A Matter of Black and White
folder
Harry Potter › Het - Male/Female
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
35
Views:
3,924
Reviews:
57
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Harry Potter › Het - Male/Female
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
35
Views:
3,924
Reviews:
57
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
05-Something Fleurmiliar
DISCLAIMER: This story is based upon the works of JK Rowling. Anything you recognize is hers. I’m making no money off this. I’m just having some fun adding my own little corner to the amazing world she has created.
* * *
CHAPTER 5—SOMETHING FLEURMILIAR
Aurora sighed as Severus disappeared out of her room. “That,” she said to Lilitu, who was dozing on the window ledge, “might have gone better.”
The owl lazily opened one eye as if to ask her what she had expected with this whole escapade in Britain.
Well, the lesson wasn’t really any worse than she might have expected, which was probably more a sign of how low her expectations had been than of how smoothly the meeting with Severus had gone. She could barely stand opening herself enough to reveal the childishly inconsequential memories she had shown him today. How would she manage the experiences that had brought her back to Britain, the secrets Severus would no doubt be eager to pry out of her? Gauging from his bull-headedly ineffective teaching practices, it seemed like she would be subject to many of these “lessons” before she finally learned Mentior Occlumency...if she ever learned Mentior Occlumency.
In general, Aurora was unaccustomed to failure—Holdahexe usually were. But every once in awhile she would latch onto a bit of magic that seemed just a bit too Dark, and then mastering it was like trying to grasp at shadows for her. Her father had taught her Pure Occlumency in the hope that she would one day be able to protect Death Eater secrets, which meant that, as far as Aurora was concerned, all forms of Occlumency and Legilimency were far too entrenched in the Dark world into which she had been born and, for the past twenty years, been trying to escape.
The lessons might have been easier if Severus didn’t use Legilimency quite so like a weapon. He pressed into her thoughts like a never-ending siege on her brain, and she knew that he had first sought out her embarrassing thoughts in order to break her at her weakest points. She would keep as busy erecting new walls and posing counterattacks as she would actually learning Mentior Occlumency.
At least she was amassing her own arsenal against him. He hadn’t liked it when she had called him on his own motivations for putting people in uncomfortable situations. She hadn’t been fooled when he had criticized her progress before leaving. His snide remark had been less about her failure (not that she had been a success) than it had been a final chance to get the last word with her. Well, at least she knew not to take his criticisms too seriously.
After her rough morning with Severus, Aurora decided she needed an escape from the Leaky Cauldron. Diagon Alley was still grey with low fog, and many of its shop patrons scuttled from storefront to storefront as if they feared a street attack from one of Azkaban’s loose Dementors. Nevertheless, the wider wizarding zone of London presented her with the appealing possibility of a change of scenery. She would take whatever distractions she could find, so she braced herself against the unseasonable chill and headed off down the street toward a tall building with crooked marble columns. She had been meaning to stop at Gringotts ever since Dumbledore had hired her. Now that she knew she would be staying in Britain for awhile, she needed to open a new bank vault and transfer some gold from her Swiss accounts.
She passed through the burnished brass doors of the bank and went by several uniformed goblin guards who stared suspiciously at her. Nevertheless, they allowed her into the main bank, a cavernous hall filled with hundreds more of the small, angular creatures, all busily weighing gold and writing in ledger books as thick as they were tall. There were a multitude of transaction windows in the hall, and above each one hung gleaming brass plaques identifying the type of business occurring at each carrel. They ranged from the ordinary—“Deposits (Personal)” and “Deposits (Business)”—to the exotic, including one intriguingly labeled “Dragon Hoards.” Uncertain where to go, she stopped at the nearest window, which was labeled “Information.”
A female goblin was stationed at this booth. She had wisps of hair pulled back into what might have been a bun had the multitude of pins not been thicker than the thin swirl of hair they were holding. “How may I help you?” she asked in a monotone voice.
“I’d like to open a new account,” Aurora answered.
Whether the Information goblin was better versed in the art of customer service or whether she was simply pleased to be bringing new money into Gringotts, she treated Aurora more pleasantly than the suspicious guards at the entrance. “Of course,” she answered with a smile that revealed tiny, pointed teeth. “Will Madame be transferring gold from another account?”
“Yes, from a Swiss account actually.”
“Of course,” the Information goblin said, revealing a few more small, yellow teeth. The Swiss goblins ran the most flourishing wizarding banks in the world, and gold from their vaults always seemed to gleam a little brighter than the rest. “Madame would like to go to the International Transactions window, second from the end,” she said, pointing a long finger in the right direction.
Aurora thanked the goblin and headed in the direction she had indicated. She was surprised when she came to the window she needed and found a human female occupying this booth. The young woman had fair skin and long silver-blonde hair and had the middle-aged Asian wizard in line in front of Aurora interested in more than just conversion rates.
“I am zorry,” she said to the wizard in an unmistakably French accent, “but zere eez a line, Meester Chang. We will Owl your bank transfer immediately.”
Mr. Chang bowed at her with a rather over-long glance at the young witch’s chest and then took his leave
“Welcome to Gringotts,” the Frenchwoman said. “I am ’appy to zerve you,” she said with a dark glance toward the departing wizard.
“An admiring customer?” Aurora asked with a knowing smile.
“Ze old ones are always ze worst,” the young woman whispered conspiratorially.
“Of course,” Aurora answered. “Amour se nourrit de jeune chair.”^1^
“Vous parlez français!” the other witch exclaimed, flashing a smile of perfectly straight teeth.
Aurora responded that, yes, she did speak French, and explained that she was a Beauxbatons graduate. “Class of ’85,” she continued in her alma mater’s tongue.
“Class of ’95!” the witch behind the counter cried.
They carried out the rest of the transaction in French, the younger witch laying on a thick, throaty accent that might have been hard for even some natives to follow. Fortunately for Aurora, who could hold her own in ancient Egyptian and Gobbledegook, following a mere French dialect was a relatively simple task. She proceeded to set up a new Gringotts account in her name where her Hogwarts paycheck could be deposited. Then she transferred a bit of money out of her Swiss account to tide her over until the school year started.
“You have no idea how good it is to hear French,” the silver-haired witch said when the business was finished. “Sometimes I think I am listening to mountain trolls grunt, the English language is so ugly.”
Aurora smiled. She knew somewhere around fifteen modern and ancient languages and could not classify any one as better than the next. Each had its own strengths and weaknesses and idiosyncrasies. Still she recognized that the other woman’s bias was probably just a longing for the familiar. At the moment, the language of her school days had an oddly soothing quality to Aurora as well. “It is nice to hear something familiar,” she said diplomatically.
A thought seemed to cross the French witch’s heart-shaped face. “Are you busy right now?”
Aurora shrugged. Not unless counting the spiders on the walls of the Leaky Cauldron counted as busy.
“Monsieur Chang made me work right through my lunch break, and the goblins refuse to pay overtime. Would you care to join me for a bite? You can tell me whether the rumor is true that Madame Maxime grew so large from a student’s misfired Engorging Charm.”
Not having anything else better to do with her time, Aurora agreed, though she admitted that the Engorging Charm rumor was only a recent invention. In her day, word had been that Beauxbaton’s headmistress was actually part giantess.
The young witch waved her wand at the brass plaque above her to read “Next Window Please” and then called in accented English to the goblin next to her, “I am going to lunch now, Rudroot.”
For not paying overtime, the goblins didn’t seem very keen on their employees taking their unpaid breaks either. Rudroot scowled at her over his ledger as she circled around the counter to a gate that separated the bank workers from the public.
The silver-haired witch ignored the goblin’s displeasure as she offered a hand to Aurora. “I’m Fleur, by the way, Fleur Delacour.”
Fleur Delacour, as it turned out, was just the kind of haughty witch that Beauxbatons excelled at producing. Aurora should know because that was just the kind of student Severus had seen her surrounded by in the memory this morning. Set amongst foreigners, this pride manifested itself through jabs at the native population.
“Lunch in Diagon Alley is always an ordeal,” she explained. “English food is so bland. The Leaky Cauldron is the worst. I think that barkeep cooks with glue. Fortescue’s was acceptable, but he disappeared last week. You’d think someone would keep the café open for the sake of humanity.”
Eventually they settled on a small tea shop on the opposite side of the street. It only served cakes and rolls, but its pastries were just French enough to seem palatable to Fleur.
They broke into English just long enough to order, after which Fleur peered at Aurora from under long, silvery lashes. “You’re not French, are you?”
Aurora arched an eyebrow as she considered whether to take this question as an insult. From what she had heard so far about Fleur’s opinions of her host country, it could have easily been.
“Because with English that good, I shall have to hate you if you are,” she added winningly.
Aurora smiled to herself. Apparently school ties won out over national ones, at least this far away from home. (Aurora remembered from her school days that this was not always the case while French students were still attending Beauxbatons. Many étrangers had been relegated to their own cliques in her day.) “No, I'm not French,” Aurora explained. “I was born in England but was raised by my aunt and uncle in Switzerland.”
“Ah, you have lived on the Continent. I thought your French was also too good for you to be simply English. When I was at Hogwarts, I was appalled at how no one knew foreign languages.”
Aurora perked up at this information. “You’ve been to Hogwarts?” she asked. “You have one on me there. I start working at Hogwarts in a few weeks…I’m teaching Ancient Runes…and I’ve never set foot on the grounds.”
“Yes, I’ve been there. I was a Champion in the Tri-Wizard Tournament two years ago,” she said with a proud tilt of her chin, “though I must say there isn’t much to the grounds. It is all rough and wild in the English fashion. I prefer French landscaping myself.”
At this point, Aurora wasn’t particularly surprised that Fleur preferred the artificial gardens of France to the English wood. What she was really more interested in was the people who lived on the Hogwarts grounds and in the castle.
“My Bill says that Headmaster Dumbledore is brilliant. But I think he is a few croissants short of a dozen.” Fleur rattled on. “Professor Hrothgar, he is your predacessor, yes? I studied Ancient Runes with him during the year of Tournament, and his Sevenths studied things we’d already read at Beauxbatons in the sixth. I’m sure you’ll be a vast improvement on him if you don’t mind starting from so far behind. The Herbology teacher, Professor Sprout, needs a makeover—you’d never see anyone let themselves go like that in France—but she’s nice enough…not at all like Professor Snape.”
“Severus Snape?”
“Ah, his reputation precedes him, I see,” Fleur said astutely. “He is a nasty piece of work, and he needs a shampoo, too. Let me tell you a secret, though,”she said conspiratorily. “He doesn’t speak a word of French.”
Aurora started at this information. “Not a word?” she asked skeptically.
“No, typical Englishman in that, of course, but it made calling him names behind his back in class much more entertaining.”
Well, that was interesting. How in the world had he understood the exchanges he had witnessed in her memories? Beauxbatons taught English from the first year, but it certainly wasn’t something most students spoke outside of the classroom. What kind of game was he trying to play with her?
“Of course, we were tame compared to the Hogwarts students. My Bill’s brothers Fred and George pulled some of the most scandalous pranks.”
Every time Fleur mentioned “her Bill,” she rather ostentatiously flashed a diamond ring with a wave of her hand. Aurora supposed it was time she enquired about him. “And who is this marvellous Bill you keep talking about?”
“Bill?” she asked coquetishly. “Oh, Bill is my fiancé.” She offered Aurora her hand to show off her ring. “He’s magnificent. He’s a Curse-Breaker for Gringotts, though he has a desk job now…says he loves me too much to risk dying before our wedding. My grandmother…she’s a Veela, of course…”
Of course.
“…And she’s always worried that there wouldn’t be someone handsome enough for me to help me carry on the family line. Bill and I, though, we’re going to have beautiful children. You absolutely must meet him!” she exclaimed, fully taken by the idea. “Bill has a very…large…family. It would be nice to bring a friend of my own home.”
After all the superiority that Fleur had been playing at, Aurora finally sensed a bit of insecurity behind that Veela conceit. (It had been getting so far out of hand that she could no longer just attribute it to a Beauxbatons’ education anymore.) However much Bill might be taken by his fiancé, Aurora doubted that his large, bustling family was willing or able to fawn over Fleur to the degree to which she was accustomed. Besides, it was no doubt difficult living in a strange house in a strange country with strange people, particularly one’s future in-laws. She wanted something, or rather someone of her own.
“You could come to dinner some time next week. I’m sure it would be alright. Bill’s brother and sister already have friends staying with them. Another guest would be nothing. I don’t know what classes they’re all taking, but perhaps you can meet some of your future students. It’s going to be so exciting!” she cried. “I’ve been so bored with just the cooking and the chickens!”
Fleur had the evening all plotted out by the time she had to return to work. It was a sign of how unaccustomed she was to being told “no” that she never actually asked Aurora if she would like to attend. Still, Aurora didn’t mind too terribly. She was a social creature by nature, and staying at a deserted inn and walking along empty streets, simply waiting for her incommunicative Occlumency teacher to show up, did little for her nerves. The stimulation of Diagon Alley barely distracted her from those persistent little pinpricks of trepidation about her mission ahead, the same little pinpricks that pierced her courage with reminders that she would be much happier and healthier if she just caught the next train back to the Continent. In fact, it was a good thing that International Boarder Wards prevented Apparition between countries. If leaving Britain were a mere question of destination, determination, and deliberation rather than having to haul her things to the station and purchase a ticket, she would have been out of London after her disappointing lesson with Severus this morning. No, Aurora could understand Fleur’s desire to make some ties in this foreign place (for as much as Aurora had been insisting lately that she was English by birth, it still seemed unfamiliar after twenty years away). Putting up with a Veela ego would simply be another distraction from her real problems at hand.
* * *
FOOTNOTES: ^1^: *Amour se nourrit de jeune chair.*--Love is nourished by young flesh
(Yes, this is an actual proverb, according to http://www.pbm.com'lindahl/proverbs/cat_love.html. In general though, let me apologize for my lousy French. I would've much preferred that JKR put the non-Dark Continental Wizarding academy in a German-speaking country! In case you haven't figured it out yet, foreign words and also conversations that are actually supposed to be taking place in a foreign language are denoted by asterisks.
* * *
CHAPTER 5—SOMETHING FLEURMILIAR
Aurora sighed as Severus disappeared out of her room. “That,” she said to Lilitu, who was dozing on the window ledge, “might have gone better.”
The owl lazily opened one eye as if to ask her what she had expected with this whole escapade in Britain.
Well, the lesson wasn’t really any worse than she might have expected, which was probably more a sign of how low her expectations had been than of how smoothly the meeting with Severus had gone. She could barely stand opening herself enough to reveal the childishly inconsequential memories she had shown him today. How would she manage the experiences that had brought her back to Britain, the secrets Severus would no doubt be eager to pry out of her? Gauging from his bull-headedly ineffective teaching practices, it seemed like she would be subject to many of these “lessons” before she finally learned Mentior Occlumency...if she ever learned Mentior Occlumency.
In general, Aurora was unaccustomed to failure—Holdahexe usually were. But every once in awhile she would latch onto a bit of magic that seemed just a bit too Dark, and then mastering it was like trying to grasp at shadows for her. Her father had taught her Pure Occlumency in the hope that she would one day be able to protect Death Eater secrets, which meant that, as far as Aurora was concerned, all forms of Occlumency and Legilimency were far too entrenched in the Dark world into which she had been born and, for the past twenty years, been trying to escape.
The lessons might have been easier if Severus didn’t use Legilimency quite so like a weapon. He pressed into her thoughts like a never-ending siege on her brain, and she knew that he had first sought out her embarrassing thoughts in order to break her at her weakest points. She would keep as busy erecting new walls and posing counterattacks as she would actually learning Mentior Occlumency.
At least she was amassing her own arsenal against him. He hadn’t liked it when she had called him on his own motivations for putting people in uncomfortable situations. She hadn’t been fooled when he had criticized her progress before leaving. His snide remark had been less about her failure (not that she had been a success) than it had been a final chance to get the last word with her. Well, at least she knew not to take his criticisms too seriously.
After her rough morning with Severus, Aurora decided she needed an escape from the Leaky Cauldron. Diagon Alley was still grey with low fog, and many of its shop patrons scuttled from storefront to storefront as if they feared a street attack from one of Azkaban’s loose Dementors. Nevertheless, the wider wizarding zone of London presented her with the appealing possibility of a change of scenery. She would take whatever distractions she could find, so she braced herself against the unseasonable chill and headed off down the street toward a tall building with crooked marble columns. She had been meaning to stop at Gringotts ever since Dumbledore had hired her. Now that she knew she would be staying in Britain for awhile, she needed to open a new bank vault and transfer some gold from her Swiss accounts.
She passed through the burnished brass doors of the bank and went by several uniformed goblin guards who stared suspiciously at her. Nevertheless, they allowed her into the main bank, a cavernous hall filled with hundreds more of the small, angular creatures, all busily weighing gold and writing in ledger books as thick as they were tall. There were a multitude of transaction windows in the hall, and above each one hung gleaming brass plaques identifying the type of business occurring at each carrel. They ranged from the ordinary—“Deposits (Personal)” and “Deposits (Business)”—to the exotic, including one intriguingly labeled “Dragon Hoards.” Uncertain where to go, she stopped at the nearest window, which was labeled “Information.”
A female goblin was stationed at this booth. She had wisps of hair pulled back into what might have been a bun had the multitude of pins not been thicker than the thin swirl of hair they were holding. “How may I help you?” she asked in a monotone voice.
“I’d like to open a new account,” Aurora answered.
Whether the Information goblin was better versed in the art of customer service or whether she was simply pleased to be bringing new money into Gringotts, she treated Aurora more pleasantly than the suspicious guards at the entrance. “Of course,” she answered with a smile that revealed tiny, pointed teeth. “Will Madame be transferring gold from another account?”
“Yes, from a Swiss account actually.”
“Of course,” the Information goblin said, revealing a few more small, yellow teeth. The Swiss goblins ran the most flourishing wizarding banks in the world, and gold from their vaults always seemed to gleam a little brighter than the rest. “Madame would like to go to the International Transactions window, second from the end,” she said, pointing a long finger in the right direction.
Aurora thanked the goblin and headed in the direction she had indicated. She was surprised when she came to the window she needed and found a human female occupying this booth. The young woman had fair skin and long silver-blonde hair and had the middle-aged Asian wizard in line in front of Aurora interested in more than just conversion rates.
“I am zorry,” she said to the wizard in an unmistakably French accent, “but zere eez a line, Meester Chang. We will Owl your bank transfer immediately.”
Mr. Chang bowed at her with a rather over-long glance at the young witch’s chest and then took his leave
“Welcome to Gringotts,” the Frenchwoman said. “I am ’appy to zerve you,” she said with a dark glance toward the departing wizard.
“An admiring customer?” Aurora asked with a knowing smile.
“Ze old ones are always ze worst,” the young woman whispered conspiratorially.
“Of course,” Aurora answered. “Amour se nourrit de jeune chair.”^1^
“Vous parlez français!” the other witch exclaimed, flashing a smile of perfectly straight teeth.
Aurora responded that, yes, she did speak French, and explained that she was a Beauxbatons graduate. “Class of ’85,” she continued in her alma mater’s tongue.
“Class of ’95!” the witch behind the counter cried.
They carried out the rest of the transaction in French, the younger witch laying on a thick, throaty accent that might have been hard for even some natives to follow. Fortunately for Aurora, who could hold her own in ancient Egyptian and Gobbledegook, following a mere French dialect was a relatively simple task. She proceeded to set up a new Gringotts account in her name where her Hogwarts paycheck could be deposited. Then she transferred a bit of money out of her Swiss account to tide her over until the school year started.
“You have no idea how good it is to hear French,” the silver-haired witch said when the business was finished. “Sometimes I think I am listening to mountain trolls grunt, the English language is so ugly.”
Aurora smiled. She knew somewhere around fifteen modern and ancient languages and could not classify any one as better than the next. Each had its own strengths and weaknesses and idiosyncrasies. Still she recognized that the other woman’s bias was probably just a longing for the familiar. At the moment, the language of her school days had an oddly soothing quality to Aurora as well. “It is nice to hear something familiar,” she said diplomatically.
A thought seemed to cross the French witch’s heart-shaped face. “Are you busy right now?”
Aurora shrugged. Not unless counting the spiders on the walls of the Leaky Cauldron counted as busy.
“Monsieur Chang made me work right through my lunch break, and the goblins refuse to pay overtime. Would you care to join me for a bite? You can tell me whether the rumor is true that Madame Maxime grew so large from a student’s misfired Engorging Charm.”
Not having anything else better to do with her time, Aurora agreed, though she admitted that the Engorging Charm rumor was only a recent invention. In her day, word had been that Beauxbaton’s headmistress was actually part giantess.
The young witch waved her wand at the brass plaque above her to read “Next Window Please” and then called in accented English to the goblin next to her, “I am going to lunch now, Rudroot.”
For not paying overtime, the goblins didn’t seem very keen on their employees taking their unpaid breaks either. Rudroot scowled at her over his ledger as she circled around the counter to a gate that separated the bank workers from the public.
The silver-haired witch ignored the goblin’s displeasure as she offered a hand to Aurora. “I’m Fleur, by the way, Fleur Delacour.”
Fleur Delacour, as it turned out, was just the kind of haughty witch that Beauxbatons excelled at producing. Aurora should know because that was just the kind of student Severus had seen her surrounded by in the memory this morning. Set amongst foreigners, this pride manifested itself through jabs at the native population.
“Lunch in Diagon Alley is always an ordeal,” she explained. “English food is so bland. The Leaky Cauldron is the worst. I think that barkeep cooks with glue. Fortescue’s was acceptable, but he disappeared last week. You’d think someone would keep the café open for the sake of humanity.”
Eventually they settled on a small tea shop on the opposite side of the street. It only served cakes and rolls, but its pastries were just French enough to seem palatable to Fleur.
They broke into English just long enough to order, after which Fleur peered at Aurora from under long, silvery lashes. “You’re not French, are you?”
Aurora arched an eyebrow as she considered whether to take this question as an insult. From what she had heard so far about Fleur’s opinions of her host country, it could have easily been.
“Because with English that good, I shall have to hate you if you are,” she added winningly.
Aurora smiled to herself. Apparently school ties won out over national ones, at least this far away from home. (Aurora remembered from her school days that this was not always the case while French students were still attending Beauxbatons. Many étrangers had been relegated to their own cliques in her day.) “No, I'm not French,” Aurora explained. “I was born in England but was raised by my aunt and uncle in Switzerland.”
“Ah, you have lived on the Continent. I thought your French was also too good for you to be simply English. When I was at Hogwarts, I was appalled at how no one knew foreign languages.”
Aurora perked up at this information. “You’ve been to Hogwarts?” she asked. “You have one on me there. I start working at Hogwarts in a few weeks…I’m teaching Ancient Runes…and I’ve never set foot on the grounds.”
“Yes, I’ve been there. I was a Champion in the Tri-Wizard Tournament two years ago,” she said with a proud tilt of her chin, “though I must say there isn’t much to the grounds. It is all rough and wild in the English fashion. I prefer French landscaping myself.”
At this point, Aurora wasn’t particularly surprised that Fleur preferred the artificial gardens of France to the English wood. What she was really more interested in was the people who lived on the Hogwarts grounds and in the castle.
“My Bill says that Headmaster Dumbledore is brilliant. But I think he is a few croissants short of a dozen.” Fleur rattled on. “Professor Hrothgar, he is your predacessor, yes? I studied Ancient Runes with him during the year of Tournament, and his Sevenths studied things we’d already read at Beauxbatons in the sixth. I’m sure you’ll be a vast improvement on him if you don’t mind starting from so far behind. The Herbology teacher, Professor Sprout, needs a makeover—you’d never see anyone let themselves go like that in France—but she’s nice enough…not at all like Professor Snape.”
“Severus Snape?”
“Ah, his reputation precedes him, I see,” Fleur said astutely. “He is a nasty piece of work, and he needs a shampoo, too. Let me tell you a secret, though,”she said conspiratorily. “He doesn’t speak a word of French.”
Aurora started at this information. “Not a word?” she asked skeptically.
“No, typical Englishman in that, of course, but it made calling him names behind his back in class much more entertaining.”
Well, that was interesting. How in the world had he understood the exchanges he had witnessed in her memories? Beauxbatons taught English from the first year, but it certainly wasn’t something most students spoke outside of the classroom. What kind of game was he trying to play with her?
“Of course, we were tame compared to the Hogwarts students. My Bill’s brothers Fred and George pulled some of the most scandalous pranks.”
Every time Fleur mentioned “her Bill,” she rather ostentatiously flashed a diamond ring with a wave of her hand. Aurora supposed it was time she enquired about him. “And who is this marvellous Bill you keep talking about?”
“Bill?” she asked coquetishly. “Oh, Bill is my fiancé.” She offered Aurora her hand to show off her ring. “He’s magnificent. He’s a Curse-Breaker for Gringotts, though he has a desk job now…says he loves me too much to risk dying before our wedding. My grandmother…she’s a Veela, of course…”
Of course.
“…And she’s always worried that there wouldn’t be someone handsome enough for me to help me carry on the family line. Bill and I, though, we’re going to have beautiful children. You absolutely must meet him!” she exclaimed, fully taken by the idea. “Bill has a very…large…family. It would be nice to bring a friend of my own home.”
After all the superiority that Fleur had been playing at, Aurora finally sensed a bit of insecurity behind that Veela conceit. (It had been getting so far out of hand that she could no longer just attribute it to a Beauxbatons’ education anymore.) However much Bill might be taken by his fiancé, Aurora doubted that his large, bustling family was willing or able to fawn over Fleur to the degree to which she was accustomed. Besides, it was no doubt difficult living in a strange house in a strange country with strange people, particularly one’s future in-laws. She wanted something, or rather someone of her own.
“You could come to dinner some time next week. I’m sure it would be alright. Bill’s brother and sister already have friends staying with them. Another guest would be nothing. I don’t know what classes they’re all taking, but perhaps you can meet some of your future students. It’s going to be so exciting!” she cried. “I’ve been so bored with just the cooking and the chickens!”
Fleur had the evening all plotted out by the time she had to return to work. It was a sign of how unaccustomed she was to being told “no” that she never actually asked Aurora if she would like to attend. Still, Aurora didn’t mind too terribly. She was a social creature by nature, and staying at a deserted inn and walking along empty streets, simply waiting for her incommunicative Occlumency teacher to show up, did little for her nerves. The stimulation of Diagon Alley barely distracted her from those persistent little pinpricks of trepidation about her mission ahead, the same little pinpricks that pierced her courage with reminders that she would be much happier and healthier if she just caught the next train back to the Continent. In fact, it was a good thing that International Boarder Wards prevented Apparition between countries. If leaving Britain were a mere question of destination, determination, and deliberation rather than having to haul her things to the station and purchase a ticket, she would have been out of London after her disappointing lesson with Severus this morning. No, Aurora could understand Fleur’s desire to make some ties in this foreign place (for as much as Aurora had been insisting lately that she was English by birth, it still seemed unfamiliar after twenty years away). Putting up with a Veela ego would simply be another distraction from her real problems at hand.
* * *
FOOTNOTES: ^1^: *Amour se nourrit de jeune chair.*--Love is nourished by young flesh
(Yes, this is an actual proverb, according to http://www.pbm.com'lindahl/proverbs/cat_love.html. In general though, let me apologize for my lousy French. I would've much preferred that JKR put the non-Dark Continental Wizarding academy in a German-speaking country! In case you haven't figured it out yet, foreign words and also conversations that are actually supposed to be taking place in a foreign language are denoted by asterisks.