The ungrateful brats PV

It was one of the very first days of July. Harvey had arrived from the US a couple of days ago. He did not get the time to recover after the full moon, like he usually allowed himself. It had been five days now, but he could still feel the transformation in his bones. His whole body ached. Crossing the Atlantic Ocean was about as pleasant as a hammer being smashed into one's head. The portkey did work fast though, he would admit that much. In one leap they crossed from North Carolina and landed in Scotland. From there, they took a carriage drawn by some beast he had yet to find the energy to care about. He had done his best to get comfortable. But with a silence more heavy than what any sinner would expect out of doomsday, it was not easy.

His father had read the paper, letters, a book, even found the time to enjoy the view from the window. Perhaps he shouldn’t have pushed his luck. Finding another school to take him in, even though the details were still up in the air, was more than he could have hoped for. Moving in with his father, however, made him uneasy. That was a feeling that never sat well with him. So he spoke up. He knew it was ill advised even before he opened his mouth. The result was a rather short lecture, and had it come from anyone else, Harvey probably would have laughed straight in their face. He was to be exemplary, no more screwing up and certainly not any more of his rebellious attitude.

Harvey found himself nodding before he could stop it. He had spent all of what, under 12 hours with his father since the night he became a monster's chew toy. Why did he feel so drawn in by him? He hadn’t cared about much at all since then. But the simple nod from Grigori at him confirming he understood, made a warm feeling spread in his stomach.

Then came even more of a lecture, though one might have called it a lore dump, in Russian. He had been fluent in the language at some point, but he hadn’t spoken it in years. Grammar, formal greetings, and the everlasting new vocabulary that belonged to the wizarding world. He stuttered his way through it, the sounds once again unfamiliar and strange. He understood more than he could voice though.

They arrived at the manor, Harvey with a pounding headache. He was shown his room by a house elf, and kindly told to stay there. Not that he really minded it. The estate was as solitary as it possibly could be, and he had no need of being exposed to the chillyness that was Russian summer. So he stayed in his room. He slept for what must have been twelve hours. When waking, he found school material and books had been delivered to his room. In spite of the headache, he couldn’t hold off for long. The days passed like this, reading aloud to reacquaint himself with the language. Noises from downstairs didn’t bother him much, even when it sounded like a whole congregation of people were gathering.

Three days after their arrival, he broke off his study session. Grigori was going out, and apparently Harvey was to join him. He didn’t get much of an option in what to wear, as all his flannels and band shirts had been removed. So he dressed in a robe, in the color of deep navy blue. Looking at himself, it was almost laughable. He looked like a younger, more scruffy version of his dad. He dragged a hand through his hair and swept it to the side, and folded up the sleeves of the robe. He was still him, even if he was stuffed into rich boys clothes.

He wasn’t told where they were going and he did not ask, though his curiosity was perhaps a bit piqued. He was offered an old boot and grabbed a hold. The estate rising above them was nothing but grand. A bit dark and gloomy perhaps, but grand. Walking the wide path towards the door, he found himself studying the architecture. It was no question when it was built, or from when it was inspired. Though the details did not escape his eye. A knock at the door and they waited.