Nonconformist Souls [Hamish/Arthur]

[Arthur Kirkland]

It had all started with a former and technically current bully from his first year. An intense loathing between them that had escalated the older they grew. The other boy only seemed to grow more incensed with Arthur the more that the once-scrawny boy fought back, the more that he grew a proverbial nasty bite of his own. On this particular day, it had started out as a generally harmless insult, the boy spat some filthy name at Arthur as he walked the corridor on his way to Transfiguration. At first Arthur had shrugged off the insult, having heard better and not deeming it worthy of his attention or time. Noticing this nonchalant display, the way he was ignored, the other teenager only grew more irritated, and instead, he threw out vulgar slander against his brother, the current professor of the Care of Magical Creatures. Far different from his previous cool reaction, Arthur’s blood surged with wild heat. His thoughts became drivel as he felt himself move against that fire in his veins. The other boy had been knocked back hard against the wall of the corridor several feet away, Arthur’s knuckles white around his drawn wand, so quickly that even he was still processing what he’d done. A wickedly amused grin plastered over the other boy’s features, having achieved his goal of ruffling feathers, and he reacted in kind. The ensuing fight immediately gathered an onslaught of attention, with some students watching and blaring either their encouragement or their warnings at the two while other students ran to find a faculty member to break the fight. By the time a an informed professor had arrived on scene, the boy had used a jinx on Arthur, causing him to crash to the floor, and in response, a hex had flown from Arthur’s wand and hit the boy in the knees, causing them to reverse. It was the hex witnessed by the professor that procured Arthur the more severe punishment while the other boy was brought straight to the infirmary to undo the hex. Arthur was given several days-worth of detention. By the time classes were over, Arthur was absolutely fuming that he’d allowed someone to get to him like that. And now, as a result, he would miss after-school Quidditch practice and would also have to endure whatever creative punishment the faculty member on duty for detention would give him. He was currently sitting in detention hall at one of the desks, fiddling with a loose thread on the cuff of his sleeve. Arthur was also running through various excuses through his head for what he’d be telling the team, over why he had to miss an important practice today. None of them sounded very good in his head, and he only grew more irritated at himself for throwing back at another student for taking the piss out of his brother to him. Arthur's family likewise never seemed to understand the temper that sometimes riddled his actions, just as they never understand the destructive fire in his mother. Like her, and like Hamish, he was unusual in their ranks. As he grew from the temperamental young boy, he seemed to at least craft a better grasp over it, but in the end, he was still a sixteen-year-old boy with a moody and short-tempered disposition. He was bound to lash out if pushed. Currently, he was gingerly brushing some of the dried blood from his split lip, a result of having hit the stone floor a bit too hard and promptly feeling the other teenager’s knuckles against his face. Judging by the tenderness of his jaw, he’d be sporting a dark bruise as well. There were other areas of his body that were also a little sore, causing him to shift uncomfortably in his seat, trying to avoid what could be more bruises developing in areas where his clothes covered. Even with the consequences, both physically and being handed detention, he couldn’t help the warm blossoming of quintessential male pride somewhere in his chest with the knowledge that he’d bested the other in that fight. He didn’t really feel at all bad for what he did, not with the words that had been exchanged prior. But he supposed that he would have to express some feigned-but-convincing remorse when the supervising professor arrived.

-tag- Hamish Stuart -words- 718 -notes- Typical teenage boy

MADE BY VEL OF GS

[Hamish Stuart]

Word Count: 739

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During his youth Hamish had been the victim of torment at the hands of the many of the students, his family name was not one expected to be found within the walls of the Hufflepuff common room and those who deduced the lineage of the ginger only had more reason. Arthur and Hamish both were granted the fate of a bastard and yet pureblood coursing through the youth’s veins saved him from the level of discrimination that had been aimed at the elder. Had he not been met with comments of being the black sheep of his house he was handled quite roughly for pretending to be among the pureblood. Few took kindly to those who claimed them to be of blood purity when they were born from a foolish pureblood forsaking their blood right. The cruelty had been met with fists and threats spit in anger. Arthur seemed to find another method to handle the words spit in his face, venom coated words cut with a silver tongue. Despite the many differences between the siblings they were one of the same tree, anger fueling actions that could result in regret. Lacking friendships and any form of relationship during his youth were not enough to grant Hamish regret for the acts plaguing his youth. Family had not supported him, the ginger had never required a classmate to support his efforts, for his time within the walls of Hogwarts he had been an only child and the stain of all he knew.

Detention had not been something Hamish was unfamiliar with, his youth had been filled with far too much time sat in a room where a professor would berate him for his misdeeds. Few cared what his defense had been. Professors and students seemed to share the same hatred for Hamish that he had once believed was reserved for his family alone. Due to this treatment that male had sworn his punishments would reflect what he viewed as just, victims of abuse did not deserve abuse at the hands of those they subscribed to trust.

Few students held the same fire that fueled those within the family, Hamish and Arthur both could only seem to stoke the flames allowing them to be all consuming while their mother attempted to smoother what flame kept melting he icy exterior. Hamish would never be what his family had desired, this was a role he was willing to play.

Settling matters for his final daily lesson it took more than what other faculty deemed necessary for Hamish to see to it, attending his duties. Detention had been the duties that he been among those hated by the ginger for more than anyone might believe. Within the walls there had always been students who deserved expulsion as well as those whose sins were falsely labeled. Faculty were far too keen to relay information by emitting important details. A fight had broken out and yet only one student was deemed deserving of detention, bias scented the entire tale. Likely the other student had been a member of the professor’s house leading to them allowing the student to go unjustly free while the other delinquent suffered punishment.
Throwing the door open he had expected to give the student the third degree, raining questions upon the student until he could deduce had they rightfully sent to waste his valuable time. Listing the barrage of questions his mind froze when met with the emerald eyes of his pseudo-son, his only brother seated among the empty seats filling the room. There were far too many desk for the amount of student that often occupied the detention hall, no one seemed to care if Hamish declared this far too many instances during faculty meetings.

“Thay didnae send ye tae th' infirmary? Let me jalouse a Gryffindor professor decided ye wur at fault!” There was practically a roar from Hamish noticing the split lip that had been neglected the care of a professional. Seating himself backwards in a chair his too thin fingers brushed at the lips working away a bit of the dried blood allowing him to assess the possible damage inflicted. “Normally ye arrange yer ain visits. Whit did ye say that wis worth breaking yer face?” While Hamish did not blame his brother for the injuries he knew the Brit had a silver tongue that would one day result his complexion being ruined by some sort of hex.

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