Leigh!fic- Unexpected (1/1)- George Weasley/Gabrielle Delacour
Title: Unexpected (1/1)
Author: Leigh, aka leigh_adams
Prompt: U is for unexpected
Pairing: George Weasley/Gabrielle Delacour
Word Count: 1515
Rating: PG-13
Summary: While on business in Paris, George runs into the last person he expected to see.
Author’s notes: Written as part of my Alphabet Drabble Meme. elle_blessing requested George Weasley/Gabrielle Delacour with the prompt "unexpected." This is slightly longer than drabble length, but I just couldn’t stop! Just so you know, this piece ignores post- Deathly Hallows canon. Also, if you hover your cursor over the French phrases, the English translation will appear. Elle, I hope you enjoy!
Paris’ wizarding district was nearly twice the size of Diagon Alley. La Rue Sorcière took up a sprawling maze of streets, neatly concealed within the dix-huitième arrondisment near the Basilique du Sacré-Coeur. Much of the anti-witch paranoia that had gripped Europe during the Middle Ages had spared Paris, leaving it as an untouched haven for witches and wizards.
As such, it was an untapped market for pranksters and simple jokes. That was why George Weasley found himself at the bar at Lapin Agile, tossing back another shot of vodka with his French realtor, Jean-Jacques Lefevre.
"Bah," Monsieur Lefevre said again, beady brown eyes watching as yet another gaggle of scantily-clad women passed them. "French women, zey are nozing but cock-teases. Good to fuck, but for a price, non?"
George nodded faintly, his own gaze watching as a very tall, lithe blonde propped herself up against the bar near them. "If you say so," he said, rather uncertainly.
His companion let out an un-gentlemanly belch, then reached out to clasp George on the shoulder. "I am going to take a piss," he said.
Snorting, George nodded, turning away from the beautiful blonde to watch the older man stumble towards the loo. "Thanks for sharing," he muttered under his breath.
A light tap on his shoulder caught his attention, and his head swiveled back to the other side. His eyes widened minutely when he saw the blonde from down the bar suddenly right beside him, her own bright blue eyes alight with the smile on her lips.
“Tu as de feu?” she asked in enchanting French; a language that George could understand maybe two bloody words.
"Erm, I’m sorry? Um, parlez-vous anglais?"
The blonde woman laughed, a tinkling sound that was eerilyfamiliar to him. "A light," she said, holding up a pack of Gauloises. "For my cigarette?"
"Oh." George pulled out his wand and muttered the incantation, and a small flame appeared at the end.
She leaned forward and lit the tip of her cigarette, inhaling to make sure it caught. Blowing out a cloud of smoke, she leaned back and smiled. "Merci."
"No problem." He couldn’t stop his gaze from dropping down, taking in the enticing low cut of her dress and the way it brushed the top of her shapely thighs. Her long legs were tipped by dangerously tall stilettos, the type that he had only seen his sister-in-law Fleur wearing. Ginny preferred sensible shoes; ones that wouldn’t pose a health risk simply by wearing them.
"I’m George," he said, thrusting his hand out towards her.
"I know."
George blinked. "Wait. How do you know me?"
The blonde’s smile only grew, and she leaned forward; it took all the willpower George had not to stare at her enticing breasts. It was as if they were begging for his gaze. "You do not remember me?"
Fuck. He hadn’t slept with her, had he? He was sure he would have remembered a bird this beautiful. Merlin, how did she know him? "No, I’m afraid I don’t."
Taking a drag from her cigarette, she exhaled another cloud of smoke into the already-smokey club. "Ah, well, eet ‘as been a long time since I was in England. Per’aps eet ees acceptable zat you ‘ave forgotten me."
"I’m terrible sorry," George said piously, still raking his mind for how this georgous women could possible know his name. "If you told me your name, maybe then I could remember."
Another enticing laugh fell from the blonde’s lips. "Je m’appelle Gabrielle."
He didn’t recognize anything she’d said, except...
His eyes widened minutely. "You can’t be little Gabrielle Delacour."
Gabrielle giggled and spread her hands open. "C’est moi," she said with a delighted grin. "Eet ‘as been a long time, George Weasley."
"Indeed it has." The Gabrielle he remembered didn’t smoke... or have incredible breasts. Glancing at the cigarette in her hand, he quirked a brow. "You do know those things will kill you, right?"
She lifted her shoulder in a Gallic shrug. "Zere are worse ways to die," she said simply. "And I am French. We all smoke ze cigarettes."
"Fleur doesn’t."
"Not anymore." Another cloud of smoke was exhaled, and it was surprising to George that the hazy blue smoke didn’t repulse him. "She quit when she moved to England."
George nodded, gaze dropping ever-so-slightly from her plump, pink lips to her proud breasts. Merlin, George Weasley, she isn’t even of age! Stop undressing her with your eyes!
Clearing his throat, he said, "Um, may I get you a drink?"
Gabrielle smiled, showing two rows of dazzling white teeth. "Oui. L’absinthe, s’il te plaît."
Nodding, he drug his gaze away from the general area of her chest and waved down the bar tender. "Deux glasses of absinthe, please." He could hear Gabrielle giggle at his elementary mix of French and English, and his cheeks colored slightly in embarrassment as he glanced over at her. "I’m sorry, I don’t speak French very much."
She waved off his apology. "Bah, eet ees alright. You ‘ave me ‘ere now, you do not need to worry."
George’s reply was cut off when the barkeep set two glasses of the green liquid in front of them. At the sight of a silver spoon and a sugar cube set atop each glass, his brow furrowed in confusion. "What is this?"
His only response was another delighted giggle. "You ‘ave never ‘ad l’absinthe before?" she asked. When he shook his head, she leaned forward in excitement. Nodding towards the glasses, she said, "Regardez."
His gaze was rapt as he watched the bartender ignite the two sugar cubes with his wand. The little sweets were then dropped into the green spirit, igniting the waiting alcohol. After a moment of burning, the bartender then poured two shots of ice water into the glasses, dousing the flames.
With an enchanting smile, Gabrielle plucked the glasses off the bar and handed him one. "Salut," she said with a toast, saluting him before throwing her drink back.
"Salut," he muttered in reply, copying her motions. The anise-flavor liquid burned a trail down his throat, warming his insides. He coughed and set the glass back down on the bar. "Bloody hell."
"Exactement," she said, blue eyes bright from the alcohol.
The music suddenly shifted, and a bouncy number began to emanate from the speakers. Leaning foward, Gabrielle reached out and grabbed his hand. "Now, George Weasley, I theenk eet ees only fair zat you ask me to dance, non?"
George blinked at her forwardness but shook his head. "I can’t, Gabrielle. You’re too young, and I-"
"I am eighteen years old and am of-age in both your country and mine," she replied haughtily. "What ees ze matter? Are you afraid of me?"
"What? No!"
With a smile worthy of Circe, Gabrielle slid off her bar stool and pressed herself close, leaning in to place her lips near his ear. "Zen you must dance with me. After all, you ‘ave been staring at my breasts since we began talking."
He didn’t know what it was; maybe it was the liquor, or maybe it was the spirit of his long-gone twin, but at that moment, George could not deny his basic instincts. There was a part of him that knew he shouldn't do it- she was his sister-in-law's baby sister- but at that moment, he didn't care. Turning his head to the side, he pressed his lips to hers and waited for the eminent slap.
It never came, though. Gabrielle’s lips were soft against his own, and it took no more than five seconds for her to wrap her arms around his neck. His own hands slid to her shapely hips, pulling her flush against him. Her body fit perfectly against his, something he noted with satisfaction.
"I theenk," she whispered against his lips, "zat we should skip ze dance."
“Oh?” he queried, pulling back. "I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have kissed you, I just-"
Gabrielle laughed again and shook her head. "Non, eet ees not zat. I would just rather zis dance be a private one. Per’aps at your ‘otel?"
Blue eyes widened at the unexpected proposition. "Are you sure?" he asked, holding on to his last shred of chivalry.
"Absolument."
George needed no futher encouragement, Apparating them away with a ‘crack!’
Coming back from the water-closet, Monsieur Lefevre watched as his young English friend disappeared with a blonde woman in his arms. He gave a genial eye roll and signaled for another drink.
"Fucking cock-teases. Bonne chance, mon ami."
Author: Leigh, aka leigh_adams
Prompt: U is for unexpected
Pairing: George Weasley/Gabrielle Delacour
Word Count: 1515
Rating: PG-13
Summary: While on business in Paris, George runs into the last person he expected to see.
Author’s notes: Written as part of my Alphabet Drabble Meme. elle_blessing requested George Weasley/Gabrielle Delacour with the prompt "unexpected." This is slightly longer than drabble length, but I just couldn’t stop! Just so you know, this piece ignores post- Deathly Hallows canon. Also, if you hover your cursor over the French phrases, the English translation will appear. Elle, I hope you enjoy!
Paris’ wizarding district was nearly twice the size of Diagon Alley. La Rue Sorcière took up a sprawling maze of streets, neatly concealed within the dix-huitième arrondisment near the Basilique du Sacré-Coeur. Much of the anti-witch paranoia that had gripped Europe during the Middle Ages had spared Paris, leaving it as an untouched haven for witches and wizards.
As such, it was an untapped market for pranksters and simple jokes. That was why George Weasley found himself at the bar at Lapin Agile, tossing back another shot of vodka with his French realtor, Jean-Jacques Lefevre.
"Bah," Monsieur Lefevre said again, beady brown eyes watching as yet another gaggle of scantily-clad women passed them. "French women, zey are nozing but cock-teases. Good to fuck, but for a price, non?"
George nodded faintly, his own gaze watching as a very tall, lithe blonde propped herself up against the bar near them. "If you say so," he said, rather uncertainly.
His companion let out an un-gentlemanly belch, then reached out to clasp George on the shoulder. "I am going to take a piss," he said.
Snorting, George nodded, turning away from the beautiful blonde to watch the older man stumble towards the loo. "Thanks for sharing," he muttered under his breath.
A light tap on his shoulder caught his attention, and his head swiveled back to the other side. His eyes widened minutely when he saw the blonde from down the bar suddenly right beside him, her own bright blue eyes alight with the smile on her lips.
“Tu as de feu?” she asked in enchanting French; a language that George could understand maybe two bloody words.
"Erm, I’m sorry? Um, parlez-vous anglais?"
The blonde woman laughed, a tinkling sound that was eerilyfamiliar to him. "A light," she said, holding up a pack of Gauloises. "For my cigarette?"
"Oh." George pulled out his wand and muttered the incantation, and a small flame appeared at the end.
She leaned forward and lit the tip of her cigarette, inhaling to make sure it caught. Blowing out a cloud of smoke, she leaned back and smiled. "Merci."
"No problem." He couldn’t stop his gaze from dropping down, taking in the enticing low cut of her dress and the way it brushed the top of her shapely thighs. Her long legs were tipped by dangerously tall stilettos, the type that he had only seen his sister-in-law Fleur wearing. Ginny preferred sensible shoes; ones that wouldn’t pose a health risk simply by wearing them.
"I’m George," he said, thrusting his hand out towards her.
"I know."
George blinked. "Wait. How do you know me?"
The blonde’s smile only grew, and she leaned forward; it took all the willpower George had not to stare at her enticing breasts. It was as if they were begging for his gaze. "You do not remember me?"
Fuck. He hadn’t slept with her, had he? He was sure he would have remembered a bird this beautiful. Merlin, how did she know him? "No, I’m afraid I don’t."
Taking a drag from her cigarette, she exhaled another cloud of smoke into the already-smokey club. "Ah, well, eet ‘as been a long time since I was in England. Per’aps eet ees acceptable zat you ‘ave forgotten me."
"I’m terrible sorry," George said piously, still raking his mind for how this georgous women could possible know his name. "If you told me your name, maybe then I could remember."
Another enticing laugh fell from the blonde’s lips. "Je m’appelle Gabrielle."
He didn’t recognize anything she’d said, except...
His eyes widened minutely. "You can’t be little Gabrielle Delacour."
Gabrielle giggled and spread her hands open. "C’est moi," she said with a delighted grin. "Eet ‘as been a long time, George Weasley."
"Indeed it has." The Gabrielle he remembered didn’t smoke... or have incredible breasts. Glancing at the cigarette in her hand, he quirked a brow. "You do know those things will kill you, right?"
She lifted her shoulder in a Gallic shrug. "Zere are worse ways to die," she said simply. "And I am French. We all smoke ze cigarettes."
"Fleur doesn’t."
"Not anymore." Another cloud of smoke was exhaled, and it was surprising to George that the hazy blue smoke didn’t repulse him. "She quit when she moved to England."
George nodded, gaze dropping ever-so-slightly from her plump, pink lips to her proud breasts. Merlin, George Weasley, she isn’t even of age! Stop undressing her with your eyes!
Clearing his throat, he said, "Um, may I get you a drink?"
Gabrielle smiled, showing two rows of dazzling white teeth. "Oui. L’absinthe, s’il te plaît."
Nodding, he drug his gaze away from the general area of her chest and waved down the bar tender. "Deux glasses of absinthe, please." He could hear Gabrielle giggle at his elementary mix of French and English, and his cheeks colored slightly in embarrassment as he glanced over at her. "I’m sorry, I don’t speak French very much."
She waved off his apology. "Bah, eet ees alright. You ‘ave me ‘ere now, you do not need to worry."
George’s reply was cut off when the barkeep set two glasses of the green liquid in front of them. At the sight of a silver spoon and a sugar cube set atop each glass, his brow furrowed in confusion. "What is this?"
His only response was another delighted giggle. "You ‘ave never ‘ad l’absinthe before?" she asked. When he shook his head, she leaned forward in excitement. Nodding towards the glasses, she said, "Regardez."
His gaze was rapt as he watched the bartender ignite the two sugar cubes with his wand. The little sweets were then dropped into the green spirit, igniting the waiting alcohol. After a moment of burning, the bartender then poured two shots of ice water into the glasses, dousing the flames.
With an enchanting smile, Gabrielle plucked the glasses off the bar and handed him one. "Salut," she said with a toast, saluting him before throwing her drink back.
"Salut," he muttered in reply, copying her motions. The anise-flavor liquid burned a trail down his throat, warming his insides. He coughed and set the glass back down on the bar. "Bloody hell."
"Exactement," she said, blue eyes bright from the alcohol.
The music suddenly shifted, and a bouncy number began to emanate from the speakers. Leaning foward, Gabrielle reached out and grabbed his hand. "Now, George Weasley, I theenk eet ees only fair zat you ask me to dance, non?"
George blinked at her forwardness but shook his head. "I can’t, Gabrielle. You’re too young, and I-"
"I am eighteen years old and am of-age in both your country and mine," she replied haughtily. "What ees ze matter? Are you afraid of me?"
"What? No!"
With a smile worthy of Circe, Gabrielle slid off her bar stool and pressed herself close, leaning in to place her lips near his ear. "Zen you must dance with me. After all, you ‘ave been staring at my breasts since we began talking."
He didn’t know what it was; maybe it was the liquor, or maybe it was the spirit of his long-gone twin, but at that moment, George could not deny his basic instincts. There was a part of him that knew he shouldn't do it- she was his sister-in-law's baby sister- but at that moment, he didn't care. Turning his head to the side, he pressed his lips to hers and waited for the eminent slap.
It never came, though. Gabrielle’s lips were soft against his own, and it took no more than five seconds for her to wrap her arms around his neck. His own hands slid to her shapely hips, pulling her flush against him. Her body fit perfectly against his, something he noted with satisfaction.
"I theenk," she whispered against his lips, "zat we should skip ze dance."
“Oh?” he queried, pulling back. "I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have kissed you, I just-"
Gabrielle laughed again and shook her head. "Non, eet ees not zat. I would just rather zis dance be a private one. Per’aps at your ‘otel?"
Blue eyes widened at the unexpected proposition. "Are you sure?" he asked, holding on to his last shred of chivalry.
"Absolument."
George needed no futher encouragement, Apparating them away with a ‘crack!’
Coming back from the water-closet, Monsieur Lefevre watched as his young English friend disappeared with a blonde woman in his arms. He gave a genial eye roll and signaled for another drink.
"Fucking cock-teases. Bonne chance, mon ami."