Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Edgar’s hair had grown long in the months at St Churnley’s. In truth, the same could be said for all the boys at school - they only returned home for summer holidays, so even those with little on their head to begin with, such as Monty, would find themselves with tresses long before the school year ended. For this reason, St Churnley’s would organise a guest to come to the school, providing haircuts for the students around January. Monty was swift to sign up for one, uncomfortable with longer hair reminding him of the wolf’s thick fur; Kevin, for less severe reasons, was similarly glad to get it cut short, annoyed with how it would always fall in his face whenever he played the violin; and Roland, although not unhappy with the mane he’d developed, joined the two to get it shortened. Edgar, however, opted out.

There were three reasons for this: first, he was worried that Poe would intervene and cause chaos as he normally did, which would be particularly dangerous when there was a stranger with sharp scissors held against his skin; secondly, the fact that almost all of the first years would be gone as they got their haircuts (barring Brandon, who would have to abstain due to his curse), gave Edgar the perfect excuse to read in the common room with some real peace and quiet for once; and finally, a reason he kept secret to just his friends, Edgar quite liked his hair longer, and wanted to simply let it keep growing.

And grow it certainly did. It was practically shoulder-length by the time spring ended, leading to one lazy Sunday afternoon, as Kevin practised his violin and Monty swayed along, when Roland turned to Edgar and asked:

“Can I braid your hair?” Edgar blinked in surprise. Roland continued: “I used to help my mother when she wanted to do her hair special for church, so I know how to do it, don’t worry!” He smiled, as sunny and bright as he always was, and Edgar felt any disagreements he had crumble in the back of his throat.
“S-sure.” He paused. “Um, should I turn around? Or… do something, or-?”
“Oh! Um,” Roland hummed, contemplating for a moment. “You stay there, and then I’ll just...” He analysed their positions, sat together on one of the many sofas, Edgar with a book open on his lap, Poe nipping at his shoulder, and Monty on his other side (who was now trying to hum along to Kevin where he stood to the side of them). “Ok, wait, if you sit on the floor in front of me, then I’ll have better reach!” The two got into place, gaining Monty’s interest as he watched with curiosity.

Large fingers sifted through Edgar’s rough hair, carefully parting it into three sections. Poe cawed, hopping onto the boy’s head, disrupting Roland’s work, who simply sighed, and began to click his fingers in an attempt to distract the crow somewhere else. Monty helped, reaching out to wave Poe away.
“You can’t do that, it’s rude.” He murmured. Kevin stopped playing and Monty spoke louder, dismayed. “No, wait, keep playing! It was really nice.” 
“It’s fine, it’s noisy in here anyway, I can always practise later.” Kevin shrugged, watching the three boys battle with the bird, considering to join.
Monty frowned. “No…” He drew out. “You’ve gotta keep going, it makes all the other noise easier.” Kevin felt a small grin slip onto his face, unable to stop it in the face of simple praise from his friend. He picked his bow back up and stepped further away from the crow kerfuffle Roland and Edgar were fully stuck in.
“Ok, if you say so.” And his playing resumed. Monty beamed, returning his attention to Kevin and swaying happily.

Meanwhile, Edgar had cajoled Poe into settling on the floor before him, not-quite sleeping but much calmer than before, taking his new placement as an opportunity to nip at and attack Edgar’s socks. The book he’d been trying to read lay abandoned beside Roland who glanced at it before hesitantly placing his hands back on Edgar’s head, feeling the sudden flinch beneath his fingers.

“I’m just gonna make a little braid, if that’s alright, that way if Poe wrecks it there’s no real damage done!”
“…Ok.” Edgar muttered, having nearly forgotten how this encounter began.

Black hair stood stark against Roland’s pink fingers, and it felt rough and thick, with a few tangles (both from Poe and from simply being brushed several hours earlier) catching on his hands. But Roland made good of his goal, gathering small pieces of hair and twining them into something that could be called a plait, if the speaker was being generous. So he made another, using even-sized pieces, loosely put together, that immediately fell apart when dropped. More and more he kept braiding, determined to get one of these right. 

An hour or so passed; Kevin playing, Monty happy to listen, Roland making quiet chatter as he slowly improved his skill, decorating Edgar’s head with dozens of tiny plaits, each to varying success, and Edgar sat fiddling with the carpet, idly commenting responses, letting the sensations and sounds fall over him. The bell rang for dinner, startling each of them of their respective states of calm and Monty’s stomach rumbled appreciatively at the reminder. Slowly, the four boys got up, dusting themselves off. Kevin went to put his violin away while the others found a mirror to show Edgar Roland’s handiwork and Edgar couldn’t help but smile, running his fingers through to pull free the braids, letting his hair fall back to the mostly-straight poe-made mess that it usually was, but not before shyly tracing one of the braids that lay against his temple - one of the last that Roland made, and one of the best constructed. 

“Thanks…” He smiled softly, but Roland waved him off.
“Oh, thank you for letting me practise! I was much worse than I thought.” He laughed. 

Kevin returned, joining them just outside the bathroom. “Come on, then, aren’t we headed for dinner?”
“Right!” Roland cheered, and the four headed down the corridor together. “I hope it’s Mr Beans tonight.”

Chapter Text

Kevin had never been in a fight before. At his old school he was always well-behaved, the only times people got upset with him were when they were being stupid and annoying and he’d been an innocent victim who hadn’t done any wrong. He didn’t know how to fight.

Now, only a few weeks into his new life at St Churnley’s, he’d already been in more danger than ever before, and had made quick progress with learning to use his dagger and crossbow. When Sergeant Lewis had noted the new weapon in their second Control class (after the mess with the mimic had been sorted), she’d appraised him, and had spent a few minutes working one-on-one to see his abilities with it. She’d called it decent, and a smart use of his Crafting lesson. Kevin had left the room beaming.

He’d always been good at picking up new skills - it was part of why he’d learnt so many instruments - and this continued to be true for his weapons. It was almost worrying, how easily wielding a blade came to him, how it didn’t take long before he was used to the feeling of blood and sweat clinging to him. He bruised easy, and bled even easier - a victim to countless paper cuts over the years - and despite this he refused to stay out of battles on the plagueround. He didn’t try to go looking for them or anything, not like Edgar or Roland who were both surprisingly quick to violence, but if his friends were fighting Kevin could be found deep in the fray.

Monty would slash and bite at whatever did them harm, Edgar made quick work with his swords and his bow, Roland had his massive fucking axe, and Kevin did whatever he could do. Running about the field, firing blows from his crossbow, stabbing with his dagger, healing, all in an effort to not die. Fear was a difficult emotion to define these days, because life-or-death battles were a now-constant threat and it was thrilling. Adrenaline rushing through his bones, the desire to run as strong as the newfound desire to fight. This was all wrong for a boy like Kevin and wasn’t that incredible?

He wasn’t good at fighting, not like the others were, he wasn’t strong like Monty or quick like Edgar, he couldn’t take as much damage, he felt like he got in the way, and yet… he knew in his heart he could become great. He might not be good but he certainly wasn’t bad either - the four of them had faced threats far worse than their peers and hadn’t fallen yet - and as the years passed at St Churnley’s, he was sure he would go on to excel. What was school for if not to learn? And at St Churnley’s, learning how to defeat beasts twice your size and three times your speed was the most important lesson they offered.

Kevin was excited to learn, and he knew that with his friends beside him, he could overcome anything.

It was that or die trying.

Chapter Text

Roland didn’t like it when people called him cursed. The voice of The Lord could speak to him, could ask him to enact His will, and that was somehow a bad thing? The Church of the Sunset Dawn was thrilled to receive him as a prophet, even if there were some… problems that occurred. They all knew that connection with divinity was not always smooth-sailing, they didn’t blame Roland for the troublesome occasions that came with his supposed “curse”. It couldn’t be helped.

Nonetheless, Roland could accept the need to go to St Churnley’s. He knew he’d miss the church gatherings, he’d miss his friends and family in Lower Eastcombe, and when he returned home for the summer he might feel a little disconnected from his loved ones due to the time spent apart - but it was all for the necessity to understand how to manage this gift. What he really needed was the knowledge and know-how to truly commune with The Lord, to learn what the purpose of his prophethood was to be; why had he been chosen, what precisely of the Better Book should he be spreading? Unfortunately, such lessons could only be understood at St Churnley’s School for Cursed Boys.

It hurt though. When they referred to Him as a curse, when Kevin proposed He could be some other cause, an evil creature set upon Roland to warp him from the path of goodness. Such blasphemous words - not meant with cruelty, but dangerous no matter the intention - would never have been allowed in Lower Eastcombe. And it was frightening. For if they were correct…

No. They were not correct, they were simply wrong. Roland had been living like this for some months now, and while it was true that he had so many questions he desperately wanted answered, the truth of The Lord’s identity was not something up for debate.

If it were up for debate, then that would mean it truly could be a curse, and Roland knew: he was not cursed. A blessing such as his could never be foul.

Edgar didn’t know why his curse had to be this fowl. Everyone in his family, dating back generations, had always had a raven, so why was Poe different? A nasty, loud creature that didn’t let him sleep, didn’t let him read, distracted him from all the good and enjoyable, and that delighted in ruining any moment of peace. He felt wretched and wrecked. 

Elias and Elliot Allan were calm at every moment - oozing confidence like it was the wind beneath their wings. Large, imposing birds sat upon their shoulders, gazing down elegantly at the peasants below, silent unless instructed otherwise, perfectly anodyne. No book was ever ruined, no pages ripped or covers shat on. There was never any danger when driving, no matter the risks, because Thaddeus and Persimmon were more than happy to ensure the safety of their trusted companion.

Poe was not like this. He was cruel, and hurtful, an antithesis to the gift that normally followed the family. And he was a crow. Had he been a raven, as intended, perhaps this would not be so. Were he as he was meant to be, then maybe he and Edgar would have been wonderful friends like Edgar had always dreamed of. An ally and accomplice, helpful and entertaining, useful like he was supposed to be and kind like he refused to be. A best friend to a boy who’d had none.

But the world was harsh, and never went as one wanted it to. So Poe was a crow, and Edgar was cursed.

Kevin felt weird whenever he thought about his curse. He hadn’t even considered calling it one before getting the letter of enrolment for St Churnley’s, his parents usually called it a condition or otherwise avoided defining it. Once he had the language, once he knew it was a Curse, he felt worse than he already had. Kids at school had made fun of him for his farting ever since that awful concert, and once he broke up for summer he’d started avoiding people altogether, determined to get it under control before anything even worse happened. Now knowing it was a curse, something embedded deep within his DNA and unable to change, he just felt miserable. It was such a terrible way to live, and he was stuck with it forever.

When he came to St Churnley’s, he soon felt better about his curse. It wasn’t that bad, comparatively. It wasn’t like it was plastered on his face, or like he had a terrifying bird messing up his life, or like he’d hurt anyone.

 (He hadn't killed his entire family). 

It was barely even a real curse, it was embarrassing but what did that matter in the grand scheme of things? His feelings weren’t important, not like the safety that all the other cursed boys needed and had lost.

He felt guilty about it. Regardless of what he said and knew, it did truly feel like a curse; he hated the experience, it was ridiculous and silly, and though he didn’t like to admit it, many, many tears had been shed after he received it. But, compared to everyone else at this school, he was almost normal. Kevin had even said it himself in the car - “as long as I hold it in, it’s not a problem.” And his father had responded: “you’ll be a freak like all the other boys.”

That wasn’t true though. Kevin might have been a freak among the uncursed of his old school, but here at St Churnley’s he didn’t feel freakish enough. He didn’t quite fit. Maybe that was his real curse.

Monty didn’t have a curse, or at least that’s what he told Sergeant Lewis. He didn’t have sabre teeth or acid breath, there was no voice in his head or music following his every movement. There was no curse attached to him, for he himself was the curse.

Inseparable, agonising, indistinguishable. 

They say that people are born cursed, though it only develops later in life. If this is true then Montague Finch has been fundamentally wrong his entire life, and something about that concept speaks true to him. The Beast is him and he is the Beast, they are one and the same, no matter how dearly he wished that wasn’t the case.

Had he never been born, there would be no Beast. No curse to hurt his family, no curse to hurt his friends. There would be no Monty without the curse, but the world would be a brighter place.

His curse was not the beast, it was always himself.

Chapter Text

Kevin stood in shock, staring at Edgar.

CRUNCH

Gnashing teeth, the sounds of cracking, an air of nonchalance.

CRUNCH 
CRUNCH

Poe sat, pecking at the boy’s head, almost preening his messy hair.

CRUNCH 
CRUNCH 
SWALLOW

“Do you always do that?”
Edgar blinked, confused by the sudden question. He crunched and swallowed once more. “D-do I always d-do what?” Lifting his head, making for a disgruntled Poe, he pushed his book away. “Do I always do the homework?” From his incredulous tone of voice, it was beyond obvious that Edgar had no clue to what Kevin referred to. So, Kevin elucidated.

“D’you always eat ice like that?”

Edgar crunched again, snapping an ice cube in two within his mouth. “A-am I not supposed to?”
“It’s really weird.” Kevin was nothing if not an honest boy.

To be fair, it was certainly a strange sight. There he sat, kneeling on the floor, crouched over a low table in the First Years’ common room, English homework in front of him, bird balancing on his shoulder, and a bowl of ice cubes on his left. He wrote with his right hand, whilst his left was wet and red from the cold. A guilty look overtook his features.

“Well… it-it’s good to stay hydrated!”
“Yeah, but it’s not like you’re drinking water. You’re eating ice.”
Edgar blustered, “That’s normal! Eh, probably…”

Kevin raised an eyebrow, sat across from his friend, his own homework firmly tucked beneath the comic book he’d been reading (borrowed from Ben, who’d recommended it to him a week or two earlier). “It’s, like, fine. I don’t care if you wanna eat ice, but…” He leaned in conspiratorially, “Is it actually good?”

Edgar nodded, half-shy. “It… it feels nice. An-and I don’t like… drinking... water.” He winced, embarrassed. “It’s-“
“You don’t have to defend yourself.” Kevin cut in. “I’m not judgin’ you or anything.”
“You just said it was weird? That’s-that’s a judgement.”
Kevin paused, reflecting. “Shit, yeah, I guess so. But!” He perked up, “I didn’t mean it in a bad way! I just meant, like, I’ve not seen anyone do that. Just eat raw ice on its own. But it’s alright, you can do what you want, y’know?” Edgar nodded, taking it in.

The two sat in silence for a moment.

“It’s not really raw. It’s ice. If anything, water would be the raw form.”
Kevin gave a bemused smile. “Yeah,” He agreed. “Suppose so.”

“Wait, where did you even get the ice from?”

Chapter Text

8am - Breakfast

Breakfast began at 8am, with boys trudging in throughout the hour, some more awake than others. One morning, on a day with weather even more miserable than it usually was, students came shuffling into the dining hall like slugs moving along a log, four friends stumbling in blearily after a night of almost no sleep. It had been one of Monty’s transforming nights, and an emotional one at that - he’d come back to the common room and collapsed into Kevin’s arms, bloodstained and shaking. Edgar and Roland joined the two, and the four spent hours talking quietly against the sounds of thunder outdoors, only returning to bed shortly before dawn. Now, they dragged their feet as they made their way to the food hatch, and found themselves presented with an enormous stack of talking waffles. To the side there was a table of toppings, with bowls of fruit, berries, nuts, a number of syrups, a bowl of cream, as well as savoury items such as scrambled eggs and bacon, a mouth-watering combination of sights and smells.

Emil stood behind them in the queue, and couldn’t help but grab Roland’s shoulder in excitement when he saw what was for breakfast. He gestured to the toppings table, exclaiming:

“See! They’re versatile!”
“Sorry, what?” His words weren’t so clear through his teeth.
“Ver-sa-tile.” Emil attempted to enunciate, sighing as he did so, before grinning as he stepped up to collect a plate of food - sliced cleanly off the top of Mr Waffles.

Monty, Kevin and Edgar had already found themselves a table, sat down and murmuring between themselves. Roland looked back at Emil, and offered a hand.
“Say, would you like to come sit with us today? I’m afraid we’re all quite tired so our conversations a bit lacking - but maybe your love of waffles can brighten us all up!” Roland had a talent of smiling like he’d never experienced pain before, like suffering was an unknown concept, and that happiness was as easy as breathing. Emil was unused to this effect, and found himself flustered by such simple, sweet kindness.
“Um, ok, yeah.” 

They ate for a few minutes, Monty and Emil gently arguing over the best breakfast item, and if they could only eat one food forever what would be the best pick, and all manner of food-related questions. Soon after, they were joined by Brandon and Ben (currently slouched to reach about 5’4). The conversation grew louder with more people, more questions and comments flying through the air. They each could feel themselves waking up more as they talked and ate, talking for a good long while until the bell for first lesson rang…

12pm - Lunch

There was a bowl of pasta in front of Monty. Pointy tube shapes covered in miscellaneous red sauce, still warm. A glass of water was in his hand, the only thing he’d ingested this whole meal. He stared at the food.

“Monty? Are you alright, chum?” Roland’s cheery face came into view as he looked up, noticing his friends watching him (well, Edgar was watching Poe, the bird hopping about the table as though he might reach into someone’s bowl but hadn’t yet decided whose).
“I can’t eat it.” He shrugged.
“What d’you mean?” Kevin leaned over, “Are you allergic?”
“No, I’m not anaemic.” Monty responded, putting down his glass so he could fiddle with his sleeves. 
“No, allergic - like you can’t eat something because your body doesn’t like it.” Kevin corrected, trying to catch Monty’s eyes as he looked down at his lap.
“Yeah, I don’t like it.” He said it like it was an agreement.
“You don’t like it or your body doesn’t like it?” Roland pressed.
“…I am my body.” Confusion coated Monty’s voice, causing a frown on his face. 

Kevin changed tactic, trying again: “Do you not like it, or is it bad for you? Do you get sick when you eat it?”
“Oh.” Monty’s expression cleared. “I don’t get sick,” He shook his head, “I just can’t eat it. Feels all…” He paused, contemplating, searching for the right word. “…Bad.” 

“Ok,” Kevin nodded, thinking for a moment. “Should we go ask if there’s something else you can have?” Monty blinked, as though that hadn’t even occurred to him.
“But… I thought there was only one option. And you had to eat it.”
Kevin gave him a strange look, raising an eyebrow. “They can’t force you to eat stuff, I bet there’s other options for, like, vegetarians and people with allergies. Some people can’t eat things, but the school can’t just let you starve.” He said it like it was simple.

Kevin stood up, pushing his empty bowl away, and gestured for Monty to stand with him. As he did so, Poe cawed happily and leapt to the full bowl, pecking at the penne excitedly as Edgar cried out. Roland winced, leaning over in attempt to nudge Poe away, failing at doing anything more than getting him annoyed, “You two go ahead, I think we’ll be dealing with this guy.”

Monty picked at his blazer sleeve while Kevin led the way, marching across the hall to where Sergeant Lewis sat with Mr Hebden, watching over the hall while he held a somewhat one-sided conversation with her. Her eyes narrowed as she saw the two boys headed her way.
“What’s the problem this time?”
“That’s unfair, we don’t always have a problem!” Kevin scowled. Lewis silently held his gaze, nodding at him to continue. Kevin deflated, “…We do this time though, um-“
“I can’t eat pasta.” Monty interrupted.

The sergeant paused, surprised. “You’re not coeliac, are you?”
“…Is that like being anaemic?”
“You’re anaemic!?” Her eyes widened, voice raising before she calmed, returning to her stony demeanour. “That should be on your file, the school’s supposed to know about stuff like that. I’ll have to make sure we get that added.”
“No, he’s not anaemic,” Kevin cut in, turning to mutter to Monty, “You’re not actually anaemic, right?”
Monty stood still for a moment, then looked to Mr Hebden, who’d been silently watching this. “What is anaemic?”

“Ok,” Sarge clapped her hand against the table, taking charge. “What exactly is the issue you came over to discuss?”
“Monty doesn’t like the pasta, so we wondering if there was something else he could eat.”
Sarge sighed, though that didn’t imply any particular emotion from her - she often sighed when talking to students. “Ok,” She nodded, “Can you eat some of it or-“
“I think Poe’s eating it now.” As Kevin spoke, the four looked over to see Edgar wrestling a sauce-covered Poe out of a now-empty bowl, with pasta littering the floor and table it was on.
“…Right.” Sergeant Lewis was not a woman who liked reeling herself in, but she repressed the desire to sigh twice in as many minutes. “Look- I could get you the sandwiches left over from yesterday, there’ll be some in the kitchens.” She turned to Mr Hebden, “Can you keep an eye on these two ’til I return?” He gave her a smile and a salute, as she began to walk off.
“Wouldn’t it be easier if we just followed you there?” Kevin pointed out. 
Sarge scoffed. “You think I’m gonna show a pair of teenage boys how to get to the kitchens? You lot already have a history with breaking into places around school.” She shook her head, and headed off.

By the time she returned, Roland and Edgar had joined them, and the four boys were in the middle of a vibrant conversation with Mr Hebden. She passed the sandwiches over, and watched as Monty tore through them, chewing noisily. 

6pm - Dinner

It wasn’t every day there was cake at St Churnley’s. Today, however, was Ben’s birthday, and that meant everyone in his year got a slice of cake with their supper. A simple Victoria sponge, slightly stodgy, with buttercream that was just a bit too sweet, but delicious like nothing else they’d had in a while. 

Monty had scarfed his slice down in seconds, licking his lips, swiping jam off his fingers with his tongue, all before he’d even touched the toad-in-the-hole that was the actual evening meal provided. He now sat sentinel beside Edgar, protecting the boy’s cake from Poe while he ate his meal. Similarly, Kevin had also chosen to eat dessert first, and in the meantime since he hadn’t noticed or brushed away the crumbs that stuck below his bottom lip.

Roland sat with a small slice next to his plate, where he was happily eating his sausages, and batting away Kevin who was very sweetly, and very annoyingly, overly concerned about Roland’s health. He’d taken his insulin, he’d eaten cake plenty of times before (“Well, yeah, isn’t that why you have diabetes?” “Kevin, no.”), he was quite sure it was fine. Aside from Kevin’s worrying, he rather enjoyed the cake, it reminded him of those his mother would occasionally bake for the church - imperfect but made more lovely for those imperfections. 

Poe kept flitting between Edgar and Monty, tapping against the table, begging for a crumb. Monty leaned down to be face-to-face with the crow and muttered to him:
“No, it’s not for you, it’s for Edgar.” Poe squawked indignantly. 
“Nevermore!”
Monty chewed his lip. “Well… I suppose you can have some, but only-“ He was interrupted by Edgar’s dismayed yelp.
“What? No, it’s mine! Plus… I don’t think crows are meant to have cake, it’s bad for them.”
“It’s bad for people too, isn’t it?” Monty cocked his head. “Like, it’s not good for our teeth and stuff.”
Edgar stilled, considering this. “I… Th-that is true, but… I still want my cake.”
Monty nodded in response. “Ok, then.” He turned back to crow, who had jumped up to sit upon his hands that covered the slice. “You can’t have it. It’s not for you.” He repeated.

A few minutes passed before Edgar had finished his toad-in-the-hole, exacerbated by him going up to ask for seconds, but eventually, Monty slid over the dessert, still keeping it shielded from the bird. Kevin stepped up to distract Poe for a moment, leading him away as the cake was unveiled. Edgar took his fork, sliding it into the sponge, slipping past layers of cream and jam, and bringing that beautiful taste of heaven (or rather, that beautiful taste of a nice summer afternoon - not quite Heaven but certainly a pleasant experience) into his mouth. He took another bite, and another, and then watched as Poe dive-bombed the table, flinging the remaining cake into the air, scattering across the table. Poe swiped a single crumb into his beak, then leapt away to fly about the room. He didn’t even take the whole cake.

Edgar sighed, as Monty laid a comforting hand on his shoulder. “It’s alright,” He huffed. “I knew it was going to happen soon, it was just a matter of time.”

“Edgar.” The hand on his shoulder gave a squeeze. “I’m sorry about Poe, and I’m sorry I told him he could have a little bit even though it was your food and he shouldn’t have it.”
“It’s fine.”

“And I’m sorry that I hid this from you-“ Monty reached a hand into his schoolbag, a solemn apology on his face. He pulled out a perfectly preserved slice of Victoria sponge. “I took two slices. You can have the second.”

Typically, such an offer would have been sweet, but of no significant effect to Edgar. However, the day had been tough for him, and thinking of Ben’s birthday had led him down the mental path of receiving their curses, and when Poe came into his life. Faced with this kindness in this moment, Edgar smiled, feeling heat behind his eyes as he beat back completely unnecessary and deeply embarrassing tears.

“Thank you. We can share it.” 

Chapter Text

Summer holidays were often a lonely time for students at St Churnley’s. It was the only time they returned home, but what that meant for the majority of boys is that it would be several weeks separated from their friends, stuck in their bedrooms. Most would rather stay indoors than subject themselves to the stares that would follow them outside.

For those with curses unseen to the average person, they were grateful for the ability to go out, to be among the uncursed public, but even they experienced an unshakeable sense of isolation when doing so. They couldn’t much relate to the school stories of kids their own age, they didn’t understand the current pop culture of the internet, and they weren’t even able to freely talk about their friends and school life with their parents - if a boy who constantly smelt of cinnamon were to tell his mother about his friend with teeth as long and sharp as blades, or spoke to his father about the daily fights in the plagueround, their reactions may not be as calm as they would be to hear about their daughter at the local comprehensive.

Kevin Creeley and Roland Thudberry, however, were a pair of few cursed boys who managed to somewhat evade this isolation. For rather upsetting reasons, Roland was spending his holiday with the Creeley family - with the knowledge that his curse was not Of The Lord, he was not able to return to his own home in Lower Eastcombe. It had been a struggle trying to come to terms with that, and when he’d broken down in Kevin’s arms, tearful and terrified, he’d been thankful to have been told that he could live with him. Kevin had written many letters back and forth with his parents begging them to let him stay over the summer, when they eventually realised their son’s friend truly had nowhere to go, they had relented and began preparing the spare room. It had been awkward at first, especially on the drive back to Bristol, but when Roland revealed he’d never seen a Disney film before Simon and Elizabeth Creeley were beyond excited to rectify this.

Now, almost halfway through the holiday, the Creeleys plus Thudberry were once more bundling into the highly decorated hatchback, for a journey twice as long as the one to St Churnley’s. Kevin and Roland had spent the past few weeks convincing his parents for this trip, Kevin even asking for it as his birthday present (his birthday had been and gone months ago whilst he was at St Churnley’s, but given he didn’t receive anything at the time, he felt it was fair to make that request now). His parents, though surprised, ultimately conceded one night after watching Alice in Wonderland, when faced with Roland’s puppy eyes (he hadn’t even been trying to use that, but his sadness and their awkward pity had come to a collision and at that point, they would’ve given him near-anything he asked for).

And so it was, a 3 hour journey spent speeding down the M5 and M6, blasting through several albums of Disney tunes as they drove north, the two boys making quiet conversation that slowly grew to eager discussion as they got closer to the destination. Finally, at around 12 Noon, they had arrived.

Manchester!

There was a book festival over the weekend, and during the last week of term, four boys at St Churnley’s School for Cursed Boys had sat down and agreed, they were going to find each other there. 

First, unfortunately, the four coming from Bristol were getting some lunch, so it would take another hour or two before they arrived at the Central Library, with dozens of people milling around the square outside, wandering between stalls and looking over the notice board with the timing of various talks and events happening inside. On the steps of this grand building there sat a young boy, picking out dirt from under his nails.

“MONTY!” Kevin yelled, grinning as he rushed over to his friend. He pulled him into a swift hug, feeling the other boy relax into him, slouching to flop his head onto Kevin’s shoulder. Roland moved in next, gripping Monty tightly and giving him a watery grin.
“Nice to see you again, chap.” 
“I’ve been here all morning, there’s lots of interesting people.” Monty replied, glancing past to look at Kevin’s parents and whispering loudly. “Don’t look, but there’s some grown-ups staring at you.”
“Those are my parents.”
“Oh.” Monty stilled, and though his face didn’t change from it’s typical neutral, something about his posture felt heavier as he let his eyes rake over them, noting the similarities to his friend. “My nan’s over there.” He pointed to an old woman, short white hair curled neatly across her head, stood slightly a way’s away, clearly having been chatting with the woman next to her but now keeping an eye on the three boys.

“Has Edgar arrived?” Roland asked. “Sorry we took so long, it took ages to drive here.” Monty shook his head.
“No, I’ve not seen him. Did you enjoy your summer?”
Roland hummed, thinking. “Well… I’ve watched a lot of Disney movies. I think my favourite one so far is Robin Hood, it… felt like something my brother Rupert would like.” His face fell, as it so often did since he’d first lost his place among his family, before he brightened up again. “It’s really good to see you though! What have you been up to, Monty?”
“I transformed on Thursday.”
“Oh… yikes.” Roland muttered, looking to Kevin to smooth over the conversation, noticing him talking with his parents, and seeing Monty’s grandmother walking up to them. He waved Kevin over. “Should we head inside? Or should we stay here waiting for Edgar?”

As he said this, the roar of an engine could be heard across the square as a motorcycle with sidecars upon sidecars clattered across the paving stones, weaving in between people and most certainly breaking a half-dozen traffic laws in one single moment. Three black birds soared overhead, the two ravens swooping down to land neatly on their companion’s shoulder while the crow continued flying above. Two women fainted, and a man stumbled towards the Allans, bumbling adoringly, incoherently at the elderly gentleman. Despite the chaos and dramatics, the men of the family seemed perfectly calm walking up the steps of the library, barely glancing at the day’s schedule as their heads were deep in the books they hadn’t stopped to put down, not even while driving.

The Allan boy, meanwhile, had fumbled while exiting his sidecar, and rather than follow his father and grandfather, Edgar waved excitedly to his friends, rushing over to them, already speaking before they could hear his words.

“-to find you, but you’re here! Hi!” He grinned wide, patting Roland’s shoulder in response to the hug he’d been immediately scooped into. Poe soon came crashing down, presenting an open packet of crisps he had stolen in the few moments he’d been away. “Poe! You really shouldn’t do this.” Edgar sighed, looking around nervously to find the person now one packet of crisps poorer. Meanwhile, Kevin was more than happy to reach into the bag, snacking cheerfully.
“Ooh, cheese and onion!”
“Give us here some.” Monty held out a hand, crowding around the nicked bag. Roland wrinkled his nose, not trying to hide his disgust.
“I don’t know how you two can stomach that - cheese and onion, really?”
“Cheese and onion’s great!” Monty cried, raising his voice for the first time in the entire interaction, showing more passion here than he had for anything all summer.

They were starting to receive some stares from the folk around them, none moreso than from the Creeley parents and the Finch nana, all entirely unused to seeing their respective children so free, and still largely in shock from the Allan family’s entrance. But, the four friends didn’t care to notice these looks, simply glad to be in each others’ presence once more.

They continued to talk for much of the day, Edgar shyly introducing himself to the adults briefly before launching into a set of gifts he’d brought - a book for each of the three, carefully chosen with them in mind. Kevin received a book of English folk songs, containing not just the sheet music but detailed notes about each piece, with an overview of the history behind it as well. Roland was given a fantasy story about a boy taken from his small village in the countryside and brought into a magical world of spells and fairies (“I think you’ll really like it!” Edgar simply said, not elaborating further but nodding eagerly as Roland flicked through the cover). Monty was handed a poetry anthology, with thorny vines twirling across the cover, and an additional paper booklet stapled together with Edgar’s handwriting curled along its front. (“Um, in case you were confused by what it meant, I wrote down, uh, m-my interpretation of each poem - and a few other ideas as well! So you can sort of take your pick which meaning you like the most.”)

As the hours passed, the four stayed together outside the library, chattering and laughing, discussing summer plans and school and whatever they felt came to their minds. Eventually, Simon and Elizabeth Creeley informed Kevin and Roland that they really did have to get going if they wanted to be home in time for supper, and the group halved as they bid their goodbyes. Monty followed Edgar around as the two went inside so that Edgar could properly explore some of the books he’d been interested in, and the two spent a while in companionable silence (well, silent except for Poe) until Monty’s nana came forward to collect him, knowing they had to leave soon in order to catch the next bus home. Edgar and his family would be staying in a nearby hotel, and would be returning for the second day of the festival - Monty agreed to meet up again then, but said his nana had a church event in the morning, so he wouldn’t be able to return until the afternoon. And finally, the two parted ways.

When all four of them returned to St Churnley’s, they’d be glad to have each other once more but would no doubt be held down by the schoolwork and whatever ridiculous event they’d be caught up in, so this afternoon spent on the weather-warmed steps of Manchester’s Central Library was a pleasant gift for each of them. A moment of sunshine in the stormy clouds that were the summer holidays. They’d already agreed to do this again next year if they could, and maybe they could convince some of the other boys to join as well (though, they’d probably have to find somewhere less public in that case). All in all, it had been a rather lovely day, and reminder of what they had to look forward to in September.

Chapter Text

It was the end of the second week of St Churnley’s, and post had finally arrived. Students were able to send letters home once every two weeks, and should their families send anything in response, the replies would similarly come on the same schedule. Some boys would send and receive multiple letters at once, in an effort to stay as up-to-date with the goings on back home as possible. Some boys received nothing at all. As the term had just begun, most First Years received something in the post - for most of them it was their first time truly separated from their families, so some familiarity and comfort would certainly be appreciated.

“I have a baby sister!” Aaron cheered, pastry flaking as he turned to Kevin beside him, rushing to tell anyone and everyone in his excitement at the news.
“Oh, uh, congrats?” Kevin sat up a little at being addressed, and the tune of Happy Birthday came out, muffled slightly by the cushions of the sofa.
“Wow, that’s wonderful, Aaron!” Roland responded, looking up from his own stack of letters, one from everyone in his family, with an additional two sent from his parents. “Is she your first sibling?”
“No, I’ve got a little brother.” He grinned. “I’m the oldest.” The pride in his voice was evident. He then stilled for a moment, looking down at his lap. “I guess I’ll have to wait a while to meet her…”
There was a pause as all those listening to the conversation took that in. Roland decided to speak up, an effort to continue conversation cleanly.

“I’m actually the youngest in my family - three older brothers! They all came to see me off.”

Semi-awkward silence descended. Terry, wiping at his eyes with a damp cloth (he had to clean them himself, due to his compound eyes), joined the discussion next.

“I’ve only got the one brother.”

“Older or younger?” 
“Same age, we’re twins.” He shrugged.
“Oh, fun! Do you have a letter from him?” Roland leaned over cheerfully, gesturing at the two letters Terry held. The other boy pulled back.
“Uh, no… He… Didn’t like it when I got my curse.” He tilted his head away in discomfort, the only way he could avoid gazes now. “‘Cause now we’re not identical, y’know...” He muttered into his collar at the last part of his sentence. Roland’s eyes widened, while Aaron merely winced, nodding in understanding.
“That’s rough.” He offered. Kevin, having finished reading the short letter from his dad, glanced between the three, sucking at his teeth as a grimace.

“Uh, I don’t have any siblings, but I’ve got a bunch of cousins!” Continuing the topic of conversation, he looked to Edgar, sat reading their English textbook by the corner. “Edgar?”
The boy looked up, frazzled, clearly not paying attention to what had been said. “Hm?”

“Do you have any siblings? Or- wait no, isn’t your curse like a family thing?” Kevin leaned his head back against the sofa, trying to remember if Edgar had mentioned anyone else before. Poe cawed, flying in through the open window and landing in the boy’s hair, claws digging in.
“Um,” Edgar began, giving no response to Poe except his typical flinch. “Y-yes, or- No, I don’t have any siblings, but yes my curse is hereditary.” He paused for a moment, glasses slipping down his nose. “Actually, I think my father said once that I might have sisters out there… but I’m not sure if that’s true.”
“How would you not know?” Roland cut in, voice wavering between genuine confusion and concerned judgement. He received no answer, as Terry covered up a laugh with a cough, Aaron deliberately looked away, and Edgar got distracted by Poe.

Kevin, meanwhile, was now staring at Monty, sat on the floor next to Edgar’s armchair. Monty was in turn staring back, though his eyes looked far away. Monty hadn’t received anything in the post. 

Kevin shuffled off the sofa, going over to Monty as subtly as he could and sitting beside him, putting a hand on the boy’s back. Monty chose that moment to speak.

“I had a sister.” Silence; by now everyone knew his past. “She was really old, like almost twenty.” He kept going, either not noticing or not caring about the quiet of the room, and giving no response to the squeeze of his shoulder from Kevin. “A brother too. And cousins.” Poe cawed, a harsh sound in the hushed common room. “Now it’s just me and my grandma.” 

Everything Monty said had been spoken in the same tone, no tremble in his voice, all simply stated as neutral facts. He’d started shaking partway through, though he didn’t seem to even realise this. 

Slowly, Kevin pulled him into a hug.

They generally avoided talking about their families after that.