One Way Ticket solo

Roleplaying as Hans Jenssen

It would have been unfair to say Hans had not been purposefully avoiding the letter for the past week. He had not been expecting correspondence and as soon as he laid eyes on the sender, something tugged at him not to read it, to crumple it up into a ball, throw it into his drawer, and forget about it. In light of recent events at Hogwarts, it did not take a genius to figure out what his parents were nagging him about this time. Whatever they were demanding would be unfair and surely he would refuse in seeing it through.

What motivated him to smooth out the letter mystified even himself, but all he knew was that it had been badgering him to open it every waking second and God, it probably plagued his dreams too. Anger was not usually a prevailing emotion for the often-collected boy, for, after all, it seemed a waste of time and breath in most occasions. He had long learnt that if talk of his family was cause of his displeasure, it was simply better to evade the topic altogether. Who knew though, perhaps he could derive some satisfaction from tearing it into shreds and throwing it into the fireplace at least.

Dear Johannes,

He read the salutation once more, if only out of spite. Johannes, such a charming way to address him. He stared at the name with disdain, though not with surprise, and forced himself to continue reading the damn thing.

How are you? It has been a while since you have written to us, but we hope you are doing well, your grades are high, and you are succeeding in broom racing, if you are still pursuing the sport.

We will save you the time and be straightforward here: after having been informed of the attack on Hogsmeade upon your arrival, we have decided it would be best for your future and safety to return to the Muggle world. It has become evident that the Wizarding society is at each other’s throats, most certainly not fit for children any longer. We only have your best interest in mind and we hope you can offer us the confirmation and agreement we are seeking.

As you know, we have been ever-hesitant to send you to Durmstrang due to my discontinuation of the practice. However, I did not want my negative experiences at the Institute and with magic to affect your potential and education. Your grandfather has taught you well in that regard, but certain boundaries must be drawn. We were trusting enough to allow you to attend your first ball at Hogwarts, and while it is no fault of yours, our trust was reciprocated with terrorism.

We understand that attending Durmstrang has been life-changing for you, and I cannot praise the school enough for its advantages. We are certain you have learnt things you never thought were possible before, discovered things you would trade nothing for, and made a group of new friends. However, we need you to understand that in comparison to your safety, nothing is more important.

There is still a lot waiting for you in the mundane world. We have made arrangements with the gymnasium¹ you were admitted to and they have allowed you an opportunity to catch up. We have conversed with your swimming coach and he believes you can compete on the national level again with just a year of hard work. Most importantly, you have friends here, who have been waiting on your return for a long time already. You have a future and people who care for you, just as you do away from home. Such things are not defined by magic, Johannes. Durmstrang is not the only place where you can experience such things.

We have been worried to death for the past few days and are looking forward to your reply and return. Have a great day.

Love,
Mama & Papa

Hans set the letter down with a sigh and furrowed his brows at the fire, as if it were the flames who had wronged him. His fists clenched and unclenched, as if he was unsure what do with them as they hung uselessly at his side. He forced his eyes, wary as they were, back to the letter and restrained himself from glaring hard enough to bear a hole, the seemingly harmless piece of paper threatening to tear apart his life. It was like a bomb, with the detonator in his hand. Play into this wretched request and win an explosion across everything he had ever wanted. Whatever outrageous demand his parents would force him to undergo, he would stand his ground as he always did, because fuck no, he was doing just fine here.

And so Hans thought he was above cursing out some fancy handwriting. The vexation had always been prominent in his thoughts regarding his parents, even if he tried to hide it in front of them. He had dismissed it for the usual teenage rebellion, but how much longer would he go against them? Insides broiling within him, Hans wished they would just listen to him, just understand him, just put themselves in his shoes and be on his side, if only for once. He hated them for restricting his use of magic. He hated them for not allowing himself to follow his dreams. He hated them for taking away all the opportunities he actually valued. He hated them for their fear. Fuck, sometimes he even hated to for bringing him into this world just to yearn after something his mother had long given up. Hatred boiled in his blood, and he hated them for everything.

Did he? Did he? How can he? He would have been blind not to see how much his parents had sacrificed for him for his plethora of pipe dreams. Money, for one, had never been the most abundant of resources, and God knows how much all those swimming courses costed. Cowardice and aversion towards magic was not particularly difficult to sympathise with either after the events at Summer Camp and Hogsmeade. The fact that he could not have a foot in two worlds had never been as clear, yet his parents still allowed him to follow through. Support was never sparse, but it was him who had never had it in him to accept it. Love was always offered, but of course, some haughty part of him had thought he was above it. Ultimately, he knew enough to understand their concern only came from a well of consideration. He would be cruel to deny them restfulness in their hearts. I see you, some twisted part of his psyche taunted him, you ungrateful boy full of shame.

Naïvety, a trait Hans thought he could never possess, but that too only went to prove his point. How oblivious had he been when he batted away his parents concerns as if they were pesky flies? How oblivious when he had made a show out of storming off into his room whenever the air was electric with tension? How oblivious when he had ignored every time one of them said "it was for his own good" when clearly, they were correct? They had loved him, they still love him, and what was his attitude towards them? As rhetorical as the question was, he could not help but answer with self-condemning insults much unlike anything he would ever throw at anyone, much less himself. But then again, if this was the self he was, he should probably have been better off as someone else. How should he convince himself that the burning sensation in his veins was rage and not guilt?

Of course rage was there. It was just a rage he had never felt before.

1: A German form of grammar school.