Fleur Delacour (courtings) wrote in restless_rp, @ 2015-12-01 07:05:00 |
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Entry tags: | char: fleur delacour, char: remus lupin, ep: three |
Who: Fleur Delacour and Remus Lupin
What: Random meeting of two magical Beings
Where: The Ministry of Magic, London
When: Let's call it Monday morning
Rating/Status: Low/Complete
Fleur Delacour was no stranger to the British Ministry of Magic. She'd first come here over a decade ago when all of the foreign entrants to the Triwizard Tournament had registered with the Department of Magical Games and Sports; at the time she'd found the place both fascinating and distasteful, full of uncouth British wizards- for of course, no one would ever be as couth as the French- bumbling around and staring slack-jawed as if they'd never seen a Veela before. The twin facts that they likely hadn't and that plenty of people back home stared as well, if a bit more slyly than these men did, were beneath her notice at the age of seventeen, when she'd been determined to feel superior everywhere she went.
That determination had faded, if only somewhat, with age, and both fascination and disgust had faded with familiarity. She came to London fairly frequently these days; as far as the ICoW went, the UK and France were staunch allies despite the history of their muggles, for reasons of proximity and convenience if nothing else. And every time she came to London, some if not all of her business brought her here.
It wasn't her favourite place in the world; whatever notion had possessed the British wizards of yore to build their govermental palace underground would always be beyond here. Then again, this was a rainy, dreary place very often. Perhaps they'd merely decided to fight gloom with more gloom. At any rate, she never failed to feel pressed-in upon when in the building, like the whole structure might cave in at a moment's notice. The false windows didn't help in the slightest. Nor did the press of people; Fleur did her best to stride right through on her way to the lifts, as if the crowd would part before her, and very often it did. Not always, though, and bumped elbows, she reflected, were one of the banes of life.
At least no one had tried to brush up against anything other than her elbow today. Yet.