This was the day. The manor had been preparing for their guests’ arrival for a few days now. And, yes, it must have been multiple guests because they had prepared two rooms. This wasn’t new. Every so often, Wyatt’s grandparents would deem someone fit to enter their home and share their food and company. Usually, these “someone”s were old friends. Interesting, of course, but for all the wrong reasons. Sometimes they spoke French, other times they spoke parseltongue. Wyatt was encouraged to stay in his bedroom during these visits. He wasn’t trusted to behave, nor was he trusted with the content of their conversations. He found a way to listen, anyway.

Wyatt was starting to pick up on the rhythm of the manor, and he hated himself for it. He didn’t want to settle. He felt like he was betraying his mother a little more and more every night he spent in that ridiculously comfortable bed. But he knew guests were coming in a few days when they started washing the good linens and towels. They did all the laundry—magically, of course—in the basement, which also happened to be where Wyatt’s stache of muggle snacks was, so he saw that in action immediately. He knew today was the day of the guests’ arrival because the floors were polished so thoroughly he almost slipped on the way to his study.

Yes, his study.

It was quite gorgeous. Of course, it was barely a walk-in closet compared to his grandfather’s study, but it was a small library the size of his (rather large) bedroom. The walls were lined with books, all on magic, wizarding history, or pureblood fanatic theories. It was perfect if you skipped all the ones on that last topic. Wyatt met with his tutor there, a nice man who kept Wyatt sharp on the study of magic, complete with anecdotes about the wonderful purebloods who made it happen! Wyatt felt like he was going insane. No one looked him in the eye here. He couldn’t tell if it was because he was a half-blood, his grandparents forbade guests from treating him with kindness, or both. He was so alone, surrounded by more people than a house should ever need to sustain itself.

But none of it mattered. Not the fact that he was surrounded by people who could barely stand to touch him, or that his large room and private study were actually given to him so he had enough room of his own not to travel into the rest of the manor, or that the threat of being pulled from Hogwarts and placed in Beauxbatons was constantly looming over him to keep him in check. No, none of it mattered because Wyatt thought Alec fucking Mason was going to be here today.

They had said “the Masons”, Wyatt’s grandparents, one night at dinner. He wasn’t allowed to speak at the table, that rule was clear. He could only listen. He was meant to absorb the proper way to carry himself and speak this way, but it was exceedingly difficult when his grandparents sat at the opposite side of the comically large table and spoke with hushed voices. But he made out “the Masons” the night before Wyatt saw the extra towels were getting a wash. Wyatt hoped he was right. He needed some hope. That night, he took the scarf Alec had made him out of his bedside drawer and held it so tight, he willed Alec to visit him just to save it. Hopefully his grandparents weren’t just in the market for stone masonry or something. Hopefully this was real.

He’d find out soon. He was sure it would be today, the clothes laid out for him on the bench at the foot of his bed were only for formal occasions. Guest worthy. It was so unlike his grandparents to allow him to be seen by a guest, so he fought the urge to rebel and wear the old clothes he’d kept from his grandparents. A few tees and a couple pairs of jeans were all he had left of his old fashion identity. Alec would recognize him more easily then, but what's a few seconds wasted on recognition? He will be here. Soon. Never mind the fact that Wyatt had deluded himself in this way before, hoping the mysterious guest of the month was someone he knew, someone comforting. He had proof this month. Mean something, please, he thought.

@Alec Mason