With the capture of Verandi Farley and several high-ranking Trossach members, the British wizarding world has finally caught a break. The rate of rogue werewolf attacks have started dropping at a steady rate and, hopefully, things will stay that way. The Ministry is starting to loosen some restrictions, like not arresting werewolves standing on the street for loitering, however there’s still an obvious power imbalance between wizardfolk and werewolves.
The Cotswolds pack are continuing to advocate for the rights of werewolves and petitioning to change the legislation that has been set in motion by the current Minister for Magic, whilst the remaining Trossachs members are trying to stay out of the spotlight and keep a low profile… for now.
Whilst the British wizarding world seems to have calmed down, the same cannot be said for over in Northern Europe where a rebellion of magical creatures has risen. The state of things has gotten so bad that the European Ministry has enacted protocols to protect those under eighteen whilst their adult witches and wizards fight to keep control of their countries.
Students from Durmstrang have been sent to Hogwarts to keep them safe and those not old enough to attend school have been sent to live with relatives or designated British Ministry officials outside of Europe for the time being.
Will the low rates of werewolf attacks in Britain continue? How long will Durmstrang students stay at Hogwarts? Will the creatures usurp the wizardfolk in Northern Europe? Only time will tell.
SEPTEMBER 2019 It's been a very long, eventful summer in the wizarding world. A baby was stolen, several high ranking Trossach members were imprisoned, and werewolf attacks have drastically dropped as a result. What will happen now school has returned?
MAY 2019 An attempt to capture the beta of the Trossachs has been launched. Were the Aurors successful in their mission? Go read more here!
It had been a long, tiresome day. Quidditch practice, a full day of exam revision in class, two foot-long essays -- why did they have such an arbitrary way of measuring writing here in Britain? All Lars wanted to do was crawl into bed. pull the curtains closed and sleep until the noon of the next day.
But sharing a room with several other 15 year old boys meant that there was almost never a moment of peace. He'd considered asking the Charms professor to teach him a few strong silencing charms so he could block out the fart jokes and other nonsense that his dorm mates got up to on a daily basis, so he could get some resemblance of peace. At times like these he missed the Durmstrang curfew (lights out and mouths shut as soon as the clock strikes 10).
Alas, he had to play with the cards that had been dealt to him. He tossed his backpack on his bed and started rummaging through it, looking for his light reading for the night, a book on advanced Ancient Runes. As he looked, he muttered to himself in Norwegian, complaining that he needed new quills and that his backpack smelled like mold for some unknown reason.
Another miserable fucking day, but that was par for the course for Greyson by now. When was the last time he'd had a good day? One where he didn't feel the urge to drink himself to death, or poke at the Professors, or just be an all out arsehole to his peers as an excuse to just... try and make himself feel something other than angry or numb. Today had been particularly shit because he'd received another letter at lunch time about being a disappointment and how his father would be ashamed at who he'd become and blah blah bloody blah, he didn't care - except he did.
Stumbling into the dorm rooms, Greyson swore loudly as he nearly tripped on a pile of clothes in the middle of the room before realising that... oh. Those were his, ones he'd tossed off in his haste to change into a baggy shirt and jeans, before pissing off to go and drink in the forest. "Why does it smell like perfume in here? Who sprays that girly shit?" he muttered as a whiff of the air met his nose. The answer was probably Jones, the pompous wanker, because he was always bitching that Greyson made the room stink like smoke just from being in it - okay, and maybe the fact he smoked out the dorm windows.
As he moved towards his bed, his attention was caught by Sundby who was reading some... thick textbook. He wasn't doing anything offensive, nothing that even got under his skin, but maybe being a douche to him would cheer him up. "Need a night light, do you? Doesn't surprise me. You look like one of those bitches who are scared of the dark."
Lars managed to have about three seconds of peace and calm until the door opened and someone else tumbled in, swearing like a sailor and stinking like the engine room of a coal-powered stream ship. It was none other than Greyson -- the dorm mate Lars couldn't stand the most. It was easy to ignore Reginald's pomposity, & Wood didn't elicit any complaints from the Norwegian, but Greyson...
The bullies of Durmstrang at least showered often. Greyson was the British equivalent of the annoying Slavic students -- Slav squatters, as they were called. Lars' despised him, how crude he was and how much joy he seemed to get out of annoying everyone around him. And tonight, Lars was his target.
The boy snorted at Greyson's remark. Was that really the best thing he could come up with?
"And you can't go to sleep if you're not suckling on the neck of a vodka bottle like it's your mothers tit, tough guy,"he retaliated, not lifting his head up. Finally, he found the part in his book that he had been looking for, so he kicked off his shoes, got into bed and pulled the curtains around him. He hoped Greyson would take a damn hint that Lars wasn't in the mood for his games, but some part of him knew that it was in vain.
The snort that was elicited from Lars really did highlight that yeah, as far as insults went, his was piss weak but maybe Sundby needed to do something more noteworthy than sit on a goddamn bed and read. Maybe then he'd wield more original insults from Greyson. It was all his fault, that much Greyson was certain of.
But before he could tell him as such, Lars was shooting back something about a vodka bottle and his mother and Greyson instantly arched up like a snake. It was common knowledge that his mother had been murdered when he was a kid, caught in the crosshairs of a Death Eater and Auror fight with his two sisters. That day, the day that he lost three members of his family in one foul swoop, was the end of his seemingly happy little childhood. Everything had turned to shit ever since.
"You know what, Sundby? Fuck. You," Greyson bit out, letting out an obnoxiously loud snort of his own. It was one thing to say shit like how much of a wuss the other person was, and to mock them for the way they acted, but to bring his family into it? It was real low. He never did that unless the other person did first like that little stuck-up Selwyn in fourth year had."You're a real tough guy, aren't you? Bringing my mum into shit. You say you're so goddamn smart all the time, smear it into everyone's faces, and that's the best you can come with? Some insult about my dead fucking mother? Go suck a dick, dickhead. Hope you choke on it too."
As soon as Lars had mentioned Greyson's mother, the other boy started acting like someone had stuck a red, hot bradawl up his ass. He'd managed to get underneath his skin in a matter of seconds without even trying.
Truth be told, Lars didn't bother to remember such a trivial fact about his utterly irrelevant housemate -- why should he? As soon as this years exams would be done, Lars would transfer back to Durmstrang, and he had no desire to remember anything from the last three years in Hogwarts.
"Oh, but it's the truth." he said to the closed curtain in front of him, putting his book down, "You can't live without a damn bottle of booze. I wonder sometimes if your brain fluid hasn't been replaced by vodka. Not that you have much of a brain."
"And perhaps you should take your own suggestion and go suck a dick. Wouldn't it be a welcome change of pace from the bottleneck, no? Don't have to look far, you've been hanging with that Hufflepuff boy. Now, fuck off and let me study." he continued, flipping through the pages of the book that was laying next to him.
"You're real fucking imaginative, Sundby. Like I haven't heard all that shit before," Greyson said flippantly, a snort leaving him once more. "What's next? 'Oh Greyson, you need to stop smoking before you get lung cancer and die." He'd heard that line a million times too, mostly from his quote unquote concerned friends and family members. Greyson was of the opinion that they needed to get their nose out of his life, and into the messes of their own lives.
A sickly sweet smile unfolded on Greyson's lips as Lars threw his suggestion back into his face because he definitely wasn't averse to doing that... but his smile froze as soon as Lars dragged Jun into it because screw. that. Greyson wasn't about let Jun's reputation get dragged threw the mud because of some dickhead. Launching forward, Greyson's fingers curled into the material of Lars' shirt and his fist was swinging straight across, aiming straight for the guy's jawline.
Lars didn't manage to answer anything before Greyson was intruding in his personal space, his filthy hand grabbing at his shirt and his fist connecting with Lars' jaw. For a moment the boy was seeing stars, as his jaw was throbbing.
"Get off me, djevelen!" he yelled, grabbing the heavy tome he'd been reading through just moments before and swinging it in Greyson's general direction, trying to get away from him and onto the solid floor.
"Keep on smoking you arse, I can't bloody wait until you die," he grunted out, rubbing his jaw and staring right at his dormmate, "you and your little friend. The air will be clearer, then." If Jun was the reason why Greyson had lunged at him, then Lars would keep rubbing the salt on the wound. It was a very effective way of irritating someone,wasn't it? And if Greyson wanted to fight... He'll get it.
Post by GREYSON AVERY on Dec 23, 2019 10:10:33 GMT
The sound of Greyson's knuckles colliding with the side of Lars' jaw was satisfying, although minute later he was being swung at with a book because of course he was. What a pencil pushing nerd this guy was, and Greyson let out an 'OOF' as the tome made impact with his side over and over until he was down on the ground. That was going to bruise, and Greyson not-so secretly loved it. "Is that all you've got, bitch?" he cajoled from the ground.
"Yeah, me too," Greyson bit back at the jab of him dying, and from where he laid on the ground clutching his side, he aimed a half-arsed kick at Lars as the fucker brought up Jun yet a-bloody-gain because what the hell had Jun ever done to him? He was a good person, he wasn't like Greyson, and he didn't deserve this kinda shit from some dick. Dragging himself off the ground, Greyson was about to launch at Lars again when a hand caught the back of his shirt, yanking him backwards. Belanger. Of course it was. "Beating up the new kid. You want in, or are you still playing at good ickle Prefect?"
Another miserable fucking day, but that was par for the course for Greyson by now. When was the last time he'd had a good day? One where he didn't feel the urge to drink himself to death, or poke at the Professors, or just be an all out arsehole to his peers as an excuse to just... try and make himself feel something other than angry or numb. Today had been particularly shit because he'd received another letter at lunch time about being a disappointment and how his father would be ashamed at who he'd become and blah blah bloody blah, he didn't care - except he did.
