The mildest, drowsiest sister has been known to turn tiger...
Characters: Claire and Marianne Weasley
Author: leigh_lamb
Date set: October 2, 2031 (Claire is 27, Marianne is 21)
Rating: Anyone
Summary: It’s her birthday, but Claire doesn’t want to cry. No one told that to her broken heart.
As a child, Claire Weasley had never been prone to tears. Where other girls would cry at the first elbow scrape and run to their parents for kisses, she would just wipe the blood off and keep playing. Her Papa had often said that for all her Delacour looks, she was a true Weasley (something that she took pride in, especially since her brother and sister both took after their father’s side of the family). She couldn’t remember the last time she’d cried -- perhaps at her Grandmère Apolline’s funeral?
But now, the tears were streaming down her face as she Apparated into the darkness of her little sister’s empty flat. She didn’t know where else to go. Shell Cottage was out; ditto for the Burrow. Dropping by Tristian’s place was risky -- on any given night, a different woman kept his bed warm. And she didn’t think she could bear to stay in France a second longer.
Marianne’s was the only place she could think of. It was quiet and, most importantly, empty.
She didn’t even have the chance to let her eyes adjust to the darkness before she was hit with a Stinging Hex. Claire yelped in surprise and fumbled for her own wand, shooting a curse back off in the darkness. “Mon dieu, c’est quoi de bordel?”
“Oh my god, Claire?” The blonde winced when the room was suddenly flooded with light, her eyes opening slowly to see her little sister framed in the door. A terrycloth bathrobe was tied tightly around her slender frame, and her beautiful red hair framed her face in a mess of curls. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t know it was you!”
“Who else Apparates into your flat at night, Marie?” She rubbed at the red welt on her arm and fixed her baby sister with a glare. “What are you doing here? Papa said you were in Egypt.”
Marianne pocketed her wand. “I was in Egypt. I came home early to surprise you this weekend. But bugger that, what are you doing here? It’s the middle of the night.”
Oh. This weekend. Dinner with her parents and brother at Le Meurice, one of her favorite restaurants in Paris, and then some family time in the city. Marianne had written earlier in the week to tell her she’d been called back to Cairo. Charles-Henri had said...
There was a contraction in her chest, and a fresh wave of tears threatened to spill over.
“Claire?” Concern laced her sister’s tone; Claire could only guess how awful her face looked. Her eye makeup was utterly ruined by this point. “Sweets, what’s wrong?”
“I...” her voice was hollow, a lump in her throat. She swallowed hard. “Charles-Henri...”
Her sister crossed the room in two long strides, taking a light grasp on her bare arms. “Is he alright?”
Her chin wobbled, and the dam burst. “He left me.”
“Mon dieu.” In a flash, her sister’s arms were tight around her. Marianne couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen her sister cry; probably when Grandmère Apolline died. Her sister was made of sterner stuff than that. But now, she was sobbing like a child in Marianne’s arms. The younger woman was torn. She was scared and worried for her sister, at the depth of her sorrow. It wasn’t surprising, but as they’d grown older, Claire began to keep her feelings closer and closer to her chest. It was easy to forget the depth of her love for her friends and family -- and for that rat bastard, Charles-Henri.
The other part of her was enraged. She wanted to Apparate straight away to Paris. She wanted to hunt down the man who’d hurt her sister so, to teach him what happened when someone messed with a Weasley woman. It took a deep effort to tamper down those dark feelings. There would be time for revenge. Later.
“Come here.” She guided her sister to the ratty sofa and helped her sit back. “Stay here.” As if Claire was going anywhere -- she didn’t even make a fuss about the state of her upholstery. If her red eyes and air of misery weren’t proof enough already, that sealed the deal.
Claire barely registered her sister leave. It wasn’t until Marianne was settling down next to her, a bottle of burgundy and two large glasses in hand that she noticed she’d gone to her ‘kitchen.’ Or whatever passed for one; her sister’s studio loft was more akin to a very large room divided into sections. The bed was up a ladder, hanging half-over the living room.
A practiced hand opened the bottle and poured two glasses, both well over the normal serving size. The dark liquid was almost to the rim. Not a problem by either. “Here,” she said, pressing it into Claire’s hand. “Drink, then start from the beginning.”
She needn’t have encouraged Claire. The drink was already at her lips before Marianne had finished her sentence. It was a heady wine, her favorite, and the taste of it served to calm her somewhat.
“We were going to Monaco,” she said softly, “for a few nights. We had a reservation at the Hôtel Hermitage, in Monte Carlo. We were supposed to leave tonight and come home Friday morning -- in time for Maman and Papa to arrive in Paris.”
A trembling hand brought her wine glass back to her lips. “Charles-Henri came home tonight, and I could tell right off something was wrong. He... he wasn’t acting like himself.” She glanced up at her sister, another tear sliding down her cheek. “I know you didn’t know him as well I wanted -”
“I knew him well enough.” Marianne had been seventeen and in Hogwarts when her sister had started seeing the much-older Charles-Henri, and she’d gone straight into cursebreaker training after school. Still, she had spent some of her breaks with her sister at the Parisian townhome she’d shared with her boyfriend. Even though she’d thought he was way too old for her sister (honestly, he was only five years younger than their Tante Gabi), she’d liked him well enough.
Well, until now.
Claire managed a feeble smile. “He was never cold to me, Marie. But tonight... it was almost as if some alien personality had transplanted itself in him. He -- he came home and just stated, “Je ne t’aime plus.”
Marianne gaped at her sister. “Just like that?”
“Just like that.” The blonde gave a little sob-hiccup. “Oh gods, what am I going to do?”
Her sister reached for her wine glass -- with the way her hands were shaking, it was only a matter of time before the wine was on the carpet -- and set it on the table next to hers. Wrapping her long arms around her sister, she pulled her close and let her rest her head on her shoulder. “Well, tonight, you’re going to cry. And I’m going to order some greasy take-away, and we’re going to eat our feelings.”
Claire sniffled. “I can’t eat anything fried.”
“Oh, bugger that former-model mentality, Claire. You most certainly can eat some fish and chips, today of all days. It’s your birthday, for Merlin’s sake.”
The blonde sighed, closing her eyes. “Please don’t remind me.”
The redhead ignored her. “So, that’s tonight. Tomorrow, we’ll get Tristian and collect your things from Charles-Henri’s place and bring them back home. And then,” her voice broke into an imitation of a French accent, “you are going to pour a drink, put some leepstick on, and pull yourself together, ma chèrie.”
“It’s uncanny how much you sound like Tante Gabi.” For all that their aunt had lived previously in England and married a Brit, she still sounded like she was fresh from France.
“Merci, darling.”
Reaching up, Claire wiped away the unshed tears from her eyes. “I can’t face him,” she whispered. “Not yet. I’m not ready. And I don’t know what to tell Papa and Maman. I don’t know if I can take those looks.” She knew they’d be there. Her parents had never fully approved of her relationship with Charles-Henri, especially her Papa. He was too old for her, he’d said, but he’d kept those thoughts to himself when he’d seen how happy he made Claire.
How much Claire loved him.
‘I don’t think you’re giving them enough credit, Claire. Maman and Papa love you. They won’t say anything.” Marianne knew they wouldn’t. As for their numerous Weasley aunts... they were a different story. And it would likely take their uncle and a force of nature to keep Tante Gabi from storming to Paris and hanging Charles-Henri by his toes (something Marianne was inclined to help with).
“I know. But what am I supposed to do now?”
“Well,” Marianne said, matter-of-factly, reaching up to pet her sister’s heavy blonde locks. “Like I said, we’ve a plan for the next few days. This weekend, we’ll find you an estate agent and get to flat hunting, because there’s no way in the seven layers of Hell you and I are both fitting in this place. Your shoe collection alone would take up most of my space.”
It pulled a soft exhalation from her sister -- Marianne took it for a laugh. She sighed and let her fingers tangle in Claire’s hair. “Gods, I always wanted your hair.”
“Why?” Claire lifted her head to look at her sister, her brow crinkled. “Why on earth would you want my hair when you’ve got such gorgeous color?” Tristian and Marianne took after their Papa, with beautiful red curls -- something Claire had often wished for herself. “You’ve got such beautiful hair and skin.”
It was Marianne’s turn to snort. “Yes, a true lion’s mane, and it’s about that easy to wrangle. Besides, I’m all forehead, nose, and freckles. You’re the beautiful one, just like Maman.”
“You’re daft.”
“Hey now, don’t insult your temporary roommate. I might dye your hair blue in your sleep.”
“I’d like to see you try,” Claire replied with a sniff, her nose turning up ever-so-slightly. The light banter had helped take her mind off the situation at hand, but it all came back to the forefront with the ‘temporary roommate’ comment. “Gods, what a mess.”
Marianne nodded sagely. “True. Luckily for you, I am an expert mess-cleaner-upper-type person.” She grinned at her sister.
“Merlin only knows you made enough growing up.”
“How do you think I got to be so good at it, magic?” Rising from the sofa, she extended her hand to Claire and pulled her sister up. “C’mon, then, let’s get you something to wear. That Hervé Léger won’t do for fried fish and chips -- I’m surprised you can breathe in it.”
Claire ignored the quip about her dress. “Thank you,” she said softly, managing a small smile for her sister. “For everything, Marie.”
The other girl just shrugged and wrapped her arms around her, squeezing tightly for a moment before she released her.
“That’s what sisters are for.”
Author: leigh_lamb
Date set: October 2, 2031 (Claire is 27, Marianne is 21)
Rating: Anyone
Summary: It’s her birthday, but Claire doesn’t want to cry. No one told that to her broken heart.
As a child, Claire Weasley had never been prone to tears. Where other girls would cry at the first elbow scrape and run to their parents for kisses, she would just wipe the blood off and keep playing. Her Papa had often said that for all her Delacour looks, she was a true Weasley (something that she took pride in, especially since her brother and sister both took after their father’s side of the family). She couldn’t remember the last time she’d cried -- perhaps at her Grandmère Apolline’s funeral?
But now, the tears were streaming down her face as she Apparated into the darkness of her little sister’s empty flat. She didn’t know where else to go. Shell Cottage was out; ditto for the Burrow. Dropping by Tristian’s place was risky -- on any given night, a different woman kept his bed warm. And she didn’t think she could bear to stay in France a second longer.
Marianne’s was the only place she could think of. It was quiet and, most importantly, empty.
She didn’t even have the chance to let her eyes adjust to the darkness before she was hit with a Stinging Hex. Claire yelped in surprise and fumbled for her own wand, shooting a curse back off in the darkness. “Mon dieu, c’est quoi de bordel?”
“Oh my god, Claire?” The blonde winced when the room was suddenly flooded with light, her eyes opening slowly to see her little sister framed in the door. A terrycloth bathrobe was tied tightly around her slender frame, and her beautiful red hair framed her face in a mess of curls. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t know it was you!”
“Who else Apparates into your flat at night, Marie?” She rubbed at the red welt on her arm and fixed her baby sister with a glare. “What are you doing here? Papa said you were in Egypt.”
Marianne pocketed her wand. “I was in Egypt. I came home early to surprise you this weekend. But bugger that, what are you doing here? It’s the middle of the night.”
Oh. This weekend. Dinner with her parents and brother at Le Meurice, one of her favorite restaurants in Paris, and then some family time in the city. Marianne had written earlier in the week to tell her she’d been called back to Cairo. Charles-Henri had said...
There was a contraction in her chest, and a fresh wave of tears threatened to spill over.
“Claire?” Concern laced her sister’s tone; Claire could only guess how awful her face looked. Her eye makeup was utterly ruined by this point. “Sweets, what’s wrong?”
“I...” her voice was hollow, a lump in her throat. She swallowed hard. “Charles-Henri...”
Her sister crossed the room in two long strides, taking a light grasp on her bare arms. “Is he alright?”
Her chin wobbled, and the dam burst. “He left me.”
“Mon dieu.” In a flash, her sister’s arms were tight around her. Marianne couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen her sister cry; probably when Grandmère Apolline died. Her sister was made of sterner stuff than that. But now, she was sobbing like a child in Marianne’s arms. The younger woman was torn. She was scared and worried for her sister, at the depth of her sorrow. It wasn’t surprising, but as they’d grown older, Claire began to keep her feelings closer and closer to her chest. It was easy to forget the depth of her love for her friends and family -- and for that rat bastard, Charles-Henri.
The other part of her was enraged. She wanted to Apparate straight away to Paris. She wanted to hunt down the man who’d hurt her sister so, to teach him what happened when someone messed with a Weasley woman. It took a deep effort to tamper down those dark feelings. There would be time for revenge. Later.
“Come here.” She guided her sister to the ratty sofa and helped her sit back. “Stay here.” As if Claire was going anywhere -- she didn’t even make a fuss about the state of her upholstery. If her red eyes and air of misery weren’t proof enough already, that sealed the deal.
Claire barely registered her sister leave. It wasn’t until Marianne was settling down next to her, a bottle of burgundy and two large glasses in hand that she noticed she’d gone to her ‘kitchen.’ Or whatever passed for one; her sister’s studio loft was more akin to a very large room divided into sections. The bed was up a ladder, hanging half-over the living room.
A practiced hand opened the bottle and poured two glasses, both well over the normal serving size. The dark liquid was almost to the rim. Not a problem by either. “Here,” she said, pressing it into Claire’s hand. “Drink, then start from the beginning.”
She needn’t have encouraged Claire. The drink was already at her lips before Marianne had finished her sentence. It was a heady wine, her favorite, and the taste of it served to calm her somewhat.
“We were going to Monaco,” she said softly, “for a few nights. We had a reservation at the Hôtel Hermitage, in Monte Carlo. We were supposed to leave tonight and come home Friday morning -- in time for Maman and Papa to arrive in Paris.”
A trembling hand brought her wine glass back to her lips. “Charles-Henri came home tonight, and I could tell right off something was wrong. He... he wasn’t acting like himself.” She glanced up at her sister, another tear sliding down her cheek. “I know you didn’t know him as well I wanted -”
“I knew him well enough.” Marianne had been seventeen and in Hogwarts when her sister had started seeing the much-older Charles-Henri, and she’d gone straight into cursebreaker training after school. Still, she had spent some of her breaks with her sister at the Parisian townhome she’d shared with her boyfriend. Even though she’d thought he was way too old for her sister (honestly, he was only five years younger than their Tante Gabi), she’d liked him well enough.
Well, until now.
Claire managed a feeble smile. “He was never cold to me, Marie. But tonight... it was almost as if some alien personality had transplanted itself in him. He -- he came home and just stated, “Je ne t’aime plus.”
Marianne gaped at her sister. “Just like that?”
“Just like that.” The blonde gave a little sob-hiccup. “Oh gods, what am I going to do?”
Her sister reached for her wine glass -- with the way her hands were shaking, it was only a matter of time before the wine was on the carpet -- and set it on the table next to hers. Wrapping her long arms around her sister, she pulled her close and let her rest her head on her shoulder. “Well, tonight, you’re going to cry. And I’m going to order some greasy take-away, and we’re going to eat our feelings.”
Claire sniffled. “I can’t eat anything fried.”
“Oh, bugger that former-model mentality, Claire. You most certainly can eat some fish and chips, today of all days. It’s your birthday, for Merlin’s sake.”
The blonde sighed, closing her eyes. “Please don’t remind me.”
The redhead ignored her. “So, that’s tonight. Tomorrow, we’ll get Tristian and collect your things from Charles-Henri’s place and bring them back home. And then,” her voice broke into an imitation of a French accent, “you are going to pour a drink, put some leepstick on, and pull yourself together, ma chèrie.”
“It’s uncanny how much you sound like Tante Gabi.” For all that their aunt had lived previously in England and married a Brit, she still sounded like she was fresh from France.
“Merci, darling.”
Reaching up, Claire wiped away the unshed tears from her eyes. “I can’t face him,” she whispered. “Not yet. I’m not ready. And I don’t know what to tell Papa and Maman. I don’t know if I can take those looks.” She knew they’d be there. Her parents had never fully approved of her relationship with Charles-Henri, especially her Papa. He was too old for her, he’d said, but he’d kept those thoughts to himself when he’d seen how happy he made Claire.
How much Claire loved him.
‘I don’t think you’re giving them enough credit, Claire. Maman and Papa love you. They won’t say anything.” Marianne knew they wouldn’t. As for their numerous Weasley aunts... they were a different story. And it would likely take their uncle and a force of nature to keep Tante Gabi from storming to Paris and hanging Charles-Henri by his toes (something Marianne was inclined to help with).
“I know. But what am I supposed to do now?”
“Well,” Marianne said, matter-of-factly, reaching up to pet her sister’s heavy blonde locks. “Like I said, we’ve a plan for the next few days. This weekend, we’ll find you an estate agent and get to flat hunting, because there’s no way in the seven layers of Hell you and I are both fitting in this place. Your shoe collection alone would take up most of my space.”
It pulled a soft exhalation from her sister -- Marianne took it for a laugh. She sighed and let her fingers tangle in Claire’s hair. “Gods, I always wanted your hair.”
“Why?” Claire lifted her head to look at her sister, her brow crinkled. “Why on earth would you want my hair when you’ve got such gorgeous color?” Tristian and Marianne took after their Papa, with beautiful red curls -- something Claire had often wished for herself. “You’ve got such beautiful hair and skin.”
It was Marianne’s turn to snort. “Yes, a true lion’s mane, and it’s about that easy to wrangle. Besides, I’m all forehead, nose, and freckles. You’re the beautiful one, just like Maman.”
“You’re daft.”
“Hey now, don’t insult your temporary roommate. I might dye your hair blue in your sleep.”
“I’d like to see you try,” Claire replied with a sniff, her nose turning up ever-so-slightly. The light banter had helped take her mind off the situation at hand, but it all came back to the forefront with the ‘temporary roommate’ comment. “Gods, what a mess.”
Marianne nodded sagely. “True. Luckily for you, I am an expert mess-cleaner-upper-type person.” She grinned at her sister.
“Merlin only knows you made enough growing up.”
“How do you think I got to be so good at it, magic?” Rising from the sofa, she extended her hand to Claire and pulled her sister up. “C’mon, then, let’s get you something to wear. That Hervé Léger won’t do for fried fish and chips -- I’m surprised you can breathe in it.”
Claire ignored the quip about her dress. “Thank you,” she said softly, managing a small smile for her sister. “For everything, Marie.”
The other girl just shrugged and wrapped her arms around her, squeezing tightly for a moment before she released her.
“That’s what sisters are for.”