It's Better If You Do

Heaving a great, sad sigh as she sat beside her little fledgling dittany plant, Bellamy, with D’Artagnan on her shoulder, began to pull off the largest leaves she could find on the plant. She took a slight notice of footsteps traveling up the staircase to the flat, but kept her gaze on the plant. The large owl on her shoulder turned its feathery head to give a near glare at George as he stepped into the room, leaving the door slightly ajar behind him. Then, as if recognizing this was not the twin that had made one of his owners unhappy, the glare softened and the owl turned to look back at the people bustling around Diagon Alley with an intense focus.

George, making sure to stay a great distance away from the massive bird, sat down on his bed and watched as Bellamy evaluated the plant and the leaves she was taking from it.

“Will that tiny thing yield enough dittany to close the wounds?” He asked skeptically, glancing between the plant and Bellamy, whose expression suddenly grew very sour.

“It will…but it will most likely die,” she said in a soft voice, unceremoniously plucking a few white and pink flowers from the plant, which now resembled a miniscule, green, yet barren tree.

“I could buy you another one, if you’d like,” George offered softly, sensing how much it displeased Bellamy that a plant she only had in her possession a day would die. Bellamy pursed her lips together as she took one glance at the plant, then to the leaves and flowers on her lap.

“That won’t be necessary,” she said briskly, shaking her head a bit, “but thank you for offering.” She glanced over to her trunk and pulled her wand from her pocket, pointing it at the powder blue luggage. “Accio pestle and mortar,” Bellamy said in a clear voice. There was a dull, hollow rattling within the closed chest, but the pestle and mortar did not come to her, as was the intended outcome.

George glanced from the chest to Bellamy and noticed how still she went. Her expression remained stolid, as it normally was, but there was a sad, almost defeated and betrayed look flickering in her eyes as she stared at the trunk. Without another word, she placed the leaves and flowers aside before quickly standing, having D’Artagnan give a surprised little hoot and fly from her shoulder to the desk full of papers against the wall. George turned his eyes swiftly away from Bellamy as an embarrassed shade of pink splotched the apples of her cheeks. She knelt in front of the trunk and pushed aside her shoes roughly and immediately found a pestle and mortar, along with an empty little vial.

It was obvious then to George just how much Bellamy’s skills lacked if she could not accomplish a simple summoning spell. As it was such a sour subject with Bellamy, he chose to keep his eyes to the floorboards beneath his feet, tuning into the soft noises coming from the backroom rather than the clanking and grinding of stones rubbing together as Bellamy violently, probably with more force than necessary, extracted the liquids from the dittany leaves and flowers with the pestle and mortar.

“Are you going to write your parents?” George asked softly, trying to bring up something that would get Bellamy’s mind off her failed spell. Bellamy gave a short hum as she drove the pestle harder against the dittany, as if she sensed this diversion.

“They’ve asked us not to write since D’Artagnan would certainly draw unwanted attention to their hideaway,” she said, her gaze sent on the plant instead of George. “Eagle owls are most certainly not a common fixture in tropical climates.” George turned his eyes to her finally, thankful that the color had drained from her cheeks. He knew that she probably wouldn’t tell him anymore about the whereabouts of her parents, so he felt that the conversation would probably die out unless he found another topic. Sending a glance to the large bird that had uprooted a few of the papers on the desk to the floor as it prowled around the desktop curiously, he wasn’t sure how he felt about having it around.

“Your parents have two homes then?” He asked softly, glancing back to Bellamy from D’Artagnan. “You lot must have money if you can afford two.” Bellamy slowly looked up from the mushy green paste in the mortar to George. She knew by his expression that there was something deeper to him asking this question and felt the need to clear the air.

“We haven’t always been as well off as we are now and Rose and I certainly are not babied by our parents. They will provide essentials for living here, but after a while, they money sent to our Gringotts account will stop.” George stared up at her, feeling like she was going to continue on. “From what little I can remember of when we lived in England, we made do in a one room flat in the West End of London,” she said softly, surprising George a bit. He knew his family and upbringing was far from rich, but they were never forced to such a menial existence as one room. “Fortunately, my father came into a small amount of money when I was five, which he wisely invested in a popular broomstick manufacturer, and by the time I was six, he was made head of the French branch of the company. Thus, we were prompted to move to France to be closer to his work. My mother and father are both French anyway, so it would come to no convenience to them. However, Rose and I had to learn the language, which is why are accents are not so think as other French people.”

“What was the broomstick company he invested in?” George asked as Bellamy restarted her work on the dittany. His curiosity was getting the best of him, since he had an extensive knowledge of broomsticks. Bellamy, instead of becoming perturbed with his questions, wore a wry smile as she looked up from her work.

“Nimbus Series,” she said with a small sense of pride blossoming in her chest. George’s surprise was apparent in his expression, causing Bellamy to laugh lightly and shake her head.

“They were at the top until Firebolts came along,” he said with a sense of awe in his voice. Bellamy took offense to that and the tiny, proud smile on her lips dropped suddenly.

”They’re still at the top as far as my family in considered,” she said brusquely, driving the pestle down onto the dittany once more before beginning to tip the contents of the mortar into the vial, using her wand to keep the mangled and bruised leaves and flowers from the clear liquid that dripped into the vial.

“So, you two own Nimbuses then?” George asked excitedly. He had come to the conclusion that Rose and Bellamy were the kinds of girls that kept themselves far away from broomsticks.

“Certainly not,” Bellamy said, shaking her head disapprovingly, “broomsticks are very dangerous items and my father made sure that we steered clear of them.” George’s jaw dropped and his eyes widened.

“So…you two have never flown on a broomstick before?” He asked slowly, almost sounding appalled at the fact.

“No,” she replied shortly, “well…I don’t know about Rose, but I don’t intend to in my lifetime.” George suddenly gained a very mischievous sort of look as he stared at Bellamy, who carefully corked the vial of dittany essence and stood.

“If you’re going to stick with me and Fred, this’ll have to change,” he said bluntly, smirking all the while. Bellamy gave a short laugh in disbelief and shook her head as she looked over at George with a humored expression.

“I’d like to see you try getting me on one of those death traps,” she said before giving George an once-over glance, letting out another laugh, and beginning to make her way toward the stairs. George stood and quickly followed behind her, laughing a bit to himself.

“It will happen, Bellamy Lefebvre, mark my words,” he said through his low chuckles. She merely sent a look to him over her shoulder before another derisive laugh passed her lips. Bellamy stopped abruptly at the bottom step as she turned and faced Rose and Fred. George wondered why she had stopped when he followed her line of sight and noticed that the couple was attached at the lips once more, Rose’s hand holding the washcloth over Fred’s wounds yet not cleaning the blood as it slowly dripped down his chest. Bellamy impatiently, and loudly, cleared her throat, which had the two of them jumping suddenly and separating with matching blushes suddenly blotting their complexions. Fred turned his gaze away from the two at the staring sheepishly at the floor while Rose quickly resumed tending to his wounds.

“I’ve got the dittany. It should be more than enough, so if you could just put the rest of it back into my potion supplies when you’re done,” she said softly, glancing to the blood seeping from the wounds and quickly going pale. “I’ll just leave this here and wait until it’s all…” She took a few shaking steps toward the table as her complexion suddenly went very green and nearly slammed the vial down as she stepped out of the room into the shop, just as the bells above the door chimed and the sounds of children talking animatedly filled the room. It was apparent to the three left in the room that lunchtime break was over.

“Alright then, I’ll go out there and make sure Bellamy doesn’t slaughter any children,” he said half-jokingly, causing Rose and Fred to chuckle despite the blushes that lingered on their features. “And Rose, try to hold off the snogging until you’ve patched Fred up. I know it may be a tough feat, as we are both devilishly handsome blokes-” Both Fred and Rose shot him looks “-but we pride ourselves on being identical and scars such as that would ruin our image a bit, do you think?” He gave a short nod before striding past the curtain and into the shop, where soon after the departure of the twin the sounds of fireworks started up once more.