It was awfully strange, being on a date. While at Beauxbatons, Helene had attracted people to her like famished children to the window display of a boulangerie. She herself as a child had not been exempt from those who had wiped their cheeks and noses against the windows, only to be shooed by her well-meaning nanny who had emerged from the shop, a basket covered with an embroidered cloth laden with sweet breads and a Paris Brest for Helene to sink her teeth into and sugar her canines with. She had been spoilt in that sense. Just as she had been spoilt for choice while at Beauxbatons and, really, while in France. England had isolated her somewhat and she was glad for Carth’s company.
Helene couldn’t quite keep the contented smile from her rouged lips. She played her fingers down the stem of her wine glass as Carth spoke, her eyes never leaving his face until she laughed, at which point her eyelids closed around her bright blue gaze, her lashes lapping against each other for the briefest of moments before splitting apart again. Her pupils dilated at the sudden invasion of light and her smile grew toothier, broader, as she realised that, indeed, Auror work would be nonsensical of her brother to even attempt. No, he was better off an artist or a casual businessman in Paris whose business were lovers, good food and a bottle of wine - not skirmishes and Dark Wizards.
“I think I prefer the suit and dress trousers, Monsieur,” Helene drawled in her thick regional French accent. She was a Lyon girl, born and bred but brought down to Paris and raised partly there due to her mother’s business and then pressed down into the South, towards Bordeaux where their family had held land in Aquitaine since long before the Conquest in the eleventh century and all of the subsequent squabbles between the Anglicans and the French about land and titles and Kingship.
Helene had been lucky enough to avoid the Wizarding wars. The continent had never shared the British disdain for anyone other than full-blooded witches and wizards. Still, she did not misunderstand the dangers the Death Eaters presented and the wealth of talent their ranks boasted - albeit quietly.
“I do hope you won’t be hurt, Carth,” She told him, her eyes widening a little. “You do have a part-en-er?” She asked, her mouth struggling a little over the strange composition of the word on her tongue. “Someone who... who can watch out for you?”
Helene nodded empathetically, her eyes narrowing a little with dismay.
“We spend far too long under those lights.” She shook her head. “Does not do much for your skin, I will tell you that.” Despite her irritation, Helene laughed and smiled at him. “No, sometimes I would like to go home and sleep in with the knowledge I will not have to get up at the crack of dawn with only a few hours behind me. Still, I love my job. I am hoping I could get transferred at some point ... to Hogwarts, perhaps. At least there I’ll only have to deal with the silliness the little ones get up to.”
Helene nodded again. “You cannot pick your family, hmm?”