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@beaudupont
“All they really have to do is take the charm off the glass to stop me refilling it with magic. I will happily donate to that cause.” At his next comment, Elena just took an awkward sip of what was left in her glass.
“Yes, but it may look bad that you’re donating to the cause of getting your glass refilled, rather than for the good of the children, hm?”
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“Oh, there is no need to worry there at the moment. Nobody else had surpassed you yet.”
“Yet? They never will.”
Lucia had been delighted to volunteer for the auction. Not only did the charity aspect reflect well on her, but there was the possibility of more publicity, depending on who she was auctioned off to. She’d been hoping for attractive company who would want to spend the day doing something public, with plenty of photo opportunities - that, in itself, had been an excuse to go shopping, which was always a bonus to Lucia. Whether Beau Dupont would live up to that expectation remained to be seen, but he certainly had the attractive part going for him.
They’d arranged to meet on Diagon Alley, not far from his shop. She’d only visited there a few times, and rarely interacted with the owner, so she was relying mainly on what she knew from the press and what she remembered from their time at Hogwarts, although that felt like a very long time ago now. All in all, Lucia felt wholly unprepared for the day, but she tried to push the worry that came from that to the back of her mind.
When Beau arrived, Lucia was leaning against the wall, picking absently at some nonexistent imperfection on her fingernails. The pose may have looked effortless and nonchalant - in fact, it was intended to - but she’d been sure to cast a quick charm on the wall to protect her outfit from any stains.
It had been a hassle to chase a few kids out of his shop when he wanted to close- kids that he knew didn’t have enough money to buy anything, anyway- so he was running a little late to his meeting with Lucia Hornby. When he arrived, though, he was at a casual stroll, hands in pockets, as if he didn’t care that he had been running late at all.
He recognized her right away. He was in the Quidditch business, after all, so he should know all of the most famous players by face anyway, but he did remember her from school. He didn’t remember much about her, she had been a few years younger than him, therefore, not in his interest range, but he did remember her face. And the attitude too, of course, that he took with stride as he approached her.
“My apologies, I’m a little on the later side. I couldn’t get some children out of my shop. It always seems to happen when I’ve got plans, unfortunately.” Beau tilted his head from side to side, letting it crack, before he finally took his hands out of his pockets and instead folded his arms across his chest.
“We can do whatever you’ve got in mind today.” He wanted to be somewhere public, where he could show off his company and the amount of money that he had spent to be there with her that day.
“How much do I have to donate to get this G+T to keep refilling itself?”
“Probably quite a bit. Stuff’s expensive, you know.”
“But I’m sure for someone with as much talent as yourself, Miss Rowle, you’d have no problems securing whatever you wanted. Quidditch player benefit, and all.”
“I have no need to trust your business acumen, as long as I can still afford to trust your skill with brooms.”
“My skill is the best there is. Remember that.”
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“My business is going to look poor when I trip over my own boots and fall on the pavement. I like quidditch because I don’t have to talk, I don’t have to impress with anything but talent. On the ground I’m less of a figure and more of a dork.”
“So what? You have some disappointed fans?”
“Yeah- when my agent said ‘charity auction’ I thought I would just auction off one of my old brooms- this… This isn’t my area of expertise, I’m no good with dates.”
“Yes, well, I feel the same way. But some things, unfortunately, we are obliged to do. This is one of them. My business would look poor if I didn’t do it.”
“Ah, but what about when more people would prefer to sacrifice quality for cost? Especially if you continue to mount your prices like this. There is a line between worth it and taking the piss.”
“You act like I don’t know how business works.”
His admittance startled her, more than she would have liked it to. She quickly masked the shock with a stone cold expression. He should have moved on. It would have been better for both of them.
For a moment she was stuck between yes and no. His face brought back so many memories, of the good and the bad and the utterly lovely. Reality crashed around her as the coffee shop owner nudged her on the shoulder and handed Zara her usual coffee, already prepared yet she was still several places from the front of the line.
Relief washed across her face, and she turned towards him once more, resolved to leave as quickly as possible. “I can’t. Zita wants us on the pitch early.”
When Zara denied him, something inside Beau just snapped. He had half expected her to give in, half expected her to just say yes. But instead she had denied the little bit of hope he held. He had loved her. He had given her everything. And yet, here she was. Walking away from him, as if nothing they had shared had ever mattered. She had to leave. She had a game to play.
“I don’t know what I did to you, Zara Scott, but I certainly hope that whatever it was, it was worth this. Not having me is the biggest mistake you’ve ever made, and probably the biggest one you’re ever going to make. I’m not going to wait on you forever, my dear. Think carefully about what you’re doing. I’m a Bulstrode, love. a Bulstrode and a Greengrass. You could have everything you ever wanted. And look at me. I’m amazing. Handsome and successful. Now what did I ever do to you but love you?”
His arrogance frustrated her. It was as if he couldn’t see, couldn’t understand that it was the very reason she’d left him. The mention of the broom softened her though, and for the slightest moment her mouth twitched into a small smile, before she hardened her resolve once more.
“I use it for practice,” she said, clearing her throat, “It’s a good broom.” It really was. She knew that Beau had made it specially for her. Every curve met her body perfectly, every inch was filled with love and hard work. And she hated it. She’d tried using her old Nimbus as a practice broom but it wasn’t the same, no broom would ever be so in sync, so perfect as the DuPont broom.
The mention of her ankle made her nervous. What if he knew? She tried to read him, tried to see if he had any idea that her ankle had in fact been healed in moments. Zara shifted nervously, nodding as if the thought of her injury still plagued her, “Yup. All better now, though.”
The line inched forward, slower than she ever thought it could go. Zara looked around, hoping for some distraction.
“You, um, seeing anyone?” she asked, knowing immediately that her attempt at small talk was the worst possible question she could have asked. It made her seem interested, regretful, needy. It had been weeks, months. They should have been able to do this, talk like random acquaintances, but she still had everything about him memorized - his favorite color, the way he liked his coffee, the feel of his lips on hers, the sound of his breaths as he slept. And she hated it.
The question made his eyebrows tilt in surprise. Seeing anyone? Was she trying to hint at something? No, Beau knew she wasn’t interested in getting back together. She was probably trying to gauge just how over her he really was. The answer to that was, of course, that he was no where near over her.
“No, I’m not.” He admitted with a slight smile, “I’m still yours, completely and wholeheartedly.” It was a quiet admittance, but he couldn’t help but let it slip out. Very few people ever got to see his weaknesses, and Zara was one of those people. He still loved everything about her, and he couldn’t stand the fact that she had given him up so suddenly and so completely.
He wanted to ask what he had done wrong, what had gotten him to be so ignored in the first place, so shunned, so hated. But he didn’t know how to phrase it, not when they were in the middle of a coffee shop and people were already giving them looks. He had risked saying about as much as he could on a personal level in public. He didn’t want the world to know he was still hung up over his ex, after all. Only her.
“Would you let me buy you you’re coffee? As a good luck charm before the game?”
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“For all I knew, you might be coming in for a drink.”
“It wouldn’t be the first time you’ve come in.”
“I know better than to harass you before you open.”
“Oh please, I’m totally more important than you. I’m the famous one.”
“I’m the successful one. You’re pretty, I’m smart.”
“175, six names and details.”
“And I’ll throw in an advertisement for your shop in one of my articles.”
“I’m not falling for that.”
“200 for five, or nothing.”
“Funny, because in some places it is. It is supposed to help you persuade customers to keep coming back.”
“I don’t need to persuade anyone. I’m the best, and they know it.”
“I’m not one to bargain, but I feel cheated. I’ll pay, but I’ll grumble a lot.”
“You shouldn’t feel cheated. Anyone else would charge you the same. Or is my time not valuable to you?”
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“How about a club? Flashing lights, lots of alcohol, and very hard to recognize just about anyone.”
“Flight lights give me headaches.”
“But maybe I’ll go just this once. For you.”
“Oh, erm. It’s fine, it can wait.”
“It can wait?”
“...I can give you a couple of minutes of my time. What do you need?”
