Black Family Tutelage Aftermath Ⅴ

The Black family dinner was busy and full, but Dorea retired early leaving her brothers and sister to speak to her cousin, Arcturus, and the rest of the family. She pulled her shawl around her that much closer feeling the chill of the evening. She traveled the familiar route before stopping at the door of her ward, (her adopted grandchild), Lorcan D'Eath. 

The raven head of Lorcan is hunched over a book intently reading. There is a dinner tray resting on the side of the bed showing that the plates of food are mostly empty. Dorea finally releases the breath she had been holding in. It seemed that Rowan Prince's visit had done Lorcan a great deal of good.

Hearing a sigh, Lorcan startles and glances up from his book. His expression flashes with relief and guilt upon spotting his guardian, (his adoptive grandmother) Dorea Potter (nee Black). "I already ate dinner," he hurriedly indicated to the mostly empty plates. 

"Yes, I am quite happy to see that you are eating again, my dear," Dorea sincerely said as she walked over and sat down in a comfortable rocking chair on the other side of the bed.

"Right," Lorcan flushed in embarrassment and old guilt for having made his guardian worry. Quickly changing the subject, he asks, "Is Barty alright? I mean with his mum and all?"

"The situation has been taken into hand," Dorea reassured the child. "We all vastly underestimated Bartemius's (Barty Sr.) grief and denial of his impending loss. Clearly, all is far from being well, most especially if his eldest son is taking care of his newborn son!"

"It was good of you to bring your grave concerns to our immediate attention," Dorea leaned over with her wrinkled spotted, pale blue-veined hand to pat Lorcan on the shoulder in praise.

Lorcan flushes pink and stammers, "T'was not me, grandmother, but Rowan who suggested I say so. She was right worried about Barty and the babe."

"Mm, well, that still took courage, Lorcan," Dorea gently smiled at her adoptive grandson, before patting him one last time and removing her hand. "You did the right thing and I commend you for that."

Flustered at the praise, Lorcan shyly ducks his head down earning a gentle smile from Dorea. The gray eyes of Dorea slip to skim the titles of the books on the bed and to the guitar case in the corner. "Was this a gift from Rowan Prince?" She gestured with her wrinkled hand.

"Yes!" Lorcan cautiously answered as his voice dropped in volume uncertain how to continue to respond. "She said it might help," his head dropped down as if ashamed.

"There is nothing to be ashamed about dear child," Dorea arose and sat down on the edge of the bed pulling the twelve-year-old boy into a hug. "You have had a far more difficult year than most ever experience in an entire lifetime. Sorrow and grief should never be a cause to feel shame. It is simply a fact of life."

Stifling a sob, Lorcan quivers in place allowing the warmth of his grandmother to surround him. "I just-, I just sometimes miss mum, so very much. I wish she were here."

"We always miss those we so very deeply love, Lorcan," Dorea softly murmured in understanding. There are days when she misses her husband and her son so much that she feels that she can't even breathe. Her heart aches so fiercely and painfully so. Still, she wasn't alone anymore, she had a child to take care of and keep her company in her old age.

 They sit there for a bit drawing solace from each other. Wiping the moisture from his eyes, Lorcan draws back first. "I-, I wanted to be a famous rockstar when I was younger," he quietly confessed.

"A rockstar?" Dorea furrowed her brows in confusion.

"A type of muggle singer."

"Oh, I see," Dorea murmured not truly understanding the term, and instead imagined a muggle using rocks to make music all the while singing to the beat. It all seemed very archaic; she didn't know quite what to make of it.

Not sure what else to say, Dorea takes another peek at the guitar case leaning against the wall. "And now?" She gently asked Lorcan as to coax an answer out of her adopted grandson.

"I don't know," Lorcan confessed with a shrug. "But I've always liked music, so maybe, I'll just end up as a different sort of musician."

"Oh my," Dorea softly muttered to herself. Musicians were not looked at well in polite society. They tended to be frowned upon.

However, not one to crush a child's dream, Dorea pats Lorcan on the head. "In that case, I will leave you be. Don't stay up too late, Lorcan!" She firmly reminded the child.

"Yes, grandmother," Lorcan obediently answered. He hadn't slept very well in days, and it would do him good to try to go to sleep early tonight. 

Tousling his hair, Dorea slips away and gently closes the door behind her. However, she stops at the last second and peeks inside only to see Lorcan carefully set his books aside and prepare to get ready for bed. With a smile, she silently closes the door and turns on her heels with a hint of a spring in her step.

More at ease, Dorea made her way through the manor until she arrived at the quest quarters. Raising her wrinkled hand to the door, she knocked twice and waited. She did not wait for long when the door opened to reveal a tall, slender young woman with raven colored hair and midnight-indigo-colored eyes, whose eyes showed hints of surprise and wariness at the abrupt evening visit.

"Might I come in," Dorea politely asked her goddaughter, Rowan Prince.

"I was getting ready for bed," Rowan confessed before somewhat reluctantly stepping aside to allow her godmother in. She was tired after a long day and frankly just wanted to go to bed.

"Thank you, dear, I shan't be long," Dorea briskly said as she peered at the bedroom.

The guest quarters are elegantly furnished with simple tasteful wallpaper in soft hues of green and pale blue and carved, lightly painted silver ceiling roses. The poster bed is made of dark rosewood with a matching headboard and footboard. The matching bedside tables and furniture are also made of redwood. The fireplace is doused considering the summer heat, but the room is cool as the open window curtains flutter at the cool breeze passing through the screen. 

The moving curtains cast moving shadows through the bedroom. The enchanted oil lamps in the bedroom remain burning brightly without so much as a flicker. The enchanted oil lamps are a nice touch permitting guests the option of turning on or off the light as they please.

Taking a seat in a chair next to the open window, Dorea sits down with an oof. "These old bones aren't what they used to be," she tiredly sighed.

Warily Rowan sat down on the edge of her bed to gaze directly at her godmother, Dorea Potter (nee Black) rather than to loom over the diminutive elderly witch. "How can I help you this evening, godmother?" She politely inquired.

Soothing her skirt with her wrinkled, spotted hands, Dorea does not immediately reply until she is content with her skirt. "Firstly, I wished to thank you for visiting with Lorcan and the rest of the children. They needed to hear clear words from a close friend."

Rowan most of looked surprised because Dorea waves her hand as if dismiss her concerns. "Children and youths are all the same," she knowingly said with a sad smile as she recalled her own son, Charlus (Jr.) growing up. "So certain and set in their ways that they pay no heed to the words of their parents or another grown adult. Ironically, they pay more heed to the words of their peers than those that care and cherish them."

Rowan couldn't exactly deny the truth of that statement nor was she exempt either. It simply is part of the process of growing up. Admittedly, not everyone outgrows this particular phase.