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Fleur Delacour

Different Opinions

Fleur Delacour

Blue Fleur

Different Opinions

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Sultry smile
Je suis dans l'amour avec un bitte.

(“I am in love with a prick.”)

It is the only thing of which I can think to call him at this moment.

Et ses plus jeunes frères jumeaux, branleurs les deux.

(”And his younger twin brothers, wankers the both of them.”)

I cannot believe the audacity my fiancé has shown by taking it upon himself to step in and make decisions that affect my life without consulting me. My first glance at the letter led me to think that Fred and George Weasley were playing a joke for me, sending me maternity wear and carrying on about how much they will miss me modeling for their business.

But then it dawned on me. Like an exploding cauldron.

Bill Weasley told them that I intend to quit as the Wicked and Wonder Witch spokes model. I cannot believe this. The first time we were married Bill could not divorce me and get away from me fast enough and now, now it seems he believes he has the right to make my choices for me.

Le contrôle, porc chauvin.

(”The controlling, chauvinist pig.”)

And his buffoonish brothers should have talked to me before assuming that Bill’s words accurately reflect my wishes. It seems I need to set the three of them on the straight path before they make complete fools of both themselves and me. I shall need to speak to Fred and George Weasley, after I speak to Bill Weasley.

It is then that the click of the cottage door draws my attention. It is Bill returning home after work. He will soon step into the kitchen, as that is his routine, to pour himself a goblet of juice or open an icy Butterbeer. It is exactly the latter that he does before he turns around to discover (with a barely-startled flinch) that I am sitting at the kitchen table, a letter in my hand and opened parcels in front of me.

“What have you got there?” he asks pleasantly and joins me at the table as I watch him. He takes a long gulp of the Butterbeer before he sets the bottle on the wooden surface with a clunk.

“Bill?” I begin calmly. “Is zere somesing you need to tell me?”

He slowly turns his head toward me, a look of confusion in his eyes as his brow knits and he cocks his head like a befuddled dog. How accurate… He hesitates before he answers me.

“Nnnnnnnnoooo.” It is a statement, but the inflection in his voice makes it sound more like a question. “Why?” He is definitely puzzled now.

“I received a belated birthday gift from your brozzers today.”

“Which ones?” he asks as he takes another swallow.

“Fred and George,” I reply evenly. Bill stops in mid-gulp but does not choke or cough. He looks at the boxes in front of me and for a flashing second panic seems to spread to his eyes. But then it is gone.

“What did those two wankers get you for your birthday?” he inquires, certainly hoping to cut some of the tension in the room. “Something good, I hope. They can certainly afford it.”

“Zey sent me pajamas,” I say coolly.

“That’s nice.” He pulls the box closer and inspects the garments inside.

Maternity pajamas,” I say. Bill’s hand freezes with the flannel in its grasp. “Why would your brozzers be so bold as to send me pyjamas de maternité? How do zey know zat we are trying for a bébé?”

“I told them,” he hesitates, “After all, they are my brothers.”

“And zey are my employers,” I snip, trying desperately to control my emotions. I take a deep breath before I speak again. “Ze kind of work I do for zem would be directly affected by a pregnancy. Eet would ‘ave been much better for me to discuss zis situation with zem myself.” I glare incredulously at him and he meets my gaze.

“But you aren’t going to be modeling for them for very much longer so it doesn’t really matter.” He nonchalantly takes another sip of Butterbeer.

“Who is ze one who says zat I will not be modeling for zem much longer?” I demand. “Because eet ees not me at zis moment in my life.”

“We’re engaged to be married,” his jaw clenches, “And as your future husband I have the right to disapprove of my wife flaunting herself half-naked around the entire Wizarding community. The mother of my children will not stoop to doing that kind of work.”

“And what about ze opinion of your wife?” I protest, “What of ‘er rights? Does she not ‘ave a say concerning ‘er own choices, or does ‘er opinion not matter as much as yours?”

“Fleur, your opinion matters…”

“Just not in zis particular situation,” I growl, wounded at Bill’s insensitivity. “Who gave you ze right to tell my employers, whether or not zey are your brozzers, zat I intend on resigning? I enjoy being zeir spokes model. I like being ze Wicked Witch.”

“But it’s not appropriate for a married witch, and a witch with children as well, to do that kind of work,” he counters, “It’s just not acceptable.”

“According to whom?” I hiss. “Who on zis Goddess-forsaken island believes zat eet is not acceptable for a married mozzer to be ze Wicked Witch?”

I DO!” Bill bellows as he slams his fist onto the table. “And I would hope that my opinion matters to you.”
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