The Dawn of Darkness || T. Riddle

Chapter 38: Composure and Calamity

Chapter 38: Composure and Calamity

"Morning," Travers uttered through a yawn as he made his way into the dining room. Some of the others were already awake - sitting around the table in their robes and pyjamas.

Abraxas was sipping a cup of steaming black coffee. Avery was reading the Daily Prophet now that Riddle had re-allowed newspapers in the Manor and Alden was sorting through the post - a blank piece of parchment by his side ready to respond to any letters awaiting an answer.

The smell of burnt toast invaded Travers' nostrils, mixed with the bitter scent of freshly ground coffee beans and melted butter on bread. Travers rubbed his eyes as he looked towards one of the long windows. The sun was shining through the glass, unwrapping the crevices of shadows around the room - a flurry of dust particles floating gently in the nascent rays. He could tell it would be sunny today; a warm blend of the parting of Spring and the first appearance of Summer's gentle spirit. Nearing the end of April and the end of its showers, he hoped.

"I made you a cuppa," Alden said, his pine eyes briefly glancing up from his letters as he motioned his head towards a steaming cup on the dark table.

Travers nodded in recognition just as Lestrange wandered in. His mouth was wide with the stretch of a long yawn, his hand tangled through his mayhem of brown hair. Streams of purple shaded his under eyes and a light trail of stubbled shadow stretched from his jaw to his unshaven cheek.

Abraxas scanned him up and down. "Looking rough, Lestrange," he said, observing Lestrange's groggy features as he slumped down in one of the chairs with a grunt. "Lightweight. Can't handle a few glasses of whiskey?"

Lestrange reached for a piece of toast, grimacing at the mention of alcohol. "Not when you drink its entirety on an empty stomach, no."

Alden scoffed, nudging Travers on the arm as he continued to shuffle through envelopes. "See, Travers, it's times like these that I'm sure you're glad we never had any of that awful stuff."

"I wouldn't let you touch my vintage whiskeys if you begged, Viridian," Abraxas said coolly, placing his coffee back down on the table before leaning back in his chair with an idle stretch.

Avery nodded as he folded up his newspaper, smirking at Alden. "I'd hope you wouldn't let him near any of your alcohol anymore. We don't want to see him break into song again or witness him waltzing around the manor like a buffoon whilst he tries to flirt with his own reflection."

"That was one time-" Alden objected.

"Would you all shut up?" Lestrange groaned, squinting his eyes. "I've got a banging headache."

"Serves you right," came a voice from the doorway. Leonard Rosier walked in, already dressed, his curly black hair styled and neat as he strolled over to the table and poured himself some tea with a wave of his wand. "You all kept me up last night with your incessant laughing."

"Ah - Rosier, Rosier, Rosier," Alden mumbled, stuffing his quill between his teeth so he could shuffle through some letters. "A letter for you - arrived this morning."

Rosier took the envelope from Alden, blowing down gently on his tea as he read his name scribbled across the top. He tore the envelope open with his free thumb.

"What is it?" Abraxas asked, peering across the table to try and catch a glimpse.

"A restraining order from one of the girls you've been flirting with, perhaps?" Avery jested, strumming his fingers on the wooden table.

"It's from my sister," he stated, casting a brief glower at Avery before his brownish eyes returned to scanning the parchment as he placed his cup down on the table. "Druella."