"Vacation" solo

Wyatt felt like he was dreaming, the situation was almost unreal. He didn’t have a say. His grandparents were legally allowed to retrieve him, and no matter how many questions Ms. Lynn wanted to ask the staff member designated to pick him up as to why they waited so long, that wouldn’t change. Wyatt wasn’t greeted by his grandparents when he arrived, by floo, in one of the manor’s sitting rooms. Nor were they waiting for him in the bedroom he was escorted to; the room Wyatt was informed was his.

The ceilings were all so tall. When Wyatt looked down, he saw his own face, the marble floors so viciously scrubbed to cleanliness. Pure, Wyatt thought to himself with a short, breathy laugh. Wyatt wasn’t sure of his official title, but the cold man who had accompanied Wyatt through his travels led him by the arm from the fireplace to his new bedroom. Surprisingly, his bags were already there; all of his belongings in a couple of trunks and a backpack. Wyatt had completely forgotten about them. They took up no space at all since the bedroom was clearly built with a family of trolls in mind.

With nothing more than a curt nod, the cold man left. He didn’t slam the door, but the sharp sound of the door hitting the doorframe bounced off the walls longer than it would’ve in the tiny room Wyatt left in Cokeworth. Wyatt looked around. The comforter was navy, drowning the light gray sheets. Most of the bedframe was invisible behind the flowing comforter, but the slightly visible headboard was light brown. The room was dark even though the chandelier’s candles were lit. The color palette didn’t allow for brightness; the walls were coated in a deep navy and the hardwood floors were a rich brown.

Unzipping the largest pouch of his backpack, he reached for his scarf. The purple scarf Alec had made him. Just before he grasped it, he heard the door creak, its hinges wailing the way Wyatt longed to. Wyatt shot up and turned to the door, abandoning the scarf and flinching as he heard his backpack hit the ground. He must have pushed it in his haste. He’d stood as if magically compelled to.

Two sets of cold eyes met Wyatt’s dark ones; the eyes Wyatt’s father gave him. Those eyes could only belong to two people. Wyatt’s grandparents were not easily confused. It also helped that he was slightly filled in on the situation by the cold man who had escorted him to his “new room”. Wyatt knew that his grandparents were taking custody of him, but that they pulled some strings to do so in a way that wouldn’t follow them should they find Wyatt too difficult. They were quite powerful.

His grandfather was a tall, posh man that Wyatt would have rolled his eyes at in most other contexts. His posture was impeccable, but people like him were trained in manners by private tutors. René’s eyes were blue, but not deep like the ocean or open like a clear sky. They were like ice. They were fixed and freezing cold. His grandmother was much the same, with incredible posture and style. Rachel’s eyes were green. Not like freshly cut grass or a dazzling emerald, but like a deadly poison or a venomous snake. Currently, Wyatt was staring them down with a resentful look in his eye.

“Whatever you think you are doing ends now. I know how you operate. I know how you treated my mother for having a child with a muggle, and I know what that means you think of me…” Wyatt trailed off. His grandfather had lifted a hand, his palm facing toward Wyatt in a gesture that meant stop. Wyatt was tired, and he was embarrassed to be silenced so easily, but there was something satisfying in the brief expression he saw on his grandfather’s face. He was similarly surprised at Wyatt’s surrender.

“We have graciously invited you to live with us because,” Wyatt’s grandfather took a deep breath, almost stabilizing himself for what he was about to say. Wyatt listened intently. Surely his grandparents weren’t planning on sharing their entire plan with him on his first day at their home—and, yes, Wyatt swore there was something nefarious going on, big picture. He didn’t know what it was, but he knew his grandparents wanted nothing to do with him since he was born. Such a shift, why now?

“… we believe we may have written you off too early. You are a half-blood, of course.” It pained him to admit it. “But when we learned of your father’s absence and your mother’s passing, my wife and I decided to help you. Now, we do not know how you will adjust, so your last name will remain your… father’s until you have proven yourself here. There will be rules you are expected to follow, but you will mostly be taken care of. Your mother, did she speak French in the home? Answer.”

“Yes. Not much,” Wyatt replied through his teeth. He was angry, confused, and disoriented, but he was mostly exhausted. They’d done a lot of driving before reaching a fireplace hooked up to the floo network that the cold man deemed safe enough for his precious cargo. Wyatt hadn’t slept a bit, not since he was told that he had to pack his things the day before he was set to leave. He hadn’t expected it, but when he said goodbye to some of the other kids at the home, they seemed upset. “Why?”

“We are in France. Did you pick up on any?” Rachel asked. Her voice was soft but her tone was strict and she had a little bit of an accent. She looked like Wyatt’s mother. Of course, he quietly reasoned, they’re related. But there were more important things to think about. Apparently, they were in France? Which was far from Cokeworth, believe it or not. Though he’d always wanted to leave that dreadful town, he felt a pit in his stomach being so far from home. And wasn’t there another school for French witches and wizards? Wyatt couldn’t imagine leaving Hogwarts. Leaving Opeila, leaving Alec, leaving the Brisk Basilisks. All of this was terrifying. Wyatt remembered the question he was asked, and in response, shook his head, no. René produced a book and handed it to him.

“You should learn some phrases,” he suggested. Wyatt took the thing, a French textbook written by someone with a ridiculous-sounding name. They couldn’t bear to own a muggle book, Wyatt noticed. When he looked up, his grandfather was just a shadow, halfway out the door. His grandmother was looking after him with something parallel to frustration in her expression.

“Forgive him,” she apologized coolly, shortly. Wyatt kept his eyes on the doorframe, not having enough strength to make eye contact. When she was met with silence, she understood it as her cue to follow her husband’s lead and get out. Wyatt was exhausted. He faintly recalled having planned to sneak out with Casey tonight, to accompany him on his first night out on the town past curfew. Before Rachel left, she offered some parting words: “He will warm up soon. You should try to do the same.”

As soon as the door clicked shut, Wyatt dropped the book and ran to his backpack, retrieving his scarf with so much urgency he was shocked that it didn’t rip. He bundled it up and held it to his chest, closing his eyes and dropping his head. Alec wouldn’t know the new address. What if Alec went to Cokeworth and Alec wasn’t there? But Alec didn’t know about Wyatt’s family, and it wasn’t right to dump all the history on him at once. Maybe Wyatt could just notify him of an address change? But then he’ll know that Wyatt was taken in by a family, and he might want to meet them.

A frustrated groan escaped Wyatt’s throat. He would have to lie, but it was for Alec’s sake. It wasn’t right to complicate things by telling him about a situation that should be over by the start of their fifth year and long forgotten by the end of it, no matter how daunting the situation may seem in the moment. An explanation could surely wait until the start of term and Alec would understand. He might even be grateful that he could live out his summer in ignorant bliss of a non-issue. A non-issue that may presently be a full-issue, if Wyatt’s grandparents were going to be intercepting his letters.

Alec,

I don’t have any updates to share since my last letter to you, but I wanted to let you know that my address will be different for a while. The home took some of us to visit France through August. Donors feeling generous this summer, I guess. If you write to me, please use the address listed on this envelope instead of the one on the last batch. I’ll let you know if it changes, but it most likely will not until we’re back at school.

Thanks,
Wyatt

Just as Wyatt crossed his last t, he had a realization. How did they know all these things? Even Wyatt’s uncle—who’d kept in touch after his sister’s estrangement—wouldn’t have been told that Wyatt’s father had left. Wyatt didn’t send out any owls to notify anyone of his mother’s passing. At that point, he knew just why his mother’s parents decided to cut all ties with them and he certainly wouldn’t have known her betrayers’ address. Who was telling them these things? How did they know?

“Wyatt,” called his grandmother through the heavy door. Her call came with a knock, but she didn’t wait for Wyatt to respond before opening the door. Wyatt stood up from his position on the floor on his knees, still holding Alec’s scarf in his hands. He quickly crumbled the letter and hid it under the fabric, hoping the ink had dried enough so that it wasn’t so smudged that he’d have to start over.

“Tomorrow morning, we’ll be fitting you with more suitable dress. We do not mind what you wear at the manor, of course, but we would like to keep our image as clean as it has always been in public,” she told him. Wyatt glared in response, knowing nothing he had to say would be well recieved. They think their image is clean, Wyatt noted humorlessly. “We will have our elf wake you when it is time.”

@Alec Mason... surprise letter! Feel free to write back if you want. You can put your reply in this thread, I'm done here lol.