inside the pet shop, his eyes reflecting each of the animals within as if they were vicious predators. And to an owl especially, this rat of a boy was the best fitting prey. A light brown patch owl with an amenable attitude was purchased and carried at least 5 meters away from the boy.

The final stage came as he was led into the Ollivanders. Only God knew the storm that was approaching. Normally a wizard takes a few tries to find a wand that acclimates well to them, their style, their personality, and their general potential. An average of 4/5 tries, I’d say, nothing to be ashamed of. 5 on 5 on 5 on 5, to the power of 5. The wands either fled Philip’s hands, blew him or something away or straight up refused to work. The last resort for the Glades was asking the Wellsprings for an old family wand of some sort, since those would have a lot less chance of rejecting the boy’s blood.

While it did not have to come to that, it may have provided a better situation than the one that arose. Going from the superb wands, to the fairly well crafted ones. From the average wands, to the alright ones. Straight to the… less desirable wands, crafted with somewhat poor materials that let no one even stand their presence for too long before being put away. There, with a 9 inch chestnut shell, stiffer than anything they’d seen, covering a core of troll’s whisker, there lay the one that chose Philip. His parents were… restless. Ollivander was certainly not pleased with a dud of his choosing a customer. But this was the only one that had behaved like it should have so it would have to do.

A slight doubt arose to the question of boy’s blood, and of the father’s blood at that, it was easily dispelled. He was his father’s son and the wizards in his side of the family, while not extensively accomplished, had skill and potential running through their veins. And the matter died at that, with obviously no one doubting the strength of a full blooded family’s blood. The reality was that Philip simply had a… subpar core material to work with, even going by the wandmaker’s comments on how there was a lot of potential to be drawn even from the wood and malleability the wand provided.

While knowing all that didn’t quite perturb the young wizard, seeing his parents like that definitely left a mark on him. Was a troll’s whisker that bad? Certainly it wasn’t a phoenix’s feather or a unicorn’s hair, but did any of that really matter? Probably, but to the 10 year old who simply wished this ordeal to be over, it really honestly didn’t. So, much like a child he was supposed to be, he stomped his foot on the ground and told the annoying adults that he’d love to get on with his life because at this rate he’d never get to Hogwarts, much less use his new wand to cast a spell.

With such an event behind them, only the future could await. Philip spent a good amount of his time turning the pages on his new books. Nothing too in depth, since a lot of his books were… bland. History of Magic seemed interesting. Transfiguration was taken from the first year, which was something he definitely enjoyed. That whole summer was spent on his parents, more his father than his mother, busy as she was, on the basics of what he seemed to enjoy the most. The rest would come naturally through proper schooling after all.

And so the fateful departure day would arrive. The day his new life began.