REQUIEM - [h.p]

IV; a nest of wrackspurts

| YEAR 4; CHAPTER TWO |
A NEST OF WRACKSPURTS

     SIX O'CLOCK IN THE MORNING within the humble abode of the infamous Newton Scamander⁠—Mary had fondly nicknamed the small cottage the Hollow⁠—and the small beads of sunlight were already pooling in through the misted windows. Of course, given each of the inhabitants' propensity for sleeping in, the atmosphere within the house was as silent as the dead. As dawn slowly passed on its torch to daytime, the rushing sounds of life began picking up again by chirping birds and the rustling of the moving fauna. But even with the buoyant vitality unfurling outdoors, the silence within the house still permeated heavily within the many hallways and rooms.

Which is probably what made the alarm chiming in the small room of the house's youngest denizen, one (rather peeved⁠) Edwyn Belmonte, all the more startling.

His eyes opened with the thin sheen of adrenaline clouded with sleep. Any other time of the day and without the blaring noise of the alarm, he would have thought more of the ache in his chest and the thumping of fear from his heart that seemed strangely disconnected from the suddenty of the alarm.

Rubbing a hand over his weary complexion, he turned over in his bed with a loud groan. The terrible mix of being half-asleep and half a foot over the edge of the precipice of blessed slumber currently afflicted him. Much to his growing despair, the longer he remained nestled beneath the warm covers of his bedsheets and plush pillows, the louder that damned alarm blared in his ears. 

Blinking blearily, he rolled over once more and reached up to grab at the source of the caterwauling. He jabbed a finger at the miniature cube-shaped device abandoned in the middle of the nightstand, willing for the thing to just shut up. Unsurprisingly, his poking and prodding did nothing to quiet the blaring alarm, which continued to rise in volume exponentially. Needless to say, he was growing increasingly irritated by the second. What did he get when he mentioned his interest in wandless magic? This Merlin-be-damned abhorrent, aggravating, ridiculous, hellspawn. 

The morning weariness was getting increasingly being replaced by vexation, and each failure was adding to his aggravation. He grasped the box with both of his hands and rested it on his lap. After another thirty seconds of painstakingly loud ringing, he glared at the stupid thing with as much venom as he could muster given the remaining sleepiness still clinging to his system despite the rather rude awakening. A few seconds crammed with raw loathing and less-than-civilised words being spat, and the alarm finally quieted down. Clearly, he must have done something right.

Edwyn groggily rested his head back down onto the pillows and let out a loud sigh, placing the charmed cubic alarm back on the nightstand with a resounding thump. He wondered if it would be a bad idea to drift back to sleep. At least for another half-hour or so. The warm comfort of his bed seemed incredibly amiable to the idea and his blankets and pillows tried to pull him further into their grasps.