Harry Potter One Shots (Vol. 2)

Making a War Hero (Theseus Scamander)

Wow, this one is late ... but let's not talk about that. 

Let me preface this by saying I was battling writer's block the entire time whilst writing this. I'm considering this one an experiment to see if my writing is any good when I force myself to write through a creative block (and if it isn't, then that's not ideal but it's not the end of the world). I need to remember that I'm writing for fun and I know I can get too much into my own head about things being perfect (and of course my work is rarely perfect, and that's another battle I'm fighting). But here it is, an imperfect story, that is mostly an attempt at overcoming a severe creative block. 

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Acclimatising into a world that didn't fully want you was always difficult. The sense of not belonging lingered, like an unwanted ache, permeating into every part of your life as if to emphasise just how estranged you were from those around you. That was the weight muggleborns like myself were forced to bear; the stifling knowledge that there were those amongst the wizards and witches in our lives that didn't want us and yet, there was also no space for us in the muggle world with our blood family. If I didn't belong in the world my parents lived in, and I didn't belong in the world I had spent the last decade and a half, where did I truly belong?

It was a question I struggled to answer, and it was one I would likely continue to struggle to answer with increasing frequency. How could I not question my own existence when the Minister for Magic had passed emergency legislation forbidding wizards and witches from helping in the muggle war? From keeping people like myself from sheltering my parents as they lived through the great war that threatened their existence? If Minister Archer Evermonde, who was thought to be one of the more tolerant and liberal Ministers to date, placed a greater emphasis on protecting the Statue of Secrecy than he did on understanding why muggleborns like myself wanted to help, what further proof was needed that we would never truly be understood?

The injustice of it all kept me awake some nights, forcing me to stare at my ceiling as I contemplated the two halves of my identity. I was a witch, yes and gaining that label had eased my every struggle and yet, for the truth of my heritage, to some, I wasn't quite witch enough. I couldn't disobey the legislation without facing dire consequences. And yet, what larger consequence would there be to inaction than losing parents who had raised me?

Drawing out a long breath, I stopped my fidgeting. I glanced down briefly at the ring on my finger, proof of the life I had started here. Perhaps the only world I truly belonged in was Theseus's; the man who loved me steadfastly, and always had. And yet, what good was that life if I lived it filled with self-loathing of having done nothing, of having been unable to do anything? The life I was so close to starting with Theseus was one I desperately wanted and yet, I greedily wanted to be able to share it with my family also. Salazar, was that truly too much to ask for?

A knock on my front door drew me from my thoughts. Casting a final glance at the newspaper on my lap - the front page outlining Minister Evermonde's latest legislation - I folded it in half and set it aside. Crossing the space to my door, I opened it and was unsurprised at the sight of the man standing in the hallway, waiting for me. The overwhelming sense of ease that filled me wasn't unexpected; Theseus had possessed the ability to calm my raging nerves, even when he had been nothing more than the older Hufflepuff student that had for some reason turned his eyes onto me.

"Hello," he greeted softly, the gentle smile curling at the corners of his mouth. It was a far cry from his regular smile.

"Hello," I greeted back, wanting nothing more than to tuck myself readily into his arms, to let myself into the cradle of his embrace, to burrow my nose into his shoulder and breathe him in.