Libéré, mais jamais libre His father seemed to have aged ten years in a matter of months. The normally haughty face was shrunken, no longer projecting an air of importance, and the little boy still inside of Louis was almost scared. It was a strange thing, to see the great Laurent Valois reduced to a bed-ridden invalid.
Louis was beckoned forward, and went unwillingly. He wished he’d never come home for the summer, that he had ignored his mother and grandmother’s pleas for him to abandon his plans of running away to England, to his cousin’s.
“I have tried to prepare you for this moment, Louis,” his father informed him, and suddenly things started to make more sense. Louis had been involved in the family affairs since a ridiculously young age, sitting in on business meetings when his peers were still playing games. Now, he realised that his father’s illness wasn’t a sudden thing. The old man must have known for a long time that he would soon be dead.
“You haven’t always been a model son,” he continued. “Your strange infatuation with muggles, your lack of respect for your status, and your need to question everything, even the things that benefit you; these have all bewildered me, and I can only hope you soon grow out of them. It’s up to you now, Louis. You are my heir, and you must continue for me. You know what I want the family name to be known for. Do not disappoint me.”
Some of Louis’s distaste must have shown in his face, because Laurent suddenly chuckled. “You’re more like me than you think,” he smirked, and with that, Louis was dismissed, and never saw his father alive again.
**
Deep breaths. Deep breaths, that’s it, just breathe in and out and DON’T THINK ABOUT- No. Calm down. Deep breaths.
And at that precise moment, his life, his world, consisted of nothing more than the simple act of breathing in, breathing out, and the rain pouring down his face, the sight of a deserted Sacré-Cœur, and a crushing realisation that nothing would ever be quite the same again.
For the last few years he’d tried to escape the name, to be more Louis than Valois. Sonora had given him a chance to escape expectations and simply be a child for once. Even holidays had been bearable, especially with his newfound muggle friends, and Jean Baptiste in particular- No. Don’t think about him, not now, not ever. But he’d known that real life would creep back in at some point, although he hadn't expected the sudden crash of reality, especially when he thought he still had a few years of freedom left.
A vibration in his pocket, and he picked up the phone, knowing who it would be. The sight of his grandmother’s face on the screen brought a slight smile on his face – only she would invest in muggle mobile phones because honestly, p’tit, if I can’t stop you roaming the street I’ll at least need to know that you’re safe.
“Yeah, I’m- I’m ok.” It wasn't really the best description, but she’d understand what he meant, what he couldn't say.
“I know. I’ll come home soon.” A pause, but he clung to the phone. Even hearing the sound of her breathing was comforting.
“I-yeah. I’m sorry, I just needed a little space. I-I love you.” His breath hitched as he ended the call, but he was already noticeably calmer.
Running a hand through his hair, it was only then that he noticed the raindrops that clung to him, and how wet he was. It probably was time to go home. Running away would only make things harder and, he reminded himself, he owed it to them to be there, at least for now.
As he turned away, down the smaller streets that lead down the hill and into the rest of Paris, the last sentence his grandmother had said echoed in his head.
“It’s just you now, Louis. And that’s all we’re asking you to be.”
**
“I don’t want it. I don’t want to be part of this life anymore.”
Louis stared defiantly at his grandmother. His father, the man who had always been the reason for Louis’s misery, his feelings of being trapped, was dead and buried, and now Louis just wanted to get away. For so long now he’d had to cope with prejudice and a disregard for morals. He just wanted to leave that all behind him, to reject his inheritance, but his grandmother was forcing him to truly consider what it was that he wanted to do.
“Now, listen to me, Louis. Your life is your own, but I want you to think carefully about your choice. Do you want to run away from all the problems you have with your life as it is, or do you want to take this chance to try and make a change for the better, to give the name Valois a new reputation?”
Claudette smiled sadly at her grandson. She was still recovering from the loss of her son, but she knew that he had not been perfect. Her husband, with his different opinions, had had too much of an influence over Laurent, but with Louis she saw a chance to change that, a chance to regain pride in the Valois name that had become hers by marriage. “I know you, Louis, and it’s not like you to choose the easy route. Some things in life are worth fighting for, and you are in the rare position of having a great influence that you can use for good, if you so choose.”
Louis took a deep breath and, as instructed, reflected. He was not happy with his current situation. Society was stupid, based on things that had no value. He liked a good party, but not those of stuck-up purebloods. A certain part of him enjoyed the ways of politics, just as he enjoyed a tactical game of chess, but he was also disgusted by the lengths some people went to, the actions that were overlooked. To him, pureblood society was something he hated to be part of, something to escape as soon as possible, and now he had the opportunity to renounce his inheritance and his place in society.
The things he really cared about most in life were people: his grandmother, his cousin, Emmy-Lou, Arne, Dustin, Ingrid, all his other friends at Sonora, his muggle friends. Some of the friendships he held most dear were threatened by the society he tried to ignore. Emmy-Lou was sometimes looked down upon because of the ‘scandalous’ nature of her parents’ marriage. His muggle friends were seen as worthless acquaintances, even people to be avoided. But there were others who were not: Ingrid, for instance. If he turned his back on the traditions of the pureblood world, there was no knowing what her response would be. If she shunned him, that would hurt. He didn’t know how Arne or Dustin would react, although he hoped they would stay his friends.
The money that came with his family was something he appreciated, sure, but he hated knowing that his wealth was built on the exploitation of others. He didn’t like privilege, he didn’t like status, he didn’t like the way people considered him better than others for no reason other than his situation of birth. But the big question was how much he was prepared to risk, to gamble, maybe even to throw away, on trying to make a difference. He was just one boy in a very prejudiced world. What could he do, on his own?
Then again, could he live with himself if he didn’t even try? If he just continued his father’s legacy of greed, taking advantage of others, putting himself before everyone, he was sure he would eventually go mad. And if he left the pureblood world, he’d always feel guilty that he’d never even tried to use his advantages to help others. In a way, he’d be no better than the people he despised, no better than his father. Besides, he knew that he would never truly be on his own. Whatever happened, whoever turned against him, there were a handful of people that he knew he could truly rely on.
He exhaled, and it was like a weight dropped off his shoulders. “I’m going to stay,” he replied, and entered the world of adulthood.