You expect me to account for opinions which you choose to call mine ...
Note: hover over the French bits to see the translations
Paris was not Nate's favorite city in France, but considering most of the Rosier's French holdings based their corporate offices in the city of love, he found himself in residence more often than he really would have preferred. He found himself in France more than he preferred these days, and as ever, the thought of his true home and family pulled his gaze to the window.
"Monsieur Beaumont? ... Monsieur?"
"Yes, Henri. The contract is acceptable. Deliver it and stress that if it's not signed and back on my desk by five o'clock tomorrow, that we will not do business with them. Now, or in the future." Unforgiving, yes, but such tactics saved him from dealing with inadequacy later.
"Naturellement, monsieur."
The smartly dressed man made a quiet exit and Nate turned his gaze back towards the window. Hands were deep in the pockets of his dark, custom-tailored suit, and his thoughts were heavy. He'd made the decision. He wanted to go home. He'd done shite little about it though, and his brow furrowed.
Striding to his desk, he snatched a piece of vellum parchment and scratched a quick note.
Aunt S - It's time.
N.L.R.
He looked at it a long moment before banishing the hastily written note to the grate where it caught flame and disappeared. It wasn't right. Though when would it ever be right?
Long, purposeful steps carried him out of his office. "I'll be at the tennis courts should you need me," he told the woman behind the receptionist's desk. Nothing could be done on a whim - not business, to be sure, and most definitely not his return home, the prodigal son. His lips twitched as he thought of how the girls would react to his brooding martyrdom.
Chuckling then, Nate passed the elevators and pushed through the door to the stairs. He needed to move - now.
*~*~*~*
The hallway near the conference room was clearing as most of the other healers attending the lectures took advantage of the hour break to stretch their legs and visit with other healers they knew. Ginny was a relatively new healer, and though she was well known in Hogsmeade and the surrounding area, she knew no one here but for a few polite introductions.
It didn't bother her, though, as she wandered the elaborately decorated halls of the country club the convention was being held at. It was obvious the club had been functioning for quite some time if the dates on the paintings lining the walls were any indication. Flute of white wine in hand - it was not surprising they'd been served alcohol at the luncheon - she peered at an interesting painting of a woman with a dog on her lap. Their expressions looked strikingly alike, and she couldn't help the quiet snort that escaped as she leaned in a bit further. Either the painter had been untalented and only knew one expression, or it was true that pet owners did begin to resemble their animals after a time.
Shaking her head at the idea, she continued to slowly meander farther away from the conference rooms, the sounds of her fellow healers fading away. Taking a corner, she passed several closed doors. Despite the curiosity of what was hidden behind them, Ginny's ballet flats were quiet on the thick, Persian rugs as she passed around another corner into a seemingly hidden lounge.
And then she stopped and stared at the beautiful Steinway grand piano sitting in the corner before her. It was worn, obviously loved and cared for, but age only made the instrument even more stunning.
Ginny approached it, but cast a look back over her shoulder when she realized she was far enough away that she couldn't hear anyone else. She had no idea if she was even allowed in this part of the club, or if she was allowed to be in this room at all. A part of her mind reasoned that if she wasn't allowed to be here, then the double doors wouldn't have been open. They, too, would have been closed and hidden behind ominous looking wood-paneled doors.
Setting her glass of wine on the floor beside the leather bench before the piano, Ginny ran her hands under her dress and along her legs, smoothing the fabric as she slid onto the small leather seat.
When moving out of Catter's End, she'd had to leave several things behind, including the piano that Blaise had given her. She hadn't had time for frivolous things like music since she'd left Draco, and it was only after setting eyes on the delicate piano that she'd realized how much she'd missed coming home after a hard day and running her fingers over the keys.
Reaching out experimentally, Ginny plucked a single note, eyes falling closed as the sound reverberated off the walls. The room must have been specifically designed to house the music the instrument made, and she could feel the note travel up her arms and down her spine as it slowly faded.
Letting out a small, contented sigh, she pressed her foot to the pedal, fingers moving deftly over the black and white keys in a small arpeggio; the pure notes were sounds she hadn't realized she'd truly missed.
*~*~*~*
Louis barely made the last return and a feral grin snaked across Nate's features as he lunged, arm swinging. His racket connected with the ball and it was over. Game point.
"Bien cuit, Louis," Nate said as he shook hands with the dark-haired Frenchman over the net.
"Merci. You still win though, no?" Louis pointed out, brow raising.
"There is that," Nate said, flashing a grin before nodding at one of his usual competitors before turning to toss his racket to the assistant and grabbing a towel to wrap around his neck. Tennis wasn't his sport of choice, but it had served its purpose; the brooding tension was gone and his muscles were warm and would ache later.
Blue eyes flicked from the small group that had been watching he and Louis play to the main entrance where another, larger group of people had congregated. The club was obviously hosting some event or another. Mentally shrugging, he tossed a wink to one of the pretty women on the other side of the fence before exiting the court and heading for one of the side entrances towards the men's showers.
The music that washed over him when he stepped inside, however, made him immediately detour in curiosity. The notes were pure and the music was hauntingly beautiful. He didn't dabble in the music industry, but he knew people. Whomever was at the end of his hunt could potentially be profitable to him. As he turned the last corner into the lounge where the sound was loudest, the bright shock of red hair promptly brought him to an abrupt halt.
He blinked, but his shoulders relaxed moments later. It was too red. Not nearly enough blond. It was not his aunt.
There was no reason for Scarlett Montgomery to be in France. His mother was dead and his father in Azkaban. From her letters, he knew all his cousins to be well. The businesses she had turned over to him, several years ago now, were flourishing, and ultimately, it made no sense for his hot-tempered aunt to be playing the piano in a French country club where it was unlikely she would be seen or found.
Which meant the woman before him, quite lost to her own music, was just a woman. A talented, beautiful woman his mind supplied as he reached up to hold onto the towel around his neck and lean against the door-frame. She would only have to glance to the side to see him, but her eyes were closed and she was focused on her task. He thought briefly about moving on and leaving her to her little escape, but her song began to slow down then, and after a few minutes came to an end on a single, haunting note that reverberated through the room until silence once again reigned.
"Vous jouez admirablement."
Pulled from her internal reverie, Ginny started at Nate's voice, jumping to her feet, eyes wide as she spun towards him. He looked like a member of the country club, someone who played good money to keep the piano in working order and probably didn't enjoy the idea of a stranger coming in and plunking on the instrument.
"Oh, Godric, I'm sorry. I mean... Je suis..." She struggled to remember the right word, blurting out "...desole" a second later.
She probably wasn't even allowed in the room to begin with, and she realized she had no idea how long she'd even been away from the conference. For all she knew, the next lecture had started and she was missing it.
In the time since leaving Draco, she'd fallen under a heavy cloud, parts of her life thrown into darkness as she reeled with the loss and hurt. She had spiraled before, but she'd also seen the spiral in others. Ginny remembered what it was like to watch Fred's will to live fade after they'd lost George, and she'd sworn to herself that she would never stop living, not when others hadn't had the choice.
Losing Draco was not like losing her brother, but Ginny had never taken losing anyone well. Her trip to France was supposed to be a way to start again, to work towards becoming the person she'd been before things had gotten where they were. Embarrassing herself by trespassing was not exactly what she'd had in mind.
In her hurry to flee the scene of her presumed crime, she succeeded in knocking her forgotten glass of wine over, cursing softly to herself as she dropped to her knees, transfiguring the glass into a rag before attempting to soak the liquid from the wooden floor. "Sorry, sorry," she said, realizing the man probably couldn't understand her, just as she hadn't understood what he'd said as he'd come upon her.
Probably 'what the bloody hell do you think you're doing? That piano's worth a fortune!'
Nate pointed his wand at the little mess, a simple purging charm ridding the wood floors of the sticky wine. "My apologies, Mademoiselle. I did not mean to startle you. I only said that you played beautifully." Wand put away, he held out his hands as if to show there was not threat. "Admirablement. Beautiful. Admirably," he offered to the British woman. For that was what she was by the sound of her accent. He must know her for she couldn't be more than a handful of years younger than himself, but her face was not familiar and she didn't seem to recognize him either.
Ginny had been afraid to cast a charm in case it did something odd to the floor, but was thankful that she hadn't ruined anything. Pushing her hair out of her eyes, she glanced up at Nate, glad she didn't have to struggle with the French language any longer. For all her hurry to escape to the country, she hadn't even asked Fleur for a reminder of her sister-in-law's native tongue.
"Thank you," she finally said, setting her glass back to its original form as she returned to her feet. "You did scare me, but it was my fault. I wasn't paying particular attention to my surroundings."
"No one's fault," Nate offered, smile curling his lips as he met her gaze. He wasn't yet sure who she was, but she wasn't even suspicious. This could perhaps work to his advantage in more ways than one. "I don't imagine I would be paying much attention to my surroundings if I was so engaged. As I said before, you play quite beautifully, Miss ...?"
"Thank you, again. It's Ginny," she responded, smiling softly. It was obvious the man was a member of the club, though he didn't hold as heavy a French accent as Fleur and Gabrielle. Luckily, he didn't appear like he wanted to toss her from the premises, which she appreciated. "Ginny Weasley."
A Weasley. He should have known. Hair as vivid as hers? "Nathaniel Beaumont," he said, holding out his hand. "Nate, if you'd rather. What brings you France, Miss Weasley?"
Her hand reached out, her fingers dwarfed in his much larger one. "I'm here for a symposium on recent work in the healing field and its effects on smaller clinics," she answered. "And, I suppose, a small vacation from the dreary spring weather of Britain," Ginny added as an afterthought. The conference ended on Friday, but she'd have two weeks yet in the country afterward.
"From what I recall it is quite miserable until true summer," Nate agreed, small smile touching his features before he brought her hand up and pressed a light kiss to the back before releasing it. "And it sounds as if you are with the group of ladies I saw near the foyer? This place can be a bit of a maze. Might I offer you an escort back?"
She let out a sigh of relief and a small laugh. "I think if I tried to get back on my own I'd have gotten completely and utterly lost. Thank you very much." He kept her hand, moving so her arm was wrapped around his as he turned them towards the door and, she assumed, towards the conference rooms.
"This is a very beautiful club," Ginny said, empty glass of wine held between the fingers of her free hand, "or what I spied while trespassing through the hallways."
"It's a few hundred years old and has been well-maintained," much like his real home. "I would tell you it's histoire, but to be honest, I have only been a member here a handful of years and spend most of my time on the tennis courts," he said genially as he wound them through the maze of hallways.
He wasn't sure how much there was truly to be learned from this witch; her purpose on the continent seemed innocent enough. Despite her ties to a family many in his had once loathed, there was little enough to gain. She was pleasant of company, however, and Nate found that he was enjoying hearing his native tongue as it was meant to be spoken.
"Tennis," Ginny said, her face pulling into a distasteful expression. "I'm sure it's a game of skill, but I'd rather take something with a broom." When she'd been about fifteen, she'd even tried de-gnomeing the garden while on a broom, but George had said it was cheating against the little guys. She'd agreed, and had just focused on being able to throw the buggers farther.
"I enjoy such games as well," Nate said, "but I've always liked having more than one avenue of competition. I played Chaser once upon a time, and fence as well." Truth was he fenced on a fairly high level now; he even participated in the professional tournaments every so often, but not many people were aware or interested in such things.
"Really?" Ginny turned to look at him as they turned a corner. "One of my brothers fences. He showed me a few things, but I'm not sure I understood completely. Not to mention, Percy is wonderfully smart, but can be a prat if you're not picking something up as quickly as he thinks you should." Her lips turned up at the memory of Percy pronouncing the fencing terms, and sighed exasperatedly when she kept getting them wrong.
She'd finally started saying them wrong on purpose, just to make his ears turn red.
"You played chaser?" she asked, interest piqued. "So did I, though I played seeker for a year, too."
"I did. My team rarely won," because of Ginny and Potter. The irony here was staggering, especially as she didn't seem to have a clue who he was. She had no reason to suspect she'd see someone she had likely only glanced at in passing at school. He could only count himself fortunate that it was not the brother she had mentioned who he had happened upon; he and Percy had once fenced together and the ginger man would definitely remember him. Though, last he'd heard, Percy had been dead. It seemed there would be more than one Lazerus around.
"I really haven't played since I graduated from school, and only fly every so often now. I've always preferred the grounded sports, or perhaps it's more that I'm a one man team and would rather have the glory of a win to myself," he said, lips twitching into a small smirk.
"Ah," Ginny said, looking to him out of the corner of her eye. "And, thus, tennis," she said with a gesture of her hand. "I haven't flown recently either, but I've been a bit -" depressed, "- busy."
She really had no idea if they were nearing the conference room or not, but she found she didn't exactly mind that it was taking a bit. She hadn't really had anyone to talk to since she'd arrived - most of her fellow healers uninterested in making new acquaintances - and Jacob had been working so heavily that the nights she'd been in the country had been spent finding dinner for herself and reading the notes from the lectures she'd attended.
It was nice talking to someone with whom she didn't have to pretend to be who she used to be, and instead could just focus on how she felt right then. "My friend taught me a little about football, but I was never any good at it." She'd almost said 'Harry', but it was probable that saying his name would steer the conversation in a direction she didn't particularly want to venture.
"The Muggle sport?" Nate shook his head. "I do not know much of it except that they kick the ball. I can not say I see the sense in it, though such is to be expected. There is much Muggles do that makes little to no sense."
Ginny nodded, though she didn't speak. She knew she was at a wizarding country club, but hearing that kind of speech, though not particularly demeaning, still made her pause and fight the desire to frown. "It was fun enough. Like quidditch, only without brooms and bludgers," she finally said, if only because she didn't want the conversation, the first real one she'd had with anyone other than her friend, to stall completely.
Nate's expression was wry as he said, "but that is like saying their autos are equivalent to our floo network, or apparation. One can not help but feel sorry that they do not have the privilege which we are born to."
He knew what the Weasley's thought. Their line had always been staunch supporters of Muggles and the rights of Muggleborns. If the twitch of muscles around Ginny's mouth and between her brow were anything to go by, she was having a hard time listening to him. He nearly smirked, and almost did when he thought of what Mira and Cassie might say to his mild pokes at this ginger woman.
"I can't help but feel sorry for the people who pity those who do perfectly fine without the privilege we've found ourselves with," Ginny said, unable to keep the biting sentence in. Sighing internally, disappointed that the possibility of an enjoyable conversation seemed to be slipping away, she looked down at her feet as they walked so the annoyed spark in her eye was hidden.
Nate's lips curled into a smirk. "You are délicat of feeling towards them, and now you are fâché - angry, with me, no? I should not be surprised. You are a healer, after all," he said, gaze drawn from her down-turned face by the titter of voices as they turned the corner into the foyer. "Ah, here we are. I have seen you safely through the maze."
Ginny frowned as she pulled her arm from his and turned to face him. "I don't think someone needs to be a healer to value life in all its forms, Mr. Beaumont, regardless of the ability to do magic. Just as I think no less of you for being an horriblé chaser," she countered, whiskey eyes slightly narrowed and alight with defiance.
Compared to the numbness that had taken hold of her for the last few months, the taint of righteousness that seemed to be surging within her was practically welcomed.
"Do you feel better then?" he asked, dusky blue eyes intent on her. Her cheeks had turned a fetching pink and her eyes were bright and full of the ire in her voice. He had few memories of her from school, but her reaction and the innate passion fit with what he knew of her family. "To insult me personally?" His lips curled slightly. "It feels good to say what you think, does it not?"
"I only insult you where you've already done so yourself," Ginny said with a slight incline of her head as she saw the group of healers begin to slowly make their way back into the conference room. She took a step towards the doors, but turned back to him with a sweet smile from a few feet away. "I don't know you well enough to tell you exactly what I think. You might count yourself lucky for that."
"Mayhap," he said, smirk still curling his lips as he watched her. So sure of her rightness. So very Gryffindor. "Though you do have your facts skewed, Miss Weasley. Or perhaps it's that you only hear what you wish." He clasped her hand before she could pull away - reflexes refined by thousands of hours of sport, and pressed a light kiss to her knuckles, blue eyes intent on her. "It was a pleasure. Perhaps if we meet again, I might help you understand the art of the sword that you find difficulty in learning from your brother."
He released her then and stepped back to incline his head. Even in his tennis polo and shorts, it was polished and graceful - aristocratic. "Enjoy your stay in France, and your symposium."
"Perhaps if we meet again, I might let you," she said, eyebrow raising as she walked backwards towards the door, slipping between them at the last second, throwing him a look over her shoulder before she was taken from his line of sight.
She had no idea how very possible that was, and Nate did chuckle then. Shaking his head, he headed for the men's showers.
SUMMARY: Nate's still trying to figure out how to go home. Being a presumed dead man is no easy task. Ginny is in France, trying to find herself. They end up meeting and finding something they didn't expect.
Paris was not Nate's favorite city in France, but considering most of the Rosier's French holdings based their corporate offices in the city of love, he found himself in residence more often than he really would have preferred. He found himself in France more than he preferred these days, and as ever, the thought of his true home and family pulled his gaze to the window.
"Monsieur Beaumont? ... Monsieur?"
"Yes, Henri. The contract is acceptable. Deliver it and stress that if it's not signed and back on my desk by five o'clock tomorrow, that we will not do business with them. Now, or in the future." Unforgiving, yes, but such tactics saved him from dealing with inadequacy later.
"Naturellement, monsieur."
The smartly dressed man made a quiet exit and Nate turned his gaze back towards the window. Hands were deep in the pockets of his dark, custom-tailored suit, and his thoughts were heavy. He'd made the decision. He wanted to go home. He'd done shite little about it though, and his brow furrowed.
Striding to his desk, he snatched a piece of vellum parchment and scratched a quick note.
Aunt S - It's time.
N.L.R.
He looked at it a long moment before banishing the hastily written note to the grate where it caught flame and disappeared. It wasn't right. Though when would it ever be right?
Long, purposeful steps carried him out of his office. "I'll be at the tennis courts should you need me," he told the woman behind the receptionist's desk. Nothing could be done on a whim - not business, to be sure, and most definitely not his return home, the prodigal son. His lips twitched as he thought of how the girls would react to his brooding martyrdom.
Chuckling then, Nate passed the elevators and pushed through the door to the stairs. He needed to move - now.
*~*~*~*
The hallway near the conference room was clearing as most of the other healers attending the lectures took advantage of the hour break to stretch their legs and visit with other healers they knew. Ginny was a relatively new healer, and though she was well known in Hogsmeade and the surrounding area, she knew no one here but for a few polite introductions.
It didn't bother her, though, as she wandered the elaborately decorated halls of the country club the convention was being held at. It was obvious the club had been functioning for quite some time if the dates on the paintings lining the walls were any indication. Flute of white wine in hand - it was not surprising they'd been served alcohol at the luncheon - she peered at an interesting painting of a woman with a dog on her lap. Their expressions looked strikingly alike, and she couldn't help the quiet snort that escaped as she leaned in a bit further. Either the painter had been untalented and only knew one expression, or it was true that pet owners did begin to resemble their animals after a time.
Shaking her head at the idea, she continued to slowly meander farther away from the conference rooms, the sounds of her fellow healers fading away. Taking a corner, she passed several closed doors. Despite the curiosity of what was hidden behind them, Ginny's ballet flats were quiet on the thick, Persian rugs as she passed around another corner into a seemingly hidden lounge.
And then she stopped and stared at the beautiful Steinway grand piano sitting in the corner before her. It was worn, obviously loved and cared for, but age only made the instrument even more stunning.
Ginny approached it, but cast a look back over her shoulder when she realized she was far enough away that she couldn't hear anyone else. She had no idea if she was even allowed in this part of the club, or if she was allowed to be in this room at all. A part of her mind reasoned that if she wasn't allowed to be here, then the double doors wouldn't have been open. They, too, would have been closed and hidden behind ominous looking wood-paneled doors.
Setting her glass of wine on the floor beside the leather bench before the piano, Ginny ran her hands under her dress and along her legs, smoothing the fabric as she slid onto the small leather seat.
When moving out of Catter's End, she'd had to leave several things behind, including the piano that Blaise had given her. She hadn't had time for frivolous things like music since she'd left Draco, and it was only after setting eyes on the delicate piano that she'd realized how much she'd missed coming home after a hard day and running her fingers over the keys.
Reaching out experimentally, Ginny plucked a single note, eyes falling closed as the sound reverberated off the walls. The room must have been specifically designed to house the music the instrument made, and she could feel the note travel up her arms and down her spine as it slowly faded.
Letting out a small, contented sigh, she pressed her foot to the pedal, fingers moving deftly over the black and white keys in a small arpeggio; the pure notes were sounds she hadn't realized she'd truly missed.
*~*~*~*
Louis barely made the last return and a feral grin snaked across Nate's features as he lunged, arm swinging. His racket connected with the ball and it was over. Game point.
"Bien cuit, Louis," Nate said as he shook hands with the dark-haired Frenchman over the net.
"Merci. You still win though, no?" Louis pointed out, brow raising.
"There is that," Nate said, flashing a grin before nodding at one of his usual competitors before turning to toss his racket to the assistant and grabbing a towel to wrap around his neck. Tennis wasn't his sport of choice, but it had served its purpose; the brooding tension was gone and his muscles were warm and would ache later.
Blue eyes flicked from the small group that had been watching he and Louis play to the main entrance where another, larger group of people had congregated. The club was obviously hosting some event or another. Mentally shrugging, he tossed a wink to one of the pretty women on the other side of the fence before exiting the court and heading for one of the side entrances towards the men's showers.
The music that washed over him when he stepped inside, however, made him immediately detour in curiosity. The notes were pure and the music was hauntingly beautiful. He didn't dabble in the music industry, but he knew people. Whomever was at the end of his hunt could potentially be profitable to him. As he turned the last corner into the lounge where the sound was loudest, the bright shock of red hair promptly brought him to an abrupt halt.
He blinked, but his shoulders relaxed moments later. It was too red. Not nearly enough blond. It was not his aunt.
There was no reason for Scarlett Montgomery to be in France. His mother was dead and his father in Azkaban. From her letters, he knew all his cousins to be well. The businesses she had turned over to him, several years ago now, were flourishing, and ultimately, it made no sense for his hot-tempered aunt to be playing the piano in a French country club where it was unlikely she would be seen or found.
Which meant the woman before him, quite lost to her own music, was just a woman. A talented, beautiful woman his mind supplied as he reached up to hold onto the towel around his neck and lean against the door-frame. She would only have to glance to the side to see him, but her eyes were closed and she was focused on her task. He thought briefly about moving on and leaving her to her little escape, but her song began to slow down then, and after a few minutes came to an end on a single, haunting note that reverberated through the room until silence once again reigned.
"Vous jouez admirablement."
Pulled from her internal reverie, Ginny started at Nate's voice, jumping to her feet, eyes wide as she spun towards him. He looked like a member of the country club, someone who played good money to keep the piano in working order and probably didn't enjoy the idea of a stranger coming in and plunking on the instrument.
"Oh, Godric, I'm sorry. I mean... Je suis..." She struggled to remember the right word, blurting out "...desole" a second later.
She probably wasn't even allowed in the room to begin with, and she realized she had no idea how long she'd even been away from the conference. For all she knew, the next lecture had started and she was missing it.
In the time since leaving Draco, she'd fallen under a heavy cloud, parts of her life thrown into darkness as she reeled with the loss and hurt. She had spiraled before, but she'd also seen the spiral in others. Ginny remembered what it was like to watch Fred's will to live fade after they'd lost George, and she'd sworn to herself that she would never stop living, not when others hadn't had the choice.
Losing Draco was not like losing her brother, but Ginny had never taken losing anyone well. Her trip to France was supposed to be a way to start again, to work towards becoming the person she'd been before things had gotten where they were. Embarrassing herself by trespassing was not exactly what she'd had in mind.
In her hurry to flee the scene of her presumed crime, she succeeded in knocking her forgotten glass of wine over, cursing softly to herself as she dropped to her knees, transfiguring the glass into a rag before attempting to soak the liquid from the wooden floor. "Sorry, sorry," she said, realizing the man probably couldn't understand her, just as she hadn't understood what he'd said as he'd come upon her.
Probably 'what the bloody hell do you think you're doing? That piano's worth a fortune!'
Nate pointed his wand at the little mess, a simple purging charm ridding the wood floors of the sticky wine. "My apologies, Mademoiselle. I did not mean to startle you. I only said that you played beautifully." Wand put away, he held out his hands as if to show there was not threat. "Admirablement. Beautiful. Admirably," he offered to the British woman. For that was what she was by the sound of her accent. He must know her for she couldn't be more than a handful of years younger than himself, but her face was not familiar and she didn't seem to recognize him either.
Ginny had been afraid to cast a charm in case it did something odd to the floor, but was thankful that she hadn't ruined anything. Pushing her hair out of her eyes, she glanced up at Nate, glad she didn't have to struggle with the French language any longer. For all her hurry to escape to the country, she hadn't even asked Fleur for a reminder of her sister-in-law's native tongue.
"Thank you," she finally said, setting her glass back to its original form as she returned to her feet. "You did scare me, but it was my fault. I wasn't paying particular attention to my surroundings."
"No one's fault," Nate offered, smile curling his lips as he met her gaze. He wasn't yet sure who she was, but she wasn't even suspicious. This could perhaps work to his advantage in more ways than one. "I don't imagine I would be paying much attention to my surroundings if I was so engaged. As I said before, you play quite beautifully, Miss ...?"
"Thank you, again. It's Ginny," she responded, smiling softly. It was obvious the man was a member of the club, though he didn't hold as heavy a French accent as Fleur and Gabrielle. Luckily, he didn't appear like he wanted to toss her from the premises, which she appreciated. "Ginny Weasley."
A Weasley. He should have known. Hair as vivid as hers? "Nathaniel Beaumont," he said, holding out his hand. "Nate, if you'd rather. What brings you France, Miss Weasley?"
Her hand reached out, her fingers dwarfed in his much larger one. "I'm here for a symposium on recent work in the healing field and its effects on smaller clinics," she answered. "And, I suppose, a small vacation from the dreary spring weather of Britain," Ginny added as an afterthought. The conference ended on Friday, but she'd have two weeks yet in the country afterward.
"From what I recall it is quite miserable until true summer," Nate agreed, small smile touching his features before he brought her hand up and pressed a light kiss to the back before releasing it. "And it sounds as if you are with the group of ladies I saw near the foyer? This place can be a bit of a maze. Might I offer you an escort back?"
She let out a sigh of relief and a small laugh. "I think if I tried to get back on my own I'd have gotten completely and utterly lost. Thank you very much." He kept her hand, moving so her arm was wrapped around his as he turned them towards the door and, she assumed, towards the conference rooms.
"This is a very beautiful club," Ginny said, empty glass of wine held between the fingers of her free hand, "or what I spied while trespassing through the hallways."
"It's a few hundred years old and has been well-maintained," much like his real home. "I would tell you it's histoire, but to be honest, I have only been a member here a handful of years and spend most of my time on the tennis courts," he said genially as he wound them through the maze of hallways.
He wasn't sure how much there was truly to be learned from this witch; her purpose on the continent seemed innocent enough. Despite her ties to a family many in his had once loathed, there was little enough to gain. She was pleasant of company, however, and Nate found that he was enjoying hearing his native tongue as it was meant to be spoken.
"Tennis," Ginny said, her face pulling into a distasteful expression. "I'm sure it's a game of skill, but I'd rather take something with a broom." When she'd been about fifteen, she'd even tried de-gnomeing the garden while on a broom, but George had said it was cheating against the little guys. She'd agreed, and had just focused on being able to throw the buggers farther.
"I enjoy such games as well," Nate said, "but I've always liked having more than one avenue of competition. I played Chaser once upon a time, and fence as well." Truth was he fenced on a fairly high level now; he even participated in the professional tournaments every so often, but not many people were aware or interested in such things.
"Really?" Ginny turned to look at him as they turned a corner. "One of my brothers fences. He showed me a few things, but I'm not sure I understood completely. Not to mention, Percy is wonderfully smart, but can be a prat if you're not picking something up as quickly as he thinks you should." Her lips turned up at the memory of Percy pronouncing the fencing terms, and sighed exasperatedly when she kept getting them wrong.
She'd finally started saying them wrong on purpose, just to make his ears turn red.
"You played chaser?" she asked, interest piqued. "So did I, though I played seeker for a year, too."
"I did. My team rarely won," because of Ginny and Potter. The irony here was staggering, especially as she didn't seem to have a clue who he was. She had no reason to suspect she'd see someone she had likely only glanced at in passing at school. He could only count himself fortunate that it was not the brother she had mentioned who he had happened upon; he and Percy had once fenced together and the ginger man would definitely remember him. Though, last he'd heard, Percy had been dead. It seemed there would be more than one Lazerus around.
"I really haven't played since I graduated from school, and only fly every so often now. I've always preferred the grounded sports, or perhaps it's more that I'm a one man team and would rather have the glory of a win to myself," he said, lips twitching into a small smirk.
"Ah," Ginny said, looking to him out of the corner of her eye. "And, thus, tennis," she said with a gesture of her hand. "I haven't flown recently either, but I've been a bit -" depressed, "- busy."
She really had no idea if they were nearing the conference room or not, but she found she didn't exactly mind that it was taking a bit. She hadn't really had anyone to talk to since she'd arrived - most of her fellow healers uninterested in making new acquaintances - and Jacob had been working so heavily that the nights she'd been in the country had been spent finding dinner for herself and reading the notes from the lectures she'd attended.
It was nice talking to someone with whom she didn't have to pretend to be who she used to be, and instead could just focus on how she felt right then. "My friend taught me a little about football, but I was never any good at it." She'd almost said 'Harry', but it was probable that saying his name would steer the conversation in a direction she didn't particularly want to venture.
"The Muggle sport?" Nate shook his head. "I do not know much of it except that they kick the ball. I can not say I see the sense in it, though such is to be expected. There is much Muggles do that makes little to no sense."
Ginny nodded, though she didn't speak. She knew she was at a wizarding country club, but hearing that kind of speech, though not particularly demeaning, still made her pause and fight the desire to frown. "It was fun enough. Like quidditch, only without brooms and bludgers," she finally said, if only because she didn't want the conversation, the first real one she'd had with anyone other than her friend, to stall completely.
Nate's expression was wry as he said, "but that is like saying their autos are equivalent to our floo network, or apparation. One can not help but feel sorry that they do not have the privilege which we are born to."
He knew what the Weasley's thought. Their line had always been staunch supporters of Muggles and the rights of Muggleborns. If the twitch of muscles around Ginny's mouth and between her brow were anything to go by, she was having a hard time listening to him. He nearly smirked, and almost did when he thought of what Mira and Cassie might say to his mild pokes at this ginger woman.
"I can't help but feel sorry for the people who pity those who do perfectly fine without the privilege we've found ourselves with," Ginny said, unable to keep the biting sentence in. Sighing internally, disappointed that the possibility of an enjoyable conversation seemed to be slipping away, she looked down at her feet as they walked so the annoyed spark in her eye was hidden.
Nate's lips curled into a smirk. "You are délicat of feeling towards them, and now you are fâché - angry, with me, no? I should not be surprised. You are a healer, after all," he said, gaze drawn from her down-turned face by the titter of voices as they turned the corner into the foyer. "Ah, here we are. I have seen you safely through the maze."
Ginny frowned as she pulled her arm from his and turned to face him. "I don't think someone needs to be a healer to value life in all its forms, Mr. Beaumont, regardless of the ability to do magic. Just as I think no less of you for being an horriblé chaser," she countered, whiskey eyes slightly narrowed and alight with defiance.
Compared to the numbness that had taken hold of her for the last few months, the taint of righteousness that seemed to be surging within her was practically welcomed.
"Do you feel better then?" he asked, dusky blue eyes intent on her. Her cheeks had turned a fetching pink and her eyes were bright and full of the ire in her voice. He had few memories of her from school, but her reaction and the innate passion fit with what he knew of her family. "To insult me personally?" His lips curled slightly. "It feels good to say what you think, does it not?"
"I only insult you where you've already done so yourself," Ginny said with a slight incline of her head as she saw the group of healers begin to slowly make their way back into the conference room. She took a step towards the doors, but turned back to him with a sweet smile from a few feet away. "I don't know you well enough to tell you exactly what I think. You might count yourself lucky for that."
"Mayhap," he said, smirk still curling his lips as he watched her. So sure of her rightness. So very Gryffindor. "Though you do have your facts skewed, Miss Weasley. Or perhaps it's that you only hear what you wish." He clasped her hand before she could pull away - reflexes refined by thousands of hours of sport, and pressed a light kiss to her knuckles, blue eyes intent on her. "It was a pleasure. Perhaps if we meet again, I might help you understand the art of the sword that you find difficulty in learning from your brother."
He released her then and stepped back to incline his head. Even in his tennis polo and shorts, it was polished and graceful - aristocratic. "Enjoy your stay in France, and your symposium."
"Perhaps if we meet again, I might let you," she said, eyebrow raising as she walked backwards towards the door, slipping between them at the last second, throwing him a look over her shoulder before she was taken from his line of sight.
She had no idea how very possible that was, and Nate did chuckle then. Shaking his head, he headed for the men's showers.
SUMMARY: Nate's still trying to figure out how to go home. Being a presumed dead man is no easy task. Ginny is in France, trying to find herself. They end up meeting and finding something they didn't expect.