Ren, Dumbledore, Apolline, and Mr. Delacour were gathered around the dinner table in the brightly lit dining hall, working their way through a hearty meal that Apolline had prepared herself.
The men were chattering away about politics, magic, and the sort of adult conversation Ren had precisely zero interest in following. What he was interested in was the peppercorn steak sitting in front of him.
Earlier, before she'd started cooking, Apolline had asked whether he was a vegetarian, the way most monks tended to be. He had immediately arranged his face into the serene, grave, profoundly contemplative expression of Master Jing'an, stroked a beard he did not have, and intoned, "'Wine and meat pass through the gullet, while Buddha lies in the heart.'"
That had led to him devouring the most delicious thing he had eaten across two lifetimes. The noodles notwithstanding, of course.
The creator of this culinary masterpiece sat beside him, quietly and cheerfully adding to his plate every time she felt it was looking too empty. Ren did not protest. Not even once.
It was somewhere between his second and third helping that Ren remembered the house had two more occupants.
"Apolline," he said, between mouthfuls, "where are Fleur and Gabrielle? Have they eaten?"
Apolline smiled and replied, "I tucked them in before coming to the study. They had a bite outside earlier and were quite full. They should be fast asleep by now."
Ren's fork paused halfway to his mouth. His sharp ears had caught something; a faint shuffle just beyond the entrance to the dining hall. He set the fork down and smiled to himself.
"I don't think that's entirely accurate," he said pleasantly. "One of them is standing just outside that door right now."
Apolline didn't even blink. With the calm certainty of a woman who had been outmaneuvered by this particular culprit many times before, she turned toward the doorway and said, in a voice that was firm and fond in equal measure, "Gabrielle, what did I tell you about listening at doorways?"
There was a beat of silence. Then giggling unrepentantly, small figure came darting out from behind the doorframe and launched herself into her mother's arms.
Gabrielle Delacour could only be described as an extremely adorable angel. She had her mother's silver-blonde hair, large, expressive blue eyes, and an expression of such pure, sparkling mischief that it was almost impossible to be cross with her. Almost, Ren suspected, being the operative word for Apolline.
Gabrielle squirmed around in Apolline's arms until she was facing the table, and fixed her gaze on Ren with the unabashed curiosity that only small children could get away with.
"Maman," she said, in a very important voice, "is this the big brother you said would come live with us?"
"Yes, dear."
Gabrielle stared at him for a long, assessing moment, the way only a ten-year-old conducting a very serious evaluation could. Then she wriggled free of her mother, padded around the table with great purpose, and stopped directly in front of Ren. She looked up at him.
"What is your name?" she asked.
"Ren," he said.
She tried it out carefully, as though tasting the word. "Ren." Then, apparently satisfied, she gave a small nod and said, "I am Gabrielle. You may call me Gabi." She paused before saying, "Everyone calls me Gabi. Except Maman when I am in trouble."
"Which is often, I imagine," Ren said.
Gabrielle's eyes widened with great indignation ans she denied, "No! Only sometimes." She held up three fingers, appeared to reconsider, then raised another one. "…Four times this week.", she admitted, "But the second one was not my fault. The frog went into Fleur's room all by himself."
Ren looked at Apolline. Her expression was that of a woman choosing, with great effort, to say nothing.
He looked back at Gabrielle and said, with complete seriousness, "I believe you."
She beamed at him. It was the kind of smile that had the same quality as sunlight breaking through cloud cover. Sudden and warm and a little blinding. Then she pointed at his plate and asked, without any preamble at all, "Have you eaten Maman's steak before?"
"First time tonight," Ren said.
"It is the best thing in the world," she declared, with the absolute conviction of someone stating a universal law. Then she looked up at him with those bright, guileless eyes and added, more quietly, as though sharing a confidence, "Sometimes, when I cannot sleep, I think about the steak."
Ren considered this. "That," he said, "is completely reasonable."
Another brilliant smile. Then she climbed, quite uninvited, into the empty chair beside him, folded her hands on the table, and looked up at him expectantly, apparently having decided that this was now her seat and that Ren was now her friend, and that both of these things were simply facts.
"Ren," she said.
"Yes?"
"Will you sit next to me at breakfast also?"
From across the table, Mr. Delacour made a sound that might have been a cough. Dumbledore's eyes were twinkling at a rate that Ren was beginning to find personally offensive.
Ren looked down at the small, silver-haired girl who had, in the span of approximately four minutes, decided he belonged to her.
"Sure, Gabi," he said.
She nodded, deeply satisfied, and reached over to steal a small piece of steak from his plate.
He let her.