New chapter! I hope you enjoy it :D
Fleur smiled distractedly as she was led to the Great Hall by the red-headed royal clerk, humming absently as he pointed out the various riches that dotted the rough-cut stone walls of Hogwarts. English castles, harsh and imposing, were distinctly different from the smooth, elegant structures of her homeland. Everything here had a touch of wildness to it, a roiling energy that saturated the very air.
Hearing a disgruntled cry, she turned from the tapestry she was admiring to see the clerk's hair dishevelled and his face flushed. Boisterous laughter drew her attention to the figure beside him; he was quite… roughish. Hair the same shade as wildfire, eyes reflecting the cloudless skies of France, and a wolf-fang hanging from his ear; she found herself eyeing him interestedly.
"I apologise, my Lady," the clerk murmured, attempting to smooth out his hair. "My uncouth brother was just leaving."
"Lighten up, Percy," he jovially admonished, ignoring the glare.
"I would William if we weren't in the presence of a Noble Lady."
Bill rolled his eyes at Fleur, causing her to purse her lips to stifle the bubble of laughter.
"She is a potential courtesan for the Prince," Percy declared.
"Is she now?" Bill remarked, observing her.
"Yes, so if you don't mind- "'
"Would you like me to accompany you, my Lady? I have business with the King, and if you wouldn't object to my presence, I'd be happy to escort you," Bill interrupted, a debonair smile on his lips.
Ignoring Percy's spluttering, she delicately tucked her arm into Bill's proffered one and allowed him to pull her into his side.
"This is entirely inappropriate; she is not one of you women Bill!" Percy scolded.
Fleur arched an eyebrow as she watched Bill's face stiffen, a cutting smirk replacing his previous charming expression.
"Oh Perc, you really shouldn't listen to rumours. You know how Riddle hates gossipmongers," Bill reminded. "Now why don't you run along back to Chancellor Rookwood, I'm sure he has plenty of charters for you to deliver to the local Lords."
Reddening from Bill's rebuke, Percy excused himself with a quick departing bow before stomping off in the opposite direction to the throne room, muttering under his breath.
"Sorry about that," Bill apologised. "Percy is a very… determined individual."
"It seems you are much the same," commented Fleur. "You were rather insistent on escorting me."
"Well, who can resist a pretty girl?" he remarked.
"I see," Fleur replied stilted.
"But that's not the only reason," Bill revealed awkwardly.
"Oh?"
Bill cringed at her cold tone, "I read some of your correspondence with the Prince, you seemed well-versed in politics, especially surrounding trade and finance."
"Well, my father only has my sister and me," Fleur explained. "He wanted us to be able to argue as well as any Nobleman, he does not suffer fools and thanks to his teachings many bumbling suitors have sought for more soft-spoken brides."
Bill laughed uproariously, "gorgeous, outspoken, intelligent; I think the Prince will have his hands full with you."
"You think so?"
"You don't sound particularly excited at that prospect."
"That isn't strictly true; it is a wonderful opportunity."
"But?"
"But as you as said, I am outspoken. Being an English Queen, while prestigious in position, does not give me much freedom in what I can say."
Tilting his head in consideration, Bill conceded to her point.
"How about you?" Fleur asked.
"What about me?"
"Well, what position do you have that you can read the Prince's correspondence and know about trade and finance? I assume you are some Lordling?"
"I'm training in the Exchequer, but no, I am certainly no Lordling," Bill ignored Fleur's inquiring brow. "As for the Prince's correspondence, I am a close companion of his, he trusts my judgement and knowing my work thought I would find you letters interesting."
"Fascinating, so what are your impressions of the Prince?" Fleur questioned.
"I think I will let you make your own assumptions, as we have now reached the throne room."
Resisting the urge to pout, she straightened up and waited for their announcement to the King and Prince.
Riddle stalked through the back alleys, searching for the painted door. The shadows that inhabited these backways did not dare glance at him. Concealed though he was, they knew he was someone important. He stood tall, regal; his cloak billowed around him whole and clean, not like the threadbare, filthy robes they wore.
He found it. Painted in a garish purple, eyes carved into the wood he knocked, flicking his hand free of the peeling flakes of paint. Peering out from the door was a thin woman doused in extravagant silk shawls, layered in beads and chains, with a pair of bone eyeglasses riveted to either side of her nose.
"Who is seeking an audience with Sybil Trelawney, daughter of Brigit?" she asked mystically.
Rolling his eyes at her dramatics, Riddle surreptitiously glanced around before lowering his hood enough for her to identify him. Eyes widening, she dropped her act and gestured him in quickly. The air was pungent with the cloying smell of incense, and Riddle withheld the urge to cough as the taste of it sat heavily on his tongue. Leading him through the colourful front room, adorned with vibrant but cheap cloths, tarot cards and glass ornaments, she hurried into the backroom pushing aside the heavy curtain and unlocking the door with a rusty key.
Passing the threshold, his feet sank into the plush carpet the change in opulence stark and immediate. While the other room was no less colourful, here the fabrics covered every inch of space, stitched in complicated patterns, richly dyed with silken sheens. It was also less cluttered. Various herbs dotted the wall, a wooden bowel sitting beneath and on the lone stone table, situated in the centre of the room sat a crystal ball, fog swirling within waiting to take form.
Trelawney indicated for Riddle to sit down as she prepared herself. Darting over to herb wall, she plucked wormwood, mugwort, vervain and stalks of yarrow before putting them into her mortal and crushing them into a fine powder. Dancing fire between his fingers Riddle waited for Madame Trelawney to return with her concoction, flicking a flame towards the powder as she placed it on the table in front of her. She inhaled the rising smoke.
Instantly she began to shake, as seizures wracked her sitting form. Her eyes rolled to the back of her head, the white of her eyes glowing. Tilting his head in interest, Riddle watched the spasms wracking through her body, the whispering wheezes of foreign voices escaping her parted lips. It was always interesting to see her like this, her ascension. She became still then viper-quick she raised her head to fix him with milky eyes.
"What is it you seek?" she inquired, her voice deep and rasping, ominous as voices, not hers echoed her question in parallel.
"I seek for the key to the Wealth of Wōden, I seek this diamond-in-the-rough," his voice edged with demanding.
Trelawney laughed, head tilted back in hilarity. Riddle tightened his fist but did not go for his blade. He knew better than to antagonise her.
"Foolish boy," she cooed cruelly. "You seek something that is beyond your mortal understanding. Powers and Beings who do not take kindly to being shackled, to being made to serve."
Riddle sat unmoved.
"I see…" her mouth twisted into a mischievous smirk; it looked wrong on Trelawney's face. "The boy you seek is indeed one of great heart and spirit. One who despite the darkness bleeds light."
"A name?" he growled.
She tutted, "patience. It is a boy whose parents you have met but are longer living; a boy, a foundling. His name will be one familiar to you, but I will not reveal it. Instead-"
She hovered her hands over the crystal ball; Tom watched as the smoke writhed and deepened in colour. He was filthy. Ink-black hair curled around his head haphazardly, grime and dirt only worsening its state. His skin was blackened with soot, pale streaks of ivory peeking between the grime. Despite his squalid state, Tom could see the pointed features that spoke of high birth. Seeing the boy raise his head, Tom's mouth curled in interest. Green, green eyes shone, sharp, hard, and flickering with forest fire. This was the one.
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