hate you, dearly PV Noah W. Closed

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Interacting With: @Noah Waincroft • Various Familial NPCs
Mentioning: N/A
Hex Color: #800000

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May 26th, 2023
Dagenham, West London

Family was fleeting, wasn’t it?

Yes, Rafael noted bitterly as he fumbled with the edges of the tablecloth in an act of thinly veiled passive-aggression, the underside of Stephen’s dining room table digging uncomfortably into his knees. The concept of ‘family,’ at least in the boy’s sour experiences, had proven to be terribly fleeting, its integrity in situations of suspense as reliable as the poorly-stacked Jenga Tower his mother had knocked over the previous night. It was all rather comedic, wasn’t it? The newfound family game nights, family dinners, family outings. So fucking hilarious, how everyone wanted to play this little plastic game, like foolish elementary schoolers playing with shiny dolls in the backyard. Life was hardly so idealistic.

(Why was anyone trying to pretend this would work? As if his parents hadn’t left their parents. As if his dad hadn’t left them – for money, no less. As if Sofia hadn’t died, as if Isabela hadn’t gotten the fuck out of England as soon as she’d graduated secondary. In what universe was this fucked up family going to work? The whole charade was all a bit foolish really, the sentiment stirring up a furnace within the pits of the Gryffindor’s stomach. It was all just a waste of time, effort, and emotional capacity.)

(It was draining.)

The bitter notion of his precious personal time lost was perhaps the primary factor irritating the young man – and by the Greater Powers, Rafael was furious, evident by the rigid tightness in his jaw, the razor-sharp glint in his eye, body language absolutely begging for confrontation. His hands removing themselves from the tablecloth in favor of clenching mercilessly upon baggy denim, the young man scowled at the visage in front of him, the sight only spurring his ill temper. Waincroft’s small yet contemporary kitchen was rather orderly in its appearance, in every manner save for the human inhabitants it primly kept – every marble counter had been rendered spotless, every stainless-steel appliance liberated of the grease and tarnish that might typically cling to an instrument of its caliber. Dishes absolutely pristine. Floors spotless. White walls without blemish.

And at the far end of the kitchen sat the long yet simplistic dining table in which Rafael bitterly sat. Not without company, of course – he would never find himself so lucky. Instead, his eyes would meet the unsettling visage of the owner of the establishment sitting at the head of the table, fork and knife tightly in hand as he cut away at a piece of asparagus. Stephen. The very sight of the man was enough to send Rafael’s emotions spiraling downwards, and his gaze darkened as his eyes met the table once more. He didn’t need to look up to recognize the presence of his mother sitting beside him at the table. Her eyes weighed heavily upon his left shoulder, her hand ghosting his knee with a sympathetic pat as she filled the open air with nervous chittering. Both adults had chosen to dress rather primly for the occasion, Stephen wearing a comfy navy sweater and slacks while Rafael’s mom had chosen a modest green dress. Both appeared to be varying degrees of apprehensive. Waincroft, in specific, appeared quite tired, his eyes sunken and smile weary, nearly strained.

Interestingly enough, the dank trepidation that lingered over the conversation had proven to be a bit heavier than normal – Rafael supposed there was a reason. It wasn’t a particularly normal dinner. Rather, Stephen had once again acted on his foolish impulses, scheming selfishly with his mother in private. The result had been the unwelcome appearance of Waincroft’s brother’s family, the likes of which were sitting passively across the table and chatting as if all was well in the world. The Gryffindor need not look up again – he knew that at Stephen’s right side sat his younger brother, Spencer, and beside him, his wife, both kindly engaging in conversation with Maria and, when he wasn’t eating pensively, Stephen as well. The woman’s name was of no particular consequence to the young Gryffindor. He hadn’t asked. He didn’t plan to, either. However, in stark contrast to his opinions of the present adults, he found himself rather intrigued regarding the small eleven-year-old girl sitting directly beside Rafael.

Noah.

At the thought of his supposed step-cousin, the boy’s eyes subconsciously darted toward the girl in question, raking across her visage in a momentary glance. It wasn’t as if he actually knew anything about her – he’d only heard her name from his mother, who claimed that she would be going to school with him in the Fall. His preliminary glance had proven quite forthcoming – she was quite beautiful, he couldn’t help but note offhandedly as his eyes traced her luscious long red hair, bright brown eyes, warm porcelain skin, placidly pink lips. All features she had yet to grow into, at her young age. However, despite the objectively angelic facets of her appearance, there seemed to be something steely about her own countenance, an edge that Rafael had yet to put a finger on. It was all, frankly, a bit unsettling, and the boy was disappointed to admit that he wasn’t sure what to make of her.

However, one fact was more than clear – he didn’t like her at all.

His musings were abruptly interrupted by the sudden appearance of his name in the current conversation – dismissing his turbulent thoughts, the Gryffindor decidedly tuned into the dialogue once more, eyes darting from Noah to the countenance of his mother. “ – afael will be going back to Hogwarts in the Fall, yes,” the woman expressed kindly, seemingly in response to a prior question. “It will be nice for him to socialize again.” She spared a glance for her son, raising her eyebrow placatingly. Then, “I think he misses his friends,” she added a little endearingly, offering a delicate smile. “Isn’t that right, Rafa?”

Was it true? Yes, deeply so – absolutely no thanks to the misguided woman. And if that weren’t absolutely fucking comedic. Once again, Maria was finding ways to carelessly toy with his emotions, finding ways to prod at sore wounds. Exposing his innermost concerns to practical strangers as if they were nothing but childish afterthoughts. It was just too funny – the words jerked a sharp laugh from the deepest recesses of his throat, the sound short yet painfully cold. The sound was rather grating, and in its presence, all other noise halted, utensils squeaking to silence as alarmed eyes met his ominous countenance. Suddenly, the joke wasn’t funny anymore. A bitter smile tugged at his lips, the edges fraying. He really didn’t want to be here.

Deciding to pacify his urges, the boy glued his eyes to his plate and released a deep sigh, allowing all the air in his lungs to escape fully. Leaving his chest utterly empty. He felt heavy. Nonetheless, he sucked in another breath with a little more surety than before, setting his fork and knife down and flexing his fingers. A change in pace right about now would be wonderful. “Noah,” he said, completely foregoing his mother’s question with little thought. He didn’t look up from his plate, instead picking up his utensils once more and busying himself with cutting his flank steak into small pieces. Then, with an edge of contempt, “Stephen has informed me that you will be attending Hogwarts this year.” Both Stephen and his mother would understand that Stephen had informed him of no such thing. He would miss not a single opportunity to express his distaste regarding the man’s presence in his mother’s life. In the corner of his vision, Waincroft seemed to shrink in the slightest, focusing on his food all the more. Rafael continued on, slightly bothered. “It must be exciting, receiving your letter. Real life-changing, and all.”

Following these words, he would continue to cut into his food impassively, eyes glued to his plate and demeanor dark and stormy. He idly wondered if Spencer’s family had picked up on the source of the tension, or if they were all as stupid as they appeared to be. In an ideal world, they would all suffer a little bit for the turn of events. After all, why should Rafael have to suffer on his lonesome?