The card that won't go away...

[Vincent Clare]

Vincent finds it in his jacket pocket when he is searching for a treat that he bought for Sebastien.

He scowls at it, curses Blaise Zabini, and he flicks it into the fireplace, where it burns to satisfying curls of ash...

[Vincent Clare]

It appears again in his bathroom cabinet when he reaches for his razor.

He tears it up into little thumbnail sized pieces and flushes them down the toilet. He proceeds to shave with a satisfied smirk on his face as he plots revenge.

***

Later, when he finds it underneath his pillow, he groans in frustration and crumples it into a tight ball, then throws it against the bedroom wall, hard. It bounces and comes to land on the carpet innocently.

Vincent eyes it, his lip curling.

"Maurice!"

The elf appears with a crack. "Master is calling?"

"Get rid of that piece of paper, please, Maurice. Make sure it's thrown away. Far away."

"Maurice is making sure, Master." The house-elf picks up the wadded business card gingerly, glances at it askance.

"Merci, Maurice."

Vincent settles down to sleep, sighing deeply before he closes his eyes.

***

It's in his underwear drawer the next morning. Vincent goes commando and slams the drawer shut, ignoring it.

[Vincent Clare]

When he finds it on his saucer, tucked neatly under his biscotti (And Maurice swears it wasn't him -- "I'll iron my toes if I did, Master!"), Vincent whips out his wand.

"Finite Incantatum," he snaps. Merde, he was stupid if he had not done this before, he thinks.

He enjoys his croissant while Bastien rips the cards into tiny little shreds.

[Vincent Clare]

The house is empty now; all his furniture has been sold or stored or "borrowed" by his mother. Dust dances on the light, like glitter.

Maurice and his horde have transported the few boxes of toys and clothing to England (Maurice whining bitterly about the pantry space in the new house with each back and forth trip), and now it is just Vincent and Sebastien in the large, empty house.

He closes the front door, trapping shadows, and slides the key into an envelope. It is a simple matter to Floo this to his lawyer, who is taking care of the transfer and sale.

He straightens up from the fireplace, and there on the mantle is the card. A muscle jumps in his jaw, but he turns his back on it, smiling at his son.

"Come, mon fils," he murmurs, and he warns Bastien that he is about to Apparate (Bastien holds his breath obligingly). From the French Ministry (where they go through passport control), they catch a Portkey to England.

The card is waiting in the new house, on the living room mantle, like a mirror image of its French counterpart.

[Vincent Clare]

Vincent decides that leaving it on the mantle cannot do any harm; he has much to do in the way of unpacking (supervising, all right) in other rooms anyway.

By this stage he should have known better.

The brightly coloured card with its flamboyant peacock and sparkling silver text follows him from room to room like a lost puppy.

He Banishes it time and time again, but again it returns to float on the periphery of his vision, almost whining for attention.

It is relentless and Vincent knows it will not stop until the silvery text is burned into his retinas.

Each time he Banishes the card, however, its edge becomes a little more insubstantial, until the card is translucent by the end of the day.

Finally, after two full days, the card fades into the air with a light shimmer, never to return.

"Thank fucking Merlin," Vincent says.

"Master shouldn't swear," Maurice says primly, sniffing importantly.