Chapter Five: The Francaise

The word vulgar comes from the Latin roots of vulgaris meaning "common".

Slytherins despised all forms of vulgarity. Being that most of them were from proper, pureblood upbringings, there was no need for bad manners, especially in public. Appearances were of most importance. Cussing, crude gestures, disrespect, and blatant indecent behavior was looked down upon. Or at least, they used to be.

With the new times come new bad language (Bellatrix Black was a famed offender), loss of subtly when it came to putting people down (Draco Malfoy had no such delicacy for example), the indecent behavior which included a record number of fights breaking out a year (Walden Macnair was a repeated violent enthusiast), the intoxicated state of students after quidditch match victories (Blaise Zabini was known for his inability to hold his dirnk), and of course the numerous cases where students are unable to resist the temptations of the flesh.

Morals of self respect and honor have been replaced with a different kind: morals of self interest. The best kind.

With this mind frame, being common was a forbidden form of vulgarity. Slytherin gave itself the highest approbation for their students' connections, wealth, power, prestige, and ruthless cunning. Not for being common. They wished to get places and if they had to lie to Hufflepuffs, cheat Ravenclaws and dispose of Gryffindors to do so, that was completely acceptable and in most cases encouraged.

However, not all believed that Slytherin was so very spectacular. In fact, some were appalled with the language—"Stop saying that word. Do you know what that even means? Huh?"—with the people—"What in Salazar's good name are you wearing? Take it off right now before I throw up."—and even with the state of the common room—"This place needs a change of decoration".

Evan Rosier was not pleased with vulgarity. The fact that he shared rooms with George Goyle, Walden Macnair, Rodrick Avery and Augustus Rookwood did not help matters. Goyle constantly left his dirty laundry lying around the room, sometimes even on Evan's own bed. Meanwhile, Avery was prone to knocking everything down like the klutz he was. Worst of all, Rookwood and Macnair brought women into the room nearly every night, a pathetic habit of theirs that Evan had grown tired of.

Evan's irritation at their social lives was at its peak that one Sunday night in February where he was seen grumbling French obscenities under his breath and shooting glares toward the boys dormitories as he paced up and down.

It was common knowledge that Evan Rosier was very much attached to his French roots. The French connection was a considerable asset to Slytherin since not only were many of the paintings that hung on the wall from French society through the ages but Frace was known for it's large population of pureblood wizards, far exceeding England in quantity.

"And quality," thought Evan bitterly, running a hand through his normally tidy, thick, brown hair. Currently it looked like a short brown mop fixed upon a handsome young man's head.

Evan had no time to add his favorite smoothing gel or volumizer or put even run a comb through it. He couldn't add his favorite body lotion either as he spent all day in the library working on his thesis report for Arithmancy. This report was located in his room to which the door was locked because Rookwood had insisted that he entertain Bellatrix Black, most likely forgetting that Bella was Evan's cousin. Obviously the last thing Evan wanted to know was that his roommate was shagging his cousin. That was the factor that caused him to become pushed out of his room before grabbing his report that just needed a concluding paragraph.

Fortunately, or rather unfortunately in this case, Evan had no trace of the infamous Black temper in him since he was all Rosier so he did not blow the door down and demand his essay as he was sure Bellatrix would have done. Then again, Bellatrix had been latched onto Rookwood's arm laughing when Rookwood shoved him away so he wouldn't really know how she would have acted in his position.

Instead of blowing off a chunk in the wall like Bellatrix had done not even a month ago, Evan plopped down miserably onto a sofa and kicked the nearby end table repeatedly. However, he cuffed his designer, imported shoes from Italy and quickly regretted that.

"Will you stop that?" asked a familiar, smooth voice. Evans stopped immediately.

There, peering at him from his usual place on his throne chair, his hair in its natural, golden sheen, and his skin flawless, was Lucius Malfoy. He was in shoes that Evan recognized was of his favorite designer. From what Evans heard, Lucius was the only other male whose portion of his room was always clean. And he showered every single day. And his family was friends with designers like Vera Chang, Lucinda Hawkins, and Giovani Montefusco.

As far as Evan was concerned, Lucius Malfoy was the only male in the entire school who lacked the vulgarity of the English schoolboys.

"Thank you," Lucius said when Evan stopped, his attention falling back to the pretty blonde girl in front of him. Evans had not noticed it before but he seemed to be the only male who did not.

The first recorded time a Veela had stepped into Slytherin was on Salazar Slytherin himself's permission. Even Meryn the Malicious, a young Slytherin of fifteen at the time, was said to have literally been doing back flips to please the maiden (he denied this until his death). After the Veela had successfully ensnared all the males and was on the verge of seducing them entirely, that first time a Veela entered Slytherin became the last. Veelas were no longer allowed in Hogwarts, the decision unanimously supported by all the school governors. Apparently, Veela were especially powerful over inexperienced, testosterone driven teenagers.

This woman, however soft her silvery hair looked, however slim her figure was, however flirtatious her smiles were, was not a Veela; Evans was sure of this as Veela were his new favorite magical creatures ever since the Veela fashion editorial in Craze magazine. He guessed this woman was half Veela instead.

"Excusez-moi, monsieur, eez there something wrong?"

The Half-Veela was addressing him. He almost allowed himself to grin, mainly at her thick accent. Finally, someone other than his family members he could socialize with on an intellectual level. Someone with class and flair, someone with spark and formality. Someone French.

"No, rien est erroné, ((No, there is nothing wrong))", he replied. He noticed her beam significantly. Lucius Malfoy (and the other swooning men in the background, all who weren't as well put together as Lucius Malfoy so did not matter) was the last thing on her mind though before she was bathing in his drool.

"Parlez-vous français? ((Do you speak French?))" she asked brightly, giving him a gorgeous smile and rising from her seat. Evan rolled his eyes as Lucius Malfoy sighed dreamily, leaning forward with his eyes having trouble opening all the way.

"Oui, ((Yes))" he said grouchily, disgusted with Lucius Malfoy's normally upstanding behavior. Veela or not, if Evan could have some self control, he was sure Lucius Malfoy could pull it off too. They were both equally men after all.

"Joelle Passer," she introduced herself, holding her manicured hand out for Evan to shake. The smile was still on her lips as she stood in front of him.

"Evan Rosier," he said, shaking her hand delicately. He recognized Passer. Her mother was most definitely a Veela as the woman had attended several parties in his family's manor in France, notoriously seducing the French Prime Minister in one instance.

"Rosier?" she asked, perking up. "J'adore your family villa in Southern France. I 'ave went to visit with Mamma last winter. In France, you very, how you say… rich, yes?"

Evan nodded hesitantly. He had never been looked at like she was looking at him. There was something… vulgar in her eyes. Strangely, he did not mind.

"We must 'ave lunch, yes?"

He nodded again, this time obediently. "Yes.. lunch."

"I'll join you two! I'm very rich too, you know."

Lucius Malfoy popped up beside Joelle. A chorus of "Me too!" and "I'll come!" and "Yes, I'm rich!" and even "I invented money!" followed. Joelle giggled.

"Boys, please, allow Mousier Rosier and I to speak of home in France, yes?"

The swarm of boys nodded robotically. Rosier glared at Lucius who was continuing to disappoint with his mechanical head shaking. The glare intensified when Joelle kissed Lucius's cheek and promised him that he would see her later. Evan found it very juvenile how males grinned so stupidly when they got their way. Joelle meanwhile did not mind.

"I changed my mind," Evan mumbled, starting away from the dispersing crowd and Joelle's pout. "I'm not hungry."

"But 'zen we talk, yes?"

"No."

She squeaked in displeasure, latching onto his arm, stopping his leave. "Vat is wrong with you? Do you not like me?"

"I don't know you and I doubt any of these other men know you either," he said scowling and wrenching his arm away from her grasp. He noticed a diamond ring on her finger and gawked. "Is that a Ramsley design?" he asked in awe, taking her hand.

She smirked and nodded. "Delacours spare no expensive when it comes to future family members."

"It's gorgeous."

"Oui, you 'ave good taste," she remarked, looking around the room distastefully. "I 'ave no like for England."

"Neither do I!" Evan said with a grin. "It's so barbaric."

"Exactly, so very unrefined," she said, nodding. Her hand remained in his.

"So vulgar," Evan said. He watched for signs of agreement and quickly received it. Her profuse nodding said it all.

"Oui! Being 'ere is too much for me. It 'as been nearly two months now in dis school. I do not know why Delacours insist on education, especially in dis place. They are friends with Dumbleydore, I believe."

Evan gave her a sympathetic look as her arms somehow found their way behind the back of his neck. "That's, uh, tragic."

She sighed, playing with the dark short curls on the back of his neck. "Eet ees. I need, how you say… comfort."

Ask any man in the Slytherin Common room what they would have done in that instance and you would receive practically the same answer from all of them, much to their girlfriends' dislike. Soon after this event, Rodolphus Lestrange admitted what he'd have said in respond to her plea for "comfort", not knowing that Bellatrix Black was right behind him. Needless to say, he owled his teachers the next day to say that he was sick and refused to leave from under his covers. He denies claims of Bellatrix nearly clawing his eyes out and pulling large chucks of his hair from his head. Bellatrix refused to comment but did have a very smug face on for the rest of the week.

Evan was too wrapped up in Joelle's arms to take notice of anyone glaring at him or of the envious looks he was receiving.

"Joelle.. I'd really rather not..."

Evan had never been slapped by a women. Normally women adored Evan and constantly hung around him asking for advice about their clothes or make up or taking him with them as they shopped. Joelle obviously did not know this since there was a large red hand print on his cheek that no amount of MAC (Magically Advanced Cosmetics) concealer could possibly hide.

"What was that for?!" he shouted, rubbing his cheek.

"For being a idiot!" she shouted back, scowling. "Vat ees wrong with you? Do you not like me? Am I ugly? Hm? You are zee—"

Joelle went off on a tangent, spewing French curses left and right. She suddenly lost her appeal, not just to Evan but to the staring boys who blinked in confusion and went back to what they were doing before the half Vella entered the room.

"Joelle," Evan started, shaking his head. She was embarrassing him. "Joelle, calm down."

She did not calm down. In fact, far from calming down, she began to throw books and quills and ink bottles at Evan who was screaming almost as loud as the scared first years.

"Should we interfere?" asked a bewildered Rabastan Lestrange to Rodrick Avery. An ink bottle flew past Rodrick's ear.

"No way, mate, I'm out of here."

"Don't leave me!" Evan called but to no avail since the common room was emptying out. No one seemed to care very much about things being thrown, so long as it wasn't their thing. Evan hid behind a couch, third years laughing as they ran past him. This is ridiculous, he thought.

He came up from behind the couch, running at her. His best attempts at remaining composed despite her murderous fury prevailed since without hesitation he pinned her to the couch, ignoring her kicks and French screams.

"Joelle! Joelle, listen to me!"

"Why do you not like me?!" she roared from under him. He could have sworn he heard her snarl.

"Joelle, listen! I do like you—"

"Merde! You do not find me preet-ty! Mamma is a Veela, vat is wrong with you?! All of your little friends 'ave—"

"Joelle!" Evan interrupted, giving her shoulders a shake. "You're gorgeous! You have the nicest skin I've ever seen and pretty hair—no spilt ends, impressive!—and I love your make up, it looks like it's professionally done, and where did you get your shoes? They're adorable on you—"

Evan was about to compliment her manicure next but found that his lips had crashed into hers. Her arms went back around his neck, the hand—the one with the wedding band no less—found its way into his hair and her legs were wrapped around his waist.

It was nothing short of vulgar.

Yet, nearly two years later, while the Dark Lord is at his peak and Hogwarts remains the safest place in the United Kingdom, a disheveled picture of an Evans Rosier escorting an equally disheveled looking Mrs. Delacour out of a large villa in Southern France is plastered on The Daily Prophet Society pages. The article will report the curiosity surrounding the situation, especially considering that Mr. Delacour is on a business trip in Germany. Throughout the years, pictures of all the Delacours, including their newest addition by the name of Fleur, are taken. Nearly half of them include the family being led into a stylish boutiques by Evan Rosier who is almost always holding nearly four bags of his own.

If Evan knew that while he and Joelle remained on the couch for the rest of the night snogging endlessly (and later retreating into Evan's own room for even more vulgar misadventures), it would be the start of a countless number of vulgar actions, he may have cringed. Or, considering the next article of clothing Joelle was taking off, he would have beamed brighter than Rowena's Secret's New Citrus Scented Body Shimmer Lotion.

And to think, Mr. Rosier was worried about his son's sexual orientation.

o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o

(A/N: I put the translations in the parenthesis to the french and Merde means shit.

There you go. Not too happy with this (as usual-- the L/N chapter will always be my fav) but Evan is fun. He's metro, okay? xD I was going to make him full on gay but nahh, he'll just be bi but not really know it. Homosexuality was looked down upon in the 70s anyway, probably even more so amoung purebloods. Props to PeevesthePoltergeist! She got me to do Mr. Rosier.

Next chapter: Probably Millicent/Goyle or Pansy/Draco. P/D is my fav ship other than Lucius/Narcissa.

Thanks for the reviews guys!)