Amortentia Dolorosa

Lucius carefully straightened his robes, once the portkey had deposited them in the public depot in Versailles. He had owled his Uncle Julien, after obtaining his instructions, and had arranged to meet him at his Uncle's Versailles flat.

"You ready for this one, Babs?" he asked. "I know I've spent enough time here to be fully fluent, but I'm afraid I don't know how much French you speak."

"Na Fraince? Ní leor trioblóide a chur faoi deara." Rabastan smirked. "I can tell what's happening, but I can't speak it except to order breakfast."

He took a deep breath and looked around. "Where are we staying, or did the man say we should make our own arrangements? All I know is that I'm to go with you, to ... assist in the negotiations."

From the looks of the depot, Versailles would be one of those hideously baroque places. Rabastan loved cities, but he preferred them grimy and honest, not candied and glamorous. The very look of the place was giving him a toothache.

"Smartarse," Lucky said with a chuckle. "I imagine your assistance is only in case of trouble," he said with a smile. "And I've made arrangements for us to stay with my uncle. Whom is apparently in correspondence with the man, which makes it much more convenient than, say, staying with Grandmere."

Lucky stopped to look at Babs critically for a moment. "Now, time to do your best impression of Roddy, and neaten your clothes," he said seriously. "They take appearances seriously, here. And If you're to be with me for negotiations, you need to look the part, as much as is possible."

Rabastan hissed in disgust, barely managing to contain a wrathful outburst at being compared to his brother. "Just because I won't wear shining symbols of wealth doesn't mean I've no taste. It just means I look like an abbot in a room full of marquesses. I enjoy simplicity."

Still, he popped a cuff and straightened the belt of his robes, before following Lucius out of the depot.

Lucky sighed, and shook his head. Head held high, he led the way through the streets. Sartorial splendour had much more significance here than back home in England. But there was only so much he could do, after Babs's comment about marquesses.

Having reached their destination on one of the side streets, Lucky knocked politely. The door was answered by a well-dressed wizard of more than middle age, to guess by appearances. "Oncle Julien," he said with a smile as the man gestured them into the flat.

"Mai je vous présente mon compagnon Rabastan Lestrange. Rabastan, ceci est mon oncle, Julien Morreaud."

Tucking his hands into opposite cuffs, Rabastan nodded deeply enough to qualify as a moderate bow. "Forgive me. Je parle mal le français. It is an honour to meet you, M. Morreaud."

He followed Lucius into the apartment, carefully blank-faced and straight-backed.

Julien nodded. "Then it's well enough I speak Le Anglais, is it not? I admit to a slight surprise, but no matter. Sit, sit," he said, doing as he'd suggested.

"Thank you for letting us stay here, Oncle Julien," Lucky said. "It is much easier to arrange things from here, than from Grandmere's, and you, at least, understand that we are here for negotiations, not my usual round of family visits." Lucky walked over and took a seat in a rather ornate and delicate chair, his posture and bearing far more formal than the norm around his friends.

Rabastan took the seat to Lucius's left, sitting stiffly in the overdone chair, every inch the monk in his heavy, black, cowled robe. "Indeed, sir. Our employer sends his thanks for both your discretion and your willingness to assist. I thank you, as well. This seems much more pleasant than a hotel."

He might've been lying about the hotel part. Privacy was another of Rabastan's great loves.

"Oh, how careless of me," Julien said. "Lucius, when you wrote, I opened up your mother's flat next door. Maman probably never told you it was yours to use, because she preferred you to stay with her in the country when you were here."

Lucky looked at his uncle, startled. "Maman had a flat?" he asked.

"Mais oui, she had a flat. The family has several, for the use of the rest of us, when in town. We don't all want to live at home all the time." Julien said. "And this way, you may go about your business without concern for your hours. There is a connecting door, but you are welcome to lock it from your side."

"Merci, Oncle," Lucky said with a charming smile. "I didn't mean to put you to such trouble."

Relief washed over Rabastan, not that it showed, except perhaps in a slightly surprised twitch of one eyebrow. The man had some sense of discretion, which was a definite benefit, even if they didn't have to share a flat with him.

Still, he remained stoic and silent. None of these goings on were yet his affair.

"Nonsense," Julien replied. "I can still recall being young, and no one wants the elder generation looking over one's shoulder, no matter what one is up to."

Lucius smiled. "Will you be joining us for dinner with Monsieur Archambalt?" he asked.

"Non, I had plans already," Julien said. "But you must bring your friend back to the house for a family dinner, when you are done with business. Maman will be most wroth with us both, if she hears you were here, and did not stop by."

Lucius looked thoughtful for a moment. "Perhaps, but it will still depend on how matters go. We are due back rather soon. But at the least, I will come back afterward, if there is no time this trip." He looked at Babs, to see how the other man felt about a family dinner.

"Your offer is most generous, sir. Should our business conclude before we must return, I'm sure we'll join you -- or at least Lucius will. Depending on the state of things, I may have to rush the book back. Our employer is both wise and honourable, but little renowned for his patience, at times." Rabastan smiled thinly, but graciously. "Don't worry about the book, Lucius. Once it's paid for, I'll take it back, if there isn't time. Family is most important."

He ended with a quick and slightly unpleasant look at Lucius -- a reminder of what he thought of the better part of his own family.

Julien smiled politely. "You two have been most patient with an old man," he said. "I should show you to the flat, now so that you have time to rest before your meeting." Julien stood up, and led them through a hallway into the kitchen. In the kitchen, he led them into the pantry, where a back wall swung open, revealing an already open matching wall on the other side.

"And here you are, gentlemen. Monsieur Lestrange, it was my pleasure to meet you," Julien said politely.

Lucky smiled. "I'll let you know how things go, Oncle," he said politely, before stepping through the door.

"An honour, Monsieur Morreaud. I hope to see you again, before I rush back across the channel." With another bow, Rabastan stepped back, following Lucius into their flat and closing the door behind them.

"He seems more witted than my blood, your uncle does," he offered, walking out into the kitchen and keeping both hands in his cuffs.

Lucky laughed, his eyes roaming the kitchen hungrily. "Oh, my French relatives aren't much like your family," he said. "I was surprised he arranged this for us, though. I had no idea there was more than one flat here."

Lucky moved through the kitchen, and into a decidedly more feminine parlour. The room was decorated in a pale, icy blue, with gold trim. One hand ran idly over an end table. "He's been good to me though, on the occasions I see him. He's my mother's older brother."

Rabastan nodded. "Tell me about where we are meeting Archambalt. I begin to get the impression that simplicity and severity in dress simply aren't tolerated, in this city. I'd like to make sure I can find something I can stand to wear, before we go out."

He tossed back his hood. "I also want to make sure I know what I'll be eating, before I inadvertently put something appalling in my mouth." He paused. "I'm not my brother, after all."

"I did try to tell you that, even if you didn't like my choice of words," Lucky said. "And we can have something made, if necessary. The meeting isn't until ten tonight, anyways. Negotiations will take place in the local gentlemen's club, at least initially, in a private room. As such, we can order our own meals, and I would suggest the Steak Tartare, for your tastes."

Lucius sprawled across a couch as he paused for thought. "Le Goutellette Crimson, or as we would say, The Crimson Drop, is the name of the place. I've been there several times. Its history dates back several hundred years, as a club for gentlemen wizards. No violence is tolerated on the premises, and that's one rule that is strictly enforced. Privacy is available, for money, which has been arranged already."

"That's the first sensible thing I've heard since I set foot in this tawdry town. The bloodier, the better." Rabastan sighed and shook his head, sitting on the floor. "I can wear brown. Is brown and gold an acceptable choice? I'll just borrow something from Uncle Finnian. He always had palatable taste in robes -- heavy, faintly metallic -- glamour with only half the glam."

He glanced around the room. "Do you think the Floo is still connected, here?"

Lucky laughed. "Likely, although light is more popular than heavy, here, as far as robes. And you thought my taste in dress robes was overdone. Believe me, I look almost sober in the most flamboyant things I own, here."

Lucky sighed. "It's possible, although if not, I'm sure you could step next door to use Oncle Julien's, if it isn't."

Rabastan stood and crossed to the Floo, to light the fire. "Twenty minutes."

*time passes*

He stepped back into the room, with the train of his robe draped over one arm. The new robe swirled with colours from metallic gold to pearlescent brown, with square-cut sleeves that nearly reached the ground, along the inside of the wrist. Over it, he wore a silken cowl, in the same colours, trimmed with heavy chunks of emerald-studded gold.

"Uncle Finnian's very Summer," Rabastan offered, by way of explanation, pulling from one sleeve a diadem that matched the trim of the cowl and setting it on his head. He prodded it until the emerald sat in the centre of his forehead.

"Can I come to dinner, now?"

Lucky doubled over laughing. When he could come up for air, he spoke again. "Of course you can. You could before, it was just going to make things harder. Somehow, when you said brown, I expected sober, and that is anything but. Well done, understated, but still definitely showy in its way."

"Just in case your instructions are different from mine, I thought I should tell you I was ordered to report before we bring things to a close, whatever close we reach," he said seriously.

"Merlin's balls, Lucky, I said I'd get something appropriate. You doubted me?" Rabastan watched Lucius laugh, for a long moment. "If you're going to snicker every time you look at me, I'll go get something else. It's not like you've never seen me in anything other than black."

He leaned against an end table. "My instructions are to make certain the deal closes, and we leave with the book. That is all. You'll send the report back tonight, after we've viewed it, and by tomorrow, we'll know what's to be done."

"Oh, I won't snicker all night. This is preparatory," he said with a smile. "And while yes, I've seen you in colours, that's a level more well done than you're usually willing to put up with."

"Oh, and because I'm not sure, you do eat liver?" Lucky asked. "I'm thinking either duck or goose liver as part of the appetizer, if so," he said.

"I prefer subtle, if at all possible, whichever subtle it has to be. After all, I do have people here," he said with a smile.

"I kill people, Lucius. For a living. It's what I do, it is, and I do what I must to keep it that way." Rabastan shook his head as though it were the most obvious thing he'd ever said. "As to your sense of subtlety..."

He let that one trail off, with a significant look.

"And I'll eat just about anything, whether it's dead before it gets to me, or not. Though, I did promise not to get any bloodstains on this." He eyed Lucius. "I hope there's none to be too offended if I keep off the greens. Never did sit quite right with me."

"Bloody hell, Babs, I know that. When it comes to it, so do I, if not for a living. I just figured it best to be clear about what I, at the least, prefer, from the outset." Lucky eyed his friend. "If I objected to killing, I wouldn't be working on spells designed to do just that, in more and more creative ways."

"And really, Babs, I'm no one's mother, and you're a man grown. I don't care if you eat greens or not, especially if they don't sit well. You won't order them, and thus, won't be expected to eat them." Lucky rubbed at his face.

"I wasn't sure if it wasn't one of those sorts of places where there's salad with everything, and there's odd looks if you leave it be. I dated this girl back in sixth. She took me to one of those places. I just like to be sure what I'm walking in to." Stepping forward, Rabastan sat back on the floor.

"So, if we're to do this in a not bloody way, I think that means I let you do all the talking. Not that I'd be talking if it were going to get bloody... Just don't expect I'll have much to contribute to matters at hand, and certainly not in French." He shrugged. "Do you think the book's authentic? Obviously, our man thinks it is, or we wouldn't be here, but what are the chances?"

"What part of 'Gentleman's Club', did you not hear, Babs. How many average wizards do you know who intentionally eat salad?" he asked. "And no, Roddy is not average."

Lucky looked at Babs seriously. "It's certain that they think it is, at the very least. And it's possible. Might've made it's way here under Grindlewald and the Nazi's, and been quietly disappeared by someone. I just hope for Merlin's sake it's in a language I can read, at least somewhat." One hand tapping idly at an arm of the couch, he spoke again. "If it were a totally spurious claim, Oncle Julien would've said something. And if it has to go the other way, it's not like I'm helpless in a mission of that nature, either."

"One wizard who eats salad on purpose? The Dark Lord. Your father. My father. I can keep going..." Rabastan rolled his eyes.

"And I never said you were useless in these things, I just said it was what he sent me for. Probably a test, or he'd have sent Madame Yaxley with you." He leaned back, but returned to an upright position when he bumped the couch. "If it's Bathory's book, it's like to be in Hungarian or Romanian or some mad tongue like that, right? It's also like to be cursed like nobody's business, which is why you're here. It had to be you or Rookwood, for that, at least in our generation."

"We may be fortunate, it may be Latin," Lucky said hopefully. "She was nobility, as well as being a witch."

"And he has to let us off the leash eventually. I'm getting a bit long in the tooth to be working with the Hogwarts crowd as it is. So I imagine it's a test for both of us. Or he'd have used my father, or one of the natives on this one. I know I'm not the only one who speaks French, that's for sure. But I'm sure I'm better at spotting and undoing the hexes than Rookwood, in any case. Besides, it's passed through so many hands at this point, that I doubt there are too many active curses left on it."

Lucky rolled his eyes right back. "I didn't say one, I asked for a percentage. And while yes, a dinner salad is an option, so are other things."

"Aye, it is a grimoire. Latin's not entirely unexpected, for that." Nodding thoughtfully, Rabastan added, "All the same, I'd rather a team from Gringotts vetted it, before I opened the cover. It's been a couple hundred years, sure it has, but things older than that are still taking people's heads off in Mombasa and Deir el-Medina. I heard Roddy telling stories, after he heard what we were coming for. He's a little shit, my brother is, but he knows his history."

Lucky nodded. "Perhaps, but the fact is that this grimoire has been in the hands of at least three different sources, since Bathory. Whomever had it at her death, then at the least, whomever looted it and brought it here, and then the family Archambault. And that's the least number of hands. It could've changed hands far more than that. All the same, I intend to be very, very careful." he said.

"Might not hurt to see if there's anything useful in this place, as well. Never know where the next useful spell will come from. And that's for all that I have a rather large library of my own at home. But French wizardry is different from English, in some key ways, and it's known that Bathory was rather fond of blood magics. Which mean's I'll want you to look for traps I might've missed, because I know you and yours have a tighter handle on some forms of that than I do."

"You tell me it's safe to touch, and I'll find the blood, if it's there. After this long, I probably will have to touch it, to tell. There's probably almost no smell left, even for me." Rabastan stretched, lazily.

"Should definitely scavenge what books you can. Y'never know what might be worth finding, y'don't," he rambled, accent slipping.

"Of course, but I rather meant you might be better at spotting active blood magics on it, Babs," Lucky said thoughtfully.

"And anything here, is likely to be things left behind before she married my father. We certainly never came here when I was small," he said wistfully.

"Y'miss 'er, don't you." Rabastan cocked his head. "I really don't know what it's like. My mother was the mother of my father's grandfather's grandfather -- I think that's right. She'll outlive me, she will. She'll outlive my sons."

"What I remember," Lucky said softly. "I was only four."

He looked around the room again. "My father got rid of most of her things, or put them away, early on. The peacocks, those were hers," he said. "This is something she made, even if she only ever decorated it. And I don't know as I could take thinking my mum would outlive me by that much. Different ways, for different people, I suppose."

"I always did wonder about the peacocks, I did. Never quite seemed like your old man's sort of thing. Says a lot that he kept 'em on, I'm thinking." Cocking his head, he looked up at Lucius. "He must have loved her, to keep her breathing relics, even if the rest of it went out. My oul' wan, she's got nothing of what came before, in the house nor out of it. We all just pass her like time. She loves us while she has us, but the wizard-blooded of us, we just fade away."

"He started to get rid of them," Lucky said thoughtfully. "I remember that as well. I think it's the one time he gave way to my wants, as a child. But yes, he loved her. He was never the same, after, I don't think."

"I suppose you and the birds are a bit alike. Expensive and ornamental." Rabastan nodded to himself, unaware for several moments that the sentence could be taken as a slight. "I didn't mean it in a bad way. It's just so."

He pulled the circlet off his head and tossed it on the floor, beside him. "And just to ease your mind, I'll not be touching anything in this place."

"I'm not sure whether to slap you, or thank you for that one, Babs," Lucky said sarcastically.

He paused for a moment. "Not touching anything? Merlin's balls, Babs, why not?" Lucky leaned back in his seat as he waited for a response.

"Well, you don't touch dead people's things -- not when they're ... She was probably the last person in here. You're related. It's different." Rabastan shrugged, uncomfortably. "I just don't want to bring any more hell down on my head. Granny's breakfast... I mean, she didn't decorate that house out of her own pockets, you know. Sometimes they throw things. I don't get on so great with dead folks and their things..."

He rubbed the back of his neck and grimaced, glancing furtively around the room. He hoped that he only looked slightly nauseated, but in actuality, he looked all of about five years old and spooked.

"And what do I do for a living..." He pressed the heel of his palm between his eyes and laughed.

"Babs," Lucky said, "Really, now. She didn't die here, I'm quite sure the furniture is safe. And she did die at the Manor, and you're not afraid of the furniture there." He sighed. "I appreciate you not moving things, if anything was left out, but my Mum, she left here to get married, so I doubt there's anything to worry about in that sense."

Lucky laughed "You are a strange one, you know that? Killing people, wearing their blood, and yet, afraid of their belongings. It just doesn't quite make sense."

"It's really simple, Lucky. Furniture ghosts throw books at my head. I've never had anything latch on to its own blood, before." Rabastan looked up at Lucius like an older brother looks at a daft younger sibling. "But, no, I'm not afraid of the Manor. Too many other people have walked and sat all over it. It's so dirty, it's clean. But, here... you know, it's hers. It's the kind of place someone would come back to, if they wanted to come back, at all."

Finally, he threw up his hands and shook his head. "Never you mind it. You had to live it, to know it."

A long moment passed, in which he stared into the carpet. "And I look bloody ridiculous, don't I?"

Lucky shook his head. "If you say so. But I find it unlikely, here. And in any case, you are here, with me. That should afford you some protection, I would think. It's not like you're breaking and entering, after all."

Lucky chuckled slightly. "A bit, sitting there on the floor, with all the furniture around. Why don't you try a chair, or something. I promise if this place starts throwing things, I'll rent us a place somewhere else and we won't worry about it."

"Your will, good sir," Rabastan muttered, grabbing the circlet from the floor as he stood.

He studied the furniture, cautiously, before perching on the edge of the chair closest to Lucky's head, muttering a few words under his breath, as he sat.

"I'm oddly looking forward to paying someone, for a change, you know. Not that I don't love my job, but I really don't have anything against the French, except their fashion sense."

Lucky watched Babs sit carefully, and nodded slightly, satisfied. Babs was trying, and that was what he'd wanted. "It should be interesting. The hard part will be convincing them to part with it, no matter how much money is on offer, I think."

"I -- no, that's probably a bloody awful idea." Rabastan sighed. "Or, maybe ... you know we -- more likely you than me, in this case -- could change his mind. Or just make it up, for him, if it comes to that. It would be cheating, I think, but we could."

"That is a thought, yes, but I'd like to actually try, first. The Imperius is such a delicate thing, sometimes, and some people can resist, at least a little." Lucky sighed, and stretched again. "That, and we really have to do our best not to make waves over here. It's close enough to England, and I'm sure He's using it as another recruiting pool, after all."

"Like I said, it'd be cheating, but it's always an option. I think the killing curse is also cheating, in this case." Rabastan suspiciously poked the cushion of the chair, which squeaked mournfully. Hours remained until they met their mark.

"That's such a very boring way to kill a man, anyways," Lucky said, one hand running idly through his hair. "I have to admit I prefer more creative things, although they're likely not useful in this scenario."