don't you know that pigs can fly?
A HariPo drabble/oneshot
Note: The Harry Potter characters belong to J.K. Rowling, not me. Something that just crossed my mind… Read, review, and enjoy!
There she goes again with her starry-eyed phase.
It isn't bad enough that you've seen this once, but now it's twice and really it's just starting to become an itch on your back that not even a good clawing can scratch. Every time her demeanor changes, every time her face lights up, you just wish it would sink to the bottom of the Black Lake, where nary a glimmer shines through the murky depths.
"Dominique?" she asks as your second-eldest sister walks into the house, and it's as though Fleur never had a son.
You don't leave the room but sit in the corner quietly with your book, reading a page but not absorbing the words, so you never get the chance to flip the paper over. You hear noises but they don't register as words because what's the use? Fleur and Dominique have no use for you. They're too caught up in themselves and each other.
When finally you read the same page for the fifth (or was it seventh?) time in a row, you swallow the lump in your throat and excuse yourself to deaf ears before retiring to your room. Yeah, every time's like this, and all the next ones will be the same.
Even in the peace and quiet of your room, your thoughts taunt you and keep your mind from shutting up long enough to sleep. Tossing and turning have never helped and you know this, too; just like you know what to expect when one of them comes home, you know that you'll forever be feeling and unfeeling, and oh, how like a soulless figurine you are.
Bill, your father, loves his family very much...but he's so caught up in Gringotts and Curse-Breaking again now that all his children are nearly grown. Besides, he leaves all the hatred and reconciliation to Fleur.
So you're back to her, back to wondering why the hell your parents even bothered having a third child when it's obvious they treasure the first two so much. It doesn't matter what Victoire or Dominique do—apparently they'll always be infallible.
What seems like a long time ago really wasn't. Sure, more than seven years have passed, but years don't mean much...especially to Fleur. No, of course it doesn't matter that Victoire had an affair with her Herbology teacher. Of course it doesn't matter that Victoire graduated Hogwarts and unabashedly received congratulatory kisses from her family and from Professor Longbottom. Of course it doesn't matter that Neville married her and is now both your teacher and brother-in-law. Of course it doesn't matter that Victoire had a baby with her former teacher.
Nope, there's no such thing as a screw-up in your family anymore, is there? Because your mother realized that's as good as it gets and that's what she's got. So now Victoire's back in her good graces.
Victoire can do no wrong and it's all honky-dory from there. Delightful.
It wasn't too long before Dominique grew up, either. And what better for your family than for Dominique to be the hurricane after Victoire's earthquake?
Once upon a time, the princess admired the princess and everything was glitter and sugar and big kitten eyes.
And you sat to the side, a jester made of glass—too fragile to move, so no use for entertainment.
Good thing, too, because when Dominique was left behind as the only princess, she used it to her full advantage. She took, took, took, and never ever thanked. Gratitude? What was that? You're sure that even to this day Dominique hasn't ever said "thank you."
But she took and she stormed and she blew through like the perfect storm—harsh enough to leave you and your parents hurting and hating, and strong enough to make all of you wonder what went wrong...and what the word "love" was.
And yet Fleur appears to have forgiven all. Because Dominique moved out, and she struggled on her own, and she's barely surviving on her own, but now she feels the need to call on your mother's sympathies—and worse yet, her ear.
Dominique can do no wrong, either, and it's almost as though Fleur has the happy little family she'd oh-so desired once upon a lifetime. Wonderful.
So when the morning comes and the bags don't leave your eyes, you choke on a sigh because you have no use for it. What's your job here on this earth anyway? You can do so much, and yet you can do nothing at all.
You, too, were Sorted into Ravenclaw. You had more book smarts and common sense than Victoire and Dominique put together and you've had the top grades all your years and you know this last year of school you'll still be on top because you're never wrong and you've never had a wrong answer to any question ever asked of you.
You head downstairs and find Dominique's not there. Instead your mother is sitting at the kitchen counter with her tea and the Prophet, minding her own business. You say nothing and move to grab something edible; you pause only to wonder if she has realized yet you are still in the same clothes you were wearing last night when your older sister breezed in. But you don't let it get to you. Why should it? This is what you've come to expect all your seventeen years.
She turns the page and you glance halfheartedly around the kitchen, a desolate place whose barrenness is heightened superbly by the otherworldly cleanliness that only Fleur Delacour (oh, yeah, Weasley) commands and demands. You finally give in to a moment of laziness (since when did being the perfect child not allow for breaks?) and grab a glass of water. Just as you go to exit the kitchen, simultaneously happy and saddened by the lack of interaction, she turns to you, and you see the remnants of her starry-eyed phase on her face.
"Louis, 'ow are you? You went to bed so eairely last night..." She frowns and the thought strikes you that hey, if she does that, she'll wrinkle, and morbidly you smile on the inside. She continues to stare at you with blue eyes that don't match your brown ones (ooh, another failure for the perfect child).
You mumble something barely coherent and sip your water, hoping that's the end of the conversation. Because, after a sleepless night of thinking, Merlin knows what'll come out of your mouth if topics veer in the wrong direction...
"Your sistair was so sad zat you did not see 'er last night..." Fleur pauses. "Louis, I love all my children. But I get ze feeling zat you are somewhat...detached."
Oh, so she hits the nail on the head in one. Applause, Mother, applause, because this is just what you need. The words begin to well within you as she reaches for you but her eyes flicker to an old family photo of all five of you. A smirk cruelly turns up the ends of your lips.
"Louis... My Louis..."
You stare at her, a hard look on your face, your jaw set (or is it clenched?). Only she would dare to keep your sisters in mind while she tries to "rectify" what's gone wrong with you. But that's just it. Something went wrong with you a long time ago...
You put your glass down and sneer. "I'm not 'your Louis.' I'm not even a Weasley, or Delacour. Simply—I'm not enough."
And as you walk away, you can feel her eyes penetrating your back (and perhaps your heart), and that feeling-unfeeling part of you rises up to the surface. Because you can't be proven wrong, and it's the one thing you wish you could trade for anything in the whole wide world.
Xo Ouch… I wanna hug Lou now, I think… :s The title is basically a mockery of things—they live in a magical world, and yet what ought to be simple family dynamics are probably the most impossible things to change. :(
Another one done on my phone…just five pages this time, though. ;)
Last note: I mentioned the pairing of Victoire/Neville, whom I found and wrote the first romantic fic for (originally done in a Lily/Teddy, "Given," then done in "Colors of the Heart"), and so they are an M&MWP (Mew & Mor Weird Pairing). I'd appreciate a small mention if you use them, thank you.
Thanks for reading and please review!