“Arceneaux’s got some freaking nerve,” Matthieu glared. “I’m guessing I have you to thank for this?”
Dorian took the piece of paper that was being thrust into his face, although he knew full well already what it would be. His eyes skimmed over the note, which was preprinted for the most part. At the bottom were details of incident - caused injury to another skater by using magic on the ice - the date, and a set of initials that somehow looked more like JLW, they’d been scrawled so fast.. He gave the slightest of shrugs in response to Matthieu’s question, deciding it wasn’t worth the breath it would take to point out that his brother had brought this upon himself, or that Jean-Loup had just been doing his job.
“Check you out with your impressive friends,” Matthieu said scathingly, “Do you think you’re something special for being able to set a nerd with a clipboard onto me?” He had been scared for a fraction of a second, when Dorian had failed to get back up, although it was more fear for his own skin than anything else. Obviously Dorian wasn’t actually seriously injured - not beyond fixable anyway - from a trip jinx, but clearly something worse than he’d intended had happened, and people were bound to notice. He’d also felt a moment of guilt, when he’d grabbed him and caused him such pain that Matthieu knew he’d almost definitely broken something. He had just been messing around. He didn’t know how to be comfortable with either of those emotions, nor channel them into any kind of communication with his brother though, and so had just let his discomfort morph back into the thing he knew how to process - anger. That had been easy enough to achieve, it was easy to think that none of this would have happened if Dorian would just toughen up, and had been spurred on when Arceneaux had come prancing along with his stupid little clipboard and his tiny self-inking quill, acting like he had the right to tell Matthieu off. Acting like he had a right to stick his nose into their family business. “What is he - your goddamn knight in a reflective gilet? You didn’t have to make such a big deal out of this, you stupid cissy.”
Dorian tried not to react, not visibly, to those last two insults. He had no desire for Matthieu to know how very near the knuckle he was hitting with them. And Dorian was fairly sure he didn’t mean any of it literally. If Matthieu ever had any notion that Dorian liked boys, he was pretty sure his own head would not remained attached to his neck for very long. Being weak… Being a girl… Being queer. They were all just ways of pointing out Dorian’s lack of strength. He folded the note as casually as could, and made to swing himself off the sofa he’d been occupying.
“Nothing to say for yourself?” Matthieu asked.
“Not really. No,” Dorian answered. He tried to keep his voice even. He tried to keep his steps even, like he was merely bored of this and walking away. And it wouldn’t be so unusual. After all, he was a cissy. He walked away from the fights he was offered often enough.
“Do you want to keep that cos it’s got your boyfriend’s writing on-” Matthieu began to taunt, “Wait, where are you going with that?” he asked, suddenly suspicious.
“Nowhere,” replied Dorian, far too fast and far too guilty.
“Don’t you bloody dare,” snarled Matthieu, and he could have just summoned the notice, but Dorian felt himself hit the floor with a resounding thud. He kicked against the charm as he was pulled back towards Matthieu.
“Get off!” he protested.
Matthieu had just had time to drag him to his feet by the wrist he’d so recently broken and to snatch back the notice when there was a voice from the doorway.
“What is going on here?” Mr. Montoir stood with his arms folded, a slight frown of disapproval creasing his brow.
“Just playing about,” Matthieu answered, “Sorry father.”
“I could hear you from my office,” he reprimanded. “You’re not little kids any more. You should be able to amuse yourselves without creating a racket!”
“Yes father. Sorry father,” Matthieu replied obediently. And Dorian found his father’s eyes sliding to him, waiting for his apology for the disturbance. And he’d played along in the past, when Matthieu threw out the excuse of rough housing or messing about, but it added insult to very literal injury to have to stand there and be expected to apologise for his brother’s bullying.
“Matthieu broke my wrist while we were skating,” he declared, “And now he’s angry at me over the fact that the wardens gave him a caution for it.”
He watched a flicker of shock pass over his father’s face and then saw his eyes narrow, and for a second, he was quite sure that his father was angry at him. For not following the script and apologising or… for something. He was just terrified that had been the wrong thing to do and that two people in the room were now against him. But then that gaze turned on Matthieu.
“Is this true?” he asked.
“It was an accident,” Matthieu declared.
“How did it happen?” his father enquired, and when he was met with silence from his older son, turned back to Dorian.
“He used a trip jinx on me,” he replied.
“You accidentally used a trip jinx on your younger brother? Your underage and therefore unarmed younger brother?” Mr. Montoir pressed, glaring at Matthieu, “Matthieu Montoir, do you know why, at the age of seventeen, a wizard is permitted to use his wand outside of school?” There was silence. “WELL, DO YOU?” Matthieu still did not reply. “It is because you are supposed to be responsible. You are supposed to know how to handle your power appropriately. And beyond that, I thought we raised you to behave like a gentleman! Go to your room. I have work to do. You will stay there until I have finished and I have come to speak to you again. Do you understand?”
“Yes father,” Matthieu muttered, slinking from the room.