Reality Daydreams

A week or so later

Her fuschias died. Rather spontaneously. As it turned out, the Flesh-Eating Slugs were back. They had ravaged her neighbours’ artichokes. Thankfully, the spells that Victoire had strewn around her vegetable patch had protected her beans and salad bits and pieces. The same could not be said for her fuchsias, though, or many of her other back garden flowers. The gnomes had returned too and were lurking underneath her rose bushes. They got the brunt of her temper.  

Mr Mittens next door was especially impressed by the way she hurled one particularly grumpy gnome out of the garden and into the fields behind Gillywig Road. Victoire then found herself de-gnoming Mr Mittens’ garden so it wasn’t until the end of the week that she got a chance to go and see about replacing her flowers. The garden was nigh flooded with Flesh-Eating Slug pellets and the cats were now regularly removing the debris. Victoire wanted her real garden back.

For a Friday, Diagon Alley was quite busy. She had imagined that most people would be in parks around London but it seemed that they had decided to choose a wonderful day for shopping. The Weasley woman was stepping around students getting their school things together and dodged past one particularly odd looking witch selling beauty products to two young girls who would wake up the following morning with warts upon their noses after applying the cream. Victoire instead headed towards the flower shop, Fleurish, that was co-owned by the Finnigan siblings.

There was a decent number of people inside the café-cum-bookshop-cum-florists that day. It was early afternoon and many of the patrons were sat outside eating pastries with their noses buried in freshly bought books. Though it was mainly all about flower arranging, the florist element, it was also a huge help for gardening and it was to the small gardening section that Victoire careered, immediately crouching down in front of the stands to look at the flowers already in bloom having been coaxed into life by Elliot and some of the other employees out the back in the poly-tunnels. There were no fuchsias, though. There was a little note where they had been, mind you, but none of the actual plants. There were peonies, though, which was a small consolation.

Taking a tray of the young peonies, Victoire stood up properly and picked off some seed packets from the hooks. She turned round, intending not to buy anything more, and spotted some heathy looking squash plants. She put the seeds under her arm and picked up two pots of the squashes before weaving through towards the counter. She put her things down and the seed packets sprayed across the counter, causing her to shoot out her arm to catch them before they fell off. It didn’t stop one from dancing off of the counter, though, and Victoire scowled at it, leaning down to pick up the offending packet of sunflowers that she had bought on a whim.

“Right, hello!” She declared, lifting herself back up again, putting down the sunflowers. “Sorry about that. I’m not usually so clumsy,” her gaze flicked to the cashier stood there and she paused, staring openly at Erik. “Hi,” she said after a moment, her smile sneaking back onto her face, lighting up her gaze. “How are you?”

Erik wasn't sure if it was just something he did when neither twin was in at the shop, or if they left it on even when he wasn't around, but he had a radio set up to play Muggle music while he worked. It was sort of a habit he brought from his time writing and painting and whatever else have you back at his flat. But he had one of the local stations on, playing softly enough that people could ignore it on the other side of the bookshelves, but those searching for flowers or eating at the cafe could listen to it if they wanted to. Today, it was a sort of coffee-shop style station, and Erik felt that he must have known the words to all of them at that point.

If you just say the words
I'll, I'll up and run
Oh, to you
Ooh, you
Ooh, I'd leave it all-
And give me one good reason why I should never make a change...

As he was slicing the tape on a new shipment of books - this one, he suspected, was another round of children's books; perhaps Millie would show up with the kids later and look through them - the door opened again and he glanced around to see where Abraham had run off to. His son knew better than to talk to strangers if he didn't absolutely have to, despite only being a little over two, so Erik guessed that the little boy was in the back somewhere. The father had promised that he would take Abraham to the park in the morning if he behaved during work hours, if only because Saturday was the perfect day for a trip to the park, and Friday did not need to be hectic.

Setting the box down, he was surprised to find that they were not, in fact, children's books. More Muggle books? Erik smiled to himself, knowing that his slow hours at work would at least be well spent.

A series of pots were set down, alerting him to what he was meant to be doing, and he turned just as the other person disappeared behind the counter. His eyebrows raised in confusion, but when the woman stood, his eyes widened and he stood up straighter. He was tall enough to blink down at her as she organized her packets of seeds, but when she realized it was him, she stared right back. He tried to force a smile onto his face, but he was so surprised he wasn't sure what to do.

It's just a drop in the ocean, a change in the weather...

The song had rolled over into a new one, and Erik registered that he knew this one as well. Somehow that detail woke him up enough to realize he was being rude. All of the sudden, it seemed, he began ringing up her purchases, and he spoke as he focused on doing that.

"I'm well, thanks," he replied politely. If Anne or David or any other regulars had seen him, they probably would have thought he was ill. Erik was always more friendly and outgoing and personable than he was acting just then. He just hadn't been sure he would ever see her again, because he wasn't confident that she had really meant it when she said she wanted to get to know him. Erik definitely wasn't sure about the whole kitten thing for Abraham. The idea that she could mean it after what he had done was almost absurd.

Clearing his throat, Erik looked up at her and gave the total, feeling almost odd for having to ask it of her. "I hope things are going well with-"

"Papa?"

Erik froze, his lips poised to ask after the kittens, and slowly drew in a breath before turning to look at Abraham. "What is it, little man?"

Abraham looked rather proud of himself as he replied, "I draw a picture!" Then he held out a book, the cover of which was completely scribbled on, all over.

"What-?" Erik asked, his expression one of despair. "Mate, no. We only draw on paper, remember? Or the chalk wall at home. C'mere, I'll clean it off."

The little blond pouted a bit, but handed the book over before staring up at Victoire from the other side of counter. "Hi."

Erik, though he wasn't the sort at all usually, found himself thoroughly embarrassed as he pointed his wand at the book and set it aside, clean once more. Of course, it would be his favorite that Abraham decided to try and ruin. Thank Merlin for magic, Erik thought to himself. When he realized his son was talking to Victoire, though, he blanched, passing her an apologetic expression. She probably just wanted to leave, but had somehow wound up forced into talking to the other half of Erik's claims. And he didn't exactly need her to go about repeating that she didn't want them.

Mad-Eye Moody would have called it vigilance although it was bordering more on paranoia. Victoire Weasley was not a particularly paranoid witch, even if her front door had two locks on it as well as a deadbolt. As such, she was able to rationalise that there wasn’t a funny correlation appearing between bumping into Erik and her going out to the shops. This was for two reasons. The first was because the other day she had gone to the corner shop to get some milk after dropping the bottle she had been delivered that morning and she hadn’t run into him then. The second was due to the fact that this was clearly his work and as such, if anyone was doing the following then it was probably inadvertently her – in this case, at least. So she wasn’t a paranoid witch at all, really. Or vigilant, if we’re staying in that vein.

Instead, this was a coincidence. Either that or it was fate playing her cruel games once again. Victoire was thoroughly through with that little sprite toying with her life. No, this was just a coincidence. After all said and done, only a coincidence could explain how she could accidently meet a man who claimed to be someone who she had cared about, and who had cared enough about her, to want to have a child with, and then a week or so later meet him again in a shop that she had been coming to since it had opened only a few years before and had never met once while she had done so. It could only be coincidence. No one was mad enough to contrive such occurrences, surely?

It did serve as an awkward reminder of Victoire’s reaction to what he had said. That night, she had invited her cousin, James, over and he watched her go through a bottle of wine before she sniffled her way through an account of what had happened. James had suggested she ask Hugo about her memories and ask him to look if and see if there were any missing. When she had gone to see him during a lunchbreak that week, he had laughed her more or less out of the Ministry because he had ‘more important things’ to be getting on with than ‘looking for a few strands of memory you’ve probably left in the bottom of a wine glass, Vic.’

So she was no closer, now, to understanding what had happened than she was before. Though, James had given her some food for thought, reminding her how difficult it was for him to talk to her, to their cousins and even to his own siblings after he had his memories wiped. It had been a year or so since that had happened and like her he was no closer to understanding why than he had been when it had first happened. He would have killed for the answers. ‘Being as close to them as Erik probably felt he was would mess me up something rotten, even now.’

She had been told, basically, that if she ever got a chance to see him again or plucked up the courage to write to him, not to discount anything. He reminded her that the world was a funny place and though it wasn’t a wish-granting factory, it sometimes had everything a person needed out there waiting for them – and this case was no exception. That was the reason why she adored James. He always, always knew what to say. Besides that, ‘you probably owe him a bit of an apology for not believing him. It’d take guts to do something like that.’

I’m well, thanks

Victoire blinked out of her thoughts and smiled brightly, telling Erik softly that she was glad to hear it. She opened up her bag and fished out her purse, wondering to herself how much gold the plants and seeds would set her back. Anything was worth it, she decided, if it meant that she could get her garden back to normal. Thinking about the garden, having been totally derailed by the appearance of the man, she lifted her head, intending on asking about fuchsias. Before she could find the words, however, a little voice stole the attention of both adults.

Victoire felt her lips twitch as the little boy held up the book. She glanced away but her eyes went freely back to the little boy, trying to absorb the little scene of (exasperated) father and charming son before her before it was snatched away by the necessity of leaving the shop with no excuse to linger. So this was Erik’s little boy? Don’t discount anything. Her little boy? She swallowed back the lump that had formed in her throat and looked down at the squash plant that suddenly looked as limp as she felt.

When the little voice rang out again, Victoire looked round and found the big brown eyes that Erik had spoken of had fixed themselves on her. She inhaled softly through her mouth and blanched a little bit, glancing down at her shoes before remembering that she as meant to be quite good with children. She was he eldest (after Teddy) of all of her cousins. Many of them had still been babies when she’d started Hogwarts. She knew how to interact around children. But potentially her own child, whom she’d abandoned? A streak of guilt whipped through her, yet somehow she managed her own greeting.

“Hi there,” she murmured, offering him a genuine smile. “I’m Victoire. It’s a bit tricky to say, though, so most people call me Vic or Vicky. What’s your name?” Of course, she knew. The boy didn’t know that, though, and, weirdly, she wanted him to like her. “Ah!” She held up her hand, smiling slyly before reaching into her bag. “I have something that you could do with.”

It was a tiny bag, really, but with an extension charm and a feather-light one to go with it she could hold all her things – particularly, it meant she could hold some things to write on and with but she had, in particular, a lime-coloured book that wasn’t ruled – perfect for drawing on. Victoire produced the book with a flourish and leaned over the counter to hold it out to Abraham. She splayed the pages for him to see, showing that they were pristine and ready to be drawn on.

“This might save your papa’s books, hm?” She teased, folding back the front page so that she could give him the blank canvas. “I think I even might have some pencils in here for you. Mind, I don’t know how sharp they’ll be.”

She poked her head back into the bag again and soon removed a little wooden tube. She took off the top with a pop and inside were a set of brand new miniature coloured pencils she had bought months ago – along with the book – because there was a stationary sale. They had just been collecting proverbial dust in the various bags she wore but now they would finally have a use – and a proper home to boot. She replaced the top loosely and held the pencils out to Abraham, offering him another smile.

Talk about an olive branch.

Abraham seemed surprised to find this new woman so agreeable, particularly given his father's now-frustrated mood. He obviously had no idea what might have changed in the time he had been in the office-y area where they kept things in the back, but something was different about his dad, and Abraham couldn't figure it. But he offered his name to her, looking confused when she said she had something for him. Erik could admit it; the boy loved gifts and surprises.

When Victoire pulled the pad and pencils out of her bag, Abraham looked at her like she herself was magic, and Erik was almost devastated because of it. This little guy had absolutely no idea what Erik had done, had no idea who he had thought Victoire was - who she might have been if it was all true. Yet he was somehow becoming innately attached to her, and it made his father feel sick all over again. It wasn't what Erik wanted for the boy, but that wasn't really up to him. Maybe Victoire would decide that, actually, she didn't want to have the pair of them over, because maybe she didn't find Abraham charming or didn't think she could be friends with a man who was more attached to his books and his projects than he was interested in helping his customers escape before Abraham tried to reel them in for a chat. Stupid reasons, both of them, but Erik almost hoped one would be true. Or that something else might be to convince her not to take up her time trying. He didn't want to injure her further, and he didn't want to break his son's heart when she decided they weren't worth it.

Even if Victoire wasn't that Her he had in his mind, she could still be important to them, and he didn't want someone important in his son's life to leave like whoever his mother was.

Somehow, that thought actually made him want to laugh. He didn't know who his own boy's mother was. What a terrible father he was turning out to be. Erik would have shaken his head at his own self were it not for Victoire actually being there to see him do it. Within the confines of his little work room, it didn't seem so strange. In public, however? People might think him mad.

"Say thank you, kiddo," Erik reminded him gently, his attention finally returning to the woman across the counter. Even as he reached down to pat Abraham on the shoulder, and even as the little boy did as he was told, Erik was watching her and half expecting her to decide that she had done her good deed for the day and she needed to go.

"Did you.. maybe need a box or anything for those?" he offered, gesturing to the box he had been about to unpack. "I can take these books out for you."

The whole situation was endlessly surreal. How many people could say that they got to interact with their two-year-old maybe!son for the first time in a flower-book-coffee shop with their maybe!ex/current/still-technically(?)-lover/boyfriend (how mental!) standing there, too, having only a few days before dropped the said maybe!bombshell on her? Victoire’s head hurt a little bit just considering it. What was not surreal, though, what was very real was the way she felt in that moment. It made her feel as though maybe it could be real. Maybe it wasn’t just maybe!this and maybe!that – maybe (hah!) it really was very real, indeed. All of it.

“That’s a very lovely name,” Victoire complimented, genuinely growing rather fond of the way it bounced off of her tongue even when she was considering it mentally. “You’re very welcome, sweet,” she added after a moment, smiling brightly at him. “Maybe you could draw me a picture?”

It was a mistake to ask, she felt, probably from both her point of view and Erik’s. She imagined that he would probably want to protect Abraham now, given how clear she had been that day on her stance in regards to his (their?) son. She didn’t want to be his mother. Yet she could already feel herself easily wandering into the role his recollection said she belonged in. It was as easy as breathing. The instinct was to pick him up and to sit him on her lap and watch him draw and ask if she could help colour and laugh if he admonished her for not being neat. She wanted to be around him, to learn about him, to see if he could be a little person she could fall in love with.

And Merlin, of course he was. How could she ever be in any doubt?

To a certain extent, she did maintain her stance from before. She didn’t want to be Abraham’s mother because she didn’t want to have to be that person, the person who let him down from the moment he was born because she abandoned him. She didn’t know the details and hadn’t thought to ask Erik but during the time between their meetings she had conjured up every possible point at which she could have abandoned her family and she didn’t think she had slept properly since. She didn’t want to have to look at herself in the mirror and admit that she had done that. Whether she had done it consciously or otherwise, she would take it as her own callous fault and she was already punishing herself for it.

Moreover, she didn’t want Erik to forgive her if it was true, either. He deserved so much better if she couldn’t even stay, when she chose a solitary existence over being with the two people that should have been the most important men in her life.

Faced with them, she felt that undeniable guilt welling up again and with that the overwhelming desire to cry. She would have to wait. She steeled herself, knowing that she could once the darkness had drawn in and she had trudged to bed to lay under the thin covers. She would let her tears stain her pillows and she would sob until she couldn’t keep awake any longer. The sobs would especially hurt tonight, she was sure of it, because not only did she loath herself for leaving but her dismay doubled as she realised that she did want to be a part of their lives. And either way – if it was true or if it wasn’t – she had no right to be.

When Erik spoke, Victoire was endlessly grateful for the break in her thoughts. She found her smile again and re-entered the shop.

“That’d be wonderful, thank you,” she enthused. “If … if you want,” she ventured, all of a sudden growing that little bit shyer, “if it’s easier,” she amended. “I could just buy them. The homeless shelter in Dufftown is trying to create these little parcels for the regulars and I’m doing brownies but … I dunno. If it’s easier, I wouldn’t mind. It’d be a good addition to the parcel, I think. But, if … well, if you guys really need some stock it doesn’t matter. Sorry,” she felt her cheeks heat up reluctantly. “Too much. Babbling. Right. Yeah.” She laughed shakily. “A box would be great.”

Erik's shoulders tensed quite suddenly when Victoire asked the favor of Abraham, and he had to admit that he was really quite unamused by it. But he couldn't bring himself to say anything against it once he caught the flashes of expressions that moved over the blonde woman's face as she looked down at Erik's son. There was something a little too sad for his tastes, and he didn't think it was fair to ask anything else of her. How was she to know that Abraham took to people faster than fish took to water? She couldn't have, because something was ridiculously incorrect. Something was painfully, terribly off course. And neither he nor Victoire could do anything about it right now. Maybe not ever.

Her smile surprised him again, though it wasn't quite the same as the one he had seen in his memories. Dreams? Whatever they were. That one he had never seen directly from Victoire since finding her. He wasn't convinced that he ever would manage to, of course, but he held out hope that it could appear when he least expected it. If that happened? Merlin, if that happened he would know everything was just fine. That everything was just as he wanted it to be.

Her words, unlike her smile, confused him. He tried not to show it, but the uncertainty was brewing and showing up on his forehead as it crinkled up a bit. When she settled and responded, he gave a nod. The obvious choice would be to remove the books and hand her the box before putting them away. But as he glanced down towards them, he wasn't quite sure that he wanted her to leave. Their last meeting had gone badly, and this one was rather awkward. Would they never have a chance to just get along? What if he really was meant to love her, and she him, but neither ever got the chance to find out?

"Um," he began, hesitating slightly. Abraham had begun to wander to the back again, leaving his father to handle it alone. "I don't suppose-? That is, I sort of need to put these away, so would you mind maybe hanging about for a minute or helping me, perhaps? You don't have to. I can always just do that right quick and come back. Just, it's easier to carry the box with me instead of several stacks of books, you know?"

As the little boy wandered off, back to his drawing, his mother(?) stood stock still, caught up in her thoughts once again. She found herself wondering whether he realised, even just a little bit, just how much his life had changed in the space of a few days. Her own, which she had reflected upon almost obsessively, had certainly done a three-sixty and beyond. Now she was (she hoped) out the other side, things had changed. She was rapidly coming to the decision that her conjecture was far from the reality she now faced. Meeting them both and being able to view them side by side was making her rethink everything. She wanted this. How could she stay away now? She knew she would have to own what she couldn’t recall having done. If she wanted to be a part of their lives, she would have to square with it. Until then though, she could definitely just enjoy being with them.

Victoire found a smile for Erik. This time, it came more easily. It could have almost been natural. Indeed, she was sure it almost was. The way her mouth sloped up of its own accord, parted and revealed her teeth … it was so very different from the tight, close-lipped ones she usually raised. She took her bag off and set it down on the counter with her things. She didn’t worry about it being swiped. She hardly thought someone would steal from her in a flower shop. Besides that, it was a bag in the shape of a citrus fruit segment. It was hardly camo. So, she stepped behind the counter, albeit hesitantly, and pushed up the sleeves of her cardigan, her smile brightening all the more.

“Are we taking an end each?” She asked, adding quickly after a moment, “Or one each if there are more?” She had no idea why she cared about whether he thought her a weak flower or a strong one. She wasn’t really a flower at all, was she? Let’s face it. She was more of a lost golden retriever, if she was anything in this world. It was probably what her Animagus was, unbeknownst to the witch. But we’re now off-topic.

“Did you… um,” Victoire wanted something else to look at, desperately, but asking something like this meant she had to look straight at him. Erik’s big, expressive eyes were too much for the blonde witch but somehow she did it. “You know my offer … from before? Um. I don’t know if you’ve given it much thought since but, uhm … today or tomorrow evening … I’m free.” She was free every evening, actually, but he didn’t need to know that. She had to keep up some sort of pretence of having a life. “If you wanted, that is.”

Something about her smile sparked life back into him, and Erik felt like he could breathe more freely again. His shoulders relaxed and he remembered very suddenly that he was actually extremely friendly. Aside from the obvious emotions he showed, he was never so awkward around someone. So, when Victoire readied herself, Erik shook his head a bit to wake up his mind and his typical nature.

Her questions almost made him chuckle, but instead he offered a smile and reached out without even thinking about it. His hand settled on her shoulder and gave a squeeze, saying, "I've got it. Don't you worry."

He reached down for the box and straightened up, flashing a grin her direction before gesturing with his chin towards the stacks. "You shelve and I'll carry until it gets lighter, yeah? I can do it one-handed after a bit, really."

As they moved across the shop and she spoke again, he glanced up at her for a moment before starting to reply. "I think we're- between those books, there. No, those next- right, yes, that one. I think we're free both nights after closing," he said. "Mind, tomorrow we start the kids' camp events, so really we may not get out until late. Parents seem to have an odd way of making their kids sit around after dropping them here. Pain, really. But if you don't mind waiting, then that would work.

"Of course," he continued, reaching into the box with one hand to try and pull out a skinnier book that he could shelve with less of a struggle, "if we just had dinner or something tonight that could work. Unless you're particularly interested in the camps, of course. Abraham loves them, as I suppose is probably rather obvious, and... Well, he seems to have taken a liking to you, which I am also not surprised about," he admitted, glancing over at her in a sort of attempt at gauging her reaction. "He might enjoy it if you came by. If you have time, that is. If not, I'm quite nearly done for the day so we can drop by yours or you can always hang about while I close up, too."

Really, Erik probably did not need to fret so much over the plans. But he didn't want to force Victoire to spend more time with him than she could stand, just as he was not interested in putting Abraham into harm's way if she concluded that, no, she definitely didn't want to deal with any of this. Erik knew he ought to move past it, but there was nothing he could think of that had affected him in the way her comment had when they first met. She didn't want to be that person he was looking for. Merlin, he wished she had explained. Maybe then he wouldn't be doubting himself, and wouldn't be so afraid that he'd grow properly attached only to have her remind him that he wasn't what she wanted.

He was used to not feeling good enough for his family, but to some extent he didn't care about that anymore. This was something else entirely.



[ooc: remind me to tell you about the laugh I had while writing this post. It's related to 'Friends,' if I need a nudge to remember. ;D  Also! "Stock still," last post. Very nice  ]