[TTD] the way is dark the light is dim

23rd December 2002

Merde!

There was no doubt about it. Fleur was lost. Very, very lost. She knew that she was somewhere down Knockturn Alley, but there was so many twists and turns and little side streets that reversing her steps was easier said than done. And the thought of getting more lost was not appealing. This was her in-laws’ fault. Fleur would not have had to go shopping if there wasn’t so many Weasley cousins to get presents for. Honestly, she thought she was done with Christmas shopping for this year, but no, apparently she had missed out a second cousin twice removed or something! She would have been quite happy to simply not get them a present, were it not for the look Molly would get when she realised.

And Fleur was not giving Molly any chance to act superior.

So she had flooed to Diagon Alley and went straight to Sugarplum’s Sweet Shop where Fleur had picked up a box of chocolates, paid and left. She barely knew this distant relative - chocolate was all the effort they were getting. However, on her way back to The Leaky Cauldron Fleur had been struck by the sense she was forgetting something. Had she been meaning to pick up something else for Bill too? Or Victoire? So she had once again turned back on herself, battling through the last minute Christmas shoppers while trying to remember. Maybe it was food for dinner? Or loo roll? They were beginning to toilet train the two year old and her favourite thing to do was use as much loo roll as possible when Fleur’s back was turned.

But Fleur was pretty sure she had bought some on her last trip to the shop near Tinworth. Or had she? And so, lost in thought trying to retrace her steps in her memory, Fleur allowed the crowds to push her along. She had gone on Friday. She had bought tomatoes, a set of Christmas tea towels for Molly and a lollipop for Victoire because she wouldn’t stop whining. Oh, she had also got lamb and they had lamb casserole for dinner. But toilet roll? There had been bread and plums. And the potatoes had been in the reduced to clear section. She had gone down the last aisle a few times and had eventually picked up the muggle newspaper for Arthur. Apparently someone (or something) named J-Lo had cancelled their wedding?

And the newspapers were next to the toilet rolls that were on promotion so she had taken two packets instead of one! This forgetfulness was really annoying Fleur. She was so used to be sharp and witty and just last week she had put a fork in the bin and orange peel in the sink. But she definitely had loo roll. So it was time to go home. Except…

Merde. Where was she? With her thoughts fully on shopping, she had wandered into and down Knockturn Alley. Now that Fleur was conscious of her surroundings, she had become uncomfortable and anxious. The tall, leaning buildings blocked out the dull winter sun, leaving the alleyway feeling dark and oppressive. It was too much of a reminder of the Triwizard maze for Fleur to not see and remember the similarities. On instinct, she grabbed her wand and spun in a circle. No blast ended skrewts were getting her now. There were no signs of life visible in the alley, but who knew what lurked in the shadows.

Stumbling slightly forward, fear making her clumsy, Fleur kept a tight hold of her wand and cloak. A pregnant part-veela was surely an enticing target in this horrid place. The British Ministry really should have done something about Knockturn Alley a long time ago. The French would never let something as awful as this exist. But she shouldn’t expect anything different. Britain seemed to only exist in this awful grey and oppressive environment.

She turned another corner, unsure if it was the right direction or not, but knowing the best thing was to keep moving. It was dangerous to stay still inside the maze. Separating the maze and alley in her mind seemed impossible now. There was someone ahead. Were they friend or foe? It was better to be safe than sorry. No one was really friends in the maze. Fleur raised her wand, ready to stun and run (or waddle) past, when the dim light of a shopfront illuminated part of the person’s features.

Red hair.

It was enough to remember that her days in the Triwizard Tournament were long gone. And stunning one of her husband’s many relatives was not the best thing to do only a few days before Christmas. More likely than not he would know her and know the way out.

Fleur approached, wand now at her side rather than out infront, and called out to the Weasley. “Joyeux Noel!” She said pleasantly, waiting for him to turn around and greet her. “Can I get help to get back to the Diagon Alley, s’il vous plait?” Fleur, more comfortable now there was someone there, began to talk more easily. “I was shopping for Victoire and I got a bit lost.” A stunning smile would hopefully persuade him to help if talk of the little Weasley didn’t. Even pregnant, Fleur was used to men heeding her word.

@Roderick Macnair

Roderick just wanted to go home.

It had been a productive morning, but the minute he had decided to step into Stringfellow's the whole day had just gone bloody well pear-shaped. It had been a miracle Morfess had handled it so well, but a Weasley? Him, mistaken for Ronald Bloody Weasley? In public!? Not only were the Weasleys damn blood traitors, to begin with, but Ronald Weasley was also absolutely ancient. They had been at school together for what, one year? That Weasley had to be in his mid-twenties now. Roderick was tall, yeah, but he was young! Didn't people know that not all ginger wizards belonged to that bloody family?

Didn't buy a Wheezes product just a few hours ago? asked logical Roderick, from the corner of his brain in which all sense had been shoved for the moment.

Shut up, said the rest of Roderick.

He had bolted from Stringfellows and that area of Diagon Alley with incredible speed and had not stopped walking until he was squarely out of the district. Knockturn Alley was way more comfortable to be seen in. Dad and Uncle Walden had mates who worked around here, and he knew where all the public Floo fireplaces were. This was more his element. Roderick stopped and leaned against an alley wall for a moment, trying to regain his composure.

He looked down at his shopping bags. The doll and the kit were both still there, thank Merlin he hadn't dropped them. Roderick could go ahead and Apparate straight back to Glasgow now if he wanted, but Apparation wasn't his strongest spell and he didn't want to risk showing up at home splinched and bleed all over the gifts. Better take Floo, then.

Roderick started to walk towards one of the pubs, ready for this unsettling afternoon to be at an end, when he heard a woman's voice behind him call out - in bloody French? Jwayoo noelle - who the hell was wishing him Happy Christmas in the middle of Knockturn Alley?

"Listen, lady, I don't got time for this -" he started as he turned around, and then promptly stopped talking. Whoever this blonde pregnant woman was, she was absolutely stunning. The urge to leave London as fast as possible began to subside and was replaced by an overwhelming desire to help this lady out.

"Oh, sure, I guess. Uh. This way." Roderick pointed dumbly in the direction of one of the connecting alleyways. He fell in step beside her, going slow as she was as they made their way back to the alley. Normally not one for small talk, Roderick found his lips moving without his brain really getting a say. "So, uh, who's Victor?"

Fleur couldn’t help the self satisfied smirk that unbiddingly came to her lips as the redhead changed his tune as soon as he turned. She still had it, even when pregnant. It was reassuring to know that some things never changed. “Merci,” she replied as she was pointed in the right direction. That was one thing that had changed over the years though. Fleur never used to say thank you to strangers. In fact she never used to show much but contempt for strangers.

He went at her pace, as expected (Fleur certainly was not going to hurry along after him), and they made their way slowly along one of the dark twisting alleys. With someone beside her, it reminded Fleur a little less of the maze but she was still eager to get back onto the bustling wide Diagon Alley. She still wasn’t convinced that nothing untoward lurked in the shadows and tight corners. He seemed more comfortable in the darkness than Fleur did and for the first time she began to wonder what exactly a Weasley was doing in the infamously dark alley?

Maybe she would have asked if he had not spoken first, but honestly, the French witch did not really care. And talking about her beloved daughter was one of her favourite subjects. Others included how France was so much better than Britain; how brave her husband was; how awful British culture was -Celestina Warbeck as a prime example; how her little sister had absolutely no faults; the state of British politics; and, of course, herself.

Fleur still quirked an eyebrow at the redhead. How could he possibly not know who Victoire was? While the gifts received had ranged from practical to ridiculous, Fleur was fairly sure that every possible family member had crawled out the woodwork to present one after Victoire’s birth. “My daughter,” she chose to say, although there was a hint of incredulity in her tone. If he didn’t remember her daughter, should she really be following him down the darkened path? She certainly hoped that Victoire had picked up no genetic traits in common with this man.

But that was doubtful. Her daughter was already so smart and intelligent and bright for her age. Really the best two year old in the world. There was no chance she had inherited any characteristics from the less desirable Weasleys. It really was a great thing that Bill had so little in common with his cousins. Her husband was definitely the best of the lot, although Fleur was definitely becoming more and more fond of his siblings as the years passed.

Fleur paused before saying anything else. Part of her knew that talking to this man - or really, little boy, he was so young - was pointless and beneath her. The other part however talked to absolutely anyone about her daughter. “She is très excited for Christmas!” Fleur supplied, “and is nearly fully recovered from the dreadful black cat flu. Quel soulagement!” She did not want her daughter suffering ever, but especially did not want it to ruin the first Christmas that Victoire would probably remember.

The pair was still walking as they conversed (or rather, as Fleur talked), and she had her face pointed in it’s usual direction. That is, slightly tilted upwards, nose in the air. Maybe at a later date Fleur would realise that not watching your feet in an alley with poor hygiene and drainage was not the most intelligent thing to do. But that was a thought process for another time. As it was when she stepped on something that cracked, but was squishy at the same time, no thoughts as to how it was possibly, slightly, her own fault entered her mind.

“Pah!” Fleur exclaimed in disgust at the sensation beneath her foot. Long gone were the days where she could look down and see her own feet but she tried anyway. “This place is disgusting,” she complained shrilly to her companion, still trying to see what she had stepped on. Only by walking forward and looking back could see see the pus-y black blobs that littered the alleyway. Blobs that looked like they were about to explode!

She had only encountered them once before. In an abandoned room at 12 Grimmauld Place on one of her first visits. Before the whole place had been fully cleaned and decontaminated. It had been enough for Fleur to know that she hadn’t wanted to encounter them ever again.

Doxies!

Grabbing the redheaded man’s arm quickly, she allowed her nails to dig slightly into his arm in alarm. “They are going to éclore!” Fleur couldn’t think of the right word in English. “Open! Break! Give birth!” She tried, unable to rest on the word ‘hatch’. They needed to get out of there before they were bitten by baby doxies, desperate for blood and to cause mayhem. Merde! This wouldn’t happen in France.

If Roderick hadn't failed Care of Magical Creatures with a Dreadful, maybe some part of him would have recognized the enchantment he was currently under. If he had ever opened the textbook, maybe he would have known that Veela charms persist for generations and have an ungodly effect on men. Maybe if he had stuck it out for NEWTs, some part of his brain would realize the only reason he was even talking to this posh French lady was because of magic.

Unfortunately, none of these things were true, so Roderick half-led half followed the stranger back to Diagon Alley without asking questions.

She seemed a little upset she didn't know about her daughter - was she famous, or something? Should he know who she was? He knew what black cat flu was, at least, and pulled a face. "Good she's better, then," Roderick mumbled, trying in vain to keep the conversation going. Distracted, he missed a turn, leading them into a part of Knockturn that was not exactly the cleanest. Aw, shit. The mystery woman had realized too and was definitely upset about that for sure. "Sorry, must have missed a turn, if we just..."

There was a sickening crunchy, squelchy sound under his shoe that gave him pause. A glance downwards confirmed what he already knew but didn't want to acknowledge: bloody doxy eggs.

"I'm going, I'm going!" Roderick yelled, tugging his arm free of his companion's incredibly sharp nails. They managed to get a bit away and put a few feet between them and the doxy eggs, but the yelling Frenchwoman was right - they were about to hatch. And at her stage of pregnancy (not that Roderick knew what it was beyond "visibly pregnant") there was no way they would be able to outrun them if they decided to swarm while they retreated. Roderick clutched his bag tighter and closer to him. A pregnant woman should not be going to St. Mungo's with doxy bites, but more importantly he was out of cash and Roderick was not going to let his Christmas presents for his siblings be destroyed by damn doxies.

"Get behind me!" Roderick shoved his bags into the blonde's hands and put himself in between the woman and the doxies. They were hatching now, squirming from the goo of their eggs as the others popped. Roderick drew his wand. There would only be one shot to get most of them and he couldn't cast a Shield Charm at the same time.

But these pests would not be allowed to ruin Christmas.

"Volostupefy!" he cried, sending hundreds of tiny jets of red sparks towards the wretched beasts, stunning most of them midflight. "Gelo maxmos," Roderick continued. The alleyway suddenly shone with the reflection of the ice, trapping the newborn doxies and the unhatched eggs beneath. Maxmos was a tough charm, and Roderick felt all his strength draining away.

"Let's get out of here." He stumbled back out of that godforsaken alley and into the correct one for Diagon Alley, looking over his shoulder to check not only the witch was still there but that the doxies still weren't.

Fleur was reluctantly impressed at the young redhead. Trapping the doxies under ice was a rather ingenious move. She certainly hadn’t thought about it, although Fleur easily could (and would) use pregnancy as an excuse for her temporary paralysis. That, and the fact Knockturn Alley was just a bit too reminiscent of the maze. Instead of proving that she was proficient in Defence, as any Triwizard Champion and Order member should be, Fleur had allowed the wizard to push himself in front of her and deal with the threat at hand.

“Thank you,” she said gratefully once the doxies had been dealt with. “You were tres efficient.” Fleur meant brave as well, even slightly heroic, but she had married into a family of brave heroes. Such behaviour was commonplace almost. Gryffindors the lot of them. It was in their blood. And never tickle a sleeping dragon was such a stupid motto for a school. Fleur could attest that the best thing to do to dragons, sleeping or not, was to never go near them in the first place.

Yet another horrible Triwizard Task that made her skin crawl. She was glad the whole Tournament had officially been banned. Fleur would certainly never be letting her children compete in it. Less danger, more learning if they would be so kind!

The wizard had clearly used a lot of power to conjure the ice and it was showing in the way he couldn’t quite walk upright. Fleur could have done something, could have suggested they stop so he could take a breath and regain his strength, but she couldn’t bare to spend another minute, even another second, in this Merlin-forsaken place. So she allowed him to keep showing her the way out, the only concession being that Fleur had yet to return the shopping bag that he had earlier thrust into her hands.

She followed him along the twisting alley until, at last, she could see the familiar bustle and openness of Diagon Alley up ahead. Fleur was finally safe. “Thank you, thank you!” Fleur exclaimed happily, reaching forward to press a kiss to each of the redhead’s cheeks in gratitude and ignoring his reaction. The British were always so weird about these things. In Europe, in Europe that was normal.

Fleur turned to melt into the crowds traipsing back to the Leaky Cauldron, ready to floo home and get off her feet for the day. But at the last second she turned back and walked towards her saviour again. “Merry Christmas!” She said, fully in English, as she withdrew the box of fancy chocolates that she had bought earlier. “Here, you need to keep your strength up.” Having handed it over, Fleur reversed her steps and was soon swallowed up by the crowd. Home time!

Although, damn it, did she still need to buy toilet roll?

[/OUT]

Roderick did not process the French witch's first pass at gratitude - he was rather preoccupied with keeping on foot in front of the other. Merlin's beard, that was why you had to be careful with spell modifiers. His wand hand felt hollow, his legs like lead. When the pair of them finally reached the bright lights of Diagon Alley's main shopping district, Roderick stepped to one said and leaning against a wall, closing his eyes as the exhaustion washed over him. Oh. When had she returned the bags to him? They seemed to have just appeared in his hands again. Glancing inside, he allowed himself a small smile - no doxy pus, no bites, no tears in the gift wrapping even.

With the first peck on his right cheek, Rod was suddenly yanked back into the present. The hell was that? Looking on the blonde mother-to-be's face again, Roderick could not muster any outrage but he sure was confused. That... was that some continental thing? It must be. "It was nothing," he mumbled, the lie obvious but the need to be appreciated by this beauty demanding it anyway. "Just try to stay outta Knockturn in the future, yeah?'

She seemed not to notice whatever he was blathering about and was about to waddle off into the crowd when Rod found himself face to face with the French woman again as she pressed some box into his hands. "Happy Christmas to you, too, miss-" Wait a second. "Oi!" he called after her. "What's your name?"

But she was gone, lost in the crowd of tired shoppers heading home via the Leaky Cauldron's fireplace.

Roderick glanced down and his jaw dropped. He had spotted this brand of chocolates in a shop earlier - well out of his budget, especially for something as ephemeral as food. It was a large box too, easily enough to divide into little stocking stuffers for both his siblings and his parents, too. He hadn't bought these, hadn't earned them, he wanted to call out to the lady and give them back.

Well, in a way, hadn't he earned them by defending the poor woman? Is that what it was like to do nice things for strangers? Did you always get a box of fancy chocolates at the end of the adventure?

He mulled over that question as he queued for the Floo, deciding that yes, maybe it was worth it to help people out sometimes about a second before the green flames consumed him and sent him home to Glasgow.


/out
/fin