Living in the House of Lestrange, was, well, strange for less of a better word. It didn't take Nel long to learn two things about Ms. Cloelia Lestrange.
The main thing was she had a knack for polished manners. Apparently, the missus ran a primary school for Pure-Blood children, she taught everything from reading, writing and other educational basics to extra curriculars such as proper etiquette and ball room dancing. Things that were considered to be essential to the people running in these circles. Since Elowen was under her thumb and guardianship it was essential that she be a fit representation of this. For the first time in her life the teenager had the proper guardian of what seemed to be a proper motherly figure.
Despite her opposition to it Elowen as she was now to be addressed according to Cloelia, learned to dress, groom herself like a proper lady.
This she surprisingly didn't mind too much, as a young child she had been curious by makeup once sneaking into Wool's room and putting a pink lipstick all over her face and a street dog. This earned her twenty slaps on her hands with a snappy ruler. She never went near the damn things ever again.
However, what she did mind was sitting in the old dining table that kicked you whenever you committed an etiquette mistake.
Talk with a mouthful. Kick.
Reach for jam without asking for it to be passed. Kick.
Use the wrong utensils in the wrong order. Kick.
Eating your soup towards you instead of away. Kick.
Kick the table for kicking you. Kick.
Cloelia would always sit at the head of the table which seemed to dictate the meal's accepted and unaccepted manners. "Nuh-uh-hu," She'd warn whenever Nel reached for a bread roll across the table. "Too many and you'll get plump."
The girl shot her a glare.
Kick.
"Mind your manners," She'd smile smugly at her. When the table would attack her. It almost seemed to bring a strange type of sadistic pleasure to her.
Because of this Nel's shins were painfully bruised in shades of violet, purple, green and yellow. When confronting Cloelia about it she simply sipped on her tea and told her Nel was asking for it.
Being at the Lestrange's was like some twisted charms school. Perhaps the abuse wasn't physical, but it was certainly emotional.
The second thing about Cloelia was that she absolutely adored her only son Ellar. The only time that Ms. Lestrange seemed to remove her hawk like eyes from Elowen was when she was reading her son's leaders. There weren't many recent pictures of the two in the walls, but the woman would constantly praise him and remind the girl just how handsome and terribly smart her son was. She would even gush when receiving letters and French pastries from him.
There didn't seem to be a Mr. Lestrange in the picture. Nel didn't ask why.
Apparently Ellar who Nel had already boxed as pretentious racist like most of the other Pure-Bloods she had met was away doing an internship in France.
It was strange being in the life. She finally had the same clothes as the other Slytherin girls, but they still weren't hers. Accepting them felt like granting Cloelia ownership over her person. Something Nel felt like was a given to the older woman consider how she took her liberties in making harsh comments about her appearance constantly.
One of the bright sides of living with Cloelia was that she did not mind if Nel had contact with her friend which was a breath of fresh air. However, Nel still had to work up the courage to ask if she could attend the Quidditch World Cup Final Game with Theo and Tracey.
Presently...
'Harder. Up, down, up down, left, right, left, right- That's right! Keep it up! Transform those buns into steel!'
Nel was currently coated in sweat working out to an old record of witch-lattes or aerobics, she wasn't sure which one was playing. All she knew was that she was exhausted and Cloelia was watching her from a comfortable sit while eating a large pumpkin pastry.
"You've got to maintain your figure," She said licking her greasy lips before taking a small lady-like bite from the pastry.
'Easier said than done,' the girl bit her tongue and rolled her eyes.
She was sweating bullets and felt she was in desperate need of a shower when she heard the front door slam. She paid it no mind much to focused on the exercise.
"Maman!" An unfamiliar voice entered the room.
"Ellar! Oh! Welcome home mon cœur!"
Nel had never seen Ms. Lestrange move so fast before. She jumped from her seat and exclaiming other French words in excitement advanced towards her son whom she embraced and showered in kisses.
"I wanted to surprise you!" He stated hugging his mother back.
Elowen remained quiet at the interaction. Not because she had always wanted somebody to welcome her home like that.
In that moment she realized she wanted to die.
He was hot.
He was a couple of years older than her and very handsome. In contrast here she stood a sweating mess. She had never seen a more beautiful person before. With a strong jaw, sleepy eyes and dark curly hair, Ellar looked like the protagonist of a period drama. He was dressed in soothing tones of velvet blue and turned to acknowledge her with his hazel eyes.
She wanted to look away but couldn't and felt her skin heating in unflattering patches of red. She prayed he'd assume they were from the exercise and not his presence.
"This is Elowen Saintday," Cloelia introduced. "She's the young lady I wrote to you about."
Nel was too busy drooling at her son that she didn't snap out of her trance until she heard the woman addressing her. "I expect you'll be gracious towards my son."
You bet that would not be a problem. His mother gave Ellar what seemed to be a knowing look. He approached her and reached for her hand bringing it to his lips in an antiquated gesture. He said something she didn't understand in French.
"What?" She asked flushing nervously. She wanted to slap herself and mentally beat herself up for not responding "Hi."
She was shellshocked never having had her hand held and kissed like that, specially by an older boy.
"I'm enchanted," He now said in English flashing her a charming smile. "I said the pleasure is all mine," he translated. Was he blatantly flirting with her, in front of his mother? Ms. Lestrange seemed unbothered or completely oblivious to this.
She had been around the opposite sex her whole life. Back at Wool's, Back at Hogwarts. Why would this one be any different?
That day Nel found herself actually looking forward to dinner.
You bet she picked out her nicest clothes and did and re-did her hair over and over again until she just gave up on it.
At dinner she learned that Ellar was a sixth-year student at Beauxbaton Magical Academy in France. He had spent his summer at an internship with the French Ministry of Magic working in the Department of Mysteries. He said he was particularly studying certain enigmas of magic such as death, time, space, thoughts and love, it was fascinating.
Even Bindi the Lestrange's House Elf, whom Nel wasn't allowed to speak with, had gone all out with the dinner. However, she did not seem happy to see her master return. Cloelia was stern with her but as far as Nel knew she had never seen her be stern or particularly cruel to the female elf.
Ellar drank his wine and lay a hand on his stomach taking in the familiar meal he had just had. "Everything magnificent as always mother," he let out a long breath as he relaxed into his chair.
Her hand was halfway reaching for a second slice of cake. It was then that she noticed the older teen was looking at her, and she was staring at the beautiful stranger back.
"Should you really be having another slice?" He arched an eyebrow in the direction of the beautifully decorated vanilla cake in the center of the dining table.
Embarrassed she lowered her fork and looked away from his perturbing gaze.
"Will we be attending the Quidditch World Cup Finals this year?" Ellar added turning to face his mother.
Forgetting her embarrassment at wanting another slice she turned to attentively listen out for Cloelia's answer.
"Of course, dear, the Minister has invited us to his personal box," His mother responded pompously. "And I trust both of you," Her eyes shot the girl a look, "Will be on your best behavior."
Nel couldn't help but smile a little.
Don't count on it.
She winced when she felt the dining table kick her shin. Could the stupid table read minds too?
Alright, maybe do count on it.
"I was actually planning on attending with some friends of mine. If that's alright," Elowen butted scanning her guardian's face for any hint of disapproval.
Ms. Lestrange put her utensils down and gaped at the girl in appalling horror. "And refuse the Ministry of Magic's invitation?" She brought a hand to her chest in offense. "You will sit with us in the box," She said in a term that was non-negotiable.
"Minister of Magic can choke," Nel grumbled underneath her breath earnings her a well-earned kick from under the table.
"Friends?" She was surprised to see Ellar scoffing and judging her answer. He learned slightly forward in her direction. "Why would you rather see your friends when you can network with the Minister himself? Think about it Elowen," He began speaking in an eloquent tone.
"If you've got Fudge on your side it could open a lot of doors for you," He smirked slightly in her direction. "How do you think I got my foot in the French Ministry of Magic's door?"
He spoke like a true Slytherin. This was the type of cunning talk about ambition she would've heard in the Common Room or perhaps the type of advice that Professor Snape would've given her if she had asked for any.
Nel wanted to disagree but Ellar was right.
She had to respect his ambition.
Xxxxx
Meanwhile, that same night, in a dark room, in an old broken-down house just outside of Little Hangleton a vile ploy was being orchestrated.
Whispers and hushed voices could be heard echoing the dusty, cob-webbed corridors of the house. Their only companions a howling wind and a nosey old man.
"Oh, no, no, no my Lord. I only meant... Perhaps if we were to do it without the boy. We could use the girl; the girl is ready..." A large man with the face of a rat cowered before his master. "She's under the guardship of Lestrange. We could take her now, do what we need-"
"NO!" The master's dark tone bounced off the walls. "I need them both. Together. It will be done exactly as I say." He stretched out a hand calling for his snake to come and gather around its master. "The boy, he's everything, and the girl..." He went silent for a moment. "Everything will be done with precision at the right time. I've been waiting fourteen years for this. I can wait one more..."
Without much of a choice Pettigrew lowered his head as he groveled to Voldemort. "I will not disappoint you my Lord." He bowed.
"Good," Voldemort rasped. "First, gather our old comrades. Send them a sign."
xxxxx
AN: Short chapter but brief introduction to Y4. What do you guys think Voldy is up to?
Also, thoughts on Ellar's character?
Next chapter we're going to the Quidditch World Cup!