Fleur Slander Cw - Blog Posts

bweezley​:

cobblestones & ice cream cones | open

The evening drew near, and the streets of Diagon Alley had nearly emptied – all the mummies and daddies wanted to be home in time for supper, shopping could wait. Gringotts had been busy, but, like clockwork, as the sun went away, so did their clientele. The cobblestoned streets beckoned, as did the lure to be home with his girls, but it was a feeling rather than any actual reasoning, that he should wait, just a moment longer, before heading home. A familiar face fell into his line of vision in almost an instant, and a smile brightened his features. Bill raised his hand in greeting, lengthening his stride to catch up to them.

Though he’d always deny any and all similarities between himself and his mother, there was no question that Bill was a bit of a mother hen. Of course, he wasn’t as much a worrier or as much a busybody as Molly, but he’d inherited her need for an open-door policy. If someone needed a place to stay or a hot meal or a quick conversation, there wasn’t a way Bill could possibly say no. He looked a bit frightening, especially with his newly-accessorized face, but smiles came easily to Bill and a greeting always seemed to be exchanged. 

“Haven’t seen you in a while,” Bill said lightly, “Everything goin’ alright at the moment?” He glanced around him – would have offered a drink or a cup of coffee, even, but only Florean Fortescue’s Ice Cream Parlour beckoned. “Can I buy you, erm, a cone?”

❀

Cool blue eyes narrowed in well masked confusion as the corner of Narcissa’s painted lips quirked up for a mere moment before her gaze fell upon the deep scars marring a once near perfect face. She didn’t turn to see who it was one William Weasley could be smiling at for it couldn’t be that he was bold enough to smile and wave and run up to her. It didn’t matter if the streets were empty, bare of any small crying children or nosy shopkeepers always owling in their exclusive tips to Spella Weekly about what small business the Malfoy couple would close next. He, tragic William, should know better. “Yes. You haven’t.” William should know what went amiss between them. There would no longer be any longing looks or wistful sighs amidst the vaults deep below the cobblestones of Diagon Alley. Their hands would no longer brush once Narcissa found reason to lure the formerly ruggedly handsome man down the winding cart tracks to help her find some paltry stone her mother had once adorned herself with in the winter of nineteen thirty-three. “I’m perfectly fine, William.” She sniffed, affected by his destroyed appearance more than she would care to let on. It was a travesty that fate would choose the only decent looking man in the goblin’s gilded marbled home to curse but Weasley blood had always been tainted. Or was it the Prewett genes, that had given him a previously unmatched jawline now ruined by association with that maiming, cursing the younger man?

“You must control yourself in public. A cone. What’s next? A ring?” Slim fingers, capped by sharp but well-shaped painted nails, pulled a handkerchief from her purse and dabbed the non-existent tears (that threatened to fall from her eyes) right out of their non-existent existence. “The mother of your child– Fleurine. I heard the most awful whisper about her penchant towards anger. You must know if you need somewhere to stay while you–” Her wrist twirled effortlessly, the graceful motion only lacking the wand to cap off its magic. “Heal, you only need to ask. I’m sure someone could point you in the direction of a suitable halfway house for unwed fathers.” Or ruined future greek mythological legends.