Roommate Revelations PV Declan Blackwell

@Jeremy Slater

Stereotypes were such a bore. How he tired of the way they dragged on his existence, chains that linked to his tendencies and emphasized the origins he sought to forsake. He’d read the muggle stories of Dracula and his ilk, fanciful yarns of bat men in capes, meant to scare children or enthrall their parents. Such notions were absurd, and yet, who could know if the myths were fallacy? Not him, though his heritage may expect otherwise. His mother was as much a mystery to him as the outside world. In the few times he'd viewed her chambers, he'd never seen a coffin, but who was to say she didn’t fancy cosplaying a corpse now and then?
Perhaps if his father had carried a wooden stake he would still be alive.

Alas, his father was — as one of his cabin mates might put it — deceased, and his mother more absent than ever. That was well enough for him; he wanted no part of her, nor her stereotypes.
Even still they harried his days, those dragging chains, evoking thoughts of her when the skin of his hands itched, burned the day he’d arrived at camp, or when hunger drew his fangs from their hiding place. He hated how he resembled her, yet even the hours he kept followed those of a vampire.

Considering the mutual avarice betwixt he and the sun, the hours of its purview naturally became his circumstance for slumber. He didn’t bother it, and it didn’t bother him, just the way he preferred all his relationships.
Many of his waking hours were spent with a book in hand. Given the particular lack of human interaction or stimulating activity throughout his life, Declan did like to read a word or two, as he’d noticed was the case with a number of his cabin-mates. But did that mean he wanted to bond over common interests, or sit in companionable silence while they all read? He’d rather be strapped naked to a solar panel.

His method of evading such dreadful conditions was to simply be elsewhere until they’d collapsed in bed, like the true day-dwellers they were. The routes he wandered alone tended toward the outskirts of camp, where likelihoods were smaller that he’d encounter other nuisances, also known as people.
His most favored hours were those after curfew, where the noise truly died down save for muffled outbursts from within cabins. Patrolling authorities were more scarce than he might have imagined, and more easily sidestepped by one whose wardrobe blended with the night. It was a wonder that wizards seemed to skimp so mightily on security, albeit a boon for his needs.

Tonight, however, he tired of his haunts more swiftly than normal. Perhaps the inclination to find his bed was born of the thought that he’d have to modify his schedule soon, else the adjustment to Durmstrang norms would be hell. With the school only recently having admitted dhampirs in general, he doubted they had programs in place to accommodate his kind.
Regardless of reason, he would find his feet drawn to the cabin.

~~~~~~

Some time later, the door to the bedroom would swing inward, trailed by a figure that mimicked shadow in the wavering glow of candlelight. Black hood raised, as it was wont to be, Declan had covered his eyes once more with the sunglasses that were absent in his isolation. Their presence was a plague in the gloom, blurring candle flame and obscuring the scene before him, but he was willing to sacrifice a bit of sight if it meant none saw his mother’s eyes.
He aknowledged the bed opposite his own for the briefest of moments, long enough to ascertain that his roommate was awake, a book at his nose.

He didn’t think much of the boy, which spoke as highly of him as anything could have. Short — though most of them were — with hair that resembled mahogany and a disposition that kept to itself. The name escaped him; Jeffery or some such. The most notable thing about him was that there was nothing of note, and that was material for the best roommate Declan could have asked for.
Much like his relationship with the sun, he pretended Jeffery didn’t exist, and Jeffery never bothered him. Heaven-sent, he was.

Was.

As he settled into his own bed, Declan felt the itch of eyes upon him. The sensation wasn’t unusual — not here, or anywhere tainted by those nuisances; yes, people. They had a way of keeping tabs on anything that felt out of place, which of course, he always was. Truth be told, though, he hadn’t been around them enough to grow accustomed to the staring, and this boy possessed a singular penchant for it; his one unfortunate flaw. Curiosity.
Flopping unceremoniously onto his side, the dhampir turned his back to Jeffery and resumed his pastime of ignoring the world, relinquishing his glasses to the mattress now that he was certain the other boy would see nothing. Unfortunately, his body was not accustomed to sleeping at this time, and he knew it would resist. To make matters worse, he could now feel that imploring gaze on the back of his head. The uncanny sense made the hairs on his neck stand at attention.

After several minutes he nearly snapped at the boy, but held his ire in reserve. Jeffery would grow bored and return to his reading soon. He always did.
“…Do you really drink blood?”
The sudden question was so out of pocket that Declan briefly wondered if he had dozed off after all, and the words were the product of some dream. Eyes flying open, he ran a quick check of his senses to ensure that wasn’t the case, coming away with a certainty that the question was, in fact, a reality. One he would rather prefer not to be a part of.
He considered feigning sleep, or simply continuing his trend of indifference whether the boy believed he’d heard him or not. Initial assessment affirmed that silence was the best option, and yet… that question had been terribly specific. It hadn’t been an inquiry after the nature of his being; no, it had been the curiosity of one who knew what he was, and sought understanding of how he — a dhampir — lived.

”Ne mogu da verujem,” The Serbian expression slid out beneath his breath. Snatching the sunglasses, he reset them upon his nose before sitting up, reminiscent of a cadaver rising from its grave. Covers cast aside with brevity, the pale half-blood would swing his legs over the bed’s edge, feet planting firmly on the ground as he leaned deliberately forward. He assessed the smaller boy in earnest for perhaps the first time. That brown hair lay in shambles, much like his own head of onyx. There was little to pad his bones, and Declan doubted whether he would serve as a paperweight. Truly, few features designated him a subject worthy of intrigue, but there was one that did draw his attention — the eyes. Like two almonds whose purpose was to dig at his skin, they watched him, alight with something that had already died within the dhampir’s lifeless gaze.
He spoke slowly, tone drenched in warning more than question. ”And why, exactly, would I do that?”

"Ne mogu da verujem" = "I can't believe it"

@Jeremy Slater

The smaller boy’s eyes fell from his icy regard, and for a moment Declan thought he had won. His question would go unanswered, as intended, and the nosy Niffler would live in fear of addressing him again. He had successfully beaten Jeffery’s curiosity to a nervous pulp. Silence truly was the greatest refrain.

“Uhhhh…well…..… “
As he began to relax in his victory, that blissful hymn was shattered once more. He felt the muscle beneath one eye twitch in irritation, a sentiment further exasperated when his roommate stammered on.
“’Cause you’re a Dhampir…. right?” the boy eventually managed.
Ah, there it was — spoken aloud, giving credence to the nightmares that lived in his head. It was almost as though he believed if his nature was never addressed, then it would simply change; reality would warp to fit the model of his desires, and suddenly he would belong.
Wishful. Foolish.

Funny how the word ‘Dhampir’ was never spoken in conventional tones. He could not control what he was, and yet the name that described his being was ever choked through fear, disgust, or — in this case, strangely — awe. Even his father had forced the word through an apprehensive throat.

Apparently Jeffery wasn’t finished. Distressingly far from it, in fact. In practically a single breath, the boy would proceed to list a number of things he’d read about these mysterious dhampirs, and each one hit unfortunately close to home. He paused only to provide a visual example of where a dhampir’s unique teeth were located, drawing the first bit of emotion to Declan’s face as he turned his nose up at the demonstration.
Still the kid prattled on after the brief interlude, and this time he said something that stabbed the half-blood with a pang of shock, reflected in an upward twitch of his eyebrows. Quickly it was replaced by suspicion, brow knitting together as he considered the boy anew yet again.
His eyes; no, his mother’s. Above all the features and traits she had cursed him with, he hated the eyes most of all. They said they were the window to the soul, yet when he peered at their reflection, all he saw there was… nothing. Shadow and rot had consumed what might have been worth redemption.
He’d gone to great lengths to hide that absence, yet this niffler claimed to have seen it. Put quite simply, this didn’t make him happy.

“You ARE though…aren’t you?”

”I’ve got an idea,” Declan practically sighed. He rose to full height, the bed groaning in his departure. The boy looked so miniscule beneath his nose, curled in bedsheets. ”You stop asking questions, and maybe I won’t get too annoyed. I’ve read that dhampirs have terrible tempers. Some even say they lose their minds when they get angry.” There was no denial of the accusations. At this point he saw little use. This boy clearly knew one too many things about his kind, and about him. It had been naive to think he could have escaped such scrutiny, but perhaps he could scare the kid into dropping the subject, here and hence forth.

Something did snag at the half-blood’s thoughts, though — something he’d said himself. He’d read about dhampirs, it was true, but where had Jeffery done so? Had he studied books of his own, or found them among the shelves in the common area of the cabin? It was altogether possible that he’d done his learning through innocuous means, and yet…
Stiffening suddenly, Declan cast his eyes toward the trunk at the foot of his bed, then back to his roommate. Heartbeat quickened, the dhampir crossed swiftly to the storage vessel, where he threw it open. The lid crashed against his bed frame, producing a sound that shattered what relative quiet remained. In its wake was reticence, more deafening than the preceding thud. As Declan stared into the trunk’s depths, his features would darken. Melding with the dancing gloom of candlelight, they would seem to elongate and contort.
A clawed hand removed his glasses, revealing shadow and rot. His voice was malice. ”Oh, Jeffery…”