FLEUR / DELACOUR

– FLEUR DELACOUR-WEASLEY PINNED POST !

she/her – thirty – healer – beauxbatons alumnus

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LOCATION  :  MADAM ROSMERTA’S MUDER MYSTERY 

CLOSED STARTER @delefleur

~

“Look, I get that it is very dangerous to be out alone, and I understand that this is an exclusive event.” Riel started, shoving their hands into their pockets and shifting their weight uncomfortably. The trio had just arrived and Riel already felt backed into a corner in this party full of older people. They regretted almost instantly their costume choice; if they knew everyone else would be choosing characters to embody instead of concepts, Riel would have been something more likeable. Less snarky. Something that wouldn’t get a side-eye and an ‘oh, cute.’. Though what was to be expected; the wix hadn’t dressed up for Halloween since their school years.

“I am grateful, truly.” They sighed, saying what was expected though Riel wished they were somewhere with less eyes. “But you must see how odd it feels for me to accompany my married sister and her husband to the grown-up table, dearest sœur.” 

“I don’t think it’s odd.” Fleur says, features immediately drawing into a FROWN, as she tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear ( it was difficult to manage when she’d teased it like this – big and frizzy to emphasise the character she was supposed to be playing, an ironic COMPLEMENT to her husband’s costume ). HALLOWEEN wasn’t something she often celebrated – in recent years, she was usually too busy working at ST MUNGO’S, and, during her youth, it has never been something she’d been PARTICULARLY fond of – always finding that she didn’t need a silly costume to draw eyes. This year, however, she’d managed to secure tickets to MADAME ROSMERTA’S MURDER MYSTERY DINNER – originally intended for just she and Bill, she’d soon after invited RIEL, wanting to make sure her sibling was doing something rather than simply spending time alone.

She often worried about Riel – it was something she had always done, consciously or not. Perhaps it was something that came with being the older sibling ( she noticed BILL, too, constantly fretted over his younger siblings ), or the substantial age gap between the DELACOURS, but it was difficult for Fleur to feel completely at ease without knowing that Riel, too, was safe and happy. She worried that her sibling didn’t seem to have many friends outside of Fleur’s own circle, and that, since arriving in ENGLAND, hadn’t seemed particularly inclined to change this. So, she’d invited Riel along both to ensure that they weren’t simply sitting home alone for the holiday, and to, MAYBE, get them to venture out of their shell the tiniest bit.

HALLOWEEN had never been Fleur’s FAVOURITE holiday – usually, she wound up working a shift at ST MUNGO’S while everyone else was out enjoying the festivities, and, eventually, turning up in her emergency department with revelry-related injuries that she would need to tend to. THIS YEAR, however, she’d managed to secure a handful of tickets to MADAM ROSMERTA’S MURDER MYSTERY PARTY – something, she was quite pleased to find out upon arrival, had sold out months ago. Fleur had all but ENSURED she wouldn’t be rostered on for this holiday – a few STERN WORDS to the healer manager about her already solidified plans were enough to see her name fail to appear on the roster again until November 2nd. 

where : pumpkin carving table near pumpkin patch status : open ( @startertms )

if she could rate her muggle pumpkin carving skills out of ten, she would give it a solid two and a half. “love how they’re giving us knives to do this in muggle fashion.” she turned to the person that was closest to her, “however, i don’t think i could trust everyone here to hold such a sharp weapon.” if someone was going to attack unsuspecting attendees, magdalene assumed that they would use their wand, but knife attacks could go inconspicuous. “how’s your pumpkin looking so far?” 

for someone who used to be a regular blood donor, dennis wasn’t in any hurry to donate. truth be told, he hadn’t been able to bring himself to donate since the attack. he chalked it up to being tired of medical equipment, but now he was starting to think that it was something more. still, he hovered outside of the tent, his hand tightly gripping the flap while his feet remained pointed in the opposite direction. he’d gone in sooner or later.

that’s when fleur spoke to him, and feeling as if he didn’t have much of a choice- dennis stepped into the tent. “uh yeah,” he nodded, gently biting on his lip, “you wouldn’t happen to have any juice, would you? i need usually need a little more sugar when i donate,” he laughed.

none of this was exactly ideal. narcissa adored the chance at a photo op, but the cameras had moved off some time ago to capture more of the festival. she worked hard to bolster the publics opinion of her family by thoughtfully completed good deeds, but she just didn’t see the long term pros of giving blood. frankly, there weren’t any. but she had already completed the paperwork, and she had a kind of appreciation for the cause ( in fact, she’d received a blood transfusion after draco’s birth ) and all in all : it didn’t seem like the end of the world. she couldn’t foresee it taking any longer than a few minutes, though the moment she realises that fleur delacour is to be her personal healer through this journey, narcissa realises that those ‘few minutes’ could perhaps take quite a while. “we can… forgo the cookie-” she says, tersely, already starting the process of rolling up one of her sleeves - maybe she is getting a bit ahead of herself, but the sooner they can get this over with, the better, “i hope you understand. i’d rather get this over and done.” 

there’s     got     to     be     some     kind     of     twisted     irony     ,     about     their     assignment     to     the     blood     drive     of     all     things     .          (          astoria     doesn’t     think     they     mistook     the     strange     twist     of     a     mouth     and     the     double     take     done     when     they’d     shown     up     at     the     tent     .          )          their     illness     is     EASY     to     deal     with     most     days     ,     but     when     fleur     turns     with     that     𝑏𝑒𝑎𝑢𝑡𝑖𝑓𝑖𝑐     smile     and     those     kind     words     it     tips     them     off     the     edge     .     sharp     incisors     sink     into     the     flesh     of     their     inner     cheek     as     they     will     themselves     to     stay     /     running     as     far     away     as     possible     is     APPEALING     ,     but     they’re     not     getting     paid     for     that     .

“          erm     ,     not     quite     .     i     don’t     ,     uh     .     i     don’t     think     they’d     let     me     .          ”          their     smile     is     sheepish     ,     self     -     effacing     and     only     a     little     ashamed     when     they     edge     closer     to     fleur     .          “          i’m     just     taking     over     for     the     last     welcome     wix     ,     y’know          —     -          giving     people     their     𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚖𝚜     ,     all     that     .     just     wanted     to     ,     erm     ,     check     in     ,     see     how     you     were     going     .          ”

“Oh,” Fleur responds, curiosity at the younger wix’s words etched into her features, though a sense of politeness stopping her from prodding any further. She realised now she recognised them from ST MUNGO’S, a familiar face that was all too often neglected at the front entrance – Fleur, too, had worked as a WELCOME WIX, for a time – while she studied to be a healer and needed a little extra income, though she didn’t remember the experience particularly fondly, people could be kind and rude in equal measure when walking through the doors of the hospital, and the first faces they saw often bore the brunt of whatever emotion they happened to be feeling at the time. 

               ❝   𝐟𝐚𝐫   𝐛𝐞   𝐢𝐭   𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦   𝐦𝐞   to   miss   out   on   free   cookies   ,   ❞   eulalia   jokes   ,   pasting   on   that   winsome   smile   she   wore   at   all   the   events   like   these   .   it   helped   ,   somewhat   ,   that   eulalia   had   no   fear   of   needles   and   actually   knew   the   young   woman   in   front   of   her   .   ❝   lovely   to   see   you   again   ,   madame   delacour   .   or   -   ❞   she   wracked   her   brain   ,   thinking   of   what   she   knew   of   what   happened   to   the   fierce   young  competitor   she   had   known   during   that   disastrous   attempt   at   the   triwizard   tournament   .   ❝   should   i   say   madame   weasley   ?   ❞

             she   approached   the   seat   ,   aware   of   both   the   cameras   and   her   auror   shadows   hovering   just   within   her   peripheral   .   ❝   i   can’t   say   i   ever   expected   you   to   go   into   the   medical   field  .   ❞   she   remarks   lightly   ,   making   conversation   ,   building   upon   the   connections   she   once   had   .   ❝   it   suits   you   ,   i   think   .   ❞

“Bonjour, Madame Karkaroff.” Fleur says with a smile, nodding politely. It was sometimes STRANGE to think back to the first time she’d met Eulalia – the TRIWIZARD TOURNAMENT had originally intended to be a point of pride for Fleur, but she found, looking back, it was associated with decidedly few happy memories ( it had felt like one failure after another, topped off with an unspeakable tragedy which still haunted her to this day ), but the kindness that Eulalia had shown her during this time was still something that stood out – something she’d sorely needed, even if she would never had admitted it. “Oui,” She says, “Madame Delacour-Weasley, now,” She smiled, unable to help the beam of joy that seemed to radiate whenever her marriage was mentioned.

Martha stood there with one earphone in, Taylor Swift singing in her ear, watching the red viscous substance flow through the line attached at the syringe, fascinated. Her sister had been a healer as had several other family members, but she’d never had the stomach for it. Or rather, her charm work had always been far more important to her than anything else. Everything, even something as simple as a blood drive, reminded her of Judith; she wondered silently if that would ever cease or if she was cursed from here on out. 

A voice broke her from her morbid thoughts, one she recognized as Fleur Delacour, and she hastily took her earphone out of her ear, pocketing in its case quickly before pocketing it. She loved music - it was the only thing that really got her through her day anymore. She listened to several artists - both magical and non-magical - and adored pop, indie, alternative rock as the muggles called it. Still, she wasn’t rude and so she removed the prized earphone before taking a few steps forward. 

“I’m here to donate blood,” she nodded, already rolling up one of her sleeves. She wished that she could work up a smile for the girl but she felt too down to do so today. Maybe she would be surprised by Fleur’s company and could work up one later but right now the expression she wore on her face was one of barely contained sorrow. 

Fleur immediately recognised the young woman who had entered the tent as MARTHA STROUT, lips pursing at the site of her. She couldn’t say she’d known JUDITH particularly well, but they had worked together for several years, and she’d been shocked at the news of her disappearance and death. It had been a blow for all of the healers, really, to lose one of their own in such a brutal manner, but she knew that whatever loss Fleur was experiencing would be negligible compared to the despair that Martha must have had to endure.

Fleur had never lost a sibling – she’d come close, with the death of FRED some years ago, but, even then, she was a step removed from true sibling, and while she’d grieved, she’d known her pain was minute compared to that of her husband and his family. She only had one sibling to speak of – and the thought of anything happening to RIEL was incomprehensible to her – she’d gotten a taste of what it would be like during the Triwizard Tournament, but had no desire to ever see her sibling put in harms way like that again, let alone have to stomach the idea of NEVER seeing them again.

Ezekiel hadn’t meant to be drawn into conversation, let alone donating.  He was simply looking to pass through unnoticed, but a man of his stature was, unfortunately for him, difficult to miss. Broad shoulders and surly aura hardly blended in with the crowd of other bustling bodies, excitedly exploring.  He’s faced with a dilemma now too, because while he isn’t looking to get a needle jabbed into his arm this afternoon, he’s also already envisioning tomorrow’s headline if he doesn’t.  Assistant to Minister of Magic says fuck St Mungo’s.  Or something along those lines. Whatever the wording, it isn’t worth the headache. ‘  Yeah. Yeah, I guess I am. ’   He spoke, already shrugging out of his jacket.   ‘  You can keep the cookie though. ’

“I’ll just need you to hold still,” Fleur chuckles, the NEEDLE in her hand precariously poised over the point of insertion. She’d been at it for most of the morning, having VOLUNTEERED to do her part and help collect donations for the BLOOD DRIVE. She knew that ST MUNGO’S would be able to make use of every donation they could get, and had every intention of donating herself once her shift was over. “There you go,” She says to her current patient as she successfully gets the needle into their arm, offering them a kind smile, “It should just take fifteen minutes or so.” Fleur explains, before turning to the newest person to peek through the entrance of the blood drive tent.

𝐋𝐎𝐂𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍:   the three broomsticks, hogsmeade   !

she’d done a little bit of barwork, before. the three broomsticks had always been a sanctuary, but rosmerta had let her live out of a room upstairs after she left hogwarts, and picking up an odd shift here & there had come with the territory. she had helped out where she could, finding solace behind the bar between the gruelling days spent at st mungo’s, and she’d picked up a few tricks of the trade. she’d never been in ros’ league - wasn’t even close now that it was two decades on - but she remembered how a tap worked, and she was only a little rusty when it came to customer service. while she was here, taking advantage of an old friends good heart ( and god was she grateful that this was still the truth ), she felt she ought to do something. “can i get you a top up, pet?” a better barmaid might’ve already done it. mary hovers on the very edge of action. “or anything else?” 

“Oh, fuck. You have to be fucking kidding, motherfucker.” They don’t swear in public very often, hardly at all really. Kaz’s patience was running thin today and the line between surviving and wanting to have a breakdown in a storage closet was thin. Apparently thin enough that when their papers fell and the coffee fell not too long after, it was just enough. They finds someone just nearby to them, who unfortunately just watched. “Hello, - uh, - what spells clean up…all this?”

Even on the CALMER days, it was easy to become quickly overwhelmed when working at ST MUNGO’S. A constant stream of patients was enough to keep Fleur and her fellow healers on their feet throughout the day – barely finding time to rest while on shift. Though it could be incredibly STRESSFUL, Fleur loved the work and would never change a thing about it – most days. Today, however, was a particularly CHAOTIC day, and as she watches KAZ drop their papers followed quickly by their coffee, Fleur can’t help but let a sympathetic sigh escape her lips as she bends down to help clear the papers before the liquid can reach them. “Rough day, hm?” She chuckles lightly, before pulling out her wand and pointing it at the puddle that has formed, “Tergeo.”

daisy, in truth, felt most at home at functions like this. it was not a warm feeling, not the fluttery nostalgia for childhood, not the echo of something looked back fondly. instead, instead, instead it was the comfort of doing something she knew she could do well, the ease at which she could push it all away to grin and make small talk and hide just how much champagne she drank at these. and that’s where she found herself on this night, a flute of champagne in hand as she made her way through the crowd. “so, who has your vote for most likely to throw a flute of champagne at their date tonight?” 

“If I wear another pantsuit to another gala, I think my mother may actually forcefully put a dress on me one day.” Tonks was joking, of course. At least she thought so, but Andromeda did let out the occasional It wouldn’t hurt to just wear one, every time she dropped Teddy off before she went. “She doesn’t quite understand that she raised a klutz, wearing pants leads to less awkward situations.”

@delefleur​

Fleur lets out a laugh at that – “Perhaps,” She says, shaking her head, “But you look magnifique, either way, so I see no reason for your mother to complain.” Truthfully, Fleur figured as long as everyone adhered to the DRESS CODE, they had every right to wear whatever they wanted – and Tonks did look beautiful, as usual. “What sort of situations has pants helped you avoid, hm?”