Traversant la mer encore

[Vincent Clare]

The Daily Prophet offices are on the far side of Diagon Alley from the Leaky Cauldron's Apparition point. The short walk along the cobbled streets of London's wizarding district does not bother Vincent.

What troubles him are the memories that linger along the street, hiding in the shadows, waiting to leap out at him with each step he takes. His face is grim as he strides--long strides, and his cloak flaps around his calves as he walks.

Gringotts looms large and white, its shadow blotting out all sunlight onto the street below.

He took her hand. "Vincent," he said softly. "A pleasure, Elana." He didn't let go of her hand at first, instead, he brushed his thumb ever so lightly against her hand and dropped his voice, "A... pleasure indeed."

He shakes his head, and his jaw clenches. Amidst the ghosts he can barely see the morning shoppers diverging around him, avoiding the intensely-grim man who walks quickly ahead on an arrow-straight path.

He passes an alleyway off the main...

He saw her then, leaning against a door, and he felt his breath catch. He didn't know what she'd done to him, only that he knew it was more real, more tangible than anything he'd ever felt before. Instinctively he reached for her, pulling her into a desperate embrace, breathing against her soft hair, the first coherent thought that entered his mind whispered, "You left."

And then the worst of the flood comes when he passes a seemingly plain magical kitchen supplies shop--it had been Elena's shop once, and a very different type of shop indeed.

Vincent sighed a little and raised his eyebrows when he saw that her eyes were so dark, that they seemed almost midnight in the light of the room. He'd seen them cornflower blue and close to white, but never this dark before. "We are certainly going to see a Healer very soon, then," he said, rubbing his chin. His latent concern that lingered for her safety and that of their sons ratcheted a notch at this.

His nostrils flared as he wondered if returning had been a good idea after all, if he could find the peace he'd found in England here the last time... before... everything had gone to hell.

He decides then and there that he will not return to St Mungo's, where acid-etched memories will surely linger. Non. He will find a Healer who will see Sebastien at home, or he will travel to Paris for medical help. He cannot see himself facing the demons that lurk around the over-sanitised corners.

Gratefully, he reaches the magical press building then, and the tense line of his shoulders relaxes a little, an anticipatory smile curves the corner of his mouth.

He ignores the curious looks from a number of pink-robed women in the lobby, and he punches the button for the Daily Prophet. Blaise Zabini--perhaps the only true friend Vincent has in the world--is not expecting him this morning, let alone this week; Vincent has crossed the Channel early, his business in Paris finished earlier than anticipated.

He strides past Reggie, giving her a small wink--she lets him past, remembering Vincent well. He leans against the door jamb. "Ah, as I thought," he notes. "You are sitting looking out the window all day." Indeed, the Charmed window in Blaise Zabini's office is spectacular, but to his credit, the man looks like he's buried in paperwork.

[Blaise Zabini]

Blaise is, as always, busy in some form or fashion. He likes being busy, it keeps his mind active, offers useful distraction, and besides, a man should work for a living at least for awhile in his life, no matter his level of wealth.

He’s lost the jacket already this day, though the sleeves haven’t been rolled up yet – you can usually gauge how long he’s been there, how stressed he is, and how hard he has worked by the level he has respectfully undressed.

He didn’t look up when the door opened; it was probably just Reggie, come to nag him about something. It was usually her that came in unannounced. Thus he is startled to hear a very familiar masculine voice speak up.

“Vincent!” he says, standing up, a smile spreading across his face. “I didn’t expect to see you this week.” In fact, his friend wasn’t expected in the country for a little while yet.

He strides forward to greet his friend, possibly the best he has had in his entire life. He and the Frenchman are very much alike in many ways, and have suffered similar though still different hurts at the hands of women they’d loved. He was also probably the only man Blaise confided in, and he had the feeling that it was the same way for the other man.

[Vincent Clare]

Vincent hears, from behind him, a murmured conversation, and he picks up his name somewhere there in the whisper. He turns with a raised eyebrow to catch Reggie seemingly gossiping with a willowy blonde woman.

He ignores them and turns back to greet Blaise. "Blaise," he says, smiling as he shakes the man's hand, then turns the handshake into a manly hug. He lifts a hand to undo the clasp of his cloak. "How are you today?" he asks. His grin is genuine, and a little of the dark unease that had leached into his soul lifts slightly.

"Oui," he says. "Things have finished up quicker than I thought--apparently their lawyers--" He's referring to the purchasers of CC. "--did not have much killer instinct." He shrugs. That is good for his bank account, anyway. "So now it is no longer Clare Corporation. Not for long, I suspect."

He shrugs the coat off gracefully and hangs it up on the cloak rack just inside the door. Underneath, he is wearing an exquisitely tailored Muggle suit.

"Anyway... I was just signing the paperwork for our new home." Which explains the lack of robes over the suit; he'd donned the cloak after entering via the Leaky. He smiles, and he steps forward, swinging the door shut behind him.

"You appear to have some curious staff," he says by way of explanation and a minute tilt of his head towards Reggie's desk. "Still." Reporters are perhaps just, by way of their trade, insatiably curious.

[Blaise Zabini]

They greet each other, the whole close-friend handshake-hug-mild-back-slap thing. Vincent is a sight for sore eyes, in some ways. Blaise doesn’t have any really close friends in the country since the Frenchman and his sister left sometime after his wife’s death.

“I’m doing all right, my friend. Keeping myself busy as usual.” He takes Vincent’s cloak and waves a hand, sending it directly to the stand he has for just that sort of thing. His own hangs on it even now, as well as his jacket.

He tsks. “Incompetents,” he says. “But that is all the better for you.” It’s always good to have incompetents – when they’re against you. So much easier to take advantage of.

Blaise catches a glimpse of Reggie and Dee talking out by the desk, and he suppresses a smile. He’s told Dee a little about Vincent, but he’s not gone into much depth yet. He had thought he’d have a little more time before the two would be introduced.

“Oh really? That’s wonderful. Where is it and how much did it cost?” Blaise asks with a faint smirk. Really, for him it’s not the most unusual question; between the two fo them, they could probably own and run several countries, at least small ones.

“Well, you know Reggie,” Blaise says with a one shoulder shrug, gesturing that Vincent please make himself at home. Blaise’s office, while not opulent, is quite comfortable, a must if you occasional live there. “And they are reporters – I would worry if they weren’t,” he adds dryly. “But that is Dee she’s talking to, so I’m not surprised they’re talking.”

[Vincent Clare]

Vincent smirks. "Well, as you say," he says with an elegant shrug and an amused quirk. "Even Mere is somewhat satisfied with her slice of the profit, and you know how difficult it is to please her."

Vincent chuckles. "Oui. I have bought it fully furnished. It is adequate." He waves a hand. "Over in Mayfair near Regent's park. I am going to have to track Miles down to do some Charms work on the stairs; it belonged to a Muggle. But he will perhaps be glad for a fresh canvas for Charms work."

Vincent had been impressed with Miles' work before, and he would gladly contract him again--he trusted the young German, and he was far less supercilious than his oily Italian boss had been.

He smirks at Blaise and shrugs--this is the sort of thing they do not mind to talk about; when one is rich, figures are mostly relative. "Just over eleven million pounds... the Galleon-pound exchange rate is in our favour this month." Not that it makes all that much difference, in the end.

Before he shuts the door, he takes a swift, assessing glance at the blonde witch who was talking to Reggie. He turns to Blaise with raised eyebrows. "She is beautiful," he says, wondering how old the witch was; she looked to be in her early twenties, with a radiant smile and mischievous eyes.

[Blaise Zabini]

Blaise snorts. “Well, if your Mere is pleased, then they’re definitely incompetent. I do not think I have ever witnessed your mother in a state approaching pleasure at all.” His mother was a horrible woman, though at least when it came to her grandson she seems to have … evolved somewhat.

An expensive townhouse, then, Blaise thinks, somewhat passingly familiar with the area. “Miles will be thrilled, I’m sure,” Blaise says. “And he should be free with school ending – he’s been doing some teaching at Hogwarts, if I remember right. I’m hoping to get him to do some work for me over the summer as well.”

He was going to have to buy furniture soon, because he was sure that Dee wouldn’t want him to only come to her place in the future. Women could be funny that way.

“Not bad. I look forward to seeing it,” he says. The exchange rate tends to fluctuate quite a bit, usually at the goblins whims. Blaise tends to keep a close eye on it for investment purposes.

He smirks faintly; how can he help but be a bit proud of the fact that his girlfriend – he is still not fond of that word – is beautiful. “Yes, she is,” he says. You should see her in a swimsuit, his mind supplies. “I think you’ll like her.”

He hopes so, anyway. Blaise is enjoying his new relationship thus far, though there are times when he’s uneasy on the inside – strings attached, after all. The last time he’d had that, he’d been burned badly.

[Vincent Clare]

Vincent chuckles. "Oui. I sometimes forget you have seen her in full predator mode." Although the evening Vincent is referring to is fraught with many more of the silvery attackers which wait to assault him with the past.

Vincent's jaw tightened at the dismissive tone in his mother's voice when she asked who Elena was. He wanted to lean forward and tell her 'my heart and my soul; everything you would understand nothing about'.

Instead, he took Echo's hand again and smiled. "Mother, this is Elena, my wife." He dropped the bombshell in a casual, easy tone, and lifted Elena's hand to press a kiss to her ring. In the wake of silence that followed his introduction, Vincent continued, "Cherie, this is Antoinette Clare, my mother."

His mother's eyebrows were raised in shock, and her face had paled beneath the expertly applied make-up. Then, her eyes narrowed infinitesimally, and she opened her mouth to speak, but was interrupted by a gasp of indignation from Gabrielle. She turned on Antoinette and her own mother, her cheeks flushed and a sour expression twisting her face. "Vous avez promis que je pourrais l'avoir!" (You promised that I could have him!)

A muscle in Vincent's jaw jumps for an instant, but he grimly forces the assault back.

Vincent nods. "Well I have not yet spoken with, or even contacted Miles, but I presume that my owl will find him well enough." Vincent takes a seat in a chair across from Blaise, and he has to stop himself from wanting to play idly with the wedding band that no longer graces his finger.

His eyebrows rise a little at the news that Miles has been teaching. "Interesting," he says. "I never did imagine him teaching school children, but..." He shrugs nonchalantly.

Vincent smiles. "I am sure Sebastien would love to see you," he says. The little boys has seen moving pictures of his godfather, and also his head in the Floo on the odd occassion, but they have not been nose-to-nose since Bastien was still a tiny baby. "And Maurice would be delighted to have guests for dinner." Vincent's head house-elf was, like Darby, a childhood friend and rather an eccentric character.

If Blaise is fond of Dee, then yes, it is highly likely Vincent will like her just fine, too. But Vincent purses his lips for a moment. "And you say she is no longer going to be working here?" he asks, repeating a sentiment he knows already from owls exchanged.

[Blaise Zabini]

Blaise nods. His mother really is something to see when she’s on the prowl, enough so that he hopes his mother and Vincent’s never get it in mind to be friendly. He sees, though, the faint twitch and the pain in his friends eyes, and he wishes that he could do something to help heal his friend. Their pains are so alike, and he knows deep down that time and distractions are what it will take.

He briefly clasps Vincent’s shoulder, though, a silent show of empathy and solidarity.

“I never would have either, truly,” Blaise agrees. “But apparently his boyfriend took a post there, and it just sort of happened. Dueling, I think it is.” Blaise rather likes Miles, even if the man is a little too upbeat on occasion. He reminds him of an odd, blonde, male version of his sister. “He still does a lot of contract work, though.”

He smiles. “And I would love to see Sebastien,” he says. He’s been neglecting his duties as the boy’s godfather, but he has been struggling with life for awhile and he knows Vincent understands. He loves Bastien more than the pain he feels at lacking a child himself, though, and it is time to start spoiling the lad. “Is he here in England yet, or do you have to go back to pick him up?”

Blaise knows who Maurice is; Darby’s counterpart. A thought crosses his mind that the two elves will either collaborate and bicker when they do come together.

Blaise sits and crosses his legs, making himself comfortable as well. “No, unfortunately. She insisting on quitting, and now I have to find an advertising witch … again.” He rolls his eyes. “Do you know how hard that position is to fill?” he complains. “I suppose I understand why, even if I don’t really think she needs to quit.”

[Vincent Clare]

Vincent nods at Blaise, and he smiles wryly. Neither man has to say a word to know that they still bear deep scars. Blaise is trying to move on--a new woman in his life and a new home. Vincent will try to do the same eventually.

Elena had just dragged her (and Vincent's) suffering out to agonising lengths... several bouts of attempted suicide in the mental hosipital, sometimes not recognising when he visited, sometimes raging against him with true hatred in her midnight-blue eyes. He hates himself for sometimes thinking that they should have fucking just let her jump off St Mungo's roof that day.

Vincent frowns. He'd never known much about Miles' private life; Elena had been more chatty with him. Although... "The Curse Breaker, oui?" he says, remembering something in that vein. He is relieved to hear that Miles is still doing contract work.

Vincent smiles. "I will fetch him this afternoon. He is saying goodbye to Maman, who is no doubt telling him that a pure-blood prince must be very good for her Papa." He rolls his eyes. "The elves will bring everything over now that the contracts are signed."

Vincent chuckles. "Non, I do not know this, but I am sure it is as you say... I know how long it took to find an adequate PA." Reggie is a godsend to Blaise now, Vincent knows. Vincent shrugs.

"It sounds like she sees the world in clearer shades of black and white?" Is that a good thing for Blaise? Terri had been the angel of all that was white and light and stridently right. She had never understood Blaise's areas of shade.

[Blaise Zabini]

“Hmm. Potions Master, I think. I met him at Miya’s Christmas party, but I don’t think he likes me very much. Something about teasing Miles or some such, I suppose.” Blaise shrugs; he doesn’t understand why Byron had been so standoffish when Blaise had actually been on some of his best behavior, especially considering that it had been his first Christmas without his wife.

Since the Italian married Melanie and moved back, Miles is probably the most skilled Charms master around, though his name could probably be a little better known. However, Blaise is content to not spread it around too far – after all, he needs a charms master this summer, as does Vincent now.

“Wonderful. I cannot wait to see him.” He lets Vincent’s roll of the eyes stand in for his own, though his tone reflects his equal feeling on the subject. “Hopefully knowing Raoul will give him some familiarity with the Muggle world.” He’s not sure how much interaction the Brazilian has with Sebastien, but he does know that Miya adores the little boy and visits him often. “I’m sure you will be pleased to get your things into your new home.”

He sighs. “I suppose I am too picky, but if I’m not too picky then it just doesn’t work out.” He’s had to fire people, something he’s not particularly fond of except when they’re spectacularly stupid.

“Perhaps a bit,” Blaise admits. “But she seems to deal with the ideas of vampires and werewolves much easier than Terri ever did.” The name rolls off his tongue a little stiffly still. Terri had pitied that sort, but had never been comfortable. “She also understands the way the pureblood world works.” Networking, parties, wealth, and such. Terri had shunned all of that. “I suppose I will have to wait and see how many shades she comprehends.” That’s a bit of a pensive thought, but one that had come to him before several times.

[Vincent Clare]

Now Vincent really does laugh out loud, remembering an amusing something from the past--Elena daring Blaise to flirt with the very heterosexual Vincent. "Teasing or flirting?" he asks, lips quirking with amusement. "Perhaps it was merely jealousy," he suggests.

Vincent reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out his wallet, then extracts a new photograph, taken only a week or so ago. "I will let you have copies, if you wish," he says, sliding it across the desk.

A little boy with Vincent's features and Elena's unusual blue eyes clutches a toy Pygmy-Puff (rather tightly, which is why it's a toy), and his platinum hair is long already, brushing his shoulders.

Vincent smiles. "He likes Raoul, although Miya is his favourite," he tells Vincent. "But oui. I do wish him to be a little more tech-savvy than his Pere." Although Vincent has learned well in the last few years.

Vincent considers that. "Hmm. Well you do have a different sort of business... requiring some discretion." He raises his eyebrows. "By the way, I saw some of that Nina-woman's reporters in the lobby. She is still making them wear that 'ideous shade of pink, I see. Has she given you much trouble lately?"

Vincent nods, and he's privately relieved for Blaise's part. Terri had HATED society, refusing to attend such functions with Blaise. Each event had been preceded by unpleasantness and Blaise in a thunderous mood for days.

"An admirable quality," he says. He isn't a pure-blood elitist like his mother, but he does know there are things only they can understand. Terri had been Muggle-born. She'd never considered how embarrassing it had been for Blaise to attend a party without his wife.

[Blaise Zabini]

A smirk plays about his lips; truly, one of his fondest memories of Vincent is the very incident the Frenchman is likely thinking of right now. He still remembers the man’s priceless expression when Blaise had blatantly flirted, and the resulting choking on Firewhiskey. Merlin, that was a good memory.

“Perhaps a bit of both,” Blaise admits. “But it was teasing flirting. I wasn’t serious at all.” And he’d made the effort – he’d thought successfully – to let that be known. But oh well, some people just didn’t appreciate it in any shape or form. “Perhaps,” he agrees.

“Please,” he says. Blaise doesn’t have that many photos, but he needs newer ones for his own wallet – after all, it is his prerogative to brag on his godson whenever he wishes. He also needs to put a few photos in his office; they’ve been distinctly lacking the last couple of years, especially after Terri’s death.

His fingers brush the photo; except for the eyes, he really does see more of Vincent in the boy. The hair doesn’t belong to either of them. “I bet his hair is very soft,” he says musingly. It’s that fine Malfoy hair that is really quite nice.

“I think Miya would be any child’s favourite,” he says wryly. She has that bubbly, lovely quality about her. And he knows from her letters that Sebastien has a fascination with her long, silky black hair.

“I have never been able to figure out if she forces them to wear it or if they wear it out of some perverse desire to please her.” Why anyone would wish to please her, Blaise doesn’t really know. “But no, not much. Not since she broke into my office and I caught her.” The entire episode still upsets him, as it was when he had learned he too should have had a child by now. But there is a little bit of smugness in the fact that he thinks he really did scare Nina that day.

“Yes. As much as some would say I’m following the theology that led to the last war.” But Terri had never, ever understood that being married to someone of Blaise’s social standing came with obligations and responsibilities. It had been terribly embarrassing and upsetting to be married yet still bringing one’s employees or a woman who needed a ‘proper’ date to a function. It simply wasn’t done.

[Vincent Clare]

Vincent smiles and flicks his fingers. "It is no problem; I will have Maurice organise this." He has a camera, but it hasn't been taken out of its case in years; this is a picture that Raoul took for him. Vincent chuckles. "It gets knotted very easily," he admits, remembering a recent temper tantrum when he refused to have his hair brushed.

Vincent is very fond of Blaise's little sister--he considers her in much the same light, to be honest. Being an only child has left him bereft of that sort of attachment, and Miya is gracious enough to visit often. "She has a way about her," he says with obvious fondness. "And when she decides the time is right, she will be a good mother."

Vincent rolls his eyes. Nina had never been complimentary to Elena, but she'd retreated under his wife's sharper tongue. No. Nina had found her ideal prey in Blaise's softer spoken wife. "Perhaps her father has told her to leave you alone," he suggests. "You have had much to do with him on the business side?"

Vincent hmm's quietly, but then he shakes his head. "Non. This is short-sighted of such people. I do not prescribe that Muggle-born or half-blood are less capable or do not have a place in the wizarding world." He shrugs. "I am merely saying that there are only few who understand the old ways and how society works currently." This was vastly different from Voldemort's ideology.

If there were a Muggle-born witch or a half-blood witch who understood such things or were willing to learn, then Vincent would not take issue; Elena had adapted well, after all.

But Vincent had not dropped by to get into heavy political debate. He waves a hand. "You were saying something about Monte Carlo?" he asks.

[Blaise Zabini]

“I can imagine. I was always lucky that Miya’s resisted tangles more than it was prone to them.” He’d been dreadfully young when Miya had come along, and her raising had been up to in large part the elves, but when he was home from school, he’d taken on the role of parent much more than his mother ever had.

Blaise is more than glad to share his sister with his friend; Vincent needed family, and since he had none that was decent beyond his son, he had family that had chosen him. Blaise considers Vincent family, and beyond his sister and her husband, Vincent will be the only one keyed into his wards to come and go freely.

“That she will, and I look forward to the day. I have the feeling the child will become used to international floo and portkey travel rather early on,” he says. He better, e thinks, for Blaise will insist on seeing his niece or nephew often. “I have the feeling that it won’t be more than a year or two from now, really – once her apprenticeship is done.”

Blaise nods. “I do, yes, but that might be part of it. But I have the distinct feeling she left my office a little frightened the last time.” Of course, Blaise is more than a little intimidating when he is truly angry – his magic swirls and crackles around him palpably.

“Oh, I know, my friend. But there are still some short sighted people that do not get the difference in respecting the traditions and feeling that way with spouting fanaticism. Sometimes I wish that there would be a class similar to Muggle Studies that muggleborns and halfbloods could choose to take on the wizarding world.”

Blaise nods, more than willing to let the conversation drift to lighter things. They have enough darkness without discussing it over much right now. “Yes. Some how or another it came up the other evening with Dee, and I realized that I haven’t been in years. I rather thought it might be great fun if we went, and I thought you might come along as well. We can run the tables through the wringer.”

[Vincent Clare]

Vincent nods. "Oh, oui, absolutely. She will have two very determined Uncles here." For some odd reason, Vincent sees Miya having a little girl one day. Perhaps it is just that she is female.

Vincent nods, though, and he fully agrees with Blaise's assessment. "Miya is still young, and her apprenticeship is keeping her tres busy, I believe. I have not heard her speak of being hasty." Although she does dote on Sebastien.

Vincent does laugh, genuinely, this time. "Well done," he says dryly. He knows full well that Blaise hadn't laid a finger on her, hexed a hair on her over-styled head, but his friend's aura can be quite something to see. "Although perhaps it is preferable you did not get into a hexing match." His lips quirk again as he recalls something amusing.

Vincent nods. "Ah, oui, I think this is a very good idea. Muggle-borns usually have an eleven year disadvantage when they enter our world, and then nobody teaches them things right away." Simple household charms, for example. Cooking Charms. A hundred different little charms that tiny witches and wizards see on a daily basis while growing up.

Vincent considers for a moment, then nods, although not quite emphatically. "I have not been in a long while also..." He purses his lips and rubs his bottom lip with his index finger. "Although I do not wish to intrude upon a--" He smirks at Blaise. "--romantic weekend." Okay, so he's teasing a bit, but he's glad that one of them has taken this very difficult step. It gives Vincent a little faith, to be honest, that life can move on.