[monte carlo] luck be a lady. [tag; nathalie]

Harvey was ranting. She had, finally, driven him crazy. That surely was it. She took as step backwards when he advanced; she wasn’t technically frightened of him, but he was in a strange emotional place that she had never seen him go before, and he was bigger and heavier than she was. If Harvey Landsdowne had a limit, perhaps a line brazenly marked “DO NOT CROSS” somewhere in his brain; well she was acutely aware that she had not only breeched it but rather stamped upon it. And yet a heady mixture of alcohol, post-spell adrenaline and primal fear had taken her to this new place; this new level with him. So he had seen this side of her; so what. He had to learn sometime.

And still he spewed his complaints at her.

“Azkaban!?” she spat back in his face, and laughed mockingly in response. “Yes, tell them Harvey, go on. Drag me back to London and throw me upon the floor of the Ministry. I’ll take it, gladly. Because Harvey, they’ll only know if you tell them. So do it.” She held her hands before him derisively, as if awaiting his imaginary handcuffs. “Let’s see how moral you really are. I promise I won’t resist. Do it Harvey.”

But he was on another rant; this time about torture. If only he knew. How once she had broken her duck with the unforgivables in fifth year, under the careful watch of the Carrows, it had been all too easy. You do it one time, it’s easier the next. Of course, Harvey would label it torture. He would have to romanticise it; make it be something more than what it truly was - motivation. A learning experience. A correction. And so she rolled her eyes, sickened at Harvey’s dramatics. “Oh please, Harvey, give it a rest. I know you love a bit of self-flagellation as much as the next goody-two-shoes, but really, I’m not in the mood for your self-indulgent crap tonight. Torture?!” and her voice changed to a cruel sneer, as if the word was the most obscene thing she had ever been exposed to. “Torture? Harvey, darling, you don’t know the meaning of the word.” She stepped towards him, and she was up against him now, almost daring a response from him. Her voice dropped, but her eyes flashed in the darkness. “But I can show you if you want. It would be my pleasure.” She paused, watching his face for any reaction. Harvey had overstepped his mark. So she would too. A moment in silence followed before she continued.

“What I gave our dear friend up there was nothing more than a gift. A perfectly-wrapped little lesson for the future. I corrected him, Harvey. Like you would a misbehaving dog. A kick in the ribs to keep him on the straight and narrow. Nothing more or less. He will learn, and he will move on. As should you.” She was practically hissing at him. Would she have lost control had he not intervened, as he claimed? Would she have let him die? She had no clue. She did not really care. The point was worth it, in any case. He was nothing more than a muggle.

“Did I feel anything?!” She gazed at him incredulously. With a feeling like a stone in her stomach, she realised at that very moment that she would lose this argument; all of a sudden she was struck that Harvey lived in another world. That he was a Gryffindor and nothing could save him from that terrible, ignoble fate. And her face changed; the anger dissipating slowly, her features softening, and she began to look upon him with a growing sadness. She could feel the distance now; could see it physically growing between them; a crack becoming a chasm; a fundamental fracture in how they both viewed the world, that no amount of papering over or passionate dalliances in the darkness could ever truly make up for. Harvey the noble knight; and Nathalie always his cruel charge. His deadweight.

“Yes, I felt something Harvey,” she answered, now calm, now reserved, now somber. “I felt like a witch, Harvey.” And a register lower now. “I felt like a witch. Like how I truly am. Like how you should feel, too. Like there is something in your blood; something we share. Our true selves.”

It was a waste of breath, and she turned away from him in her growing sorrow, just when he spoke of his disappointment. She put her arms around herself; the soft breeze coming off the sea now a little too fresh, but there was something more than the weather chilling her. Her damp flaxen hair caught in the gust and softly blew about her head. She stared at the horizon, where it vanished to the black sky and the little faded specks of stars that she could make out as her eyes adjusted to the dark on the beach. Harvey could not understand her; worse, he was let down, admonishing her like a parent. And as the adrenaline began to fade in her bloodstream, and the cold reality settled in its place, she felt a resigned melancholy. It had stung, even though it shamed her to admit it to herself, when he said he did not want to look at her. She felt ashamed; not at her actions, which would eternally be their difference and which she would gladly do again, but rather at what she had said to him. She wanted to take it back; to apologise, she felt as if she had lost her patience with someone too innocent; a child perhaps. Someone who did not understand the world and all it’s threats quite the way she did. She was a disappointment; to more than Harvey. But in his eyes, it was worse.

She had scared him. That was his world, and this was hers. They were apart. It was clear now, and no matter how much it pained her, it was important not to repeat this. Not to tear him apart over this. He couldn’t take it. And she wasn’t sure she could take watching him fall apart over something she considered inconsequential.

“Harvey, please, go home.” She spoke softly, it was a request rather than a command, and her voice betrayed her emotions, the well of sadness that he had exposed. “Go home, and find @Lorin Odell ."

Shame was not an emotion Nathalie Wilkins was particularly used to.

There she went again, insulting his intelligence. Harvey looked like a brute but he didn’t think he was stupid, careless or naïve. It was like he was the male version of the whole "dumb blonde" trope and it made him feel sick. Nathalie's words were like daggers, like little stings all over his body, like jabs and barbs. Individually, they weren't so bad because it wasn't like he hadn't heard them before but to have them laughed at  him so scornfully made him take a breath.

He frowned as he let her make fun of him and he immediately felt foolish for even caring about her. Harvey decided not to respond to her comment about handcuffs as she left them outstretched between their bodies. He didn't really know what to say to her. It was rare that he was at a loss for words but she'd completely stunned him. He was unfamiliar with the curse but he'd just assumed there was some sort of Ministry-based claxon or alarm that was triggered when the spell was spoken. Apparently not and Nathalie would know.

As she stepped closer and rounded his personal space, Harvey simply tilted his head up and back and looked out to the shore. Her bony shoulder bumped his chest and he swayed in response. He didn't need to look at her to figure out exactly where she was. The smell of her perfume or her hair and the crackle of anger that felt like electricity outlined her body. She was warm, too. He couldn't understand how someone so cold could look and feel so human.

What she did was torture and he couldn't think of any other way to dress it up. Nathalie had decimated a man. She'd brought him to his knees, subjected him to pain worse than death and she was acting like it was all perfectly normal. He couldn't connect with her. He couldn't imagine feeling so much hatred for a human being that he'd ever feel the need to make someone beg for their life to end. To inflict so much agony so casually and without a second thought. To him, it was torture and he couldn't get past it.

"No, thank you," Harvey said politely in a voice that was quite unlike his own. It sounded hoarse and rough and dry and a complete opposite to his usually honeyed tone. As he spoke, he flicked his eyes down to Nathalie's face and he had a moment of clarity. In her wild state, he felt so detached. Less than an hour ago, they were living it up in the casino. They'd been drinking and laughing and thinking about ripping each other clothes off. This was a first date and he'd wanted her to be his girlfriend but now?

Nathalie's beauty had melted away in the Riviera sunset, almost like she'd been unmasked. Her pale skin was red and blotchy and her hair a tangled mess. She'd awarded him a glimpse of her underbelly and it was not pretty. As she spoke those foul words, her face twisted, showing him that beneath her cool exterior, she was nothing more than some sort of banshee. True colours, wasn't that the phrase? She'd gone from a sunset yellow to a midnight blue.

Harvey flinched as Nathalie spoke about her victim so cruelly. "You can't correct people," he told her softly as he frowned again. "There isn't a reset button," he told her as he looked troubled. "Do you realise the damage you've done?" Harvey pressed her desperately in the setting sunlight as his large eyes scanned her face, as though trying to find some shed of humanity. "You could have permanently altered his personality. You could have caused damage with lasting effects. He might not be able to sleep or feel or function because you lost your head in a fit of rage. You could have left him a shell of a person. And you think that's okay?" Harvey asked her again as he set his jaw. There was a crease between his forehead and he tried, telepathically, to get her to understand the seriousness of her actions.

A witch, she'd said and he offered her a brief smile. Magic or not, no one had the ability to act so callously. It felt like she thought it was her given right, simply because she could. Gently, he shook his head. "You and I are nothing alike," he began as he looked away. Nathalie was scrambling now. She was trying to push her ideals on him and it just wasn't working. They would never work. She said that earlier on; that they were different, that this would never work and she'd been right on the money. "That isn't me," he told Nathalie seriously. "I have never lied to you but you've been playing me like a bloody piano for months," he commented, his eyes wide. True colours, once again. "No," he mumbled. They were wizards and that was where their similarities ended.

Silence crept into the cracks of their friendship as the temperature began to drop. Nathalie looked away and he took the opportunity to watch her profile. His heart hurt, he realised. He felt stupid and ashamed and hurt and guilty.

Harvey had had a jolt. The rational part of his brain was telling him to relax. They weren't dating. They were never going to date but that didn't make up for the wounds caused by the realisation that she'd never cared for him at all. It didn't make up for the fact that he'd defended her to his friends and family or that he would drop everything when she was upset and she was crying crocodile tears. In a way, it was good that he found out now, he told himself. What if he fell in love with her? What if she continued to lie? What would have happened?

Lorin? Harvey's head snapped back in her direction. "What's that supposed to mean?" He asked her, sounding terse. He hadn't really thought about Lorin for months. He assumed they were still friends but things had become strained during the Dome and then afterwards with the kiss and her desire to get as far as way from him as humanly possible. Harvey had tried so hard to patch things up with Lorin and none of it was actually his fault. She'd been ignoring him and he'd actually broken into her house because she'd been avoiding him so hard.

Harvey shook his head again, looking absolutely flabbergasted at Nathalie's mention of one of his friends. "Unbelievable," he muttered as he ran his hands down his face. "You don't want me but no one else can want me either?" He blurted out incredulously as he boggled at her.

She spun around quickly, visibly annoyed at his comment, and snapped back at him in reply. “I didn’t say that. I didn’t say anything like that, Harvey.” Her voice was raised a hair, anger bleeding through. “You’re so bloody self-pitying sometimes, do you know? I hate to be the one to break it to you, but the world doesn’t orbit around you, Harvey. Time to grow up.” And Nathalie sighed loudly and dramatically, and pulled her hand through her tangled hair, fighting with it. “Ugh, look at the state you’ve gotten me into,” she complained, but what exactly she was blaming Harvey for; her hair, her anger, her shame; she did not make explicitly clear.

Harvey, the hero, a force of absolute justice, an empirical measure of goodness. Drowning in his own innocence. Harvey, he of hair perfectly askew and of shirt half untucked, why couldn’t he look properly dishevelled, like she did? He still resembled a vision of Apollo and his beauty could not be hidden by frivolous things like nearly being killed and running at full pelt through the streets of a sticky and humid muggle city. He stood there before her, doing his best to act exasperated, bathed in the weak moonlight picking out the highlights of his face, with the sound of lapping waves and the muggle lights spilling out upon the promenade behind him. The same feeling came over her stomach; a strange, half-nauseous tugging sensation that she had never associated with men before. It triggered something innate within her, and even though she knew she was incorrect, she associated it with a variant of fear. She had no experience, but the sensation was akin to how she would imagine a mother might feel when their child goes out of sight for a moment. A concern of a temporary loss that threatens with its potential permanence.

“I can’t work with you, Harvey,” was all she could say, and her face appeared pained; confused even. And she couldn’t, that was true. It was the feeling that he provoked within her; it had come in fits and starts since her last year in school, when he invaded her thoughts at inopportune moments and she allowed the ghost of his presence to linger just a tad too much for her own indulgence, but tonight it had become more like a stone strapped to her ankle that threatened to pull her under. And Nathalie never went under; that was her rule.

And she would have apparated away at that very moment. She would have run away from him, from his perfect looking-glass soul that now seemed to exist purely to show her true self back at her, a vision of her rinsed through with his appraisal, her apparent deficiencies clearly labelled through his eyes. But she could not run, not at this moment, because he would simply follow. That would be the Harvey thing to do. He’d probably be standing outside her apartment in the rain within twenty minutes, both apologising to her and complaining at her “heartlessness”. He would be the a kicked puppy that comes back to its owner for a biscuit and another kick. And she couldn’t keep it up; Nathalie would be something Harvey would have had to endure. The very idea eviscerated her.

How to make him not come back . . .

“Did you ever wonder why, Harvey?” She began to walk away from him, languidly, her features softening. She examined his face as she receded along the sand a little. “Do you remember Hogwarts? I’m sure you remember some of it, I know I do.” She was maybe ten feet from him, and a nearby rock made an appropriate stool. She sat herself against it. It felt nice to have this; this earthly stability behind her, and this distance from Harvey. It would make it a little easier.

“Do you remember that night, in the Potions classroom? I do. I remember it very well.” She couldn’t help but smile, it had been thrilling and it had been against the rules and in the miserable darkness he had made her his for a few brief moments and that had been enough. It had been exquisite. She looked at her feet for a moment, constructing the phrases like a jigsaw.

“Did you ever wonder why? Did you ever stop to think why I did that? Or were you just too blinkered; because naturally, every girl wants Harvey Landsdowne, don’t they?” She half smiled at him, but it was different now. It was false. “It’s human nature that I would just  . . . throw myself at you, isn’t it? I’m just a girl, after all. Blinkered, in a different way.”

“But that wasn’t the whole story, Harvey,” she continued, her voice low and calm. “You see, I really hated Lorin,” and she giggled, her hand to her face, the playful shame of it all. “She’s a traitorous bitch and brought nothing but shame upon us . . . and therefore, well, we didn’t get on very well at all,” and she smiled at the understatement. “It don’t think it was much of a secret. You know how us girls are, we can be so . . . serious sometimes.” She bit her lip, playfully, and began a slow, unhurried walk back to the former Head Boy, still standing there motionless, the glowing city behind him, framing him in its amber light. Her eyes met his seductively. Just like at the start of it all. And that had also been in the dark.

“And so, not only did I hate her, but I really, really wanted to hurt her. And sometimes, there are better ways of hurting a girl than simply slapping them across the face.” Nathalie gently ran her hand along Harvey’s chin, feeling the day’s growth of stubble against her fingertips. He was even more devastatingly handsome when he frowned, the furrows on his face cast deep and solid in the moonlight. He seemed nearly hallowed. She watched him for a moment, drinking him in through her wide eyes.

“And you were her most loyal friend; all dutiful and caring and sweet. Oh how we all sat there over countless breakfasts and desired you; oh how we all wanted such a beautiful specimen to dote upon us. You know how girls can get. You, especially, of all people, should know.”

She put her arms around his neck, pulled herself against him, rested her head against the rigidity of his collarbone, felt the warmth of his blood through his skin and his shirt, allowed herself to drink deep of his scent a final time, and the fact that it was now accented with brine and oil and alcohol would help her to recall it later; when she really needed to explore the memory again.

She continued to talk, even now against his body, watching the blackness of the sea beyond them. “So I had to have something of hers. I had to debase something of hers. I had to get to you before she did. To know I was there first.” She ran her finger over his chest, drawing shapes that meant nothing. the lights in the distance continued to bob calmly as if unaffected by the simple, cruel words she spoke. “That was all it was.”

Nathalie looked up to him, her face impassive in the moonlight. She kissed him, unannounced and stolen, the couple lip to lip for a brief moment, before she pulled her head away from him. “You are so shocked over a little curse I gave to a thug who tried to hurt you, but you know, deep down, inside, that I have done so much worse, even to you.”

She released him gently from her embrace. “Please go back and find Lorin, Harvey. She’s healthy for someone like you. I have done what I needed to do.”

Harvey flinched as though he'd been slapped. He remained still as Nathalie ripped apart his character in the setting sun. Everything about her was film noir as he boggled at her. She knew she was cruel but he'd never seen it first hand. He'd heard rumours but having it all laid out in front of him made him feel sick. And it made him feel stupid. He blinked impassively as he was told to grow up. He thought that was rich coming from the girl who had flown into a fit of rage and blamed it on his well being.

"Can't work or won't work?" Harvey called after her retreating back, his voice catching on the wind. "You call me childish when you're the one who keeps wanting to cut and run." His voice was even and he found it easier to tell her the things he needed to when she was looking the other way. "Are we ever going to have a grown up conversation, Wilkins?" He asked, his hands on his hips. "Or are you just going to keep hiding behind your curves and keep blaming me for apparently ruining your life?"

Of course he remembered the Potions classroom incident. Harvey remembered the vivid feeling of panic and annoyance as Nathalie smashed his vial on the floor and caused him to fail. He remembered the fear when she threatened to fail his classmates, too. As always, he took the fall. Why? Because that was what he did. Good old dependable Harvey James Landsowne, champion of the underdog and straight as a die. He'd lost his head and he hadn't meant to do it and only now was he realising that she'd capitalised on him.

He frowned in the growing darkness as an unease settled in the pit of his stomach. Harvey was growing restless and annoyed at Nathalie's words and at the risk of sounding conceited, if a girl fancied him, he didn't really think it was his fault. With a heavy sigh, he shook his head and tilted it backwards to look up at the stars peeking out. "You know me," he drawled sarcastically as he shoved his hands in his pockets out of frustration. "Shagging girls and leaving a trail of shattered hearts in my way. Looks like I can add yours to the pile too, hey?" He asked sharply as he glared at her. Maybe he'd wear it as a badge of honour.

Nathalie's giggle made him wince, the noise sounding like a prolonged static crackle or nails on a blackboard; unbearable. For the life of him, he couldn't make the connection between her and Lorin but he had a feeling he was about to find out.

"Us?" He repeated. Us, how? Purebloods? Slytherins? Women? "But why?" Harvey asked stupidly as he set his jaw as her fingertips came closer to his face. Lorin had never been in love with Harvey. They had a long, complicated and at some point, almost co-dependant relationship but it was never sexually motivated. Had Nathalie felt jealous or threatened? His ego was telling him that yes, she was, otherwise why would she be so drastic?

"And you think I enjoyed it?" Harvey asked Nathalie swiftly, his eyebrows raised in exasperation. He shivered as her warm fingers traced his jaw line as nausea set in. He couldn't believe that an hour ago, he'd wanted to rip her dress off and now he wanted to strangle her with the flimsy fabric. She made it sound like Harvey liked being painted as a stupid person, an overgrown bicep, a Neanderthal. That he liked it when people looked surprised when he got top of the class, that he enjoyed it when girls looked at his mouth and not his eyes when they spoke to him or that he seemed pleased other boys belittled him. Nathalie was feeding off the insecurities that he didn't know he had.

The blonde crowded his space and he stood still, determined not to play her games because he didn't know if he could win. Her face against his chest extracted a deep sigh of sadness that reverberated through him and he knew she'd be able to feel. She was speaking to him like he was an object and the irony was making his head spin. Harvey was not perfect, nor was he really a gentleman. He'd had dark thoughts about her and other girls he'd met. Once or twice, he'd maybe rated them out of ten as a joke with his friends or let his gaze linger a second too long. But hearing it from someone else's mouth made him feel angry, upset, ashamed and disappointed.

"Ah," came the soft reply as he gave a deep and derisive laugh that shook her body gently. "Of course. Silly me," he remarked, sounding upbeat and like he'd just figured out a rather complex riddle. "Play me at my own game. I didn't see that coming." He almost sounded impressed. Everything was slotting into place now. Nathalie had played him like a game of chess. She was in it for the long run, a strategy queen who knew how to inflict maximum damage with minimum effort. All she had to do was make him fall in love with her and it was like killing two birds with one stone.

"Damn," he replied softly as his eyes widened in surprise. Harvey was cold and numb, almost like his feelings were delayed or his brain couldn't decide how he should process them. Hurt? Angry? Revengeful? Empty was the overriding sensation. Nathalie could easily have jabbed a knife through his ribcage and he'd still be unable to experience the pain. It was like everything had sort of just seeped out of him and made a puddle on the pristine pavement.

Despite not wanting to, he couldn't help but kiss her back. It was brief but he returned it as his hand tangled in her long hair and he pulled her closer. He gave her a strange look as they broke apart. His eyes flickered back and forth across her face. She was still undeniably beautiful but she'd been tainted somewhat and she now looked more like the Evil Queen as opposed to the kind hearted princess. A witch, like she'd so proudly said. He could see glimpses of her soul in the moonlight and it was ugly and mottled. It was like her personality was slowing escaping and taking over her entire body and transforming her into an entirely different person and it made him feel ill.

Harvey's hands balled into fists. "I don't want Lorin," he told Nathalie hoarsely as he battled to keep his voice down. Lorin this, Lorin that, didn't she get it? How much clearer could he be? As Nathalie stepped backwards, he ran his hands down his face in annoyance as he let out a snort of disbelief. She kept rebuffing him and he understood but he hadn't thought of his friend in months. He would now, though. Nathalie had him under her spell and he hadn't realised that Lorin may have felt uncomfortable but he was determined to make it up to her as soon as he could.

"You didn't need to do any of this!" Harvey finally managed to say to her as he threw his hands in the air. "You didn't need to go this far! Why did you involve me, Nathalie?" He asked her, his face pale and drawn as exhaustion began to seep into his bones. "Why did you have to fuck me over as well?" It was finally sinking in that Nathalie had never cared about him. He thought it was an act but it was real and the realisation had knocked him sideways. Dumb, that was what he was. Maybe everyone's ideas were correct; he was a knuckle head.

Stopping, he chuckled darkly as he pinched the bridge of his nose. "Bravo," he told her acidly. "Really," Harvey added with a tight smile. "A performance of a life time. Congratulations," he said gently as he went to walk past her, stopping briefly at her shoulder as he glanced at her. "Now I'm going to do what I need to do." With that, he buttoned up his jacket and strode down the promenade in the opposite direction towards the hotel and away, set on getting his things and forgetting this night ever happened.

She could not answer his question; his demand for reason, for a motivation. She had nothing above what she had already spoken to him. He was naturally upset, but perhaps he could understand in time. All that remained was her shame. She looked away, intent on not meeting his eyes again. She did not wish to witness the aftermath. It was done and that was that. He stopped by her shoulder but she refused his glance, turning her head away as he dragged it out, probably enjoying the pain he was extracting teaspoon by teaspoon from his own heart as a little exhibition for her. She heard his soft footfalls decaying, and eventually she could sense the lack of his presence. The air had changed.

The blonde stood there in the darkness, listening to the engines of the boats puttering along as they returned their drunken crews back to dock. She turned, and Harvey had left her; the strand vacant. She felt like she had just tortured a small animal; she had been powerful and depraved. Still, that sensation was her punishment. He would recover, and he would forget. His choices were limitless. Slowly, Nathalie retraced her steps along the narrow beach, the gathering breeze chilling her. She returned to the promenade, and right where it met the sand she found the casino’s linen sack, still lying where Harvey had dropped it. She picked it up and examined the contents. Three fat bundles, nearly 150,000 francs, if she remembered correctly. She extracted one 500 franc note from a bundle to equalise her initial outlay, and walked on up the promenade. It did not take her long to find someone; despite the muggle palaces of opulence that made up the city and the pornographic vulgarity of their wares on permanent show, there were always people disconnected and forgotten. That was how muggle society operated - London had taught her that. Where the promenade joined Boulevard Louis II she caught sight of a small man with an oversized grey beard and unkempt hair, seated upon a bench opposite an elaborate shoe shop, illuminated by a nearby streetlamp. By his side was a shopping trolley packed with all his earthly belongings, and despite being at the bottom of a bottle of cheap wine, he was reading a old tattered newspaper through a pair of spectacles that were missing one arm. Nathalie approached him, and he peered at her, confused, over the top of his paper. The blonde dropped the bag onto the bench beside him. “There you go. Don’t spend it all in the one shop, will you?” she sneered.

And she disappeared into a little alleyway to make her way home.


FIN