forum: the houses competition
house: ravenclaw
year: four
category: drabble
prompt: [Character] Fleur Delacour
a/n: thank you to newt, elaine, gen and holly for being such amazing betas. what would i do without you?
de toute beauté
words: 723
Fleur Delacour is everything beautiful.
The first rays of sunlight that break through a grey sky after a violent thunderstorm and bathe everything in a delicate, wispy glow; the cool respite of a soothing breeze on a hot summer's day; the brilliance of a diamond, which shines through even in the darkest recesses of the world—Fleur has heard it all, and much more, from spellbound strangers and fawning suitors and jealous girls and countless others she can't remember. Compliments to describe how pretty she is, perhaps, but those are nothing more than veiled insults.
Because that is all Fleur can be. Pretty.
It only takes a second to fall under her spell. Oh, she knows her power and she knows it well. Just the hint of a smile and a tinkling laugh can have her bringing the world to its knees, begging for more. It's a powerful thing—and it disgusts her.
Fleur wants to be more. More than just a pretty face. More than just a quarter-Veela with mediocre magic.
Just… more than this. Whatever that means.
And so, when Madame Maxime announces the Triwizard Tournament, she grasps at the opportunity desperately, eager to prove everyone wrong. She is not who they think she is. And she will be the Champion, come what may.
The Goblet spits her name out in a torrent of fiery blue, and Fleur feels like she is floating, elation and adrenaline coursing through her veins. She looks around at her schoolmates, triumph on her face and sees only incredulity in their eyes.
Of course. How could the Veela ever succeed at anything other than being pretty?
She turns away from them, luminous silver hair flying behind her as she walks to the Champions' room. She'll show them.
She'll show them exactly who she is.
But everything is easier said than done.
The tournament is, in short, a disaster. Her skirt catches on fire in the first task and she utterly fails the second. The last one is a joke—Stunned by a supposed professor, of all things.
Everyone tells her she did well.
Fleur draws blood, biting her tongue to keep herself from pointing out that they're lying. She can see the contempt dancing in their eyes, even as they pat her back and assure her that she did 'extraordinarily well'.
She stalks out in a huff, suffocated by the unbearable insincerity of the people surrounding her. Fleur walks blindly and ends up on the bleachers, staring out at the labyrinth she failed to unravel, silent tears dripping down her cheeks. She wonders whether she ever belonged in this world. After all, what is she worth? Pretty eyes and charming smiles? She thinks she'd rather be a Squib than be reduced to that.
"It's alright to fail, you know."
Fleur looks up and sees the red-haired man she spoke to before the task. He had not complimented her looks. She found it refreshing.
"Oh?" she says, because she isn't sure how to respond.
"Yeah. Everyone's out there praising you but we both know better. And it's a bitter pill to swallow, that you didn't succeed, but accepting it is far a better option than deluding yourself with visions of victory—trust me," Bill Weasley says, his blue eyes serious and earnest as they hold her gaze.
Fleur supposes that she should feel offended because he's politely telling her that she's a failure and needs to get over it. But there is honesty in his words which is exactly what she needs right now, not simpering compliments and bold-faced lies.
She manages a tremulous smile. "I know."
He smiles back and laces his fingers through hers, almost nonchalantly. She knows better—his hand shakes a little in her grasp.
They stay like that for a while, looking out into the silent maze as the chatter of the crowd fades behind them. They will be looking for her, she realises. She has been gone too long. Fleur does not care. Bill's are steady as he watches her, and it feels like he is staring into her very soul. She raises a quizzical eyebrow and he grins crookedly. She hides her smile with a curtain of her hair and as she stares out into the misty darkness of the maze, his warm fingers intertwined with hers, Fleur realises that there's nowhere she'd rather be.