Before anything further can be said, a loud pop is heard announcing the arrival of Kreacher. The old house elf briskly sets a bed stand on the bed that holds a bowl of porridge, a small vial of honey, and a small bowl of fruits along with a cup of juice. "Is that all?" Kreacher huffed.
"Thank you, Kreacher," Lorcan barely managed to say before the house elf vanished with a loud pop.
Rowan held back a scowl lest Lorcan believe it was directed at him. "Now go on eat," she reassuringly says and waits for Lorcan to eat.
Hungrier than he thought he would be, Lorcan with great gusto eats the entire bowl of porridge without even remembering to offer Rowan any. He flushes pink in embarrassment. "Er, sorry, I guess, I was just hungry," he sheepishly murmured.
"It's fine, I already had lunch," Rowan earnestly responded before reaching into a satchel. She places a handful of tiny miniature objects on the bed and with a wave of her wand, the objects grow to full size revealing a guitar, a black guitar case, and nearly a dozen books. One or two are on how to play a guitar and read music notes, or how to write songs and lyrics, and the rest of the volumes are full of songs/lyrics to play.
Lorcan's eyes grow wide as Rowan gently hands him a beginner guitar along with a guitar pick. "During tutoring I overheard Glenda say that your childhood dream is to be a famous rockstar," Rowan wrapped Lorcan's hand around the guitar pick.
"Now, I don't know if you still want to be a rockstar, Lorcan," Rowan paused to gaze Lorcan in the eye. "However, music is not just for dancing and having fun, but also for expressing sorrow, pain, rage, love, joy and any emotion in-between."
Blinking away tears, Lorcan clutches the guitar pick in his hand. He stifles a sob remembering his childhood dream that seemed so long ago. He used to sing in the kitchen and pretend to play the guitar much to his mum's annoyance. However, she never stopped him and let him sing his heart out in their kitchen. He was going to be rich and famous someday. He was going to take his mum to see the world. And now, he would never get the chance to.
Unfortunately, Lorcan wasn't very successful in keeping his tears at bay. He stifled a sob and angrily wiped the tears on his sleeve. "Sorry," he mumbled, and his head miserably dropped against his chest. "I don't mean to cry and be such a sissy."
"Crying is a perfectly natural response, Lorcan," Rowan firmly chided. "To have someone tell you otherwise, they are the ones who are in the wrong. There is nothing inappropriate about mourning nor is there nothing to be ashamed about. Don't let anyone ever tell you otherwise."
"Yeah, I guess," Lorcan let out a watery sniff along with a feeble smile.
Tousling Lorcan's hair again, Rowan gently comforted the twelve-year-old.
Lorcan leaned in for a time before his curiosity and excitement got the better of him. He leaned back to study with awe of the glistening alder guitar. Alder is a lightweight wood that is strong enough to play with and creates good tonal quality but light enough that even a twelve-year-old can hold. He carefully touched the guitar strings that are no longer pure nickel roundwound outer wrap ever since the Big String Switchover last year in 1975. Instead, the strings are nickel-plated steel (NPS) outer wrap wire.
With care, Lorcan traced the entire frame of the guitar with his fingers from the top of the tuning pets down the guitar neck and strings to the bridge and the very bottom of the guitar's body. With awe, he glanced at the eboonen pick called a raindrop pick because of its raindrop shape due to being made from genuine tortoiseshell. With tentative curiosity, he carefully used the pick to strum the guitar strings. The sound is a bit screechy and not quite right or even, but still, a firm sound was made.
With child delight, Lorcan looked up at Rowan with a genuine smile. Rowan merely patted Lorcan on the head again. "I recommend reading up first before trying to play," she persuasively suggested as she removed her hand from Lorcan.
"Mm," Lorcan firmly nodded his head and set his guitar carefully down in the discarded guitar case, he had previously failed to notice. Firmly closing the black guitar case shut, he carefully sets the case on the ground leaning against the bed, before grabbing a book.
Propping the first book open, Lorcan glanced at the page, but before he could read further, he heard familiar footsteps. He blinked and said, "Barty's coming," he was a tad excited to see his friend. He hadn't seen Barty at all this summer and had been worried for him too.
Rowan, who had been getting to leave paused and decided to remain a while more. She had been meaning to check in with Barty Crouch Jr. With the death of Leticia Bones during the Hogsmeade attack, she wasn't sure exactly how Barty was doing. If she was honest, she was worried.
Rowan blinked with concern upon seeing the fifteen-year-old boy stand in the doorway. Barty looked as pale and as wispy as ever with strawberry-colored hair and freckles. Yet he must have lost a stone, his face appeared gaunt with dark shadows under his eyes. His clothes hung loosely on his thin, lanky frame making him look that much more skeletal.
Blinking Rowan spotted what appeared to be a sling on Barty's chest. Before she had a chance to ask, Barty said, "How have you been doing, Lorcan?" He paused to greet Rowan as well. "And you, Rowan?"
"Better," Lorcan confessed as Barty walked over to sit down on the side of the bed while Rowan remained silent.
With big eyes, Rowan took in as Barty smoothly tugged on the sling and pulled it forward to reveal a sleeping baby with patches of dark hair. Barty left his baby brother, Lycoris to slumber against his chest. Noticing Rowan's surprised gaze, Barty says, "Oh, sorry about that. Let me introduce my younger brother, Lycoris Crouch. He mostly sleeps, eats, and poops or cries whenever the fancy happens to strike him."
"Right," Rowan slowly nodded her head. "I understand that Barty, but why do you have him in the first place? Shouldn't he be with your mother or the nanny?"
Barty's face crumbles as he closes his eyes as if to gather his strength. "Mum-," he paused his voice wavered, "-mum was diagnosed with Puerpera Medeis Sepsis."
For a moment Rowan furrowed her brow in thought until the magical diagnosis appeared in her mind. She had studied it briefly during her research in wizard and witches' anatomy and medical practices in the library. It was the equivalent of a witch dying from the puerperal fever but rather than dying from postpartum infection and debility, it is the result of a weakened magical core.
A witch's pregnancy in itself is usually magical as a fetus develops and inherits their mother's magic. Yet as the pregnancy continues to develop the developing magic of the fetus itself puts a strain on the mother's core and begins to debilitate it. After giving birth, most witches recover from the strain put on their magical core by the fetus, yet in some tragic cases, the core of the mother is debilitated to such an extent that the core continues to weaken and eventually the witch succumbs to the malady.
An expression of sadness appears on Rowan's face at the realization. It was almost unfair to suffer such a loss so shortly after another. With genuine sincerity, she says, "I am so sorry to hear that, Barty." It was said in such a grave manner that Lorcan instantly understood the fact that Barty's mother was dying.
"Dad always said that Mum was left weak after giving birth to me," Barty choked out, before glancing down and pressing a gentle kiss to the top of his baby brother's mostly bald head. "We should have guessed that the birth of Lycoris would have been too much for her." His voice quavered causing the small infant to frown and stir for a moment in his sling.
"That's why I have Lycoris with me," Barty whispered. "All the books say, it is crucial for infants to bond and feel loved in their first days of life. I will spend as much time as I can with him before the next school term starts up again."
"It looks like you haven't slept or eaten in a while, Barty," Rowan slowly said. "It won't do Lycoris any good if you faint from lack of sleep or hunger."
"But what if something happens to him, while I'm asleep!" Barty's voice unconsciously rose in a panic causing the baby to make an unhappy sound in echo.
"Nothing is going to happen, Barty," Lorcan piped up. "I can watch over Lycoris while you take a nap or a bite to eat. I've watched over Glenda's younger siblings plenty of times before when we helped out her mum, Mrs. Chittock while she did chores."
Barty clutches the sling as if so, terribly uncertain. Yet Rowan reached over and gently laid her hand on his shoulder as if to give him courage and strength. "I suppose it can't hurt," he shakily said.
Rowan stepped back to allow Barty room to gently remove the sling from his chest and ever so carefully handed the most precious of bundles to Lorcan. Lorcan with ease settled the baby against his chest and leaned back against the pillows to read a bit. Seeing Lorcan so at ease, Barty merely leans down against the bed to close his eyes for a minute, before he is out for the count.
With care, Rowan tucks a blanket around the exhausted figure of Barty. "Will you truly be fine, Lorcan?" She asked in a quiet whisper so as not to disturb the slumbering infant or Barty.
"Yes," Lorcan nodded his head in pure honesty. "I don't think Barty has been sleeping ever since the attack-. And I didn't sleep for a long time after Mum died." His voice trailed off for a moment, "But I know he needs to rest especially if he is going to be looking after Lycoris."
"Mrs. Crouch is not yet dead," Rowan solemnly surmised. "But I would hazard to guess, her funeral will be before the end of the month."
"He's so small," Lorcan whispered as with a finger he gently poked the baby's cheek causing the baby to smack his lips in displeasure and opened his eyes in slits revealing the gray eyes of the Blacks, before tiredly shutting them again. It's a tiring business being a newborn.
"He's not even going to get a chance to know or even remember his mum," Lorcan sadly remarked as he lowered his hand and left the baby alone.
"No, but he has a father and brother who can remind him of what she was like," Rowan countered. "I am certain that your mother did the same for your father, did she not, Lorcan?"
"Yeah," Lorcan's face grew sad in remembrance. "I jus' wish it didn't have to be so."
"So do I," Rowan earnestly agreed. Didn't they all? But that simply wasn't meant to be.