(no subject)
Who: Fleur & Elizabet Delacour-Weasley, Dean Thomas.
When: 20th December 2000.
Where: The Burrow.
Status: Complete.
When she had decided to make the Burrow inhabitable again, Fleur had known it was going to take work. That was rather obvious. What she hadn't realized was how very big a project it was for a small frenchwoman, even one who happened to be a witch. She'd begun work in November, after she'd arrived, and by now it was well into December and she had only managed to revive the kitchen and Bill's room (where she and Elizabet were currently situated) and one of the bathrooms (though hot water was still an impossibility as Fleur was not a plumber and could not get her spells to work on it). It did not help that she worked five days a week (dropping Elizabet by the nice muggle couple she'd stayed with until she'd managed to get this far) and had to keep an eye on her daughter whenever she was home, whom seemed to have the innate ability to get into trouble, or locate the artifacts of Fred & George.
Said artifacts had given Fleur far more trouble than her daughter, and there was still a tint of pink to her hair from this morning, when Elizabet had discovered a toy that managed to turn both Weasley females bright pink. Elizabet herself still sported pink freckles, despite Fleur's many charms. The toddler, however, was much more happy about this than her mother, and seemed to have liked the colour-change while it lasted.
At the moment they were both in the kitchen, Elizabet confined to a playpen (reinfored with magic, because the little girl had learned to climb out of it since learning to toddle about) with a great many blocks that Fleur had determined to be free of influence from either of the Weasley twins. She was, to all appearances, completely absorbed in stacking the colored bits of wood, though not opposed to shoving them in her mouth. Fleur was seated at the newly fixed table (though the fixing of the table was admittedly just a large dictionary she'd found in one of the rooms shoved under the broken leg) and going over the owl she'd received the other day, in response to her (admittedly desperate) advertisment for help.
The amount of money she could pay was admittedly very small, but the applicant had seemingly been more interested in food and a place to stay--both of which she was more than capable of offering, even if the place to stay was rather under the weather. Which was why she was having such a time of fixing it.
Lunch was cooking on the stove, and the door was open so Fleur could tell when someone arrived, as the door alarm was still broken and she hadn't gotten around to fixing that yet. What she had been working on, since she'd received the owl, was clearing another room (Ron's, if she was remembering correctly) for her hired helper.
Assuming, of course, that it wasn't a joking response.
Fleur wrinkled her nose at the thought, standing to go and prod at the cooking stew again, having to roll up her sleeves to do so. Her working clothes were basically some of those she could find that were not completely unusable from the Weasley household, as all her own clothes were rather unsuited to it. The result was that she ended up wearing a rather large Weasley sweater (which, according to the letter, had belonged to Charlie) and jeans that had required quite a bit of hemming to not completely drown her, and even then required a belt.
But she wasn't really trying to impress. It would be a worthless thing to do, nowadays, unless you were society. Which she might have been in France, yes, but which a wife of one of the Weasleys was quite assuradly not.
Besides, looking impressive while one's hair looked suspiciously pink would be a silly thing to try to do.
When: 20th December 2000.
Where: The Burrow.
Status: Complete.
When she had decided to make the Burrow inhabitable again, Fleur had known it was going to take work. That was rather obvious. What she hadn't realized was how very big a project it was for a small frenchwoman, even one who happened to be a witch. She'd begun work in November, after she'd arrived, and by now it was well into December and she had only managed to revive the kitchen and Bill's room (where she and Elizabet were currently situated) and one of the bathrooms (though hot water was still an impossibility as Fleur was not a plumber and could not get her spells to work on it). It did not help that she worked five days a week (dropping Elizabet by the nice muggle couple she'd stayed with until she'd managed to get this far) and had to keep an eye on her daughter whenever she was home, whom seemed to have the innate ability to get into trouble, or locate the artifacts of Fred & George.
Said artifacts had given Fleur far more trouble than her daughter, and there was still a tint of pink to her hair from this morning, when Elizabet had discovered a toy that managed to turn both Weasley females bright pink. Elizabet herself still sported pink freckles, despite Fleur's many charms. The toddler, however, was much more happy about this than her mother, and seemed to have liked the colour-change while it lasted.
At the moment they were both in the kitchen, Elizabet confined to a playpen (reinfored with magic, because the little girl had learned to climb out of it since learning to toddle about) with a great many blocks that Fleur had determined to be free of influence from either of the Weasley twins. She was, to all appearances, completely absorbed in stacking the colored bits of wood, though not opposed to shoving them in her mouth. Fleur was seated at the newly fixed table (though the fixing of the table was admittedly just a large dictionary she'd found in one of the rooms shoved under the broken leg) and going over the owl she'd received the other day, in response to her (admittedly desperate) advertisment for help.
The amount of money she could pay was admittedly very small, but the applicant had seemingly been more interested in food and a place to stay--both of which she was more than capable of offering, even if the place to stay was rather under the weather. Which was why she was having such a time of fixing it.
Lunch was cooking on the stove, and the door was open so Fleur could tell when someone arrived, as the door alarm was still broken and she hadn't gotten around to fixing that yet. What she had been working on, since she'd received the owl, was clearing another room (Ron's, if she was remembering correctly) for her hired helper.
Assuming, of course, that it wasn't a joking response.
Fleur wrinkled her nose at the thought, standing to go and prod at the cooking stew again, having to roll up her sleeves to do so. Her working clothes were basically some of those she could find that were not completely unusable from the Weasley household, as all her own clothes were rather unsuited to it. The result was that she ended up wearing a rather large Weasley sweater (which, according to the letter, had belonged to Charlie) and jeans that had required quite a bit of hemming to not completely drown her, and even then required a belt.
But she wasn't really trying to impress. It would be a worthless thing to do, nowadays, unless you were society. Which she might have been in France, yes, but which a wife of one of the Weasleys was quite assuradly not.
Besides, looking impressive while one's hair looked suspiciously pink would be a silly thing to try to do.