A nod. He led her quietly up a grand staircase and through two hallways before they reached a door that had a small sign on it reading Theseus Gabriel on it. The whole house was grand, but in a softer and more subtle way. Nothing was shiny or screamed of money, it didn’t need to. It was old, regal, sophisticated. But once the door was open, a totally different feelings- clothes on the floor from the day before, a wireless with waltzing music playing on low, various banners with Slytherin pride slogans, glossy cooking magazines, dark furniture that was at least a hundred years old with various sheets and ties hanging off of it.
No books. No pictures of friends or old lovers (there was a poster of a scantily clad witch and wizard winking and waving). A few slips of papers. And his open journal on top of the wireless, with a self-correcting quill.
It was a boy’s room in a palace. Theseus flopped onto the black chaise lounge near huge windows, resting on a hip and playing with the torn skin on his knuckle.
He wanted to offer her food, to give himself a reason to go back to the kitchen. But that seemed like such an easy out. So instead he tapped his foot in time to the music, glancing at the open door and spotting a houself walking by in a robe made of old curtains.
“Mittens- water for my guest and myself.” The elf looked nervous for a moment, glancing at Celia. “She’s not leftovers,” Theseus promised, the elf scurrying away.