Such is Family Solo Closed

3 March 2022

Nicholas McCowan sat on the floor of the Owlery, his knees drawn up, an arm resting on each. Two scrunched pieces of parchment were held in his right hand, his grip tight enough to turn the knuckles white. The scowl on his face was not for the dirt that stained his clothing, but for the contents of those rather innocuous pieces of parchment. Letters from family, yet so opposed in their viewpoints and recommendations that the Gryffindor wanted to scream.

But he’d done enough of that. He’d made a scene out of the Valentine's Day event, turned himself into a fool in front of the entire school. And it had been just when he’d finally managed to eke out a win. His victories had turned to ash and Nicholas was right back to where he started, a fool boy who could do nothing to live up the expectations that he was beholden to.

Granted, those expectations from his parents were hardly harsh. They merely wanted him to be safe, to avoid conflict, and yet Nicholas knew that wasn’t his nature. He’d be driven insane by the coddling. Coddling born from love, but oppressive all the same. He gripped the two letters tighter, the first written in his mother’s flowing hand.

Nico,

Thank you for your letters, we know you hate writing, and we know you’ve got more exciting things to be doing than writing to the old codgers bak home. We just want you to know that your father and I are so proud of you! Broom racing captain and a win to boot, we can’t express just how proud we really are. You’re a fine young man, a good soul, and a testament to the family.

The little ones are ok, Travis won’t be quiet about how excited he is to come to Hogwarts in September. He seems to think that he’ll upstart you in everything.

That all said, we’ve been reading the Prophet. The Triwizard being back is so exciting, isn’t it!? Well, Hexwizard, I suppose, but it’ll still be an absolute blast to watch and I wish that I could be there to see it as well. Just remember that you’ve got nothing to prove, there’s no need to put your name in the Goblet and risk being chosen, make new friends, cheer on Hogwarts, just be safe!

We love you so much,
Mam

It would have been simple enough, a request not to put his name forward for a tournament that he was almost certainly not good enough to compete in, a reasonable ask all things considered. But what else was he to do? Allow himself to fall to the wayside even further. It wasn’t possible, especially given the second letter. That from his grandfather, a man stuck in the past perhaps, but he seemed intent on dragging the future kicking and screaming back to him.

Dear Nico,

Your father passed on the news about broom racing to me. While it’s not quidditch or even duelling, I supposed that the continentals like it fair enough, and being captain is certainly better than warming a quidditch bench. Good job, boy. On the win as well.

The Prophet’s still a load of shit, but it does mention the Hexwizard. I’ll be cut and dry with you, it’s a hell of an opportunity, and you’d be a waste not to take the chance to put your name forward. The restriction to older students was always a load of hogwash, and I’m sure that you’re more than capable of taking the fight to the foreigners. You’re a McCowan after all.

Truth of the matter is your uncle’s up to his eyes in debt, and while your folks are alright, family needs to look out for each other. It’s a lot to ask of you, and you’re still young, so don’t feel obligated, but anything you can scratch out is something. No one will hold it against you if you’re too afraid to help. But it would be the right thing to do, you need to be better, you need to show them who you are, and that you’re no coward.

Your’s,
Jock

Nicholas laughed bitterly. The letter itself had been polite enough, but he knew enough to understand the intent behind each of the words. Nothing he’d achieved had been good enough, not even close. Captain meant nothing, victory meant nothing, the sport wasn’t prestigious enough. What did the old man expect him to do? Declare himself king of the school, a school that hated him? He supposed that wasn’t entirely fair, but he’d done a proper showing of destroying the relationship he had with the only person he was sure liked him enough to want to spend time with him consistently.

Anger filled him again as he realised that his eyes were growing blurry. That was a load of crap, men didn’t cry, and that meant that boys didn’t either. He blinked rapidly, casting the tears back to where they came from. A moment more passed, before he snorted derisively and got to his feet.

He didn’t have time to act the part of a leper cursing at God, that sort of behaviour was reserved for children. Instead the crumpled pieces of parchment were shoved into Nicholas’s pocket, and his hand tussled through his knotted locks once more.

There was nothing for it, was there? If people thought him a disappointment, if people thought him an enraged fool, perhaps he could twist those assumptions into something.