Dhampirs and werewolves solo Closed

August 15, 2024

In the family home in Canterbury

Ronan awoke feeling refreshed, and through the slight gap in his curtain, the morning sun peeped and warmed his face. He stretched out, yawned, and luxuriated in the softness of the bed sheets against his skin. He opened his eyes at last, and he wished he hadn't, given the junk that surrounded him in the room. There were a pile of clothes on the floor and books and papers all over his desk. A half-eaten sandwich from two days ago was on his nightstand. A wave of guilt and frustration ran through him as he remembered his argument with his mother about tidying up.
Slowly, Ronan swung his legs out of bed and padded across the room, careful not to disturb any sharp objects or sticky spills. He yanked open the curtains, letting in the morning light alive with colors, a stream of glory, to show every detail of chaos. It was worse than he remembered.

With a great breath, Ronan knew today would be the day to confront the mess. He started with the laundry, bending to pick up a crumpled T-shirt when he heard his mother's voice coming from downstairs. "Ronan! Breakfast is ready!" He froze, torn between wanting to eat breakfast and wanting to clean his room before it got too late. After a slight pause, he returned the call: "I'll be down in a minute, Mom!" Then grabbing up an armful of his dirty clothes, he tossed them in his laundry basket, already overflowing. It wasn't much, but at least it was a beginning.

He rushed and fled down the stairs, and the smell of pancakes and bacon hit his nostrils. His stomach growled noisily, voicing its displeasure at the fact that it was very hungry. His mother had her back to him, facing the stove as he entered. "Morning, Mom," he said cheerfully, trying to sound like everything was all right. She turned around with a spatula in hand and gave him a small smile. "Good morning, Ronan. Did you sleep well?" He nodded at her, knowing from her voice that there was some tension in the answer. "Yeah, I did. Listen, Mom, about yesterday—"

"Let's just have breakfast, shall we?" she interrupted, turning to grab two bowls of yogurt off the counter. "Your father will be home in about an hour," she added with a soft smile as she sets the bowls and spatulas on the table. After breakfast, Ronan helped his mother with the dishes, as he preferred not to upset her the more, for she was a very stern woman when angry, and the last thing he wanted was for her to throw another tantrum at him.

As Ronan dried the last plate, he heard the familiar voice outside their window—a gentle, slightly rough voice. And then he knew exactly who was going to come home. His father had always been like a mediator between him and his mother during those arguments.

"Dad's home," Ronan announced, slightly flinging the dish towel to the counter. His mother just nodded favorably, her tensed expression melting a little. "You should go say hi. I'll finish up." Grateful for any excuse to get away from the tension that was still hanging in the air, Ronan headed for the front door. He opened it just as his father was about to turn the doorknob.

''Hello, young man!" his father said, a smile widespread his face. "You're up early for a Saturday." Ronan shrugged, trying to appear as if this revelation was no big deal. "Yeah, well, I've got some stuff to take care of.'' Ronan's speech was hurried as he realized the newspaper was currently under his fathers arm.
His father's eyebrows ticked up just a bit at the subject of "stuff," but he let it go. Instead, he held out the rolled-up Daily Prophet.

"It feels like you should see this. There's a write-up on the Quidditch World Cup." Ronan's eyes sparkled a moment, his mind momentarily off the messy room and the argument with his mother. He grabbed for the paper. "Thanks, Dad! Did they announce the teams yet?" As they walked into the house together, his father shook his head. "No, but there are some predictions. Your mum in the kitchen?" Ronan nodded; his enthusiasm to a level dampened as he suddenly remembered the earlier awkwardness. "Yeah, we just finished breakfast."

His father placed a comforting hand on Ronan's shoulder. "I'll go say ­hi. Why don't you see ­what's new in the wizarding world?" A slight smile broke on Ronan's lips as his eyes started to gleam and brim with excitement. Ronan unfurled the Daily Prophet with anticipation; his eyes glanced over the front page for any trace of Quidditch. As anticipation brewed in him, he flipped the pages of the newspaper. In the kitchen, his parents murmured as if to themselves something he didn't want to hear, but the words he couldn't help but catch.

". just worried about him."

". needs to learn responsibility."

". give him time."

Ronan sighed once more and closed his eyes from the direction of the conversation. He turned to the newspaper and found the article on Quidditch on page seven, complete with moving pictures of the players whizzing around the page on their broomsticks. He read about the lineups some coaches were considering for different national teams and felt the same old longing stir within him. And he wanted out there on a broom, wind in his hair, thrill of the game! Just then, turning to page nine, he read the article 'Hogwarts' Overly Progressive Half-Breed Policy Sparks Global Debate'; he thought for a few moments what on earth Overly progressive meant, and decided that it was time to return to his father and mother in the kitchen. Ronan folded the newspaper and walked back into the kitchen, still thinking about Quidditch and the mysterious article. Just as he was walking up, his parents' raised voices suddenly dropped to whispers. They looked up when he entered, and their conversation suddenly stopped.

"Everything all right?" Ronan tried to sound casual as possible. His father nodded with an unnatural smile on his face. "Of course, son. Just catching up with your mother. How about that Quidditch article?" Ronan hesitated here, wanting to discuss the exciting Quidditch news but at the same time wanting to ask about the half-breed policy article. In the end Quidditch seemed like the better choice, as he put down the article on the table. "Oh yeah, really looking forward to the world cup this year!" His father brightened up, clearly glad at the change of topic. "Absolutely! So, who do you feel actually has a chance of grabbing the cup this year?" As Ronan began an excited presentation about the pros and cons of the top team contenders, he saw his mother's lips tighten just a bit once again. She started to fuss with the already spotless counters, her back to them. "You know," his father said, leaning in conspiratorially, "I might be able to get us tickets to one of the matches. A colleague at the Ministry has some connections." Ronan's heart leaped with excitement. "Really? That would be amazing!" His mother turned around sharply. "Big plans like that, and we said we were going to discuss it together first, dear," she chided and strained. His father's smile wavered. "Yes, you're right'' Ronan saw him frown and heard him clear his throat. His mother was a muggle. She came to the table now. She shrieked when she saw the headline of the article, Hogwarts' Overly Progressive Half-Breed Policy Sparks Global Debate.

Ronan's mother picked the newspaper up, her eyes skimming to the headline and then widening. "What in the world?" she muttered before pushing along to the body of the article. His father leaned over to look. "Ah, I see they're stirring up controversy again," he said with a sigh. "What does it mean?" Ronan asked, curiosity getting the better of him. "What's this half-breed policy?" His parents exchanged a look, seeming to have a silent conversation. Finally, his father said, "Hogwarts has always been more. accommodating for magical creatures some think of as being less than human. Werewolves. half-giants, that sort of thing. Some people think it's too progressive."

"But that's good, innit?" Ronan asked, furrowing his brow. "Acceptance?" His mother set the paper down with a frown of disbelief. His mother pursed her lips. Finally she said"It's not that simple, Ronan. These creatures, they can be dangerous, unpredictable."

"It’s not just creatures , Angelina," said the mellow voice from his father. "They too belong to humanity, magical people like us."

"But they aren’t like you and our children ," she emphasized. "How could we ensure them to be safe, and no harm would come to the students?"

Ronan looked between his parents and felt the tension rise once more. He'd never heard anything related to magical politics come out of his parents' mouths before, and it made him feel uneasy. "Hogwarts has Aurors in place, if something happens," his father explained patiently. "Lear wouldn't let anybody truly dangerous near the students."

His mother snorted. "That old fool? He's far too trusting for his own good."

"Mum!" Ronan was aghast at hearing her talk that way about the headmaster. His mother's eyes flashed dangerously toward him. "Don't take that tone with me, young man. You don't understand the complexities of this situation."

Ronan's anger was climbing once more. "But I'm starting at Hogwarts in a few weeks! Don't I deserve to know what's really going on?" His father placed a soothing hand on Ronan's shoulder. "You're right, son. You do deserve to know. But perhaps we should discuss this when everyone's had a chance to cool down."

"I will hear no more of this," his mother said firmly. "I do not want my son in going to that dangerous school."

Ronan's heart dropped. "But, Mom, you can't—"

"That is enough." his father roared, authoritative. "Okay, this will be discussed in the family shortly. For now, why don't you go upstairs, Ronan?" Ronan wanted to argue further, but the look in his father's eye told him it was best to retreat for now. With a frustrated sigh, he trudged up the stairs, and his enthusiasm for Quidditch and Hogwarts was evaporating into worry. Finally in his messy room, Ronan flopped onto his bed, his mind all abuzz. He really couldn't believe that his mother was threatening to keep him from Hogwarts. He'd been looking forward to it for years, ever since his first accidental burst of magic a few years ago had made his hair so long and girly overnight.

He heard his parents' muffled voices rise and fall somewhere downstairs, transitioning from not-his-business to his-everything. Snatches of their argument.

".can't shelter him forever."

".not safe."

After a while, he rolled over to cover his face with the pillow to push out the sound from his parents.