Work Text:
The thump, thump, thump of sturdy, yet sensible, shoes echoed off the dark paneled walls and thought the study door.
A knob of silver, a trimmed beard of the same.
A knock at the oaken study door.
”Enter,” the man at the desk said, squinting through gold rimmed reading glassed, not looking up from his letter writing.
The door swished open, followed by the sensible shoes.
Glancing up, the letter writer paused.
”Well!” The man said with a rare smile. ”It is not every day I see my old friend Bergamot!”
The visitor was tall, wearing older fashioned robes in a deep midnight blue.
“I still report that it was not I who dumped the perfume on the headmaster, bergamot scented or not, Phineas,” the man said with a grin.
“Sit, sit,” Phineas waved his friend down to the armchair near the unlit hearth, as he started to stand up.
“I am not here for a social visit unfortunately,” the blue-robed visitor said, standing.
Phineas settled back down in his desk chair, face a bit more solemn.
”Really Gable,” he asked the visitor, whose name was not Bergamont. “Then, what is your business?”
Gable said his piece with ritual purpose.
“I have business with The House of Black.”
Phineas looked his old friend up and down, all mirth gone from his eyes, calculating.
”I see, Lord Eldridge. Sit and say your piece .”
The study door closed.
So went the beginning of the fall of House Eldridge.
And they were Forgotten.