A soft whimper and rustle from the bundle tightly pressed into his chest caused Evan to blankly stare down at the precious bundle that had been just shoved into his arms. Unsure of what to do with great care he adjusts the bundle in his arms and studies the tiny still red-faced newborn. With awe in his eyes, he reverently traces the sharp little nose of his son with the tip of his finger as if afraid to damage the newborn.
The baby lets out another soft whimper and nuzzles his tiny little face against the swaddled blanket. He smelled faintly of lavender from being bathed clean with tufts of dark hair sticking out hinting at a future widow's peak. The baby scrunches his eyes open revealing dark blue eyes still, but Evans secretly hoped that his newborn would inherit his mother's seafoam colored eyes. Because from the looks of it, at least for now, his son took after the Avery side of things.
A strange besotted smile appears on Evan's face as he whispers to the restless baby, "Hello son, welcome to the world. Your name from this moment forth will be Barnabas Avery." In reply, the newborn Barnabas Avery lets out a rather loud wail and puckers his lips as if searching for something.
Evan freezes in fear, but before he can cry out for help the familiar popping of a house elf can be heard behind him. Whirling around he sighs in relief at seeing Solia and moves to speak. However, before he can, Solia holds out her arms and says, "Young master, please give the little master to Solia. Solia will make sure the little master is feed."
"Yes, of course," Evan instantly said with a bit of reluctance clearly visible in his eyes as he handed over his newborn son to his childhood house elf nanny.
Solia coos to the swaddled babe and says, "Solia can already tell that little master will take after the young master." Glancing up from the babe, she adds, "Solia also did not forget to inform the master. Master and the mistress have arrived."
The house elf had been given a charmed jeweled pendant that when the jewel was clicked the twin pendant would begin to glow altering the Avery couple that their grandchild was in the process of being born. The Avery couple even carried an emergency portkey just in case that would carry them to France. Though costly, it had been well worth having just in case of emergencies.
Evans let out a breath of relief at the news as the house elf takes a seat in a nearby chair and pulls out a bottle from her hidden pocket filled with a milk-like substance. The baby eagerly begins to suck on the bottle's n.i.p.p.l.e and eats. Shaking with relief, he collapses alongside Solia and silently watches his son eat, it was a strange and marvelous experience. But at the same time, he was so very afraid, he was only fifteen years of age, and he was already a father. Becoming a father seemed ages away and yet here he was now. Would he even be a good father to his son like his own father was to him?
The sound of footsteps causes Evan to rise to his feet only to see is mother. A fair featured middle-aged woman with biscuit colored hair. The graceful matron of the Avery family, Agatha surges forward to envelop her son to her chest. Pressing a doting kiss to the top of her only son's head, she says, "I am sorry we are so very late, precious, but I had the house elves pack us a few bags filled with clothes and necessities for the baby. Now where is my grandson and that wonderful wife of yours?"
Before Evan can reply to his mother, Agatha Avery releases him and strides over to Solia, who was feeding the newborn babe. "My goodness," Mrs. Avery exclaimed with delight at seeing her grandson. "He just looks just like you and your father."
"Yes, mother," Evan drily answered as he watched Solia dutifully hand over the bottle and his son to his mother to hold. The house elf nanny remains dutifully waiting while, Mrs. Avery coos to her grandson, who is safely cradled in her arms.
"What is his name?" Mrs. Avery curiously asked. "I know that the two of you had yet to come to a decision in your last letter.
"Barnabas Avery," Evan quietly replied. "Marceline has liked that name and I thought there was no harm in agreeing to name him such. It is a good strong name."
"Indeed," Mrs. Avery hummed in agreement before the two of them turned to glance at resounding footsteps that hurriedly made their way down the hall to reveal the figure of a sharp-faced man with a widow's peak much like that of his son.
Avery Sr. rushes forward and stops before his son and staunchly pats his only son on the back. "Congratulations," Avery Sr. grumbled hiding the sheen of pride in his eyes. "Normally, we'd be sharing a drink of port right now, but I think it's best that we delay that until later."
"Yes," Evan humbly agreed feeling, feelings of warmth and joy. Rapidly blinking the sudden wave of emotions, he says, "We have named him, Barnabas Avery."
"Barnabas," Avery Sr. pursed his solemnly lips contemplating the name, before saying, "It is a good strong name." Clasping his son once more on the back in pride, he walks over to his wife, and peers at the tiny face that is scrunched up as his grandson fiercely drinks from his bottle. A healthy, strong lad by the looks of it.
Glancing away from his grandchild, Avery Sr. frowns and asks, "Where is your wife?"
Before Evan can reply, a loud clock bell tome can be heard behind him as the two clock hands meet at the top signaling the late hour, midnight. The grandfather clock's bell tolls ring louder and louder with each toll as they make their way to twelve bell rings. The bell tolls echo loudly in the night, but unlike the previous nights, before there is unusual solemnity behind the bell tolls, they seem to resemble the funeral bell chimes that are often heard loudly at a distance.