Fleur
The bleak weather of London reminded me of the goodbye I have had to endure this morning at home, as I gaze out of the window.
After a teary goodbye from both, Gabrielle and my mother, the only smile bestowed upon me was by my father as he had hugged me tightly and wished me well for the journey.
The light drizzle has started from heavy black clouds, with a promise of a downpour as I stepped out of the black muggle transportation in front of a plain, black door of the place called leaky cauldron.
Even with the distance between London and France, my journey should not have taken a couple of minutes as I had planned to apparate from my home to London's leaky cauldron.
A letter from Madame Maxime had arrived just this morning detailing the use of muggle transportation.
I had apparated to King's cross station where I apparated and took black muggle vehicle to reach this pub which, according to the letter, will take me to Diagon Alley.
It was because of this detour that I was late, as I had planned to reach Gringotts wizarding bank at 10 am in the morning, but instead reached almost 2 hours late.
The place was a small, grubby pub that stood between a big book store and a record store.
It was so inconspicuous and ordinary that the muggles passing around me did not even spare a glance at it, their gaze skipping right over the black door like it didn't even exist. And maybe to them, it didn't.
Giving the muggle driver a few paper bills - which barely distracted him from staring at me with dazed eyes - I set off towards the door.
Even after frequent warnings from people, advising me against working anywhere near goblins; that aspect of the job held a half the appeal to me.
I knew goblins are supposed to be most shrewd creatures of the world. They rarely, if ever, trust a human being and were most resilient to any kind of enchantments that would render a human helpless.
The goblins, I am sure, will not care about my beauty or the enchantment that I know I put on people around me.
They won't nod to everything I say just because they are too out of their wits to respond or correct me if I go wrong.
Squaring my shoulders, I twist the brass handle on the door and step inside. It is as shabby and tiny as the door itself. For a place known even to Madame Maxime in France, the place did not have anything to speak for itself.
It took a couple of minutes for my eyes to adjust to the darkness inside the pub.
As the room came into focus, I take in a few tables and chairs setup inside. The whole room seem to buzz with a low hum of conversation around me.
An old lady sitting in the far corner of the room is drinking sherry from a mug - like glass, which fills itself up as soon as she finishes it, while being emerged in a book on the table.
Another couple of men are sitting on the middle tables side by side, their feet on the table reading from daily prophet and discussing an article about mandrake vegetation loudly.
A couple of men and women are standing by the bar, with a middle aged woman with corkscrew curls, wearing dark maroon robes and having deep conversation with the bartender.
The bartender himself is bald, with a toothless smile as his gaze slide from the woman in front of him to the door to check on the new arrival.
I know the second his gaze fell on me, as his toothless smile froze and his eyes widened.
YOU ARE READING
My Eldest Weasley
Fanfiction[COMPLETED] Bad memories are hard to forget, Good ones even harder. Fleur Delacour has been treated like a princess all her life, and usually, she didn't mind it. But after witnessing a tragedy occur, she realized that instead of going on to live li...
