Floos were the preferred method of long distance travel for Chance Ryker.  The Irish Gryffindor found himself trying to squeeze all he could out of his winter break, enjoying the full experience that the Winter Festival had to offer.  So after that final bonfire...it was time to head back home to Galway, Ireland.  When Chance arrived in the enchanted green burst of flame, he cleared his throat and coughed a little from the smoke. 

"Honeys, m'ho-o-ome!"

At this point, Chance's British father Thomas came in with a merry and joyous smile, throwing his arms around his only son.

"Chance!  My boy, how are you, son?"

Thomas gave Chance a firm squeeze and then leaned back to grasp his son's shoulders.  Chance grinned as he leaned back from the embrace and patted his father on the side of the face.

"What's with th' clean shaven look, Dad?  If I could grow a beard like yers, I'd never be one o' these babyfaced fellas!"

"Your mother likes it."

Chance snorted with a shake of his head.

"Uv course..."

"Hey hey.  I don't mind it.  It's comfortable.  And you won't mind looking young for your age in a few years!"

"Yeah yeah...yer right.  S'just a pain now with people thinkin' I'm a ruddy 15 year old."

Thomas smirked and it became rather apparent where Chance got his own sideways smirk that was such a trademark of his.  Thomas opened his mouth to reply, but that's when Chance's Irish mother Theresa stormed into the living room.

"What's this filthy mess?!?  Y've gotten that bleedin' soot an' powder all over m'new rug!"

"Guess ah used a tad too much floo powder, Ma.  Sorry 'bout th' mess-"

"That's all y'ruddy ever are Chance Ryker!  Jus' carefree, wherever th' blasted breeze blows ya!"

Chance's father Thomas interjected as he moved to place a hand on Theresa's shoulder.  Theresa's deep green eyes were practically ignited with fire.

Honey...Chance didn't mean it now.  Come on.  Don't you think you're overreacting just a tad?"

"Overreactin'?  Y'think it's overreactin' when yer own son doesnae care 'nuff tae come visit 'is own parents, 'less 'e's usin' th' ruddy floo so 'e can spend as lit'l time as humanly possible with us?"

"I wrote t'y'bout th' Winter Festival.  It just ended on New Year's an' I didn't wanna miss that-"

"So yer own ruddy parents that birth ya an' feed ya an' care fer yer lazy, good fer nothin' hide aren't important enough t'spend th' New Year's with now?"

"Darling, he has his own friends and his own life too-"

"Thomas, yer always stickin' up fer th' boy an' enpowerin' 'im t'stay a selfish, worthless, do-nothin' freeloader'!

As easygoing and loving as Thomas was...he'd had enough.  He was the more laid back of the couple, but he was by no means a "whipped" man.  Thomas shouted out, showing a surprising display of authority.

"THERESA, THAT'S ENOUGH!  NOW!  If you can't treat your son decently, why do you think he won't come home and visit?  If all you're going to tell is yell at the boy-"

Thomas was obviously angry to the point he was no longer articulating very well.  His fists were clenched and he closed his eyes for a moment before shaking his head.

"Fine...if yer gonna coddle th' boy there's nothin' I can do anyway."

At this point, Theresa stormed back out of the room in as angry a fashion as she had stampeded in.  Thomas shook his head and finally released the tension with a deep sigh.

"Son, I-"

"Dad, y'don't 'aveta say a thing."

"You know your mother loves you-"

"Yeah, t'really shows, Dad.  M'gettin' ruddy chills from all th' love she's been flingin' at me.  She nearly loved m'ead off already an' ah've been 'ere what...3 minutes?"

"Chance, I'm sorry.  Your mother just...has high expectations.  She's like this to herself too, you know?  She pushes herself so hard, so she expects everyone else to push just as hard."

"Ah've 'eard all this rot fer 17 bleedin' years, Dad.  Ah know y'mean well...an' ah know y'say Ma does too...but I jus' can't take it.  She doesn' even ruddy want me 'ere-"

"Now that's not true, son!"

"Dad, she doesn'...an' m'okay with that.  Y'might say she loves me an' all that, but she doesn' like me...that's fer sure.  Ah've changed.  Ah've been gettin' involed, I'm one o' Gryffindor's Prefects, I joined S.A.W.S., an-"

A loud crash is heard upstairs, which sends Chance and Thomas dashing toward Chance's bedroom.  Theresa has shoved a chest of drawers and is ripping posters off of the wall currently, throwing them out the window of their little two story home.

"Theresa!  Have you gone mad?"

"Yer th' one that's daft, Thom!  Th' boy doesn' wanna be 'ere...he doesn' 'aveta be!  Let 'im go be with th' people he really cares about.  He's no son o' mine!  He can get outta m''ouse, that's fer sure!"

Thomas is absolutely shocked by this turn of events, but Chance is set alight.

"FINE!  Y'wanna get rid o' me?  Y'get yer wish!  After y've blasted th' livin' 'ell outta me fer bleedin' 17 years, Y'GET YER WISH!!!  M'OUT!"

Thomas and Theresa begin arguing immediately with Thom going to restrain Theresa.  Chance stomps out of the room and downstairs as Thomas calls for him. 

"Son no!  Don't go, Chance!!"

Thomas tries to pursue Chance...but as he gets downstairs and rounds the corner, he sees Chance disappear in a flash of green smoke...Thomas staggers toward the fireplace and leans his head and forearm across the mantle, closing his eyes as a tear trickles down his cheek.