It was a gloomy Thursday. The sky hung over London, and the clouds seemed
to tickle the top of the buildings and seep into the lives of all of their
inhabitants and linger about in the air.
Meanwhile, everyone working at the Ministry of Magic thought it to be sunny and cloudless. Work had never been so dull for Cerasus Swamp. She was itching for the day to end, and to stop these constant translations from the Welsh district of the Ministry.
She rubbed her eyes and looked up to the clock hanging against the whitewashed walls littered with posters. Nearly three o'clock. Only about two more hours left until she was out of that certain hellhole, and then thrust into a certain Order of the Phoenix obligation at five-thirty.
She seeped back into the document, and dipped her quill into the black ink. She was as horrible as any Hogwart's student, stocking Sugar Quills whenever she could. She read dully: "And then I found a tea kettle that had been hexed to give whoever touched it a nasty case of boils on their hands and legs. I'll be at Mungo's for quite a while because of it. And it also made the tea smell like urine. That could have just been the Muggle's tea brand, though. I couldn't really tell."
"Honestly," Murmured Cerasus, looking down to the letter in extreme disinterest. "What do these people really get by bewitching Muggle artifacts?"
She slumped back in her chair like a fidgeting student awaiting the bell.
"Thank-you for coming; I hope you enjoy your purchase. Come back soon." Came the dull, unenthusiastic male voice as he rung the purchases of a stout woman with a floral dress. Four twenty-five. Nearly five, when he'd be off.
It wasn't very good that on his first day, Remus Lupin was already bored out of his wits at his new occupation—the sales clerk at a department store in Muggle London. He shared his position with a gum-chewing teenager with giant hoop earrings and a horrible weave and a middle-aged woman with crooked teeth and an unmistakable crush on Remus.
He leaned against the counter, his nametag glimmering softly in the horrible fluorescent light and his leather shoes tapping against the linoleum-tiled floor.
Another customer, an older man with bright white hair and thick glasses set a microwave and a bag of white tube socks. He ran them through the scanner and brought up the total.
His eyes lingered to the clock. It was nearly four thirty-five. The minutes seemed to drip off of the clock like drops of water, sluggish and otherwise boring.
A telltale crack shook the objects of the apartment flat belonging to a Miss Swamp. She had one half hour to primp herself for the Order meeting. Her apartment looked like that of any Muggle. It had electricity and household appliances. Being born into Muggle lifestyle, she still hadn't quite adapted to the Wizarding lifestyle.
She flipped on the light switch and avidly stepped into the bathroom, shedding her clothes for a shower. It was a quick, cold shower, and she dressed quickly into a black skirt that flared out at the knee and a forest green sweater. She quickly braided her hair and topped off the outfit with a dark green top hat that fell over her head loosely.
She looked herself over in the mirror before vanishing from her room in an instant.
"Now, Fleur, I want you to memorize this and keep it in your mind no matter what." Bill Weasley said anxiously, holding onto Fleur's delicate pale hand, their fingers interlaced. He reached into the breast pocket of his leather jacket and handing her a small slip of paper.
"Tu'elve—"Bill cut her off by pressing his finger to her lips and taking the paper from her hands.
"You've got that memorized?" He asked softly, brushing some of Fleur's luminescent white hair off of her glowing face. She wore a summer dress, sleeveless and polka dotted in orange and red.
"Yes. Now take me away, Bill." Fleur said as they approached the humble headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix.
An outraged French accent broke through the kitchen, silencing all immediately. They turned their heads to Bill, whose ears went a soft shade of pink and a frowning girl with delicate features and a summer dress.
"I'd.. err.. like to introduce Fleur Delacour. She's going to be joining us." He nodded a bow, looking around, still quite embarrassed. Fleur had been outraged of the condition of the building. She would have thought that such an exclusive group of people with such great abilities and cause would have an equally impressive headquarters rather than a dilapidated, old, uninhabited building. Fleur gave an insincere smile and curtsied. All of the Order blinked and waved and then went back to their business. Bill and Fleur took two seats between Tonks and the Weasley twins.
This went on for a while until Arthur Weasley had stood at the head of the table and cleared his throat.
"Welcome, welcome. Dumbledore offers his best wishes, as he is unable to attend this meeting. My son, Bill, and his friend, Fleur, have intercepted a letter from the acclaimed Deatheater Lucious Malfoy to a certain Cerasus Swamp, a current Order member." He nodded to the magenta-haired witch beside Remus and Mundungus Fletcher. Her pale skin went a soft shade of pink. "It is determined that the contents of the letter are in a rough mix between French and Welsh save for the word 'werewolf.' So, Fleur, Miss Swamp, if you'd be so kind as to translate it." He nodded again to Cerasus and then to Fleur.
"That's it?" Called one of the Weasley boys, though it was unknown which.
"Yes," Mr. Weasley looked down at the letter from Dumbledore, and then back up to the table set before him. "Yes, I believe that's it. Cerasus, Fleur, come here please."
Within seconds of Mr. Weasley's final words, loud cracks made the room shake deafeningly. Fleur got up from her seat and tucked it back in politely, as Cerasus merely got up and wandered over to him.
"Well, Arthur? Do you have any reason to know why the fucking letter was addressed to me?" She asked, obviously annoyed.
"You should be the one to tell us that, Miss Swamp." His face was solemn. Fleur just stood there.
"You know me, Arthur. I've been in the damn Order ever since I met Remus. I trust you, and I expect that trust returned. You have to trust me that I have not the slightest idea why Lucious Malfoy would send me a letter. I've never even met the man, let alone owl him. What am I supposed to say to him?"
Arthur blinked. "Well, for now, the trust is mutual. I can't help but be suspicious. We'll see later once you two find out what the letter means." Arthur handed each of them a copy of the letter. "Don't loose it."
As Arthur left the now-empty kitchen, Cerasus turned to Fleur. "So, mademoiselle, what have we to do? I'll translate what words I can, and you do the same. We'll meet up sometime in the Leaky Cauldron to put it together. I think I'll have it by tomorrow evening."
"Tomorrow evening?" Questioned Fleur, looking to her as if she hid madness underneath her top hat. "I have work to do. I ca'n't be sidetrack. What 'ould my boss say? Give me a week."
"Look, hun. When you're in the Order, there are things more important than keeping your job. It won't take too long. You have to fit it in. I'll meet you at the Leaky Cauldron at six o'clock tomorrow." She gave her a set of narrowed eyes and a skeptic frown. Fleur looked outraged, but before she could begin to yell and scream at this Swamp woman, she had apparated with a soft crack.
"Cerasus Swamp." Said Fleur Delacour, looking quite angry. "You are late." Her bright red lips pursed as she looked above her to a woman balancing a few scrolls of paper and a suitcase, her magenta hair back in a messily and lazily done ponytail with green eyes glittering dangerously from behind black-rimmed lenses.
"Fifteen minutes, you incompetent bitch." She spat, looking down as if she could wrap her hands around the French girl's delicate neck.
"Have you f'eenished the translations?" She asked, concealing her face behind an issue of the Daily Prophet.
"Of course." Cerasus replied simply, opening her briefcase and storing the scrolls inside with ease. She took out a folded piece of paper and smoothed it out upon the wooden table as best she could.
"Then 'ow come you are late?"
"Two words: Edgar Sherman. Wanted to know exactly where I was going. Told him I was catching up with a friend. Nosy bastard." She scowled.
"Anyway, we must get too work, Cerasus Swamp." Fleur said, her eyes narrowing.
They spent the next approximate forty-five minutes deciphering the letter, splicing the words and putting them into what was a rough depiction of what the letter could have possibly meant. Cerasus ran her eyes over the document, reading it.
Miss Swamp,
A pleasure it is to know that all this information we are getting is from a reliable source. I can't believe that they haven't suspected you before. You have that werewolf wrapped around your finger, don't you? Report back immediately with further news.
Lucious Malfoy
"Honestly. Who does that Malfoy man think he is? I've only seen him a couple times at work and then he goes and tries to set the whole Order on me." She whispered, obviously outraged. "Honestly." Repeated her agitated voice. "I hope no one believes this set of crap." She fell to the back of the chair, crossing her arms.
"Not too believable." Commented Fleur, looking over the letter. "I mean, you aren't in contact with that man. Are you?"
Author's Note: Yay. Finished with Chapter Three. One reviewer. Please read and review. (r&r looks more like rest and relaxation to me (:)
To Bluejeans- -hits self with abnormally large pretzel rod- Sorry about the accent problem. Not around French people speaking English too much. Well, -cough- I'm never around 'em. I'll fix it in later chapters. =OO
Meanwhile, everyone working at the Ministry of Magic thought it to be sunny and cloudless. Work had never been so dull for Cerasus Swamp. She was itching for the day to end, and to stop these constant translations from the Welsh district of the Ministry.
She rubbed her eyes and looked up to the clock hanging against the whitewashed walls littered with posters. Nearly three o'clock. Only about two more hours left until she was out of that certain hellhole, and then thrust into a certain Order of the Phoenix obligation at five-thirty.
She seeped back into the document, and dipped her quill into the black ink. She was as horrible as any Hogwart's student, stocking Sugar Quills whenever she could. She read dully: "And then I found a tea kettle that had been hexed to give whoever touched it a nasty case of boils on their hands and legs. I'll be at Mungo's for quite a while because of it. And it also made the tea smell like urine. That could have just been the Muggle's tea brand, though. I couldn't really tell."
"Honestly," Murmured Cerasus, looking down to the letter in extreme disinterest. "What do these people really get by bewitching Muggle artifacts?"
She slumped back in her chair like a fidgeting student awaiting the bell.
"Thank-you for coming; I hope you enjoy your purchase. Come back soon." Came the dull, unenthusiastic male voice as he rung the purchases of a stout woman with a floral dress. Four twenty-five. Nearly five, when he'd be off.
It wasn't very good that on his first day, Remus Lupin was already bored out of his wits at his new occupation—the sales clerk at a department store in Muggle London. He shared his position with a gum-chewing teenager with giant hoop earrings and a horrible weave and a middle-aged woman with crooked teeth and an unmistakable crush on Remus.
He leaned against the counter, his nametag glimmering softly in the horrible fluorescent light and his leather shoes tapping against the linoleum-tiled floor.
Another customer, an older man with bright white hair and thick glasses set a microwave and a bag of white tube socks. He ran them through the scanner and brought up the total.
His eyes lingered to the clock. It was nearly four thirty-five. The minutes seemed to drip off of the clock like drops of water, sluggish and otherwise boring.
A telltale crack shook the objects of the apartment flat belonging to a Miss Swamp. She had one half hour to primp herself for the Order meeting. Her apartment looked like that of any Muggle. It had electricity and household appliances. Being born into Muggle lifestyle, she still hadn't quite adapted to the Wizarding lifestyle.
She flipped on the light switch and avidly stepped into the bathroom, shedding her clothes for a shower. It was a quick, cold shower, and she dressed quickly into a black skirt that flared out at the knee and a forest green sweater. She quickly braided her hair and topped off the outfit with a dark green top hat that fell over her head loosely.
She looked herself over in the mirror before vanishing from her room in an instant.
"Now, Fleur, I want you to memorize this and keep it in your mind no matter what." Bill Weasley said anxiously, holding onto Fleur's delicate pale hand, their fingers interlaced. He reached into the breast pocket of his leather jacket and handing her a small slip of paper.
"Tu'elve—"Bill cut her off by pressing his finger to her lips and taking the paper from her hands.
"You've got that memorized?" He asked softly, brushing some of Fleur's luminescent white hair off of her glowing face. She wore a summer dress, sleeveless and polka dotted in orange and red.
"Yes. Now take me away, Bill." Fleur said as they approached the humble headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix.
An outraged French accent broke through the kitchen, silencing all immediately. They turned their heads to Bill, whose ears went a soft shade of pink and a frowning girl with delicate features and a summer dress.
"I'd.. err.. like to introduce Fleur Delacour. She's going to be joining us." He nodded a bow, looking around, still quite embarrassed. Fleur had been outraged of the condition of the building. She would have thought that such an exclusive group of people with such great abilities and cause would have an equally impressive headquarters rather than a dilapidated, old, uninhabited building. Fleur gave an insincere smile and curtsied. All of the Order blinked and waved and then went back to their business. Bill and Fleur took two seats between Tonks and the Weasley twins.
This went on for a while until Arthur Weasley had stood at the head of the table and cleared his throat.
"Welcome, welcome. Dumbledore offers his best wishes, as he is unable to attend this meeting. My son, Bill, and his friend, Fleur, have intercepted a letter from the acclaimed Deatheater Lucious Malfoy to a certain Cerasus Swamp, a current Order member." He nodded to the magenta-haired witch beside Remus and Mundungus Fletcher. Her pale skin went a soft shade of pink. "It is determined that the contents of the letter are in a rough mix between French and Welsh save for the word 'werewolf.' So, Fleur, Miss Swamp, if you'd be so kind as to translate it." He nodded again to Cerasus and then to Fleur.
"That's it?" Called one of the Weasley boys, though it was unknown which.
"Yes," Mr. Weasley looked down at the letter from Dumbledore, and then back up to the table set before him. "Yes, I believe that's it. Cerasus, Fleur, come here please."
Within seconds of Mr. Weasley's final words, loud cracks made the room shake deafeningly. Fleur got up from her seat and tucked it back in politely, as Cerasus merely got up and wandered over to him.
"Well, Arthur? Do you have any reason to know why the fucking letter was addressed to me?" She asked, obviously annoyed.
"You should be the one to tell us that, Miss Swamp." His face was solemn. Fleur just stood there.
"You know me, Arthur. I've been in the damn Order ever since I met Remus. I trust you, and I expect that trust returned. You have to trust me that I have not the slightest idea why Lucious Malfoy would send me a letter. I've never even met the man, let alone owl him. What am I supposed to say to him?"
Arthur blinked. "Well, for now, the trust is mutual. I can't help but be suspicious. We'll see later once you two find out what the letter means." Arthur handed each of them a copy of the letter. "Don't loose it."
As Arthur left the now-empty kitchen, Cerasus turned to Fleur. "So, mademoiselle, what have we to do? I'll translate what words I can, and you do the same. We'll meet up sometime in the Leaky Cauldron to put it together. I think I'll have it by tomorrow evening."
"Tomorrow evening?" Questioned Fleur, looking to her as if she hid madness underneath her top hat. "I have work to do. I ca'n't be sidetrack. What 'ould my boss say? Give me a week."
"Look, hun. When you're in the Order, there are things more important than keeping your job. It won't take too long. You have to fit it in. I'll meet you at the Leaky Cauldron at six o'clock tomorrow." She gave her a set of narrowed eyes and a skeptic frown. Fleur looked outraged, but before she could begin to yell and scream at this Swamp woman, she had apparated with a soft crack.
"Cerasus Swamp." Said Fleur Delacour, looking quite angry. "You are late." Her bright red lips pursed as she looked above her to a woman balancing a few scrolls of paper and a suitcase, her magenta hair back in a messily and lazily done ponytail with green eyes glittering dangerously from behind black-rimmed lenses.
"Fifteen minutes, you incompetent bitch." She spat, looking down as if she could wrap her hands around the French girl's delicate neck.
"Have you f'eenished the translations?" She asked, concealing her face behind an issue of the Daily Prophet.
"Of course." Cerasus replied simply, opening her briefcase and storing the scrolls inside with ease. She took out a folded piece of paper and smoothed it out upon the wooden table as best she could.
"Then 'ow come you are late?"
"Two words: Edgar Sherman. Wanted to know exactly where I was going. Told him I was catching up with a friend. Nosy bastard." She scowled.
"Anyway, we must get too work, Cerasus Swamp." Fleur said, her eyes narrowing.
They spent the next approximate forty-five minutes deciphering the letter, splicing the words and putting them into what was a rough depiction of what the letter could have possibly meant. Cerasus ran her eyes over the document, reading it.
Miss Swamp,
A pleasure it is to know that all this information we are getting is from a reliable source. I can't believe that they haven't suspected you before. You have that werewolf wrapped around your finger, don't you? Report back immediately with further news.
Lucious Malfoy
"Honestly. Who does that Malfoy man think he is? I've only seen him a couple times at work and then he goes and tries to set the whole Order on me." She whispered, obviously outraged. "Honestly." Repeated her agitated voice. "I hope no one believes this set of crap." She fell to the back of the chair, crossing her arms.
"Not too believable." Commented Fleur, looking over the letter. "I mean, you aren't in contact with that man. Are you?"
Author's Note: Yay. Finished with Chapter Three. One reviewer. Please read and review. (r&r looks more like rest and relaxation to me (:)
To Bluejeans- -hits self with abnormally large pretzel rod- Sorry about the accent problem. Not around French people speaking English too much. Well, -cough- I'm never around 'em. I'll fix it in later chapters. =OO