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[leplusbeau]

Somewhere in London, there is a doorknob jiggling.

From inside the empty flat, two voices can be heard outside the door. 'Shouldn't we wait--'...'Why?'

Fleur throws the door open. "Really. If agentz are going to show a flat, they should be on time. You british can be very silly sometimez. In Paris, the landlady givez you a key and popz in every two mintuez saying 'you move in next week, yes?' Very simple system."

Comments

[thecoolone]

Patience, he knows, is a virtue. At least that's what everybody says. "That's a good way to lose the flat, my love. They won't take kindly on it if we keep opening the doors before they get here." But he forgets about that readily enough as they move through the place: it's a bit smaller than he was hoping for from the description in the advert, and...

"Oh." He runs his fingertip across the window's sill; it comes up rather more covered with grime than he'd like to see. Still, they wander through to the first of the two bedrooms.

Just in time for a train to pass by outside; the walls rattle. Bill looks at Fleur and shakes his head. "I have a feeling this one isn't destined to be our little nest, love. What do you say?" The ceilings are flat, not vaulted; the rooms are small; there's one bath; the appliances are old; the walls show signs of recent (and not particularly expert) repairs.

And then the front door opens again and a confused voice rings out. "Oh! Dear! Was the door left open?"

Grabbing Fleur by the hand, they venture back into the parlour. "Apparently so," Bill remarks blandly.

[leplusbeau]

"Oui. Must have been the silly people before us. There iz a blender attached to the counter. It iz lime green. The kichen iz yellow." In Fleur speak this clearly means 'NEXT!'

The Agent thinks this means sell sell sell! "Oh! Did you see the dishwasher? Lovely thing! Burnt umber, the man said. He was an artist, you know." All delivered very confidently and with the feeling that the Agent was parting with a great secret.

Fleur just stares. "...you think cocktail picklez are very fashionable, oui?"

[thecoolone]

Bill tries very hard not to laugh out loud. Instead, he wraps his arm round Fleur's shoulders. "It's too small, too dark, and too close to the train." He glances at it. "Lovely colours aside, it's not for us. We'd only serve to destroy all of his artistry, and I'm sure you wouldn't want that."

He shakes his head. "What's the next one on the list?"

The agent starts to point out the beautiful blue wainscotting against the orange walls, but Bill shakes her off. "We'll pass on this one."

We may be newlyweds, but we're neither desperate nor stupid.

"Right then!" With a chipper yet resigned tilt to her chin, the agent ushers them through the door. "This next one is a little more... shall we say spendy, but it might be what you're looking for. I hesitated to show you first because you need to know what you're comparing against and if we show the best one first, you'll be spoilt looking at the rest. In fact..."

Bill tunes out the incessant babbling; instead, they simply follow her through the door and down the stair and out into the street. It's only a few short blocks to the next flat, down tree-lined streets, and Bill nudges Fleur.

"Flower boxes."

[leplusbeau]

"...oui."

And they have to go in a front entrance that requires far too many locks, but an old fashioned buildings always touched a soft spot with her. There is even a small bakery on the first floor, and she can't see if they make fresh croissants but there are sweet breads and things before they are going up the stairs and out of sight.

"...no elevator."

Because if there was an old elevator with a glass door, she would have been smacking Bill for the gold before even seeing the door.

When the Agent opens the front door, her first impression is light. A great deal of light. It doesn't feel like London at all.

[thecoolone]

He gives it the once-over: they're on the top storey; the entry hall has a skylight in its domed ceiling which is so very lovely. It leads into a sitting room or parlour or living area, whatever one wants to call it, in a cream colour; the sunlight streams in. A good-sized balcony sits off the room and it's large and it wraps round to another room: the bedroom at the end of the hall. Again, it's light and bright, a combination of whites and creams. The old windows are very tall; a french door leads out to the balcony overlooking a courtyard.

There is room for flower boxes.

The second bedroom is smaller but no less full of light and there's only one bath but it's large enough for a full tub and shower and double sink, which should do very nicely. In fact, the bedrooms are separated by that bath, which seems sensible enough.

Back down the hall into the kitchen and dining area and those, too, are spacious and airy and bright. The appliances are old enough to be charming but not to be falling apart and really, all the place needs is furnishings and a small touch of magic on a few repair spots.

The housing agent is significantly silent but Bill knows she's watching them, hawklike, for any reaction.

The smell of fresh-baked bread wafts up into the open windows. Bill glances at the agent, then moves off to a corner affording a small bit of privacy with Fleur.

"I like this place. What do you think?"

[leplusbeau]

Dreamy, "Can we buy the building?"

She latches onto Bill. "If you do not put a large amount of gold in that woman'z hand right now, I will be forced to divorce you and have a very wicked affair with you for the rest of our livez. Doitdoitdoitdoit!"

[thecoolone]

"No, we can't buy the building... but we don't need it."

His voice lowers. "We can have our very wicked affair without a divorce, my very beautiful wife."

He turns to the agent. "All right. We'll take it. Call in and reserve it for us. You'll want how many months' rent for deposit?"

I love Gringott's; they've got a grand exchange rate from gold to pound sterling. He looks round the living room area again, grateful for every curse-breaking job he's had, every residual Galleon he's earned. "Back to your office, then, to sign papers?"

He hopes he's sounding knowledgeable enough. He's never done this before. But he turns to Fleur, casual in the entirety. "Oh, love: you can pick the sofa."

The agent looks thrilled. "Yes, back to the office; I'll drive unless you want to take your car and meet me there... no? My car, then. The owner will be thrilled. I knew we were holding onto this place for just the right couple; it suits you so well."

Blah, blah, blah. Before they leave, Bill casts a surreptitious little spell: one of protection, one of safekeeping, one delineating personal space. Now, should anyone else try to show the flat, they'll mysteriously be unable to do so. They'll forget what they intended to do, or remember another appointment, or...

And it will also protect the flat from vandalism.

It's theirs.