Sweets for the Sweet
Disclaimer: I have no claim to any part of the Harry Potter universe, and should you actually be reading this, J. K. Rowling, I hope you feel flattered, not ready to sue. :D
Response to the Halloween Collection Competition challenge by Screaming Faeries and the Uheard Of Pairing challenge by Holly The Sparkling Unicorn
Prompt(s): (story title) From Dusk 'til Dawn, (dialogue) "Get the hell out of my house!"
Word Count: 716
Gabrielle whirled on Astoria, her face livid. "What did he say?" She asked, barely audible over the roaring in her ears. "What did he call you?"
"He called me his fiancée," Astoria babbled, not noticing the storm clouds gathering behind the feathered mask, "We're to be married in three weeks, didn't you know?" Her head tipped to the side, and Gabrielle ruthlessly quashed a burst of adoration. "No," she gritted out.
"Yes," Astoria nodded vigorously. "That's why I came to Paris..." She looked around, putting a finger to her lips. "Shh, don't tell, it's a secret from my girlfriend -"
"That's it!" Gabrielle almost shouted, battling down her veela instincts which shrieked for blood. "I thought what we had was real! I loved you!" That was it. That was the last straw. Gabrielle had vowed never for those words to pass her lips, and now they had - and the worst part was, she meant them wholeheartedly. Turning around with far less grace than the blonde man, she flounced straight toward the Floo, heedless of the people whom she rudely pushed aside. Snatching too large a handful of the powder which glinted up at her mockingly, she threw it into the fire, crying out her address.
A slight tug on her robes was the only warning she had that Astoria had tagged along. They both tumbled onto the hearthrug, Astoria's mask being knocked off in the process. Therefore, Gabrielle was treated to a front-row view of caramel eyes becoming clearer, as Astoria's blood-red lips fell open in shock. The anti-inebriation wards which came with the apartment were doing their work.
"Gabi?" Astoria gasped, pulling herself to a seated position by the mantlepiece and offering a hand to the younger woman. "What - I remember dancing with you, I - oh, Merlin, I got drunk, didn't I? I'm such a lightweight," she groaned.
"Yes." Gabrielle snapped, ignoring the hand.
"Sorry..." Astoria trailed off, realizing the venom in the other's voice. "What happened? Did I flirt with some other girl? You know it's only you, Gabrielle."
"Only me?" The French woman's eyebrows neared her hairline. "Only me and your fiancé, you mean?"
Caramel eyes widened is shock and fear.
"Fiancé?" Astoria asked weakly, but they both knew it was a lie.
"Tall good-looking blonde guy, speaks with a British accent. Maybe... Draco Malfoy?" Gabrielle chanced. At Astoria's surprised wince, the smaller woman verbally pounced.
"I was just a fling, was I? A pretty girl to experiment with? I bet you came here with this in mind! Been plotting revenge ever since I broke off our correspondence, have you? Well -"
Astoria tried to speak, but Gabrielle didn't give her a chance, her voice breaking slightly as azure eyes brimmed with bitter tears. "No! No one plays with me! I hate you, too, Greengrass! Get the hell out of my house! Go home to your fiancé, or sleep on the streets, for all I care! Whatever we had, it's OVER!"
Astoria looked broken, but did not argue. Quietly summoning her unopened trunk, she left through the Floo.
The house was silent as a young woman picked up a silky mask and traced her fingers over it. In a fit of anger, she threw it into the flames, watching with vicious satisfaction as it burned sickly. She followed the rose petals to her bedroom, each one combusting as she passed it, leaving little scorch marks on her hardwood floors. As she passed the ajar door to the room Astoria had slept in for the past months, it slammed, as she did not wish to see the closet filled with robes she had sewn for her erstwhile girlfriend.
Entering her bedroom, Gabrielle's icy calm shattered, vanishing the pale satin she had conjured so few hours earlier. Vanished like the love she thought she held, vanished like her dearest friend. Gone.
The blonde threw herself on her mattress and sobbed, ignoring the icy winds which blew threw the open casements as the sun bowed its head in commiseration. From dusk until the next dawn, she tossed and turned, seeing only one face starkly tattooed against the insides of her eyelids. But as the sun rose, elusive sleep was merciful, and tucked the distraught and exhausted quarter-veela into its bosom, granting sweet oblivion.