EXTRA! EXTRA!
CHAPTER 5!
She could hear the noise of the rain beating against the living room window from the kitchen. Fleur felt it was a waste that her day off was unfolding like this. She went through one of the cabinets until she found a package of cat food, poured it into a saucer in the corner of the kitchen, and looked around. Her pet was strangely quiet today, so she started looking for her. She wasn't in her bedroom, she wasn't in the bathroom, she didn't come across her in the hallways... Where was she?
"Ange?" She called, even though she knew it was useless to do so.
Sometimes her cat was a real problem. Despite being white in color, it hid well in dark corners. And despite being deaf, it was pretty quiet.
She searched more: under the bed, in the little corner between her wardrobe and the wall, where Ange tended to look for her rays of sun in the evenings, under the armchair and also on the seats at the dining room table. Out of habit, she also looked out the window, to the balcony where her cat used to go out to bite the leaves of the plants, but of course she would not be there with such a downpour falling. She returned to the kitchen, and to her surprise, Ange was there, eating from her plate.
"Sometimes I wonder why I care about you," she said, walking to the kitchen counter to make herself a cup of coffee. She reached for her wand, tucked in her pants pocket, to levitate a bag of coffee grounds that was on the opposite side of the kitchen, while with her free hand she filled a mug with water. "I could have done this with you. No?" She joked, laughing as she imagined the poor cat flying all over her house.
As she heated the water with a quick spell, she remembered the small radio in the window frame of her kitchen. Better a song than the annoying noise of the rain, she thought, turning on the device. She tuned in to a French radio channel. She was always grateful that she could hear it even so many miles away from home; even with magic, there were limits to what was possible to do, but luckily England and France weren't that far apart. Most of the songs that were played on this radio channel she did not like, but she never looked for another channel, since it was the one her grandmother chose every time she turned on the radio while they had breakfast as a family. It still even had the same announcer, after so long. She could hear the trace of old age in her voice. Fleur never knew her age, but she was betting she was in her sixties, probably older.
Fleur promised herself to send a letter to her grandmother soon, and with a filtering charm, she separated the hot water and coffee grounds to finish making the drink. She moved into the living room and sat on the couch. She looked at a copy of The Prophet on the table in front of her. Just because she hated reading the tabloid news didn't mean she didn't appreciate some sections it had, like the weather report:
FORECAST.
Thursday, January 19, 2012
THE PROPHET
Despite the low temperatures, it is not enough for it to snow today, so there will only be heavy rains throughout the day. Friday an equally stormy weekend awaits us, with a greater probability of snowfall for Saturday. So it is a good idea that, if you have something to do, do it today when it rains, and not on Saturday under the snow.
She closed The Prophet to use as a coaster. She had no idea what song was playing now, but it was one with English lyrics. She felt Ange walk between her feet and she guessed she was hiding under the couch. She put the mug on the table for a moment, knowing what her cat had in mind, and lowered her hand far enough so that she could play with her fingers. She allowed her to do that from time to time, since she never bit her hard, and it was fun to watch her attack her with the concentration of a lethal hunter, hiding under the couch to jump up and attack her. When she was in the middle of her drink, now just letting Ange play with her shoelaces, a new song started. This was one she did know.
Mon enfant, nue sur les galets, (My child, naked on the pebbles),
Le vent dans tes cheveux defaits, (The wind in your ruffled hair),
Comme un printemps sur mon trajet, (Like a springtime in my journey),
Un diamant tombe d'un coffret. (A diamond fallen from a box).
She shifted her gaze to the window, the rain had already stopped. She should also turn off the music. She got up from the chair. Ange must have sensed the vibration as she meowed. Fleur put the almost empty cup on the counter, but when she approached the radio, her finger just stroked the button, without turning it off.
Seule la lumiere pourrait (Only the light could)
Defaire us reperes secrets (Reveal our secret spots)
Ou mes doigts pris sur tes poignets, (Where my fingers were on your wrist),
Je t'aimais, je t'aime et je t 'aimerai... (I loved you, I love you and I will love you...)
Je T'aimais, Je T'aime, Je T'aimerai by Francis Cabrel. Fleur had listened to it many times during her teens, in 1994, the year it came out. It was one of the songs her younger sister hated the most.
. . .
"Oh, non, non, non!" Gabrielle complained, burying her head under the pillow.
Fleur snorted, ignoring her dramatics, as she read at a small desk in front of the window. It was a beautiful, sunny day, perfect for relaxing and fooling around... but she had to study for the third test of the Triwizard Tournament. She turned up the volume of the music, she had to enjoy her afternoon somehow.
Quoi que tu fasses, (Whatever you do),
l'amour est partout ou tu regades (Love is everywhere you look)
"Non, non, écoute-moi, tire-le!" Gabrielle yelled.
"If you don't like it, get out of my room," she replied, avoiding speaking in French.
"C'est aussi ma chambre!"
"Gabrielle, stop guitag, I'm studying."
"C'est aussi ma chambre!" She insisted.
"Ugh! I know! It's your room too, I know." She stopped her, exasperated. Fleur really hated having to share a room with her little sister, but the Beauxbaton headmistress wasn't going to give each of them a room. The carriage was large, but it couldn't be abused either. If she wanted to have her sister in England with her, she had to deal with this...headache.
"I hate this song!" Gabrielle said also in English. Sometimes, as Fleur spoke to her only in English since they arrived in England, she would change the language. Very seldom, anyway, since she didn't handle it that well, she was only seven, after all. "It is very cornish."
'Corny?' she thought, laughing, as she thought of a thousand songs cheesier than this one. Fleur rolled her eyes when she saw Gabrielle fake a gag.
"Get out," she insisted, writing a useful spell in her notebook. "Go and... chasing butterfleas, walk across the lake... anyting as long as you're not bothering me."
"Quoi? Chasing...butterfl... butter... Ugh. Your English sucks."
"Ugh! Go away!" She exclaimed.
"I hate you!" She yelled even louder, after a few seconds of silence. She jumped out of bed, making a thunderous noise as she landed on the hardwood floor. "You never listen to me. You're just telling me to go somewhere else! Je te déteste!"
Fleur shook her head, her sister was dramatic as well as unbearable. When she heard the door slam, leaving her alone in the room, she relaxed and craned her head to both sides, stretching her neck. She looked out the window, disheartened at the prospect of her afternoon, but knew she wouldn't focus if she went outside to study. Sure the music wouldn't help her concentrate either, but it was beautiful, especially to accompany the warm, sunny weather, the blue sky...
Le monde a tellement de regrets (The world has so many regrets)
Tellement de choses qu'on promet . (So many things that we promise).
Une seule pour laquelle je suis fait - (Only one for which I have been made)
Je t'aimais, je t'aime et je t'aimerai... (I loved you, I love you and I will love you...)
It made her wonder if she would find a person in this country that you might think about while listening to it. Some beautiful, sensitive, chivalrous boy... English boys were said to be very polite. Her date at the Christmas ball was fine, but she would have expected more. Like a spark running through her body, and euphoria consuming her, because she was in another country, in a unique situation... she couldn't hope for less than a love that was just as particular and special. She would win the tournament. She would find the love of her life. She was completely sure of that. Or well, that feeling evoked in the song. Wouldn't it be nice too, to be able to meet someone to dedicate songs like this to?
"Fleur!" Gabrielle had returned, making a scandalous entrance as the door slammed against the wall.
Fleur winced, losing track of her fantasies and nearly knocking the pen off her desk.
"I told you I'm studying," she complained, but when she turned and saw her sister with muddy hands, she froze. She was holding a frog. A very ugly one.
Je m'en poser irai tes portraits (I will hang your portraits)
A tous les plafonds de tous les palais (On all the ceilings of all the palaces)
"Seen what I have, it suites you" said Gabrielle with a mischievous smile.
Sur tous les murs que je trouverai (On all the walls that I find)
Et juste en-dessous j'ecrirai (And right below, I'll write)
"Ha ha" Fleur mocked.
Que seule la lumiere pourrait... (That only the light could reveal our secret spots)
Et mes doigts pris sur tes poignets, (And where my fingers were on your wrist),
'Since you are so cornish, you should kissing. It may be the prince you are looking for so much!" She mocked.
"Oh my God! Get that thing out of here!" Fleur screeched, ignoring her younger sister's raucous laughter.
. . .
From the small kitchen window she could see the cloudy sky. It was cold so the glass was foggy.
Je t'aimais, je t'aime et je t'aimerai ... (I loved you, I love you and I will love you...)
When the song ended, she rubbed her eyes and part of her face with her palm. "Love of my life?" she thought in frustration. Love was the worst thing that could happen to a person. Sometimes, she wished she had never known that feeling, but guilt turned her stomach right away. How could she ever think something as horrible as that? How could she wish to forget about...? No. "No, no, no," she repeated to herself vehemently. She turned off the radio and left the kitchen, ignoring Ange who was watching her very attentively, to look for a coat in her room. She had to get out, forget the nonsense that seeped into her head. Forget.
The Ministry was rarely not busy. Employees coming and going, the flying messages always hovering over everyone's heads. Fleur hated the uproar she encountered here, so she didn't visit often, unless an overwhelming force compelled her. Or tempt, as was the case today. She walked into the Department of Magical Games and Sports, ignoring the lustful glances that some employees gave her and surveyed the scene, wanting to find Pansy. Only she would be perfect right now.
She walked around the department trying to pay attention to faces until she heard her. It was very dim, but she recognized it.
"Here. Give this to MacFarlan."
A smile spread across Fleur's face. She turned around. On the opposite side of the space was Pansy. Even if there were many overlapping voices, her ear could pick her out clearly. There were times when her hearing sharpened, it was when Fleur was most connected with the creature in her blood. Her Veela was as convinced as she was that Pansy was what they needed right now.
She crossed the room with great speed when she saw that Pansy was walking in a hurry and was about to go into an office. To the attentive, it would have been inhuman how fast Fleur crossed the space, but as always, few could think clearly when her Veela charm was so heavy. She was not calm, Fleur could tell that. She was being irrational by leaving her house to look for Pansy at work. Besides, Pansy was nothing more than a stranger to her. One not stunned by her charm, but a stranger nonetheless. Fleur was being instinctive. A soft growl rumbled in her chest and urged her to be like that. She wanted attention, wanted to be adored, wanted, wanted... something, whatever.
When she was close enough to Pansy she grabbed her arm, causing the other to jump a little in fright. Fleur loosened her grip right away; she had accidentally made it too tight. Seeing Pansy's shocked face squarely, she donned a smile.
"Are you busy?" She asked, trying to be as charming as possible. "You were walking quite fast."
"No, no," Pansy said, taking a step back.
"Magnifique" She was glad. "In that case, join me for lunch."
Fleur didn't wait for Pansy to say anything, just lowered her grip, from her arm to her wrist, and pulled her forward.
"I should…inform," Pansy recalled after a few seconds. "Fleur. Fleur, give me a moment."
She forced herself to obey, releasing her. Pansy seemed to hesitate at her strange silence, but walked away, entering an office. Fleur closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She was getting carried away by her emotions. If her grandmother saw her, she would say that she was still as silly at times as when she was a teenager. But Fleur never gave much importance to her words, because she was not so bad, her mother was a thousand times worse. Although it was also true that her mother was half Veela, not a quarter, so it must have been more difficult for her to deal with everything.
"You are well?" Asked Pansy.
Fleur widened her eyes, stunned, but recovered quickly. She let a bright smile seep across her face and after looking appreciatively at her face, she said, "Now I am." She giggled at Pansy's embarrassment and added, "You have nothing to do now? Let's go. I want to take advantage before it rains again."
Fleur led the way, being keenly aware of Pansy's every move. If she concentrated, she could feel her heartbeat. Pansy was restless, her physical reaction making it too obvious. Probably the reason why her Veela side was so delighted with Pansy was her instinct. She felt her piercing her back with her eyes, analyzing her. Even with human senses, Pansy was very aware of everything. A good instinct was a worthy quality, a gaze that noted the details. They were very rare things to see in humans, so used to seeing life with logic and doing everything mechanically, as is expected in a civilized society.
The wizards had a lot of misinformation about the Veela, like that they were related to the Harpies, which was totally wrong. Veelas weren't silly little birds, they didn't transform into anything similar to themselves. They weren't crazy women throwing fire with their hands either, as they used to claim, although Fleur would love to be able to throw fire. Her grandmother was surprised when she verbalized her discontent at not having that power, but... was it really that strange? Who wouldn't want to be able to set fire to idiots who pissed them off?
But the Veela were nothing of the kind. They had no destructive force, but were more like mermaids, confusing men by singing a song until they fell with no help other than their own treacherous legs to the bottom of the ocean; or in the case of the Veela, lure them into forests at night. Or the fairies, the Veelas also shared things with them: delicate and social, avoiding any conflict unless they got into their territory. Although the fairies differed in the fact that they loved to give gifts to men and sometimes even offer them eternal loyalty. Very similar to that muggle tale, Peter Pan.
Thoroughbred Veelas were a mix of fairies and mermaids. According to her grandmother, they are an exiled species. Daughters of fairies without wings, and of mermaids without tails. Unable to fly, and not able to swim. Being in the middle, between the sea and the valleys, hidden in the forest. With their silvery glow, because they lost their quality of golden fairies, and howling at the sky, because deep in the ocean, under the earth, they had nothing left to sing about. The oldest Veelas told the younger ones that they are a creature that was born out of punishment, for being very frivolous and selfish, and that is why they warned that the more they clung to that horrible side of them, the more they would suffer.
Fleur knew that, like all fables, this whole story was about teaching. That supposed punishment was only a piece of advice from the elderly, a story passed down for generations so that they would not trust their beauty and Veela charm, so that they could appreciate the things they achieved, and doing it without taking advantage of humans.
People used to say that Fleur was frivolous. And sometimes, she doubted the stories. Was it just a coincidence, or was she really suffering that supposed punishment?
Pansy's insistent gaze on her was making her desperate. If the brain made any noise, Fleur was sure she would be listening to Pansy's working at full blast, trying to figure out what she was thinking, what was wrong with Fleur. How long ago had she been in the habit of treading so carefully? It reminded her a bit of Harry.
They used the Flu Network to get out of the Ministry and went to a bar that Fleur liked. She knew almost every corner of London, as she liked to walk around and try different places, be it clothing stores, bookstores or even a strange gadget store. This was one of her favorite places to eat, as she liked the warm, relaxed atmosphere of its few customers. Being a bar they had more movement at night, when they sold drinks, during the day very few went to just eat something. Fleur appreciated places where she could be just one more person, without ending up surrounded by a crowd, so she often found herself doing the unexpected: going to bars in the day and coffee shops at night.
"Do you think it's OK? We can go elsewhere if you prefer," Fleur said, removing her coat.
Pansy ran her wary gaze around the room and then nodded. Fleur found a seat near a window, since she liked being able to see the street while she ate.
"I didn't expect you to show up today," Pansy said, settling in front of her.
"Is it a problem?"
"No, no," she denied.
Fleur still heard her anxious heart pounding and her arrhythmic breathing, contradicting her words, and she knew this was her fault. Now, having Pansy look at her like she was going to bite her jugular at any moment, she felt guilty. Fleur was more than her creature, more than her emotions. She forced herself to remember it, flipping through the menu.
"Do you know what you want?"
"Uh ..." Pansy hesitated, looking down at the menu as well. "I think a coffee will be fine."
"Is that your idea of a lunch?"
"I had a heavy breakfast," she said. Fleur was still listening to her restless heart, and was beginning to suspect that perhaps Pansy was anxious herself, whether or not she was in front of her, because now her analytical gaze had strayed to the other tables.
"So much that you don't want anything at noon?" Fleur insisted, with an arched brow.
"Millicent, a friend, asked for a lot. When I finished my food I helped her with her own, so as not to waste it."
Fleur shrugged, accepting her explanation. She raised her hand, calling for one of the waiters. But she looked back at Pansy, wanting to make sure:
"Not even something small?" A cookie? Something?"
"I'm fine, really."
Fleur's food, and Pansy's drink, arrived soon. The waiter took the opportunity to tell Fleur some gossip about one of the owners of the place while he arranged the dishes on the table.
"Do you always chat with strangers?" Asked Pansy.
"I like meeting new people," she said, and as Pansy took a tentative sip of her drink to check the taste, she reminded her, "You're a stranger too."
That seemed to amuse Pansy, as she hid a smile behind her cup.
"What?" Fleur asked curiously, reaching for the silverware.
"Nothing."
"Really? Our conversation will be very boring like this."
"You really don't know me?"
"Is that a leading question?" She returned, eating a piece of tomato from his salad.
"Not one time? In The Prophet?"
"I don't read the news."
"No? Why?"
"It's morbid."
Pansy gasped, about to say something, but holding herself back.
"I guess ... I can't disagree with that," she admitted, sipping his coffee. "The news I'm talking about is undoubtedly morbid."
"You're not an ex-con from Azkaban, are you?" Fleur teased.
"Not exactly," she denied with a nervous laugh.
"Why are you bringing up an issue that bothers you?"
"Because it bothers me more that you don't know," she murmured. "People tend to avoid me, not looking for me to have lunch."
"Don't tell me you're really an ex-con…"
"What? No!" She stopped her, before adding more uncertainly: "Not me, at least. My parents, yes, they are convicts."
Fleur poked a couple more vegetables before asking, genuinely confused,
"And should I care? Why are you telling me that on a first date? It's not very smart of you, you won't get a second…"
"They're in Azkaban for being Death Eaters."
"Oh," she breathed, feeling her body lose heat. She looked at her food, processing the information, after all, she had fought a war against the Death Eaters. She was blank, not knowing what to say.
"People don't take that well. I...wanted you to know. I understand if you want to go. Or that I go away. Actually, that's why I was surprised to see you again. People often find out who I am. It's... pretty awkward. But I would like you to give me a chance to show you that I am not that. Despite what everyone says, I'm a good person," she rambled.
"What do you think?" She asked, looking into her eyes. Her appetite had been ruined.
Pansy raised both eyebrows, before saying stupidly:
"Me? About what?"
"You said your parents are Death Eaters. What about you?" She snapped more sharply than she would have liked.
Fleur wasn't going to lie and say her perspective on Pansy hadn't changed, but she couldn't just assume the worst. People used to assume so much of her, of her blood...
"I'm not a Death Eater."
"I could guess, since you're here. And even in the Ministry." Fleur frowned. "Why are you in the Ministry?"
"I suppose saying to work on the Olympics would be a silly joke?" She said, stroking the sides of her mug with her fingers. "I'm not a Death Eater. I certainly don't want all of that to happen again."
"Is that why you get on badly with Hermione?"
Pansy looked down. Fleur could hear her pounding heartbeat, betraying her guilt.
"I don't understand why it matters what Granger thinks of me..."
"She fought more than anyone in that war," she growled, but quickly corrected herself, "almost anyone. "Harry Potter is my friend. He hates you? And her? What do they think of you?"
"I don't know," she murmured. "You should ask them, you know them better."
"Why else would people hate you? If they talk about you in the Prophet..."
"Daily. I was in those circles. Okay? Friends, family..." she said, her voice trembling a little. Fleur was confused by this contradiction, not knowing what to focus on, her helpless attitude, or this new information... Even a friend of Death Eaters? Blood was not chosen, but company?
"Friends," he repeated angrily.
She made a move to get up, but Pansy was quick to grab her hand.
"Sorry. Don't go. You have to understand... if I didn't tell you this, you'd be mad at me later for not doing it. But also when I say it they get angry. Please don't go like this."
"Why? You do know who I am. No? I am not just anyone. What did you expect from this, honestly?" Fleur snorted, shaking her head. "What should I say to you 'oh, don't worry, I'm sure you're a nice Death Eater'?"
"I'm not a Death Eater," she muttered with her head down. "I'm not."
"What do you want from me, Pansy?" She asked, still very irritated.
"You liked me, you really did. Right? For me, this was like starting from scratch. Like going to another country. I was excited to like you, no gossip or anything. I really hope we can continue like this, now that you know the truth."
"Why don't you get out of here?" She snapped. Her Veela side was getting more and more restless.
"What?" She was surprised, but even so she answered: "I can't, people like me are kept under surveillance. Just going on vacation or a trip is a big hassle already. Another citizenship? It's not even possible."
"I meant get out of this bar," she said, letting out a sigh. She leaned against the backrest as she crossed her arms, watching Pansy carefully.
"Oh, I thought…
"I know what you thought," she stopped her. "You don't want me to go? Well, I'll give you the opportunity, tell me, try to convince me: What do you think? Why should I want to be with someone who hangs out with Death Eaters?"
"You have to understand me, your family is also a millionaire. Blood supremacy was always common among families with high purchasing power, they cared a lot about maintaining prestige, honor…"
"Not my family," she interrupted her. "My family never supported such bullshit. People with good judgment don't."
"Well, you have Veela blood, it is normal that you differ in opinions with totally pure families...but you are still rich, surely you understand how ingrained the custom of purism is."
"Am I not pure enough now?"
"No! I mean, yes. Yes you are... agh. I'm just trying to say that purebloods tend to reject mixed races. I'm not saying it's okay."
"Now," she remarked. "You don't say it now."
"Right. I did think that, that the blood of creatures and humans should not come together, that it was something depraved, just as all pureblood families always thought."
"Magnifique" she said scathingly. "Why do I keep listening to you?"
"Because I changed," she despaired. "I grew up with these customs, for me they were fine. My parents taught me that that was okay. My friends' parents taught that to them too. In my life that was normal, which was good…"
"When I took the reintegration course, I understood that what I did was horrible and I regretted my actions a lot. But... no matter how much I regret it, it's done. I can't change the stupid things I did when I was a teenager, just do things right now. And I'm doing it! So... I think I deserve to be able to meet and talk to people like any normal person. And I insist, you liked me. So why can't I enjoy something like this without feeling guilty or selfish? I was wrong, but I was never a Death Eater."
Fleur didn't answer anything, making Pansy squirm uncomfortably.
"By Merlin. Why is it always when I try something like this...?" She lamented. She raised her hand, indicating the space between them. "...something goes wrong?"
The silence spread again. Fleur was still tense, not understanding how the day had gone like this. How could she possibly just come across someone like Pansy? Anyone else would have seen it coming, because everyone seemed to know who the Parkinsons were, but Fleur didn't. She knew that Death Eaters were purists, yet she was never interested in knowing their names. Beyond the most important ones like the Malfoys or the Blacks... she had no idea, they were too many to count, a whole army, and this was not her own country to know so much. She fought for who her husband, Bill, was and her future with him, for his family, for their mutual friends and even for her own morality, to defend the rights of Muggle-borns, for magical creatures and the memory of Cedric Diggory, not for England and its policies. If she had known, if Hermione had warned her she would have ignored Pansy for sure, focusing only on work, but now she was sitting at a table with her at an informal meeting, had been flirting with her...
'I can't be a stranger to anyone. I can't just meet anyone and talk to them like a normal person," Pansy said under her breath.
"What?"
"What you were saying before," she explained. "I can't enjoy a nice chat with a waiter or... meeting someone at work."
"If you want me to pity you..." she warned.
"Do you think being pitied is something I want?" She asked with a smile that contradicted her serious tone. "I just want them to leave me alone, to recognize that I am more than my parents. I don't deserve things like Azkaban, nor do I deserve to be judged without knowing me.
I swear, I did the social reintegration course and I passed it. Yes, I went there because they forced me, but... I did not leave there indifferent. I know that I did a lot of stupid things in my adolescence and childhood, that I was cruel to many people, but... do I have to live with guilt forever? It was bad, very bad, but you can't compare that to being a Death Eater and looking at me like I was one."
"There are people who will have to live their whole lives with the things you said, with all the harm you did to them, even if you are not a murderer," Fleur accused her.
She really wanted to ask a question, but knew she wouldn't like the answer. Even if Pansy didn't say it openly, now she could imagine who she was at Hogwarts. Although many years had passed, she remembered that there were groups of children in that school who were very cruel. People making fun of Harry, wearing horrible badges to outwit him, or teasing other students in the hallways. Fleur could even assume that if someone called Hermione "Mudblood", Pansy would be one of those people. And that annoyed her a lot, because she knew how that word was etched on Hermione's skin. She had seen that wound herself at Shell Cottage.
"I know," she murmured, "but I can't change that, no matter how much I regret it."
"So?"
"I don't know, I just…" Pansy blew out her breath, defeated. "I wanted you to know who I am, it was only fair, not to hide this until it exploded in my face, as I knew it would. I like you and I swear I'm a good person. If you could give me a chance, now with no false gossip about me... Maybe we could go out for the weekend? Know each other? Do you have Saturday free?"
Fleur looked at her half-eaten salad, the cold coffee on the table, and lastly at Pansy, who looked pleading and unsure. She turned, to find her wallet in her coat, which was hanging on her chair. She pulled out enough money to pay for the things she and Pansy both ordered and put it on the table.
"Excuse me. I'm not going to accuse you of being a purist, but like I told you, I'm not just anyone, I was in the middle of that horrible war."
Before Pansy could say anything she got up from the seat, grabbing her things. She looked once more at Pansy, and asked what she was so suspicious of:
"Did you call Hermione that?"
"Sorry?"
"You harassed Hermione, right? That's why she doesn't like you. And Harry? Am I wrong to suspect that you were having fun bothering him? Those were your friends, right? Those Slytherins who were looking for trouble with someone at Hogwarts every day. That blonde, with his two mastodons. They liked trying to mess with Gabrielle."
"With who?"
"My younger sister."
Pansy gulped, staring at her mug. "How do you dare?" Fleur raged, her jaw clenched. A soft growl escaped her throat. Alarmed by the sound, Pansy looked up and gulped as Fleur's canines loomed out threateningly.
"So... complaining about how everyone hates you is your solution." Fleur exhaled as he shook his head. "Oh, poor me, I'm so lonely, you don't understand me," she said sarcastically.
"But ..." she tried, flustered.
"Do I have any advice?" I'm telling you out of pity: don't just expect forgiveness, earn it, stupide."
She turned on her heel and headed for the door, not wanting to hear more. Upon leaving the bar, the rain had returned. She reached for her wand to perform an incantation to serve as an umbrella. Maybe she could walk a while, until she got hungry again. There were many other places that she liked in the vicinity. She could also go to a club later, meet someone else.
Still, she couldn't help but feel frustrated, and the rumbling in her chest returned, albeit much muffled. She felt threatened, offended. Things weren't supposed to get messy like this. In her mind, everything had been very different: she should have enjoyed a fun lunch with Pansy, wooed her... and then convinced her to come to her apartment instead of going to work again.
Still, she felt some empathy thrust into her chest as well. She understood that feeling, the desperation to fill the loneliness. Pansy today was supposed to have fixed that. But no, even the rain had returned. This was not her day. From outside, through the window, she could see Pansy, still sitting, staring at her coffee mug.
Not wanting love and suffering loneliness sometimes felt like punishment for Fleur. But what would it be like to be denied it when you wanted it? Who would be suffering a worse sentence, Pansy or her?