Tears From Heaven

~*Tears from Heaven*~

by Keelie

Lost and lazy floating through the dawn,

Twisting, turning into a hazy mist.

Guardian angel of silver and ice,

Sweeping, sinking in a stream of light.

--The Corrs, "Rain"

Dennis Creevey sighed as he looked around the smoky, dimly-lit bar, wondering why he'd even come in the first place.

But he knew the answer.

He was thinking about her again.

Dennis let the door of the Golden Snitch bang behind him, surveying tonight's crowd. They were all young, around his age, and most seemed to be on their third or fourth drink. The women all wore tight Muggle clothes; the men were dressed in mainly Muggle attire, but some had thrown on robes over their trousers and shirts. There were several people at the bar, but the highest concentration was at the corner of pool and Exploding Snap tables, where several games were being loudly played and commentated, complete with tipsy half-dressed witches nearly lying down on the green felt.

He was never sure why she'd liked this place-- it was stifling hot, worn-down, and vaguely smutty-seeming, with no purpose other than a few cheap drinks and a game or two. Maybe because it had been such a direct contrast to her calm, cool, beautiful self.

He'd never asked. . .

They'd come nearly once a month for three straight years. It was different from their other dates, an excuse to flirt and joke and laugh like they were still hormone-crazed Hogwarts students.

But that's over, Dennis told himself firmly. We're over, and have been for almost a year now.

He sidestepped a couple who were wrapped around one another rather desperately and took off his leather jacket, noticing his jeans and sweater were still damp from the light sprinkle outside. Oh well. A beer and something to snack on would warm him up.

Dennis made his way to the scarred wooden bar, which was framed by stools with cracked, red leather seats. He recognized the bartender, a young wizard with dark hair and a deep tan. Dennis dropped into a seat and played with the coaster in front of him as he waited.

"What can I get you?" asked the bartender, wiping his hands on a dirty towel.

"Ah-- a beer, thanks." Taking a deep breath, Dennis could have sworn he heard the usual, familiar words following his order:

"I'll just take a sparkling peach martini, please."

Hold on.

Dennis turned slowly around.

This isn't just my imagination.

Someone had slid onto a nearby stool and made their request to the bartender. Somehow, before they even removed their wrap, Dennis knew who it was.

Gabrielle Delacour slipped off her stylish black wool coat, revealing a short black skirt, a lavender silk blouse, and black wedge heels. A mist of raindrops made spider-web patterns on her long, pale hair, visible even in the dim light. But as usual, the most remarkable thing about her was her extreme confidence.

She shifted in her seat and suddenly all that poise was gone.

"D-Dennis?" she stuttered.

"Hi, Gabby," he responded, surprised at how normal he sounded. "It's been awhile." Â A year, he added mentally.

"Yes-- I mean, it's good to see you." Dennis had never seen her this nervous before-- angry, of course, given her Veela heritage-- there had been times when she'd been nearly paralyzed with rage. At him, of course. If there had been a word to describe their relationship, it would have been "tempestuous--" but even though he'd known her for nearly six years, and dated her for half that, he'd never seen her so downright apprehensive.

It doesn't matter, he told himself firmly. Just tell her goodnight, drink your beer, and leave. Don't let yourself get caught up in all this again. Let go. Remember why you broke up in the first place?

But, of course, it was Gabby. Â And he could never walk away from her.

"Is something wrong?"

"It's nothing." But even in the dim light, he could see the tears shining in her vibrant blue eyes. "I just-- had a bad day, that's all."

If it had been anyone else, Dennis would have said he was sorry, had his drink, and gone on his merry way. But it was Gabby. And when it came to her, he had no common sense. "Are you still working for the Ministry, then?"

"As of today, no."

"Did they fire you?" Dennis wished he didn't sound so indignant. After all, it wasn't his problem.

"I-- no. I took a voluntary leave." She seemed like she wanted to say more, but the tanned bartender appeared with both their drinks. "Oh-- will this be together, then?"

"Yes?" Gabby responded tentatively. Her face was begging for reassurance.

"Yes," he assured both her and the bartender firmly. "I'll be paying, thanks."

The bartender nodded, set the beer down in front of Dennis and the martini in front of Gabby, and made his way over to a raucous crowd of young wizards in Quidditch garb.

"Thank you." Gabrielle's voice was soft, hesitant.

"It's no problem." He felt compelled to reassure her.

You're such a sucker, he admonished himself. After three years of watching her wrap men around her little finger just like this-- while you were dating, no less-- you're allowing it to happen to you. You are a weak man, Dennis Creevey.

But then again, every man was weak when it came to Gabrielle Delacour.

"So, how come you left the Ministry?"

She blinked back tears, then raised her martini glass to her glossy pink lips. "You know Addison Thortonby." It was much more a statement than a question, for of course Dennis knew Addison Thortonby. Besides the fact that everyone knew him (Thortonby being a smarmy, thirty-something high-ranking Ministry official), he had been the self-centered ass that had ended their relationship.

"Yes."

"He's not leaving Melissa."

Dennis had to work hard to control his surprise. He took a sip of beer, taking comfort in the warmth sliding down his throat, and waited several seconds before replying. "Oh. I see."

Melissa Thortonby was originally a Fulton, a name synonymous with old, pureblood money. She was dark-haired and pretty, the epitome of a gracious trophy wife. Not the brightest of the bunch, either, which explained the fact that Thortonby had cheated on her for nearly a year now, Dennis being the only one who knew.

Thortonby had given Gabby the sapphire pendant she used to always wear-- he noticed a conspicuous lack of it today-- and fed her honey-coated words of his love for her, how he would divorce Melissa and leave them free to marry. Like every other man on the planet, he had been completely under Gabby's spell. Dennis didn't blame him for that. What he blamed him for was acting on those desires.

Gabby was who he should really be blaming.

But it was Gabby, and he couldn't blame her.

A full tear slid down Gabby's cheek. "He said-- he said she was catching on, and that she threatened to expose his lying arse to all the papers. And that she would divorce him-- and she was the one who was funding all his campaigning and--"

Dennis could have told her this was going to happen. No matter how taken with Gabby Thortonby was, the prick was only in it for himself. Of course the second Melissa had threatened removing his cash supply, he'd go running back to her.

What he hadn't expected was Gabby to be so clearly devastated. And, of course, the fact that he was so furious at Thortonby for doing this to her.

But once you were entranced under Gabby's spell, you never left it.

"So you quit?"

"I hate him, Dennis! I can't believe it-- I trusted him. He lied to me!"

Just like you lied to me.

Though that knowledge didn't stop him from trying to comfort her.

"Gabby, I--"

She let out a shuddery sob, setting down her glass with a bang. Dennis had never seen her cry before, and he must have looked shocked, because she quickly brushed away the tears. "I-- I have to go." And before he could blink, she was standing up.

Cursing, Dennis threw a handful of Galleons onto the bar and followed her, across the room and out the door. He caught up with her as she was buttoning her coat under the awning of the building.

"Gabby--" He spoke loudly, as the rain beat more heavily against the sidewalk.

She turned to him, the raindrops making an eery backdrop for the identical rivers of water flowing down her cheeks. "Heaven is crying, Denny." He'd used that expression-- one his mother used to say-- around her, and she'd fallen in love with it. That, coupled with her shy use of his old nickname, made him take an impulsive step closer to her.

"We were so good, Denny? Why did we give it up?" she asked. Though the rain was loud, her words were soft and breathy.

We didn't give it up, Gabby. You did, when you decided to cheat on me with Thortonby.

Maybe it was her choice of words, her fragile state, or the timidly beautiful look on her face. . . or maybe it was something else entirely. . . but he couldn't bring himself to consider that thought. Instead, he put a hand on her shoulder.

"I don't know, Gabby."

She looked up at him through long-lashed eyes, smokey from her weeping.

Dammit, I'm playing right into her hand! he realized frantically. She's got me just where she wants me!

But it was Gabby.

And no matter how stupid he was, or this was, he couldn't pull away.

He couldn't resist.

She reached up to kiss him, slipping a hand behind his neck. He melted into her, pulling her close and getting lost in the exotic familiarity of her.

No one could resist Gabrielle Delacour.