He heard the sound of her slippered feet padding on the wooden floors before she reached the stone portico and spoke.
“Father?”
“Good morning, love.”
And it wasn’t enough that she was about to come to the table anyway, he turned in his seat so he could watch her approach. Though it was still too early, only going seven, and he himself was still in his dressing robe, she was already dressed of course. Smartly, too, he proudly mused, in a yellow dress and russet stockings. Her hair was twisted into its usual messy bun, two ivory sticks holding it in place. Her pink bunny slippers rather ruined the sophisticated air she had, but that was alright, she was only eleven. And he rather liked seeing her bunny slippers on her feet. It assured him she was still a child. His baby girl.
That sounded sappy and totally out of character to be in his thoughts, but he’d only scoff at any one who’d say it was sappy and out of character. Even a hag or an uncouth troll would undoubtedly be sappy over his Calliope.
“Have you swallowed your sandwich and coffee?” she asked after daintily covering a yawn with three fingers.
“I wouldn’t be talking if I haven’t.” He always spoke to her tersely, to tone down his affection a bit. He couldn’t deny her anything. “Callie, I said, good morning.” Oh, how insistent he was on these ‘manners thingies’.
“Oh, yes, good morning, Dad! You don’t have anything in your mouth at all? No beans or stringmints?”
“No. Why?” She hadn’t had her first suitors yet, had she? Even with her nose buried in books most of the time and though she was nearly always sequestered away from the rest of the world in the vineyard, boys still hounded her. He really had it in for Frenchmen.
“I got my Hogwarts letter.”
“You what?”
Explosive coughs sounded in the terrace of the charming little chateau. The man coughing received pats from his exasperated daughter.
“How did this ” you’re not ”” he sputtered.
“Why not?”
“Well, because we live here! This is Chablis! This is France! You’re going to Beauxbatons!”
“But you and Grandmother and Grandfather talked about Hogwarts and Slytherin since I was born. And you’ve only talked about Beauxbatons in the last two weeks.”
“So?”
“That isn’t an answer in intelligent conversation, Father.”
“You’re doing it again, young lady.”
And yes, she always did that. It was endearing and frightening at the same time. Well, not really frightening, per se. All the same, it never failed to make his heart skip beats when she became domineering and assertive like that. Just like her mother.
“I was only saying,” with a graceful flick of a gold-bangled wrist, “not only have I been brought up thoroughly English, I’ve also been prepped thoroughly for Hogwarts, not Beauxbatons. Perhaps they knew that? Or is it because I went to London with Aunt Pansy the week they were probably addressing the letters?”
“And I thought your return from that book-signing unscathed was enough to cover any damages you might have done by sneaking.”
“I didn’t sneak. It’s not my fault if Aunt Pansy was too much in a hurry to tell you. I told her to do it while I packed.”
This conversation was fast going downhill on her favour. As always. He never won with her. But he wouldn’t lose over this one, no. He couldn’t afford to. He had to think fast. “Well... that was last week. It’s our rule not to dredge up past things.”
Merlin’s pants, his daughter beamed. That always preceded his defeat. He looked away resolutely, which only made her skip over to his other side, her skirt flouncing. “So when do we get my books?”
He could feel a muscle ticking in his neck from his effort not to return her smile, or look at her or allow her to infect him with her delight. He grabbed the French Wizarding paper on the table (Le Magique Miroir), something he’d never done before when breakfasting with his daughter. “You haven’t gotten your Beauxbatons supplies list yet.”
“I’m not waiting for it. I’m going to Hogwarts.”
“No, you’re not.”
“But you’ve practically raised me on Hogwarts stories!”
“Hey, that’s unfair. It’s our rule not to dredge up past things, remember?”
He could feel her gaze practically burning through the paper with which he’d covered his face. And then he heard her settle rather loudly into the cane chair next to him in the round table. Her teaspoon rattled against china as she stirred her sweet cream tea. Silver tinkled against glass as she uncovered the dishes, one after the other.
He lowered the paper just as she was about to slam another dish cover on the tabletop.
“You know Grandmother will never forgive you if you break this porch set, Callie.”
Her response was to open her own book. The Lord of the Flies. Where did it come from? He could swear his daughter seemed to pluck books from thin air.
They sat in silence. Father fidgeting, daughter reading, one or the other occasionally reaching for a forkful of omelette, a bite of scone or a sip of coffee or tea.
At last, the father succumbed. He crumpled the paper to his lap. “Callie ””
“I know.”
“What? You know what?” And then he quickly rearranged his face, wondering if , and fearing that, his authority and reliability might diminish if he looked that gormless and bewildered before his daughter too many times in a half hour.
“That Beauxbatons doesn’t have Quidditch.”
“What are you talking about, Callie?” He probably looked gormless and bewildered again, he couldn’t help it. He couldn’t keep up half the time with her, truth to tell. “Of course, they do. And you don’t care about Quidditch anyway, do you?” He sounded almost hopeful, he wanted to slap himself.
“What are you talking about, Dad? Of course I do. You even made sure your favourite team is my favourite, too. The Pride of Portree, see?”
“Yeah, the Isle Highlanders ” wait a second ” well, they have Quidditch in Beauxbatons, too, love, don’t worry.”
“They don’t have Houses, so they don’t have teams ””
“Yes, they do have teams ””
“It’s not the same. The spirit won’t be the same, Father. Where’s loyalty in that? You can switch teams any time! Isn’t that ridiculous?”
She was parroting him. Incredible, really. And how stupid of him.
“I mean, if I make it to the Slytherin team, I might, you know, reclaim glory from the Gryffindors ””
“Callie, don’t go there.” But he was grinning widely, and she was grinning back, damn her. She knew his buttons. He sipped coffee and bit his cheeks to hold in his grin. “Um, I don’t want you concentrating on the house rivalries. What’s good about the Houses is your house becomes like your second family.” He snorted in his mind, remembering his own ‘second family’. But from what he’d heard, Hogwarts was different now. “Yeah, they teach you about loyalty, they boost you to do your House proud, that’s all. But you don’t necessarily have to ‘reclaim glory from Gryffindors’. If you’re meant to, then you would, but I don’t want you obsessing over it the way you obsess over the piano””
“I promise, Daddy.”
In spite of himself, he smiled at her. It felt silly to him, but he didn’t care. He always didn’t care when she called him that, and with that sweet lilt in her voice he hoped she wouldn’t outgrow.
When she turned back happily to her omelette, he froze.
Had he just implied she was indeed going to Hogwarts?
“Do you want a refill, Daddy?”
Callie poured another round on his demitasse, grinning from ear to ear.
He supposed he had. Merlin.
Draco Malfoy cursed inwardly.
“Daddy?”
He looked at his child, and her image flickered in his mind, her grey eyes became brown, her hair became bushier and she was a woman, her expression reproachful, even vindictive. But he blinked and Callie was Callie again, not her mother.
“Daddy, it’s okay. It’s our rule not to dredge up past things, remember? Other people should learn it, too. And I think, if they’re decent, they already know it.”
Author’s Note: Calliope was born in England, so the magic quill recorded her birth in the Hogwarts register. *wink* I like to think that magical schools keep track of their children, wherever they go to live after being born.
Well? Do you like? Do you? Do tell, thank you. ^_^ It seems I always swallow my own words as soon as I say them. I’ve just posted in the Beta Guild that I like finishing my WIP’s before starting another but here I am with this when Then Somebody Bends is still about to reach its own climax! *is proud of ability to plug subtly*