"A VEELA!" Screamed my mind, for what felt like a billionth time in the last few hours. The internal screaming, coupled with keeping my head bowed over my register for at least four hours straight now, has started making my head swim and my temples throb. But the alternative was to raise my head and look at the beautiful French Belle sitting across the chamber on the ugly brown marble counter, and lose my mind completely. Not much of a choice to make here; headache it is.
But even with my head bowed over my register, I couldn't get the image of her out of my head. A long sheet of silvery-blonde hair falling to her slim waist somehow emphasized her tall willowy figure. Her breathtaking pale face seemed to radiate faint silver glow setting off her large, deep blue eyes. Something about those eyes rang a bell of recognition in the back of my head. But even as I try to grasp it, the logical part of my brain snapped that "of course you haven't seen her before! Can anyone forget her after setting eyes on her even once?" I scowl as this thought crossed my mind, remembering all too well of how I had almost frozen on the spot after catching the very first sight of her.
I barely managed to come back to my senses before making a complete, gaping fool of myself. I had done everything I could to make sure that I don't have to see her straight in the face by, first; averting my eyes, and then practically shoving a pile of parchments in front of her face. Having been a curse breaker of a few years now, I should have been able to recognize the spell she had woven on and around me after catching the first sight of her, but still, it wasn't until she had turned and had almost glided across the room towards her desk, that realization had hit me with the force of a bludger, that she was a veela. Or atleast a part veela, judging by the fact that I was able to get out of that foggy trance in mere minutes.
But even after searching in my brain the hardest for the last four hours, I still couldn't fathom the reason behind her being appointed here at Gringotts. Working with the goblins had taught me that they never did something out of charity or sympathy. They did not even consider talent and competence as a contributing factor to appoint a wizard at Gringotts as long as they don't see some benefit for themselves in it. I was too appointed because they couldn't find a willing goblin - or any other creature, for that matter - to explore the graves and pyramid, curses placed on ancient treasures by the old Egyptian wizards, and counter curses being one if my strong suits I was a useful candidate in their eyes. But even as I was appointed, that nasty goblin who had appointed me had commented that goblins believed that "witches and wizards with even average looks do not have the brains to match it." Then how did Ms. French veela get appointed here in Gringotts - Britain, when she isn't even from Britain? Even I, who was a born and brought up British, had a tough time convincing higher authorities of Gringotts to transfer me to London from Egypt. Of course, that could also be blamed on the current atmosphere of Britain.
About two months ago, it was said that the darkest wizard of this century has returned from his so-called death again, by the same boy who has destroyed him 14 years ago. Of course, Dumbledore had believed Harry, and had taken it upon himself to do whatever he could to stop Voldemort from becoming as powerful as he was before his downfall 14 years ago. For me and my family, all except Percy of course, Dumbledore and Harry's word was as good as witnessing the dark lord in flesh ourselves, but it obviously wasn't just as good for the ministry. Instead of trying to stop the Dark Lord, they were busy in devising plans to discourage Dumbledore and discrediting him and Harry.
Seeing as the only way to stop Voldemort from becoming indestructibly powerful again was to take matters in our own hands, Dumbledore had re-awakened the Order of the Phoenix while recruiting as many allies as possible to fight the Dark forces. In the last Order meeting a few days ago, the members were given information by Severus Snape's inside reports that the Dark lord was secretly on the move, collecting as many allies and followers as he can to strengthen his army, and was planning to take goblins over to his side. They had asked me to keep an eye on anybody who might be a negotiator from the dark side, but so far I have had nothing interesting to report. Well, nothing interesting for Order that is, I think, as I eye the beauty sitting in the other side of room, noting down the details from a particularly worn piece of a parchment roll. As I continue to eye her from behind the large pile of books at my desk, a horrible thought crosses my mind, even as a little enchanted fog starts to block my thoughts. What if... What if the Dark Lord has finally sent his negotiator? What if the young veela girl sharing the work chamber with me right this minute is sent here solely to draw more forces for the evil, while passing by undetected behind her enchanting beauty? Her appointment here was suspiciously indicating that she had been recommended here by someone so influential that even goblins couldn't find a reason to deny giving her this job. And I was well aware that goblins were not easy to sway. Was it possible that the she was a pawn sent by the dark lord to include goblins in his forces?
As I sit there, contemplating this theory over and over in my head, she suddenly turned her head and the deep blue eyes collided with mine. The contact lasted only for a split second before she turned back to her parchment, but in that split second I felt a sharp prick of guilt that had nothing to do with secretly staring at her. For some reason, doubting her motives made me feel like a git. For the first time in last four hours, I noticed that she had thrown a bright yellow scarf around her shoulders over her powder blue dress robes and was clutching it, as if to ward off the cold. Somehow that small action of clutching her scarf made her look vulnerable, and made me open my mouth and talk to her for the first time since her sitting in her desk. In what I hoped to be a casual tone, I asked the first thing that came to my mind. ..
"So," I start, ignoring a light mist - like smoke starting to cloud my mind as she looked up at me fully. I continue, "did you apparate straight to Diagon Alley or did you take muggle transport all the way from France to Gringotts?" She seemed startled by my query but answered in a normal, if a little puzzled tone, "Non, je - I mean, No I deed not apparate at Diagon alleey. I apparate at muggle station named Keengs cross and zen came to Diagon alley through zat pub called leeky cauldron. My papà and maman thought eet weel be much safer to use zat way. Zat ees why I waz so late zis morning" Her answer indicated she had some idea about the disappearances happening in Britain even though the ministry and Daily prophet were doing all they can to hide it. Trying to hide my internal musing I ask her another question almost as soon as she finished her talking. "Have you had lunch yet?" It seemed like that was a wrong thing to ask somehow, because her pretty eyes turned a little hard with anger and, what looked like hurt. In a surprisingly hard voice, for such a delicate looking creature, she replied, "ou- yez I 'ad my lunch about deux- I mean two 'ours ago. Per'aps you would 'ave noticed eef you 'ad looked up from zat intéressant- zat ees, interesting register of yours". And with that flippant answer, she returned back to her register, leaving me staring at her with confusion clouding my mind this time, instead of enticing fog.
An hour later, Ms. Delacour sat up, completing her work for the day, looking a little stiff in demeanor. I tried not to be obvious in my staring as she crossed the room towards me while holding her register in her hands. She placed the register on my desk and said, "eet ees done Mr. Weeslee. And as I am working 'ere part time, eet ees time for me to leeve but as I waz tard, um, late eef you want I can rester, er - stay some more tem - time to cover up." Looking up at her, and noting the stiffness in her voice as well as body, I know that she is still hurt about my query for lunch. But for the life of me I cannot understand why. So I ask, purposely keeping my voice hesitant, "Ms. Delacour, excuse me, but what exactly did I say that has offended you so much?" She stared at me for a few second, clearly surprised at my question, then drawing herself up replied, "Mr. Weeslee, 'ave you ever been ignored by someone so much zat zey did not notice you gone for ze whole 'alf and 'our? And zat too wheen you 'ave not done anytheeng to mériter, er... Deserve eet? I know I waz late diz matin, I meen morning and ze other peeple 'ere - ze goblins are not friendly by zer nature but what 'ave I done to earn your désapprobation, I meen - er, non approval?" All through her speech, I noticed that her accent got thicker by each word, making it very difficult to understand what she was trying to say. But her point got through as I felt another wave of guilt run through my chest at the hurt in her eyes which she was trying to cover with anger. Slowly I sat up in my chair, having being slumped in straight backed wooden seat unconsciously and replied in soft voice, "I am sorry Ms. Delacour. I didn't mean - ". But before I can complete, a knock sounded on the door and a goblin named razak walked in without waiting for the permission to do so.
The goblins walked the place as if they owned it and does not require any permission to enter the chamber. The only reason they even bothered with knocking was out of ingrained courtesy to do so, as the manners dictated them to atleast knock before entering the room. Razak walked up to my desk standing beside Fleur and held his hand out, asking for the registers that fleur and I spent all afternoon filling, while placing another register on my desk, to be filled by me till the end of my shift at 6 pm. Without another word, I placed the register in razak's hand and he walked out, leaving me alone with fleur again. But before I could pick up on where I had left off my apology, she briskly asked me, "ees zer anytheeng you need me for, or I am free to leeve, Mr. Weeslee?"
"No, I don't think there will be - " but before I had gotten the whole sentence out of my mouth, she had turned away from me with a jerky nod, headed back to her desk, collected her bag which she had brought with her this morning and left the room before I had managed to drawn another breath. I blinked.
Well, I thought, tomorrow is another day. And maybe we will be able to get on cordial terms once I started tutoring her on her English. But first I had another Order meeting and a family dinner to survive, with my mom nagging me to get myself a haircut again and Fred and George trying to trick me into eating one of their new inventions, or worse trying to find out the source of my preoccupation. Because God knows, I have never been this distracted all my life and especially because of a certain blue eyed, silver glowing and hurt - feelings part veela. Heaving a big sigh, I open the register that razak had just left for me, all the while thinking of a long evening ahead of me
It is almost midnight as I trudge up the stairs of my third floor rented apartment in the building above a small cauldron store called Benign's world of leak proof cauldrons. As sad as the store name sounded, the apartments were a lot better in comparison. Of course I could have just stayed at the Burrow, but there was something very unsettling about living with your parents once you have lived alone and away from them. Besides, my tolerance was just enough to spend family holidays with Fred and George, enduring their endless ribbing and pranks. They were, admittedly, the best set of brothers and funniest people in the world, until their jokes turned on you. Besides, Gringotts was just around the corner from this apartment, so that was an added advantage. Initially, Mum was a little hurt with my decision to rent an apartment here instead of living with them and had demanded that I dissuade the thought at once, but dad had somehow managed to convince her otherwise. Mum was further placated by the thought that I only came here to sleep and dress, as most days, I went to the Grimmauld place, the official head quarters of the Order, for meetings, and returned with my head and stomach full to the hilt with the bleak situation surrounding ministry and the dark lord and, my mum's food.
Today was no different than most days, with my ex - professor Snape presenting reports on the activities of the Death Eaters, Mad Eye Moody's instructions for constant vigilance and Dumbledore's protection details for Harry's security at Surrey and security duty of the door, outside the departments of mysteries. This week, I had to stand guard for Harry's security on Wednesday and at ministry, under cloak of invisibility, on Saturday. Dumbledore liked to keep rotating the guard duties with changing companions for extra safety, and since last week I had already stood guard two nights ago and had to invest extra hours at the bank because of my recent transfer, I was practically dead on my feet. The only variation tonight had been that Fred and George had - unsurprisingly - managed to get the reason for my distraction out of me by mixing a little, or a lot, of tongue loosening powder - still a work in progress, they had said - in my tea after dinner as I had sat in the living room. I scowled as I felt the last of its effect fade, making my tongue get back in control of me. I loved those two gits, but sometimes, they were a real pain in the butt.
As I reach my door and click my magically secured locks open by taping my wand on the door knob, I notice that the only other apartment on this floor whose door is right across from mine is missing its big, sturdy gray lock that had hung from it since I had moved here. Seems like I finally have a neighbour here. Stepping into my apartment and setting my carry bag on the table beside the door and placing my wand in my back pocket, I head straight towards my bedroom to change and call it a night. But it seemed like sleep had decide to ignore me just as I had ignored a certain beautiful girl this morning, for I barely manage to drag my muggle shirt over my head when I hear a scream followed by a delicate whimper from the thin wall of my bedroom. Instinct takes over as I draw my wand from the back pocket of my pants and point it at the wall, as if the stark white wall is about to attack me. Belatedly, I realize that the scream had come from other side of the wall and from my new neighbour. Before I realise what I am doing, I rush back to my living room in long strides and flick my wand, opening my door without pausing. I bang on my neighbour's door, calling out as I do and asking what was wrong. The sane and rational part of my brain said that I might be overreacting to a possibly mundane situation, but with Mad Eye's barks of keeping constant vigilance and Snape's gruesome reports of the activities of the Death Eaters that were covered up by ministry and ignored by Daily Prophet still fresh in my mind, I cannot help my reaction. When I don't get response from the other side of the door, I raise my wand in the air and whisper, "muffliato" to avoid creating a ruksuck in case the situation didn't turn out to be as dire as I thought, and then point my wand at the door and whisper "alohomora!" The door swung open, revealing a living room similar to mine but with definite feminine touches.
As I step through the open door and advance further into the house, I hear faint whimper from open bedroom door which is mirror opposite to mine and I know that I share my bedroom wall with that of my neighbour. As I rush towards and into the bedroom with the sound of whimper growing louder, the first thing I notice is that a tall, slight figure is cowering in the darkness the far corner of the room beside a single bed, with both the figure and the bed having their backs pressed to the thin wall shared by me. But my eyes do not linger on the figure, immediately drawing onto the floor because, there on the floor, lays a still body of a young boy. I freeze, as I take in the sight of the lifeless body of a boy who cannot be more than 17 or 18 years old. He's in Hogwarts school robes, with his eyes staring lifelessly up at the ceiling. As I watch him, I feel a shock of recognition go through me and a split second later, realize that I am staring down at the body of Cedric Diggory in exactly same position as he had been when he had died almost 2 months ago and harry had brought his body back from the maze of their final task of the tri-wizard tournament.
But how was this possible? Cedric had died at Hogwarts and his body was given to his parents. I, myself, had been among the people who had attended his funeral not far from his home. But then how did his body came about to lie here, in this room on the floor? As I continue to stare at the dead body of Cedric Diggory, something very peculiar happens. I hear a faint whisper from the darkened corner across the room that oddly sounded like "Ri-Riddikulus". Immediately, there is a popping sound like a gun shot and Cedric's body turns that of a scarecrow which, with another pop, further turns into a woman's body, with flaming red hair, heart shaped face and plump figure. My mum. For a second, all air leaves me as I stare at my mum's lifeless body; but awareness soon floods me as I realize that lying there, on the floor lifeless, is not my mother but a boggart. Aiming my wand at the body of my mum on the floor I shout, "Riddikulus!" Again with the popping sound, the body turns into ballon and then into the body of a small girl with silver blond hair fanned about her, her body utterly lifeless.
The figure in the corner repeats, her voice stronger than before, "riddikulus!" And on and on it goes on for a few minutes, with the boggart shifting his shape from my dad, to a plump jovial looking man, to Charlie, to a gorgeous middle aged woman in silk robes and silvery blond hair until the figure steps out of the darkness and confuses the boggart to such an extent that it can't take it any longer and explodes into tiny pieces. Breathing a sigh of relief, I look up with a smile towards my companion, only for that smile to freeze on the spot, belatedly realizing that I am standing in another's house - her house - shirtless. Because standing there, wrapped in rose colored night robes, her pale face white as a ghost in the dimly lit bedroom, silvery blonde hairs a complete disarray, was one woman I hadn't been able to get my mind off from all day today. Standing there, in the apartment across from mine and sharing a thin bedroom wall with me was one part veela, Ms. Fleur Delacour, my new assistant at Gringotts and, apparently, my new next door neighbour. God. Sleep really was taking revenge on me by ignoring me, on fleur's behalf.