The Breakfast Room {closed}

[Mia Moretti S4]

Mia stared at her reflection in the mirror. Everything about the girl that looked back at her reminded her of her father, Pascal Moretti. Her eyes, her skin tone, her hair- even the person she saw in the eyes, even the slightly raised angle of her chin and the way she held herself. She was her father’s daughter, no doubt about it. And they were a team. A pair. A family of two. She thought they loved each other more than anyone else… but Pascal had been keeping a secret from Mia, she now knew. He had not been honest with her. For months he had been odd, a completely different father and wizard to the one she knew and loved. It had almost scared her, if she were one to be afraid easily. Hurried letters, late nights, random disappearances. Mia knew him well enough to know that something was seriously wrong but up until now she didn’t have much to guess on.

And now it would all be explained. The thought failed to comfort her. What if it was something really awful? She didn’t agonize for her father’s health; he did everything possible to stay fit and healthy and she knew that he was just that. In the back of her mind, she felt that it was something more along the lines of a romance… or even a love. She’d never known her father to be in love before, so wasn’t sure on the symptoms. Was a lack of time and attention for his daughter one of them? Mia had gone through this time and time again in her head, going over the women that she knew her father respected and who were often visiting the house. There were ministry workers who were constantly rushing past Mia in a flurry of robes, holding important pieces of parchment for her father to sign or read… but she couldn’t imagine it being someone from work. She knew her father well enough to know that he didn’t like mixing work with home affairs, putting aside the fact that most of his important Ministry work was performed at home. He wouldn’t be dating somebody in the Ministry. So she wiped that possibility from her mental checklist.
What else? Who else? There were nannies and house-keepers, but that idea was laughable. Pascal would never even look at someone of working-class with interest.
So aside from the mentioned, Mia knew of no female who had entered the Moretti household recently, or whose name had come up in any of the conversations she had had or ‘innocently overhead’ with her father.
All this guessing was proving to be extremely unfruitful. She’d hoped to get somewhere along the lines of working out roughly what Pascal would tell her at breakfast that morning- but she was nowhere. She didn’t even know if it was a new female interest, that was just a total guess.

With a sigh Mia lifted her chin and studied herself once more from a new angle. No make-up. Ever. Her dressing-table top was empty bar for the mirror, a large silver-backed hairbrush, and of course her ever-close wand. She recalled the images of some of the tables in the Slytherin girl’s dormitory; stacks of pointless mascara, eye-shadow, eye-liner (liquid and pencil), blusher, foundation, lip-liner, lipstick, lip-gloss… the list went on. Mia’s flawless olive skin needed no blush or foundation painted onto it. Her naturally ‘pouty’ lips did not want for any of the rubbish her classmates coated onto their own lips. And her eyes; her large, deep brown almond-shaped eyes rimmed with long black lashes; they certainly had no need for the mascara, liner, shadow combinations that were available to girls her age. Mia was not a vain girl in truth, but on rare occasions such as this she allowed herself a few extra moments before her reflection. It helped her think when she could look into her own eyes, as if she were treating herself as another person, trying to read them to the best of her ability.

“Miss Moretti, breakfast is ready!” A woman’s deep voice bellowed. The tone crept through the crack between Mia’s bedroom door and the polished floorboards, reaching Mia much like news of a death sentence would. She froze in place, one hand clutching the lanky teenage cat curled in her lap, the other holding the top of her dressing table. This was it.
She rose, keeping Dagda in her arms as if it would hurt her to let him down. His resistance to being carried in her tense arms was ignored, and she took once last glance in the mirror before departing her bedroom. She looked nice; she liked to look nice for breakfast with her father, which was a rare occasion indeed. He often commented on a new dress if she bought one. Such compliments filled her with a sense of pride, as if she was doing something right, something the daughter of a respectable pure-blood wizard should be doing. Looking pretty, basically.

Her decent down the staircase to the breakfast room was slow, delayed even further as Dagda finally forced himself out of his mistress’s arms, only to follow her down and weave in and out of her legs, as if he didn’t want her to enter the room. She ignored him once more but for a tiny second, as she scratched gently under his chin and shooed him in the direction of the kitchens, where no doubt the cooks would shower him with ham and shreds of juicy chicken. She wishes she could follow him- wished she could just purr and sleep all day long. But she couldn’t. This had to be done.

She looked the perfect Slytherin in a long dark green skirt, black blouse and Pascal’s mother’s silver necklace and matching earrings adorning her neck and ears. Her hair was braided and coiled up, also decorated with an elegant band of twisted silver wire. Taking a breath, she approached the large oak door of the breakfast room. Tempting smells of bacon and home-made bread wafted from the room inside and her stomach almost growled. The two silver bangles on her wrist jangled tunefully as she lifted one slender arm and pushed the heavy door open in one smooth motion, and stepped inside.

[Mia Moretti S4]

“Mia, good morning. You slept well I hope? Tea or coffee? And some toast, I suppose. Brown or white? Sit, please, don’t just stand in the doorway like a stranger honey.” Pascal Moretti said all this with almost one breathe, and in the meanwhile had poured some tea with milk and one sugar for Mia as well as selecting some brown seeded bread, which was soon covered in thick strawberry jam, courtesy of his wand.
He always did this. If they were to eat out (which they hadn’t done for three years) he would select every detail of each of her courses for her. It irritated her, but her mind flashed to when they had met in The Redwood Wand a few weeks earlier. Before he had dashed off yet again and Randy Kerr had spoken to Mia, she had ordered his drink for him without a thought. But this was different. Things had changed.

“Father, please don’t select my breakfast for me. I’d like to be able to choose for myself what I eat. Isn’t the ability to choose one of the greatest gifts? I recall you saying such a thing yourself long ago.” She spoke respectfully, but without weakness. As she did so she seated herself in the tall-backed wooden chair opposite her father. It was strange to eat breakfast in this room. Mia normally skipped breakfast and requested a small picnic to be made for her, which she would take to the grounds outside and eat in peace and quiet. Although accustomed to formality, the degree of it in the breakfast room was almost intimidating. Since when had she been so formal with her father?

Pascal’s dark eyes flicked up and studied Mia’s own. There was a moment’s silence, in which she knew he was considering her words carefully and hoped he wouldn’t take the offence that wasn’t even there, as she knew he often could. “Alright. I did indeed say such a thing. What would you like to eat this morning, Mia?” His politeness was almost sarcastic as his lips curved into a knowing smile, and he waved his wand, resulting in the disappearance of Mia’s chosen breakfast. Pascal knew exactly what his daughter wanted that morning.

“Well…” She glanced over the table and took in the masses of unnecessary food available. Bacon, eggs, (scrambled, fried, poached, runny, hard-boiled) various breads, toast, sausages, tomatoes, an assortment of various fruit salads, juices, hot drinks… to name a few of the items on the Moretti’s breakfast table. Mia thought it quite ridiculous- they ate barely any of it. But she wouldn’t bring the subject up of course. Although the various breakfast opportunities beckoned to her here, there were only two things she wanted. Toast (brown) with a heavy spread of strawberry jam. And milky tea with one sugar. Just what Pascal had selected for her.
A light giggle erupted from behind Mia’s napkin which she held before her lips at the silly irony. Her small laugh was soon supported by her father’s deep throaty chuckle, as he couldn’t resist joining in. Pascal didn’t speak on the matter of her breakfast again but merely flicked his wand and watched as bread, jam, and tea all appeared once more before his daughter.

They ate for a while in companionable silence, now and then commenting on the skill – or lack thereof- of the house elves who had prepared the breakfast. Before long they had eaten their jam on toast or otherwise, and Pascal waved his wand; the leftover food disappeared. Mia wondered for a moment where it went when he did that… did the servants eat it? Or was it thrown away, no use to anyone anymore?
But her mind didn’t linger on such subjects, for she looked across the now empty table and noticed her father studying her. It was a strange feeling, to have his eyes looking into hers as though by doing so he could look into her very being.
This was it, she knew.
Now everything could be explained.

[Mia Moretti S4]

“I owe you an apology, Mia.” He began hesitantly. Mia had never seen her father at loss for words; but here he was, in just that state. “For this last year I know that I have not been fair to you… our meetings... I always left them without explanation, and I know this was not the way a good father should be to a perfect daughter. I hope with all my heart you understand what I am about to tell you, for I know that you won’t take me saying all this for granted. You are a bright girl, Mia and you are strong; for I know it as well as I know the strength in myself. I pray that you will not hate me for telling you what I am about to. It may come as a shock… and you might have every right to hate you, I do not know. Also, you go back to school soon and I do not want this affecting your grades or behaviour.” Pascal Moretti paused here.

The empty room somehow seemed larger than ever to Mia. Its massive French windows were dark, for the fog and light rain outside seemed to dim as she cast a glance through the glass, hiding what was outside from her view. Everything seemed to magnify in sound- she heard her own heartbeats as though they were ten times louder, boom, boom, boom in her ears. It took all her power not to clap her hands to her head and block out the sound, and run from the room, run from the truth, run from Pascal. But she stayed seated. She had to hear this out. Tucking a lock of dark hair behind her ear Mia nodded only slightly, indicating that her father should continue. She had never controlled the conversation like this before; she enjoyed the difference.

“I guess the only suitable place to start is at the beginning. You must understand that when I met your mother, we were both so young- in our final years at school. Our successful ministry mothers had filled our heads with dreams of being wealthy and powerful. And so we were filled with great ambition and determination at such a young age. Your mother was beautiful, and the smartest creature I have ever known. She had knowledge that surpassed most Ravenclaws and beauty that almost suggested Veila ancestors. Our days together were as beautiful as Maria and we could talk for ages on our wants and our families, and especially our bloodlines. It was only after…” Pascal hesitated again. Mia knew what he was going to say; her sister’s name. The name that hadn’t been spoken in this household for so, so many years. “ it was only after your sister-“

“Say her name..” Mia spat, breaking Pascal’s chain of words with a harsh tone. “Don’t be weak. Say it.”

Her father’s eyes watched her. The atmosphere in the room had changed completely now. Before they had been giggling lightly over toast and coffee… now the dutiful daughter was retorting harsh comments to her father. Calling him weak. Had it been anyone but Mia, Pascal would not have stood for such disrespect. But he winced at the unfamiliar turn of character, and nodded slowly.
“I deserve that. Where was I… ah yes. When… when Talia was born, I realised something. We had never talked about each other. Never spoken as lovers should. We were both so filled with reaching our own ambitions and fulfilling our own needs, we rarely were as one in a decision. Maria was pregnant with Talia in two years and… and three months of our meeting, and we married just four months after we found out. It wasn’t planned… the marriage wasn’t planned. I think we always gave everyone the impression that it was, for we were always together. Maria’s father, however, was a persuasive man. Jonathon knew somehow that Maria was pregnant, and began pressing me to marry her. It was shameful to be born out of marriage, as you probably know. Jonathon gave me my first job, although it certainly wasn’t one that my own mother wanted me to have. She thought of power and grandeur when it came to my first job after Durmstrang… but Jonathon wanted to keep me where he could see me. He employed me himself, and made me do meaningless, tiresome jobs for days on end. When he began pressing me to propose to Maria he began using the job as a threat- saying I would lose it if I didn’t please his daughter, and marriage was what he thought she wanted. Of course, it wasn’t the money the job gave me that I cared for. My own family had enough of that. But Jonathon was powerful; he had connections; he had authority. If he wanted to he could have made sure that I never got a decent job again.”

“And so I proposed. Maria, of course, said yes. She noticed my wealth, although not lacking in it herself. She noticed my ambitions were so similar to hers. I was a handsome man; I had many admirers and she was often one to get jealous. We connected brilliantly because of reasons such as these, and, excuse me, we were also connected in ways neither of us knew were possible in the… err… bedroom. So she said yes. We married under the watchful eye of Jonathon. And then… Talia was born.” Pascal stopped. He sipped his coffee, which Mia guessed had an added ingredient so he could tell the story a little easier.
Although Mia knew much of this story it was refreshing to hear it all again. Pascal and Mia had never spoken of Talia before. This was the time to do so. Pascal’s eyes were down, he hadn’t made eye contact for a while now. . She waited for Pascal to continue, her eyes hungry for the rest of his tale, her hands gripping the bottom of her chair tightly. She despised the time it was taking him to gather his thoughts; he’d had so long, she’d waited so long, it seemed almost unfair that she must waited these further minutes. When he finally looked back up and set down his coffee, she subconsciously leant forward, ready to listen.

[Mia Moretti S4]

“Talia never felt like my child. She seemed to like me well enough, and I her. But there was something missing and your mother and I both knew it the moment I looked at little Talia. I believe she hated me for it; she thought it was my fault, when in fact… it was hers. Talia never felt like my child, Mia, because she wasn’t my child.” Pascal spoke fast, constantly sipping his drink throughout the last few sentences.
The news did not affect Mia as much as he would have thought. She was shocked, sure. She leant backwards a bit. She took a deep breath. Her eyes widened ever so slightly. But then she blinked a few times, and the news was over. It was no longer news. Mia had never cared for her sister, so why should she now? She was a foolish girl, and now it was almost a relief to know that she was not fully related to someone who would trust muggles so.
“Alright. She wasn’t your child. Maria hated you for it. No connection… what next?” She was persistent.

“Next… next, Maria began to press me to try and connect with Talia. But I couldn’t- there was no way. You must understand that I didn’t know the baby wasn’t mine at this time, I’ve only found that out recently.” He held up a hand to stop the question that Mia was about to ask; he knew he would have to explain how he found out later. Mia’s questioning glance would have to wait to be answered, for Pascal wouldn’t change topic now he was fully on his way to explaining the first. “But Maria blamed me still for the lack of connection. She made us spend time together, made us go to all these ridiculous father-baby classes that her stupid friends recommended. They all laughed at me- all her friends. They regretting mocking me soon, of course, but they knew that I was getting hell from Maria and that I was annoyed for having no fatherly warmth for ‘my’ baby. And it was true; I was annoyed. I do not dislike children, Mia, and I had so been looking forward to being a pa. But the fact that all these ugly, obese witches- half of whom couldn’t cast a decent spell- were mocking me. I hated it, and so I became grumpy, as one has a right to. This only angered Maria more. I feel that it was around this time that any bond I had felt to Maria snapped.

“All throughout this period in our lives, Jonathon was ill, as you might know. He died when Talia turned five. I’m not ashamed to admit that I had strong thoughts on leaving Maria then. But… then you were born. And you were mine, it was so obvious.” A certain warmth touched Pascal’s eyes, reaching out to his daughter. She couldn’t resist the strong sense of pride coming to her. “I couldn’t leave. You had some sort of power over me, as tiny as you were. You had this cute little way of saying my name, it was something like-“

“Pascah.” Mia nodded. “Yes, I know. Maria told me, long ago. It was one of the things that annoyed her so much. She thought I did it on purpose, to anger her.” Mia fell silent, a soft smile on her face. “And maybe I did”

Pascal chuckled, and looked at her. They were so, so alike. He had always known that but it had become more and more apparent recently. “Yes, I believe you did.” He continued. “I think you often did a lot to annoy her, although you might not have been conscious of the fact at the time. When Talia went away, it was certainly this amongst other reasons that made your mother so persistent in trying to bond with you. She hated the fact that you loved me, and not her. She was the mother- that’s what she thought. Talia loved her, so she didn’t know why you couldn’t. Talia was also so fickle… her mind was not strong, whereas you showed great strength and promise even from such a young age. I guess that’s the difference between a child born of Pascal Moretti and a brat born of a half-blood.” Pascal spat the last few words, relishing the anger. He had spoken so softly since now that the change in tone almost shocked Mia. Almost. Long gone was the time when she would be shocked at her father’s actions- at least she thought so. Maybe he just wasn’t doing things shocking enough…

“The day of Talia’s death was normal. It was average. For me at least; your mother had that weird attitude all morning, as though she was foreshadowing something, She was a superstitious woman and this only made it all seem more peculiar. When the news arrived... that her daughter had been hit. Been hit by a muggle car, of all things... she just brokedown. She couldn't handle it. I believe she was almost crazy at one point. If she hadn't been such a silly character in the first place I would have been almost fearful, for she even directed her anger at you for a moment. She was at loss for what to do... and I do not blame her, of course. If you had died- if you had been killed, I would have been just the same way. Although Maria was too weak to have any affect on anyone... she didn't even speak of revenge. If you had died the same way then muggles would have something to fear, truely.

"But you hadn't, I still had you! I still had you! I told Maria as much when she questioned me once about why I hadn't grieved like she did. The stupid wh**e... what a silly question. She knew Talia wasn't mine even then, so the fact that she expected me to cry was ridiculous. Talia's death was not a problem to the wizarding world. The only person it was a problem for was your mother, and possibly a few of her idiotic Squib friends in that Ravenclaw house of hers." Pascal smiled. Angry words often had this affect on him; and the result was mirrored across the table in his daughter. For she was smiling ever so slightly too; idiotic Ravenclaw squibs. As true a phrase as ever.