Alistair’s family was rather well known, but still looked down upon by the Wizarding community for being half-bloods. In fact, not only was his father a half-blood, his mother was muggle-born. And just to add on to their reputation, there had been rumors that one of their sons had been infected with lycanthropy, though there was no proof of it. Somehow, even though other creatures existed, even vampires weren’t hated as much as a werewolf was. Alistair’s dodgy attendance was kept throughout the year at random, not wanting to draw suspicion to his condition. The headmaster and nurse, as well as McGonagall had reassured him they’d dealt with this before, and he had no choice but to comply.

Patent leather loafers clicked on the weathered flagstones as they hurriedly made their way towards transfigurations class. Alistair would never hear the end of it again from Professor McGonagall. It was his fault anyways for continuing to procrastinate and then think he could make it to class on time after trying to get a few more minutes of broom practice in and then taking the staircases, only for them to change on him at the last second. He’d just hoped he had his wand on him, he hadn’t perfect wandless magic in the least and McGonagall wouldn’t appreciate him not using his wand anyways.