FIC: Time to Fight Dirty (PG-13)
TITLE: Time to Fight Dirty
AUTHOR: Mnemosyne
Disclaimer: Not mine! All belongs to JK Rowling.
SUMMARY: Eighth in the "Pendragon" series. Gabby responds to Charlie's warning that he might not make it back to England in time for Christmas. Needless to say, she's not very happy!
RATING: PG-13
CHARACTERS: Gabrielle Delacour, mention of Charlie Weasley
SPOILERS: None to speak of!
NOTES:
FINALLY I've gotten to write this story. I tell you, the past few months have been INSANE. Oy! But I had to write this because my dear Alia has been having a terrible week, and I wanted to give her some Gabby to make it a little better. For you, m'dear!
Charlie Weasley, if you do not come home for Christmas, I will-!
And that was as far as she'd gotten. Over an hour of work, and Gabby still hadn't been able to come up with a suitable threat. How did you inspire fear in an experienced dragon keeper? Perhaps she should threaten to take away his fire retardant long johns?
"But zat would require me to be in Romania, Odette," she complained to her snowy white owl, which was pecking idly at her bedcurtains. "And I do not theenk zat 'eadmistress McGonagall would let me miss ze end of term exams so zat I might torture Sharlie Weasley, non? Non."
She sighed heavily and rolled onto her stomach, still clutching her parchment. Nibbling on the end of her quill, she kicked her feet and tried to imagine what could possibly frighten Charlie Weasley.
"Well, 'e is strong," she said, addressing her words to Odette but speaking more to herself. "So in matterz of strength, 'e is unafraid. Hmmm..." Perhaps an insult to his manliness would do it? Mama always said men suffered from an excess of vanity, which was very funny coming from a half-veela.
Sticking her tongue out ever so slightly, Gabby bent over her parchment and began to scribble.
Charlie Weasley, if you do not come home for Christmas, I will-! *scritch scratch cross out* if you do not come home for Christmas, I swear I will-! *erase erase erase* if you do not come home for Christmas, I promise by all you hold dear-!
"Arrrrgh!" Gabby vented, stabbing at the parchment with her wand to erase what little progress she'd made. Odette squawked and fluttered away from the violent motion. "Zis iz stoopid! I cannot insult 'is manliness, because I 'ave not seen 'im in so looong zat I do not even know what to insult!"
Pouting furiously, she rolled onto her back and stared at the canopy of her bed. Grunting in annoyance, she shoved her long, silvery hair out of her face. Sometimes she could swear her hair had a mind of its own; it was constantly in the way. Swinging when she didn't want it to swing, draping when she didn't want it to drape, cascading when she absolutely did not want it to cascade. It was distracting and frustrating and she hated it. Fleur patently refused to cut it for her, and her mother... Well, her mother would have splinched herself at the mere idea of a veela trimming her hair. The hair was all part of the magic, as Mama and Fleur had reminded her over and over since the year Dot. And while she enjoyed brushing it - which was very calming - that only accounted for a fraction of the time she had to spend alone with her hair; the lion's share was spent trying very hard to ignore it was there.
"Per'aps I should insult 'is good looks, Odette, oui?" she posited aloud, shifting around until her hair looked more normal and less like an artistically arranged portrait. "'E 'as enuff to spare! It would not 'urt 'im to be taken down a notch or six, oui? Or all 'is prettiness will go to 'is 'ead and 'e will blow up like a big balloon. POP!" She shoved a finger in her mouth in unladylike fashion and yanked it out, making a loud popping noise.
Crossing her arms over her stomach, she grumbled, "Pretty. Too, too pretty. And being pretty iz nuzzing but a curse, oui? Oh, Mon Dieu!" she exclaimed in exasperation, sitting up and twisting her hair into a messy bun low on the base of her skull. "You were trying to fan prettily!" she berated the offending tresses. "Do not deny zis, I could feel it! I do not want you to fan prettily! Why can you not jus' act like normal 'air! If Fleur were not so silly about zese t'ings, I would cut you all off-!"
She stopped, eyes wide, mouth caught in mid-harangue.
Oh, it was perfect. Perfect, perfect, perfect. Tres magnifique!
Giggling with glee, Gabby flipped over on the bed and crawled to the edge, reaching out to open her nightstand and fish around until her hand closed on the enameled handle of her mirror. Tugging it out of the drawer, she moved up onto her knees and held it up in front of her. Giving her wand a practiced swish and flick with her free hand, she intoned, "Wingardium leviosa!" and released the handle of the mirror. It floated in front of her face.
"Do you know what iz a verrah scary t'ing to many people, Odette?" she asked, as she eyed her long, silky hair in the mirror.
Odette hooted.
"No? Zen I will tell you." Giggling even harder, she held her head up high and touched her wand to her hair.
"In-laws," she purred.
Dear Charlie,
I have cut my hair (see enclosed lock of same). It is very short and swingy now. I have bangs! Fleur will be having kittens when she finds out, but it has made me much happier. The hair is all part of the veela magic, as they say, so perhaps with less hair, I will be troubled less by the magic. Yes? We shall see.
Oh, and Charlie? If you do not come home for Christmas, I am shaving the rest off. And I will tell Fleur that it is all.
Your.
Fault.
Happy Christmas!
Your friend,
Gabby
PS -- Say hello to the dragons for your Gabby! I will see you at Christmas, mon ami.
Gabrielle watched as Odette soared through the mid-afternoon sky towards Romania, carrying the neatly sealed envelope that contained her brief letter and the lock of hair. It was amazing how light she felt all of a sudden; like she could dance in the craters of the moon if she just jumped high enough.
Beaming, she spun away from the window, laughing as her newly trimmed hair swished around her face. She could just imagine Charlie's face when he read her letter. He'd seen Fleur's temper in full swing on more than one occasion; Gabby knew without a doubt he'd do everything in his power to avoid incurring it.
"Why yes, Sharlie, it IZ me," she said to thin air, beaming as she playacted shaking his hand. "Do you like?" She couldn't resist primping a little, loving the feeling of the silky strands pouring through her fingers before ending abruptly just below her jaw.
Fleur was going to have fits. Mama was going to have a breakdown.
They'd get over it.
This was going to be the best Christmas EVER.
THE END
(Alia's turn now!)
xposted to literarylemming and pendragotales
AUTHOR: Mnemosyne
Disclaimer: Not mine! All belongs to JK Rowling.
SUMMARY: Eighth in the "Pendragon" series. Gabby responds to Charlie's warning that he might not make it back to England in time for Christmas. Needless to say, she's not very happy!
RATING: PG-13
CHARACTERS: Gabrielle Delacour, mention of Charlie Weasley
SPOILERS: None to speak of!
NOTES:
FINALLY I've gotten to write this story. I tell you, the past few months have been INSANE. Oy! But I had to write this because my dear Alia has been having a terrible week, and I wanted to give her some Gabby to make it a little better. For you, m'dear!
Charlie Weasley, if you do not come home for Christmas, I will-!
And that was as far as she'd gotten. Over an hour of work, and Gabby still hadn't been able to come up with a suitable threat. How did you inspire fear in an experienced dragon keeper? Perhaps she should threaten to take away his fire retardant long johns?
"But zat would require me to be in Romania, Odette," she complained to her snowy white owl, which was pecking idly at her bedcurtains. "And I do not theenk zat 'eadmistress McGonagall would let me miss ze end of term exams so zat I might torture Sharlie Weasley, non? Non."
She sighed heavily and rolled onto her stomach, still clutching her parchment. Nibbling on the end of her quill, she kicked her feet and tried to imagine what could possibly frighten Charlie Weasley.
"Well, 'e is strong," she said, addressing her words to Odette but speaking more to herself. "So in matterz of strength, 'e is unafraid. Hmmm..." Perhaps an insult to his manliness would do it? Mama always said men suffered from an excess of vanity, which was very funny coming from a half-veela.
Sticking her tongue out ever so slightly, Gabby bent over her parchment and began to scribble.
Charlie Weasley, if you do not come home for Christmas, I will-! *scritch scratch cross out* if you do not come home for Christmas, I swear I will-! *erase erase erase* if you do not come home for Christmas, I promise by all you hold dear-!
"Arrrrgh!" Gabby vented, stabbing at the parchment with her wand to erase what little progress she'd made. Odette squawked and fluttered away from the violent motion. "Zis iz stoopid! I cannot insult 'is manliness, because I 'ave not seen 'im in so looong zat I do not even know what to insult!"
Pouting furiously, she rolled onto her back and stared at the canopy of her bed. Grunting in annoyance, she shoved her long, silvery hair out of her face. Sometimes she could swear her hair had a mind of its own; it was constantly in the way. Swinging when she didn't want it to swing, draping when she didn't want it to drape, cascading when she absolutely did not want it to cascade. It was distracting and frustrating and she hated it. Fleur patently refused to cut it for her, and her mother... Well, her mother would have splinched herself at the mere idea of a veela trimming her hair. The hair was all part of the magic, as Mama and Fleur had reminded her over and over since the year Dot. And while she enjoyed brushing it - which was very calming - that only accounted for a fraction of the time she had to spend alone with her hair; the lion's share was spent trying very hard to ignore it was there.
"Per'aps I should insult 'is good looks, Odette, oui?" she posited aloud, shifting around until her hair looked more normal and less like an artistically arranged portrait. "'E 'as enuff to spare! It would not 'urt 'im to be taken down a notch or six, oui? Or all 'is prettiness will go to 'is 'ead and 'e will blow up like a big balloon. POP!" She shoved a finger in her mouth in unladylike fashion and yanked it out, making a loud popping noise.
Crossing her arms over her stomach, she grumbled, "Pretty. Too, too pretty. And being pretty iz nuzzing but a curse, oui? Oh, Mon Dieu!" she exclaimed in exasperation, sitting up and twisting her hair into a messy bun low on the base of her skull. "You were trying to fan prettily!" she berated the offending tresses. "Do not deny zis, I could feel it! I do not want you to fan prettily! Why can you not jus' act like normal 'air! If Fleur were not so silly about zese t'ings, I would cut you all off-!"
She stopped, eyes wide, mouth caught in mid-harangue.
Oh, it was perfect. Perfect, perfect, perfect. Tres magnifique!
Giggling with glee, Gabby flipped over on the bed and crawled to the edge, reaching out to open her nightstand and fish around until her hand closed on the enameled handle of her mirror. Tugging it out of the drawer, she moved up onto her knees and held it up in front of her. Giving her wand a practiced swish and flick with her free hand, she intoned, "Wingardium leviosa!" and released the handle of the mirror. It floated in front of her face.
"Do you know what iz a verrah scary t'ing to many people, Odette?" she asked, as she eyed her long, silky hair in the mirror.
Odette hooted.
"No? Zen I will tell you." Giggling even harder, she held her head up high and touched her wand to her hair.
"In-laws," she purred.
Dear Charlie,
I have cut my hair (see enclosed lock of same). It is very short and swingy now. I have bangs! Fleur will be having kittens when she finds out, but it has made me much happier. The hair is all part of the veela magic, as they say, so perhaps with less hair, I will be troubled less by the magic. Yes? We shall see.
Oh, and Charlie? If you do not come home for Christmas, I am shaving the rest off. And I will tell Fleur that it is all.
Your.
Fault.
Happy Christmas!
Your friend,
Gabby
PS -- Say hello to the dragons for your Gabby! I will see you at Christmas, mon ami.
Gabrielle watched as Odette soared through the mid-afternoon sky towards Romania, carrying the neatly sealed envelope that contained her brief letter and the lock of hair. It was amazing how light she felt all of a sudden; like she could dance in the craters of the moon if she just jumped high enough.
Beaming, she spun away from the window, laughing as her newly trimmed hair swished around her face. She could just imagine Charlie's face when he read her letter. He'd seen Fleur's temper in full swing on more than one occasion; Gabby knew without a doubt he'd do everything in his power to avoid incurring it.
"Why yes, Sharlie, it IZ me," she said to thin air, beaming as she playacted shaking his hand. "Do you like?" She couldn't resist primping a little, loving the feeling of the silky strands pouring through her fingers before ending abruptly just below her jaw.
Fleur was going to have fits. Mama was going to have a breakdown.
They'd get over it.
This was going to be the best Christmas EVER.
THE END
(Alia's turn now!)
xposted to literarylemming and pendragotales