BETTER GET RIGHT

-

Ewan didn’t flinch as Michel flashed their teeth for a brief moment. He held onto them just the same and looked around anxiously for anyone that looked like they could help. “I’m afraid we’ve lost our magic for a spell.” Ewan attempted a smile and a joke in order to lighten the mood. Unfortunately, it did little to help Michel forget the obvious peril that they were in. 

“The doors are closed, alright? But we will get them open and I promise, I will get you to a hospital.” Ewan swore, he just held Michel close. It was all he could do, he had no magic to quell the Veela’s pain. Ewan could only offer comfort until someone found a way out.

They moaned in pain, though it was supposed to be a laugh. They were grateful, at least, that someone was there to make sure they were all right, and they were grateful they didn’t seem to be put off by the scales and the teeth. So many people were, and Michel had never thought that anyone would be willing to help them when they were in a state like this. 

Effie shook her head as she sat down at the end of Michel’s bed. “A dark aura was reported in the alley, I arrived too late to get inside.” Her lips pulled down into a frown. She only showed her emotions to a select few, Effie had a lot of friends from her travels but only few she trusted with her feelings. Michel was easily one of them, and she felt no need to hide what she’d been thinking since Fleamont returned to her. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there– I– I could’ve helped. Somehow.” Effie knew she would’ve lost her magic too, but she still thought she could’ve done something had she been there.

///

[ @delacoeurx​ ]

Dorothy had practically stormed the front desk at hospital, one arm full of flowers and the other waving around frantically, a combination of frustration and fear. The moment she’d heard what happened to Michel, she’d practically flown out of her flat, stopping only once to grab a bundle of fresh flowers from a florist’s shop on the way. She’d arrived at the hospital a bundle of nerves, and after stumbling over her words – my friend, Michel, where are they – she was led to their room. The nurse explained that they might be resting, but she was welcome to stay until visiting hours were over, or until another guest arrived to see them. She nodded, only half paying attention, until finally the nurse opened the door and let her into the room.

“Michel,” she breathed, rushing from the door to their bedside. The paper holding the bouquet together complained by crinkling, and she hastily set the flowers aside, reaching forward and taking her friend’s hand in hers. “I am so sorry, I didn’t know you’d been there, I’m so sorry.”

///

They were looking a little green, and not feeling much better as they lay in the bed at St. Mungo’s, but already they were doing better than they had been before. When they had been brought into St. Mungo’s, they had been seizing on the stretcher, unable to speak or breathe properly and feeling like their entire body was burning. Now, their muscles were sore from all the tension they had been holding and their head ached more than it had ever ached before, but other than that, they were relatively unscathed and on the mend. They were more than grateful for that fact, especially after they had thought that they were going to die when they were in that arena. They had been so sure of it, in fact, that for the first time in decades, they had started praying. 

Michel was half asleep when Dorothy came in, and they barely roused when she first took their hand. Upon hearing her voice, however, they opened their eyes fully, grateful that one of the nurses had turned off most of the lights in the room, letting Michel nurse their headache in peace. “Don’t you know, cherie? This whole thing was a ploy for attention anyway.”

@delacoeurx​​

He had wanted to contact Michel for so long– almost a full four years now. But Cyril knew if he did, he’d only be putting them in danger. He knew that excuse clearly wouldn’t fly with Michel, they could very obviously handle themselves. However, Cyril knew angry masses of Grindelwald supporters were still out there. They knew he got away, and Cyril would kick himself if they ever got a hold of Michel. Cyril couldn’t imagine them going through all the torture and agony he did. Cyril was still recovering from it all, it was mostly mentally now. He couldn’t sleep at night without getting nightmares, but maybe having Michel around again could quell them for just a little while.

When he got the call about the need for his mediating skills, Cyril scoffed and almost hang up. But then they mentioned Michel and how they were in the hospital, and Cyril apparated on the spot to the hospital. He angrily pushed through the doors, some people staring at him in disbelief– he had been thought dead for the last four years. Cyril burst into Michel’s hospital room, locking it behind him because he knew they’d need the privacy as they dealt with this. “You look like an angel if I’ve ever seen one.” Cyril’s voice was calm, though his face was still bright red from making his way through the maze that was the hospital. “Afraid we’re not in heaven though.” He spoke softly, sitting at the edge of Michel’s bed.

///

Michel had been miserable after hearing news of Cyril’s death. It had haunted them, unable to get sounds of Cyril screaming or images of him hurt out of their head. They didn’t know what had happened to Cyril, which perhaps had been the worst part of it all, just knowing that he was dead and there was nothing to be done about it. It had been enough to send Michel into a deep depression for months, to make them grieve for years. Now, they had finally gotten to a point where thinking of Cyril didn’t hurt, where they could mention his name without feeling tears prick at their eyes. It was still enough to make Michel’s heart ache every time they thought about what they had with him, the pain of what could have been ripped from their hands. 

So, when they saw Cyril, still hazy from the medications that the healers had given them, they thought it was a dream. And oh, what a lovely dream it was. They sluggishly raised a hand to touch Cyril’s face, a dreamy smile on their face. “Oh, mon cheri,” they rasped softly, a thumb brushing against Cyril’s cheekbone. “You’re the angel here,” they whispered. They blinked a few times, expecting, as had been normal in the first weeks after Cyril’s death, for the mirage to disappear, but he didn’t. “Wait. Tu es ici? Tu es ici?” Michel started to sit up in bed, but their head spun, and they dropped back onto the pillows. 

//

Lucette rolled her eyes, swatting at Michel’s hands even as they pushed her away. “Why can’t you just,” she pushed them back, pettily, “let me take of you?” She already knew why; Michel had always been so good at bouncing back and going about their business, but Lucette didn’t move along so easily. Still, she slumped away from them just slightly. “I don’t know how many times you’ve said that to me, but you should know that I’m never convinced.”

She sat back and sunk into Michel’s couch, barely trying to conceal her pout. “Maman sent me an owl,” she said offhandedly. “You know, it’d be worse if she were here. ‘Oh, mon petit chou, how could this have happened? Allonge-toi, I’m going to make you some soup,’” Lucette fretted in a pitch perfect imitation of their mother.

///

Michel brought both hands up and held onto Lucette’s face. “I’m fine,” they replied in French, a grin on their features. “Vraiment.” They dropped their hands and dropped heavily onto their couch, curling their legs in towards their chest and pulling their hoodie tighter around themself. It was clear that Michel wasn’t at 100%, but they were trying really hard to be. “I don’t want you to feel sorry for me. Or pity me. I just want to forget it ever happened.” 

They snorted at Lucette’s impression of their mother. “It’s scary how good you are at that,” they said through laughter, shaking their head. “Aren’t you going to make me soup in her place?” they asked, raising an eyebrow at Lucette.

“I am all right, I am all right, I promise. Je suis bien,” Michel said, pushing Lucette away just a little as she continued to fuss over him. “All I needed was a good night’s rest and everything was fine.” Of course, they were underplaying it—being brought in with seizures and having a near-death experience due to the loss of magic was no small issue, but Michel felt fine now that their magic was back, and all they wanted was to forget it ever happened. 

That was Michel’s motto—they moved on quickly, forgot that the bad things happened because dealing with it all would be too much for them to bear. They didn’t know how to handle the fact that they had nearly died, so they didn’t. 

As soon as Michel saw Effie at the door to their hospital room, they stood up and wrapped her up in a hug. As much as they liked to act like they were tough, like they didn’t need anybody, they needed their friends, and Effie was a dear one. She had always taken him, dramatic Veela moments and all, without complaint and without hesitation. He had been terrified of never seeing her again. He had been terrified of never seeing any of them again. He sighed, pulling away and looking at her. “Ca va?” they asked, a frown on their features. “I didn’t see you there. Were you there? I hope not.” 

-

Ewan darted after the man who had previously been center stage, only for smoke to surround him the moment he stepped onto the platform. As the smoke dissipated, Ewan began to feel drained. Almost like his heart was being pulled from his chest. He pushed past the pains in his chest, making his way through the crowd in attempt to get back to his husband when someone bumped into him.

Normally, Ewan would’ve moved on in search of Donny, but when the person fell to their knees Ewan knew he couldn’t leave them. “I’ve got you.” Ewan assured assertively. He was trained as a medi-wizard during the last war, and this event was giving Ewan sudden flashbacks of putting his life on the line to ensure others gained their strength to go on. His old self consumed him– he couldn’t be selfish here. He needed to get people on their feet so they could move.

///

Michel couldn’t breathe. The felt untethered, unmoored like a ship that had become detached from its anchor. Everything that they knew about themself, everything that they were came back to being Veela, and without at that Veela magic, they felt like their entire body was on fire. The pain was unimaginable, and Michel looked up at Ewan with large, panicked eyes. What the fuck was happening? 

“I envy you,” Dorothy replied, an amused smile flickering over her face. The firewhiskey was already beginning to soften her, just a bit, enough for her to place her chin in her hand and stare up at her friend with a faux-adoring gaze. “What’s it like, being your own boss?” She cooed, placing the cup down on her desk, starting her going-home routine. Shuffle her papers into something resembling a neat stack, quills back in their organizer – it was a rote way for her to explain to her brain that the work day was over. She was practically finished with the article, anyhow, and she highly doubted that the people were desperate for a recap on the Cannons’ training weekend.

When Michel confessed they had no true reason for celebrating, Dorothy laughed, the warmth coursing through her more than the whiskey. She liked spending time with Michel - their carefree attitude always reminded her to loosen up herself. Spending hours hunched over a desk could really tense a person. “Well, I’m flattered. I like to think our friendship is a good enough reason to celebrate. Maybe it’s an anniversary or something.” She took another swig from the cup, grabbing her necessary things and sweeping them into her bag. “As much as I’d love to sit here and continue to drink at my desk, it’s harder to gripe about work while I’m still here. Want to grab a proper drink somewhere?”

“J’en sais pas, it would be nice if someone wanted to pay me for my skills. It’d do wonders for my self-esteem, at least,” they joked lightly, tossing back the shot of firewhiskey in their cup easily and crushing it in their hand. People looked, for sure—of course, the sight of muscular, bearded person in a pink tulle dress was strange for most people in the Prophet office—but Michel paid them no mind as they tossed the cup perfectly into a trash can across the room. They were glad, at least, that Dorothy was willing to indulge them for an evening. Not a lot of people had the patience for Michel that Dorothy and Effie had, considering all of Michel’s antics. 

Michel gestured vaguely. “I’m sure there’s something worth getting drunk over.” They held out their elbow so Dorothy could loop her arm through theirs, surreptitiously picking up an important, official looking document off her coworker’s desk and tucking it into a small pocket in the skirt of their flowing dress as they walked out. “Cherie, I’ve been waiting for you to come out and have a drink with me all week.” They pouted. “It’s been nearly six whole days. I’ve been suffering from withdrawal.” 

The sight of his friend helped him relax a bit. At least he could keep doing what he was doing without having to worry about being too professional. “Je vais bien. Comment ça va?” he replied back. Another thing that Reuben loved about travelling was being able to utilize all of the languages that he had learned over the years. It was nice to have a friend in London who didn’t force him to speak English all of the time. Their next question caused him to roll his eyes. “I really don’t understand what all of the hype is about,” he admitted in frustration. “There was a sign on my door this morning, but I tore it down. I don’t need anything distracting from the beauty of this store,” he said, flashing a grin to show how his comment was somewhat sarcastic.

.

“Ca va bien. J’suis pas mal.” They shrugged. Not bad was about as good as anyone was those days, unfortunately, and Michel had been under increasing pressure to get results for their superiors at the French Ministry. Michel had been stalled in their investigation, unable to fully come to some conclusive leads about the secret groups potentially at work in England. It was frustrating. It had been robbing them of their sleep. “I don’t know. Everyone is talking about it. Guess that makes it important.” Michel was the type of person to go with the crowd, if only because that was the best way they knew to get their job done. Regardless of the intent, something interesting was bound to happen. 

It was getting late and after James’ tantrum, Effie had yet to make dinner and Fleamont was due home at any time now. So she brought James along to the Three Broomsticks to see if they could grab some take away and have it set out before Fleamont got home. Once she arrived with the little boy on her hip, her brow raised at the fight going on not too far from where she and her son were standing.

“We were just going to grab some take away…” Effie held James’ head to her chest, hoping to avert his eyes from the fight. “It should only be a minute.” She rocked back and forth hoping James would fall asleep after the tantrum he’d thrown just an hour ago. 

Michel winced, glancing over Effie anxiously rocking James then back at the brewing fight. “How about I get something?” They patted down their pockets, feeling a few galleons in there. “Dinner’s on me tonight. I’ll bring it over. And some wine,” they said in a conspiratorial whisper, winking at the end of their statement. “Seriously.” They waved Effie off. “Shoo.” 

Michel figured if they were going to have all this training, it would do them no good to keep all of it secret. Years of working as an auror had made Michel adept at realizing when a situation was going to resolve itself and when someone was going to have to step in to resolve it, and this seemed like the latter. The last thing they wanted was for Effie to have more stress as a mother in turbulent times.

The words Quidditch, snitch, and beater were starting to hold no meaning for Dorothy. She’d been buried in work since early that morning - taking a day off to poke around Diagon Alley held its consequences, and her editor was certainly putting her through the wringer. She was seconds away from stupefying herself when the familiar whispers began to spread through the office. The nervous giggling and shocked gasps could only mean one thing – Michel had come to visit. She looked up just in time to see her friend drop themselves onto her desk, a bottle of firewhiskey clutched in their hand. “It only seems that way because you don’t work at all,” she retorted, the smile on her face accompanying the teasing tone of her voice. She glanced at the clock resting on her desk - six minutes after five, which meant technically…

Dorothy reached out, grabbing one of the enchanted cups, arching an eyebrow. “What’s the occasion?” She asked, tapping the edge of her cup against the edge of theirs before taking a bold swig. Her nose wrinkled but she managed not to cough. Firewhiskey reminded her mostly of her seventh year at Hogwarts. “You find a job you don’t think is absolutely abhorrent?”

.

Michel wrinkled their nose. “I do work. Just not on anything people want to pay me for.” Not that it mattered—Michel’s father had done very well for himself as the ambassador from the French Ministry to the English, and Michel didn’t have to work a day in their life if they didn’t want to. Of course, they did work, all the time, and perhaps even more than Dorothy sometimes, but they couldn’t say anything about it. At first, the secrecy had gotten on Michel’s nerves to no end, but now, they enjoyed it. They liked having something that was entirely theirs and they liked that people underestimated them. No one knew about the rigorous auror training that Michel had gone through, and they wanted to keep it that way. 

“Actually...” They paused. “C’est rien, but I just wanted to see you,” they said with a crooked smirk. They had an ulterior motive in coming to the Prophet office, a magical bug now stuck under Dorothy’s neighbor’s desk so that Michel could listen in on any conversations about the fliers. They were pumping all avenues of information for anything they could get, because right now, they found nothing, and it was troubling to say the least.

With his father feeling ill this morning, Reuben agreed to run the shop for the day. School had already started, so he didn’t expect it to be very busy. In fact, if he was lucky, he’d be able to do some of his own research while he was on his own. With a yawn, the wizard waved his wand to unlock the door before looking up at it. “What the-?” he mumbled as he ripped off the flyer that was attached to the front door. “That does not belong there,” he muttered in frustration as he crumpled it up and brought it inside to throw away. Reuben shook his head. This was just another reason that he wished he was still in the woods somewhere. His thoughts became more and more annoyed as he restocked the shelves in thought about this stupid rally. It was sure to get in the way of their work, and he wasn’t looking forward to telling his father about it. However as he let his thoughts get the best of him, the bell on the front door caused him to jump. “Uh.. hi. Sorry. Can I help you with something?” he asked, shifting so that he could see the customer around the shelves.

.

Michel liked to visit Reuben at work, if only because they could sit in that back office with their wings and their teeth out after a long day of trying to suppress all of it without feeling guilty or feeling like they could be putting themself in danger by exposing their Veela side. When they entered and didn’t immediately see Reuben, they assumed they would find him somewhere in the stacks and they started to wander through the store to find out where Reuben ended up. “Quoi de neuf, mon ami?” Michel asked with their usual teasing grin as they stepped out from behind one of the shelves. “What do you think about all this?” They gestured vaguely out towards the Alley, where people were gathered up and down the street, discussing the fliers. “It all seems very...uh...” They struggled for the word for a moment. “Strange.” 

Michel was sitting crosslegged on top of a covered trash can—all the nearby benches were taken—sucking on a flavor-changing lollipop and watching people fighting it out over the fliers. They supposed they should be making a report about this, but frankly, they were just too tired. If the French Ministry was really interested, they would have other ways of finding out this type of public information without needing a spy to get it for them. Michel decided that they were going to be taking the day off from that moment before. 

That was why, when Effie arrived with James, they immediately jogged over. “Hey, Eff, today might not be the best day to bring James here,” they said, gesturing behind them to where one discussion seemed to be getting particularly heated. “Do you need something? I could get it for you. You can take James home.”