Chapter 7
Brûlé par la Peinture
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Oliver settled onto the sofa while Charity poured them each a goblet of pinot noir. "I still can't believe you're here," she said as she handed him his glass and then made herself comfortable in an armchair across from him. "How've you been?"
"Aside from being worried about you?"
Charity raised an eyebrow because she'd already profusely apologized for pulling the disappearing act again, and he'd claimed to have forgiven her.
He gave her a quick wink and moved on. "I've been getting along well enough. Have you been following Quidditch?"
"Er, sorry, no. I've had a few other things going on. But please, fill me in on what I've been missing."
"Gladly—Puddlemere's having an excellent season! We just left Brussels licking their wounds, and next we're on to humiliate Nuremburg. We have a bit of a break between games, so I figured I might as well stay on the continent to see you."
"I'm glad you did.' Charity smiled. "How's the captaincy going?"
"I'm not captain anymore." Oliver shrugged, and his face melted into a disappointed pout. "Fitzwilliam recovered."
"Aw, what a terrible shame," Charity teased. "You'd think he'd at least have had the decency to let his arm fall off from gangrene or something."
Oliver's full lips twisted into a smirk. "Saucy as ever, I see. Your local Versailles girls are doing very well too, you know—they've become our biggest competition."
"Really? I'm surprised my dad hasn't mentioned it."
"I'll be sure to get him tickets next time we meet up…er, assuming we get the fans under better control, that is."
"Oh, right—the near-riots at last year's Quidditch World Cup. What can they do about it?"
"For this season, ramp up security—auror involvement. But for a longer-term solution, there's talk of diversification. Right now, Quidditch rules require that players for each team citizens of the region for which they play, and it's created an intense sort of patriotism that's not altogether healthy. So when the fans come out to the Quidditch pitch, they're not simply supporting their teams, they're defending their entire country, and it seems to be the anti-cultural slurs that lead to the exchange of wand-fire in the stands. So the ministry thinks that if they open up team selection to a European-wide draft—mixing players from a variety of nationalities on the teams—perhaps animosity in the stands will be quelled somewhat."
"Hmm, I wonder if it would work. At any rate, it'd sure be nice to see us magicals take a queue from the Muggles and work toward opening up worldwide interaction."
"Definitely. But enough about sports and politics—fill me in on Charity Burbage, Parisian entrepreneur and mother extraordinaire."
Charity laughed. "Hardly extraordinary. But I do like being a mum."
Oliver nodded. "You seem well suited to it. I mean, you must be nurturing to have become such a favourite with the unruly mob of students at Hogwarts. And you can't be anything but sweet, what with all the chocolate you consume."
"Oliver Wood! You're not ever going to let me forget that, are you?"
"Not likely." He beamed at her with a Cheshire grin.
"So I take it my mum has told you about the potions shop."
"She did, and I'd love to see it—I'm spending the night in Carré Magique, so I could stop by tomorrow if you'll be around."
"That would be lovely. I'll be there. So…what else has my mother told you?"
"Besides about the baby and the boutique, she explained why you felt it would be too difficult to stay on at Hogwarts. And that you wanted a fresh start in Paris…"
"Did she tell you why I wanted a fresh start?"
Oliver wrinkled his forehead, thinking. "Nope. 'Fresh start' was all she said."
"So…you don't know who the father is?"
Oliver's eyes flicked down to watch the purple liquid swirl across the sides of his glass as he began to self consciously tilt the goblet back and forth. "No."
"Ollie, look at me. I'm not ashamed of what I'm going to tell you, and—although you might be surprised by it—you shouldn't feel awkward. You're my friend, and I want you to know."
He lifted his eyes to meet hers. There was something tentative in the steel blue of his irises. It wasn't fear exactly, but he certainly didn't seem eager for the information.
"Deanna's father is Professor Severus Snape."
She watched the Adam's apple in Wood's thick neck slide up and down as he took a slow gulp. His eyes went back down, and after a long pause, he asked, "Did you want this?"
"Did I want what?"
"Did you want…Snape. Did you want to have his baby?"
"I…honestly, I hadn't thought as far as having his baby. But I wanted him—I loved him. I still love him. I always will. And while it was completely unexpected, finding out I was carrying his child was the best news I'd ever heard."
Oliver kept his eyes down, but his chin began bobbing up and down, indicating he was absorbing everything she was telling him.
"I'd been so miserable, so lonely. Something inside me just wasn't healing, and it felt like it never would. Then Deanna made her presence known, and everything changed. I felt hope again, and I stopped wishing…wishing that he'd never saved me, never let me see the side of him that I fell in love with so completely."
Throughout her speech, Oliver's chin slowed, but continued an almost automatic up and down movement. Charity didn't notice. She'd never before shared the depth of her feelings for Snape with anyone else, and saying it out loud was both comforting and taxing. It absorbed all her focus.
"I still miss him, of course. It still hurts. I suppose it seems silly, since our love affair was so brief, but it was real, and I don't imagine most people in this world ever experience such an intense connection with another person. It's the kind of love that doesn't go away just because we can't be together. But having Deanna…she's stolen my heart, Ollie. Almost from the first flutter. And it's as if my affection for her poured in and covered the wound like a salve—it still aches, but she makes it manageable. Does that make sense?"
Oliver lifted his eyes to look at her. "Perfect sense. I can't for the life of me picture you with Snape—sorry, just being honest—but it's obvious how much you care for him. And now I'm doubly sorry for all you've been though. You didn't deserve any of this."
"Stop." Charity shook her head back and forth, knocking loose a few warm droplets from the blur of tears that had gathered. "Don't feel sorry for me, Ollie. It'll be fine. Like I told you, Deanna's already making things better."
Oliver seemed to accept her reassurances, and after a few silent moments, they went on to talk about other things, updating each other on what else had been going on in their worlds. Oliver eventually returned to the topic of Snape. Charity could tell he was still trying to process that relationship. He left soon after finishing his wine so Charity could get her rest, and they hugged goodbye with a promise to see each other the next day.
. . . . .
Oliver strode into Ma Jolie Petite about an hour after opening. Charity had been minding the store herself since Natalie had started taking an occasional morning off.
"Well, look who's bright eyed and bushy tailed this morning," he said, walking directly over to Deanna in her jumpy. She'd been busy bouncing up and down, but now stopped to study the hulking stranger in front of her. She gave her pacifier a couple hard sucks as the crease between her eyebrows deepened.
Charity smiled and came over to crouch next to her daughter. "Deedee, this is Oliver Wood."
Deanna kept her concerned gaze on Oliver while she held her arms out to her mother, who scooped her up and stood.
"I brought you something," Oliver said enticingly and pulled a stuffed elephant out from behind his back. Deanna's eyes popped wide, and then crinkled when Oliver gently tickled her nose with the tip of the Elephant's trunk. The corners of her lips peeked out from behind the plastic of her pacifier when she gurgled a tiny laugh.
Just as Charity and Oliver joined her in laughter, a customer approached the counter. "Oh dear," said Charity, her eyes flicking between the customer and the baby.
"I'll take her," offered Oliver. When Charity hesitated, he added, "Come on, she and I are best friends now."
During the handoff, Deanna's smile retreated behind the plastic but she didn't protest. Charity rang up the customer, and out of the corner of her eye watched Oliver interact with her baby. His voice had risen to about six octaves too high while he bobbed the elephant's head all over the place. Deanna watched the elephant with fascination and then giggled uncontrollably whenever it ducked down to tickle her belly.
The bell over the door jingled and Natalie stepped in. She carried a huge take away cup of coffee and kept her large, black sunglasses on as she walked through the shop—a sure sign she'd had too much wine and too little sleep the night before. Nevertheless, she was impeccably put together and glided forward as gracefully as ever.
She moved past Oliver and a squealing Deanna without even seeming to notice them, but when she stepped behind the counter, she asked, "Who's that gorgeous man with your child, and why is he torturing her?"
"Oliver Wood." Charity smiled at the customer as she handed her the bag of products she'd just purchased. "Have a nice day."
"The Quidditch player?" Natalie slid her glasses down her nose to get a better look at him.
"You follow Quidditch?"
"I follow Quidditch players. How is it you know him?"
"He was a student at Hogwarts."
"Ah." Natalie pushed her glasses firmly back over her eyes. "Why is he here…and would you please tell him to stop making the child screech so?"
"It's called a laugh, not a screech," Charity chided. "Did you have fun last night?"
"What I remember of it." The shop owner slid open a drawer and pulled out a tiny vial. In it was a powdery solution to cure her hangover. Natalie sighed and then flinched as a sharp cry rang out. "You can't deny it this time—that was a screech."
Deanna's pacifier had slipped out of her mouth onto the floor, and Oliver looked helplessly toward Charity.
"Uh oh." She ran over and took back her daughter. "Don't worry, Ollie. It's her lunchtime. She always gets a little disconcerted right before. I should've warned you. Here, why don't I feed her and you have a look around the store, okay? Nat, want to show him how to get into Section M?" She turned and whispered to Ollie "'Section M' is for magicals only."
Charity situated Deanna in her high chair while Natalie took Oliver through the armoire and pointed out a few things before leaving him to explore the shop on his own.
"Is this a problem that he discovered you here?" Natalie asked as she approached Charity.
"Oh no, not at all. My mum told him where to find me. He's a friend; I trust him. He won't alert the British press."
Natalie nodded and then went to the other end of the counter to light her cigarette. By the time Oliver returned, she'd taken off her sunglasses, indicating the solution had kicked in. By this time Deanna was just about done eating, and she was beginning to show signs of drowsiness.
"It's a great shop," Ollie commented.
"Thanks. It's so nice of you to stop by," Charity said as she wiped Deanna's face and picked her up again. The baby laid her head on her mother's shoulder and let her heavy eyelids fall shut. "I'm glad you got to see her while she was awake."
"She's a beauty. Dark like her father, pretty like her mother. So…I guess I should get going. My schedule's going to be hectic for the next several weeks…but maybe after that—"
"You have a train to catch?" Natalie interrupted from the end of the counter.
"No, just going to apparate to Germany in a few hours."
"A few hours? Then this is easy. L'enfant is asleep. I stay with her; you two go out and have fun for a couple hours. Simple, oui?"
Charity thought she was joking, and gave a light laugh.
"You think I cannot do it?" Natalie sounded indignant. "She sleeps. I ring up customers. It is nothing."
"What if she wakes up?"
"She's a princess when she wakes from her nap. I smile at her and pick her up and we have an excellent time. Besides, she won't wake up. She sleeps three hours, you go for two." Natalie snuffed out her cigarette and walked over to pull a now slumbering Deanna from her mother's reluctant arms. "See, she is sleeping like a bébé. Go. Go. Leave now so you get back before she awakes."
Charity didn't want to leave Deanna—Mrs. Burbage was the only one she'd ever left her with before—but when she glanced over at Ollie and saw the anticipation in his smile, she relented. The thought of two hours of free time in the city with her friend was enticing, after all.
"You send a dove if you need anything at all," Charity instructed. Parisians preferred doves over owls as they were more stylish and compact and drew less attention than clunky owls in the urban setting.
Natalie rolled her eyes and sang a soft lullaby as she strolled toward the crib in back, the gentleness in her tone reassuring Charity. "Frère Jacques, frère Jacques,Dormez-vous? Dormez-vous? Sonnez les matines. Sonnez les matines. Din, dan, don. Din, dan, don."
"After you," Oliver said to Charity, and the pair was out in the sunny streets.
"Hmm, two hours in Paris. Where would you like to go?" Charity asked.
"Are you hungry? I was hoping to grab a bite at Brûlé sur le Steak before I leave town. They have the best baguettes."
"I haven't heard of it."
"Well then, you must not've been in the Carré for awhile."
Charity's face fell. "Oh, I didn't realize that's where it was. I've actually been avoiding the place. I'm afraid of being recognized by visiting wizards."
"Charity, you can't hide forever. And what's the harm? Everyone thinks you've taken time off to travel, so if anyone recognizes you, we'll tell 'em you're passing through Paris."
"How do I explain the baby?"
"What baby? She's back at the shop—and she's nobody else's business."
Charity's mouth slowly spread into a grin as she realized he was right. But she still felt nervous, and it must've shown.
"You worry too much. It'll be fine, promise." He took one of her hands in his and squeezed it. "Promise."
She gripped his hand back and exhaled. "Let's do it."
She tried not to second guess herself as they made their way across the city to Montmartre, but her blood pressure had most definitely risen by the time they reached the shabby bookstore, and her heart thumped wildly as they crossed the threshold into the magical square. Oliver grabbed her hand again as soon as they were through, and they laughed as they ran and ducked out of the way of flying paint balls. They made it to the bistro and chose a seat on the sidewalk under the awning, where they could feel like part of the action while remaining a safe distance from renegade pallets.
As they dined on sandwiches, Charity recounted tales of previous visits to the square when she'd been a teenager—being back there had flooded her with many happy memories—and Oliver told her about some of the more exotic magical city centers he'd come across during his Quidditch tours. Toward the end of their lunch, a street peddler approached them. He held up a pair of silver earrings shaped like tiny Eiffel Towers. When he tapped them with his wand, they began to sparkle, as if lit by hundreds of tiny, flickering lights.
"Do you think they're pretty?" Oliver asked.
"Pretty tacky," Charity giggled.
"Hmm, even still, I don't have any time left to shop, and I think Penny might like them. I'll take a pair," he said to the vendor and exchanged a few Knuts for the earrings.
"Who's Penny?" Charity asked.
"Penelope Johnstone. A girl from back home. She's gotten a little, er, testy with me being gone so much, so maybe these'll make up for it."
Charity didn't understand why she felt surprised at learning Oliver had a girlfriend. Of course a thoughtful, fun, good looking, successful, young man like Ollie would have a girl back home. Why wouldn't she have realized that? Then she realized why she hadn't realized.
"Why didn't you mention her before?" she asked.
Oliver shrugged. "I haven't seen you since last summer, and she and I only started dating last fall. I think you'll admit you and I have had plenty of other topics to fill our conversation since I showed up last night."
"True. Well, I've got about thirty minutes before I should start making my way back to the shop. Care to brave the artists?"
About half way around the circle of canvases, a bright orange ball of paint smashed and splattered across the side of Oliver's face.
"Blimey!" he shouted as he tried to wipe it off, only smearing it more deeply into his blonde hair in the process. "I swear, a bludger to the head is nothing compared to these devils."
"You know what would make a better souvenir for Penny than those awful earrings? A portrait of you, just as you are right now," Charity teased.
Before the words were fully out of her mouth, a painter appeared directly in front of her. He wasn't only a painter—he was a mime. His white face and pursed lips remained motionless while he held his brush in the air and swirled it around. A huge fountain of yellow paint rose up from his pallet and swooped toward Charity, but the mime brandished his brush, and the blob of yellow froze in the air, just inches from Charity's face. He flicked his eyes back and forth between his brush and Oliver, implying that either Oliver agree to the portrait, or his companion be turned into a human banana.
"Fine," Oliver groaned.
The mime gave him an exaggerated smile and a bow and immediately began painting the canvas on his portable easel while Oliver shook his head at Charity, who only mocked him with a smile full of faux innocence.
"So what's Penny like?" Charity asked to pass the time while the mime painted.
"She's nice. Fun to be with. Pretty. Enjoys quidditch—good at it too."
"How did you meet her?"
"We were set up by a mutual friend."
The yellow paint, which had continued to hover next to Charity made a sudden jab toward her. She gasped and leaned into Oliver to move away from it, but tripped over his shoes fell backwards. He caught her and held her there for a few moments while the artist commanded the yellow paint back into his brush and then started stabbing at the canvas with more fervor than before. He finished the work a few minutes after Charity was back on her feet and turned the newly created piece toward them.
It wasn't just Oliver in the picture. Charity was with him, and the painter had captured them in the exact moment Oliver had caught her. It was clearly their faces, but the pose and other details had been modified. In the painting, Wood had slipped an arm behind Charity's knees and scooped her up, while she lay back with her eyes closed. He wore a white shirt, unbuttoned, and leaned forward, staring down at Charity with an almost angry intensity.
Charity then noticed that her outfit had also been changed—in the painting she wore a red gown with white ruffles along the bodice, which had slipped down to reveal a risqué amount of cleavage. Her chin was tilted upward so that her pouting lips reached toward Oliver's, as if unconsciously beckoning for a kiss that he appeared to very much want to give her. They were surrounded by burning orange and yellow strokes of paint.
"Gone with the Wind," Charity said, and the mime mimicked applause.
"Gone with…huh?" Oliver asked.
"It's a Muggle love story. He replaced the characters with us."
Oliver continued to examine the picture and raised one eyebrow doubtfully. "I'm not sure Penny will care for this at all."
Charity couldn't disagree.
"Well, I like it. Here you go, sir." Wood stuck some coins in the mime's outstretched glove, flicked a drying charm over the canvas with his wand, and rolled up the painting so he could slide it into a cardboard tube the mime had magically produced. By then it was time for Charity to head back to Ma Jolie, so they tipped the Nettoyer Sorcière at the square's exit and thanked her for cleaning them up, then made their way to the Metro station where Charity would catch a train back to her part of the city.
"A love story…so this guy gets her in the end?" Oliver questioned while they waited on the platform.
"Uhm, yes. But…it's not exactly a fairy tale ending."
Oliver's forehead wrinkled. "But if he gets her…?"
The train pulled in, and Charity reached up to cup his jaw. "Read the book, Ollie. And come to see me again. Any time. Good luck in Nuremburg." She stepped onto the train and turned to wave as it pulled away.
. . . . .
Authors Notes:
*whew* Finally an update. One thing that delayed me this time was that I was bumming around London :) and even got to visit some of Charity's haunts from when she was a faux Muggle, including the British Museum, where she worked, and Doughty Street, where she lived. Guess who else lived on Doughty Street for a wHile...Charles Dickens! Pretty cool, huh?
Thanks for reading & thanks for reviewing. :) And thanks, Metropolis Kid, for staying on me sorry bum...now is my turn to get on yours. ;P
-LiLa