To Be So Lonely

16

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.