A/N: Wow, I wrote something...alright this isn't my best work, but I tried, and I am so thankful to FloreanFortescue47 and my friend Luna Storm for betaing this for me and being supportive of my writing :) This was written for the IWSC, and I am excited to see the rest of the fics for this challenge (here's my unconventional take on the act of confusing someone...eep)
School: Mahoutokoro
Year 6
Theme: Confundo
Prompts: Main- Fleur Delacour [Character] Secondary- Valentine's Day [Event]; "You're my very own prince charming," she said. [Speech]
Word Count: 2999 *phew*
Translations of the French used:
Bonjour-Hello
Bouillabaisse-A French stew described in Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire
Au revoir-Goodbye
Merci-Thank you
C'est magnifique-How magnificent!
Non-no
Bonne nuit-Goodnight
Mon ami-My friend
Mes amies-My friends
Chérie-Darling, honey, dear, sweetheart
Je suis un imbécile-I am a fool
Je t'aime-I love you
Fleur Delacour knew she was practically perfect. Not only was she well aware of her stunning looks, but also of her brilliance, her charm, and her heart of gold. Teachers loved her, boys from every year doted on her, and the fates seemed to give her simply everything one girl could ask for. Except for Alexandre Beaumonte.
It was the week before Valentine's Day during Miss Delacour's fifth year at Beauxbatons, and notes and cards piled up exponentially outside of her dormitory. With a winning smile and a toss of her hair, Fleur only thanked the hordes of adoring boys clamoring for her attention. Sighs and groans from many young men echoed through the gilded hallways as each one lamented their misfortune to be one of many snubbed by Mademoiselle Delacour.
Throughout the brisk Tuesday morning, Fleur humbly declined to acknowledge the throng of boys crowding her pathway to Potions class. Her companions of choice, Lucille Pierre and Angelique St. Marcelle, held their noses high in the air and swished the feet of their robes as the trio proceeded past teachers and students. While her friends carried themselves with haughty smirks and arrogance, Fleur simply smiled gently and pushed a stray platinum strand away from her line of sight. And what was in her line of sight? It was far better than any adoring third-year or compliant admirer. Alexandre was seated, no, sprawled, on a bench in a secluded alcove.
The modern schoolgirl's fantasy, Alexandre Beaumonte was rugged, dashingly handsome and brilliant beyond belief. From the artful way he rolled the cuffs of his pale robes to his perfectly mussed mass of copper curls, he was simply sensational. Fleur desired him fully and wholeheartedly, and all but broadcasting her deep attraction, dozens of girls abandoned their pursuit of him. If the stunning, gorgeous, perfection's embodiment Fleur Delacour craved Alexandre, then Alexandre she would inevitably get.
As the handsome Monsieur Beaumonte languidly pored over his notes, Fleur marveled at each detail of his flawless body. His azure eyes glimmered in the sunlight, he smelled of crisp parchment and pinewood, and his nimble fingers twitched slightly as he flourished pen over paper. Yes, Fleur was positively smitten, and forgetting all prudent manners, she left her friends and sauntered to a graceful perch on the end of his bench.
"Bonjour, Alexandre." She murmured softly a few seconds later, in awe of his perfection. "What are you studying today?" For the first time since she had placed herself on the edge of the seat, he looked up through long lashes at the blonde beauty before him. Fleur adopted her most winning smile in expectancy of a swoon, a sigh, perhaps a smirk in her direction. Instead, she received from him a low, husky murmur of a Latin title, and a glance in the direction of the thinning crowd in the hallway.
In the entirety of Fleur's life, she had grown accustomed to receiving everything she wanted. No, this was not because she was spoiled, or because she was entitled. Instead, she was generous and caring, gorgeous and intelligent, practically perfect in every way. There was no hint of arrogance, no haughty glare or snobbish gestures. Fleur was kind, gentle, and loved by nearly everyone. Thus it is no surprise that, when Alexandre did not treat her with the same affection, she proceeded to question and scheme. After all, if he did not desire Fleur Delacour now, she would make sure he did, and fulfill the only empty desire she possessed. Especially in time for Valentine's Day.
With a mind full of wonder and shock, Fleur processed the snub she had just received. Had she missed a piece of last night's bouillabaisse while flossing her teeth? Was she puffy, sweaty, or greasy? What was so wrong with her that Alexandre simply turned away when she attempted to reach out? Furthermore, why must she pine so desperately for a boy who wanted nothing to do with her, and what could she do about it?
"I really must be getting to class now. Au revoir." In her abrupt rise from her seat, Fleur's pale blue robes tangled momentarily in her stack of textbooks as she strode away from Alexandre. With a slip and a twist, the whole pile was scattered on the hallway floor, and only two minutes remained, according to the gilded clock, until potions class would start. To the immense surprise of Miss Delacour, her knight in shining armor was not a lovesick boy or a caring friend, but rather Alexandre Beaumonte himself. He reached out those lean arms to assist her in gathering her books, and her heart turned into a fondue right then and there.
"Merci, Alexandre." She sincerely smiled at the boy in front of her, and to her immense surprise, he met her eyes for a split second, holding her thickest-bound tome up to his chest. "You're my very own prince charming," she said.
"Would this happen to be a record of the 1792 Triwizard Tournament? I am very much enamored with the concept of the event, as well as the proceedings and cancellation. Would you object to lending me this resource upon finishing it?" Her heart skipped faster with each word flowing out of the typically silent student.
"C'est magnifique!" She exclaimed. "I will have it ready for you by this evening. Shall we convene in the library?" He nodded once, and a spark in her heart that had threatened to perish was ignited powerfully once more. "I must be on my way to class, but you will meet me later tonight, non?" Without looking back to glimpse his affirmation, she strolled away from the alcove and proceeded to her class with thirty seconds to spare. All eyes were on her as Fleur ambled through the door, but she merely tossed her silvery locks and sat down in between Angelique and Lucille, shooting a knowing smirk to her best friends before turning her attention to her professor.
Potions class, typically a dry subject failing to hold Fleur's steady interest, ventured into a rather intriguing topic that Tuesday: Amortentia, the most powerful love potion known to any magical being. An incredibly dangerous endeavor, brewing this potion required immense skill and constant supply to maintain the false, obsessive love that it created. The professor had spoken in hushed tones of appealing scents and steam spirals; and warned all the students in the class that if an individual wished to refrain from partaking in the brewing, they would not be reprimanded, for the potion was not one to be trifled with.
Fleur was enamored with the lesson, to say the very least. As she added the exotic ingredients, stirred in the moonstone, and waited for the telltale smoke and the mother-of-pearl sheen to appear. When her cauldron's color morphed, the odorless solution began to emit a pleasant odor, evidently uniquely suited to herself. Oddly enough, while she recognized the lavender of her childhood garden and freshly baked baguettes, there was an undertone of salty ocean water, prickling her nose while completely intoxicating her senses.
The professor waited for Miss Delacour to finish sniffing the aroma before examining the pot of Amortentia. Over a dozen students were sidelined as their instructor pronounced her substance impeccable, and whisked the cauldron away with a quick vanishing spell.
"Can't have this getting into the wrong hands, non?" But unbeknownst to anyone, including her own rational judgment, Fleur had pocketed a minuscule vial of the shimmering liquid inside her powder-blue robes.
The hours of the day ticked by in a haze of simple classes and more graciously rejected proposals for Valentine's Day. Fleur simply could not bear to focus in anticipation of her evening meeting with Alexandre. She understood the simplicity of handing him a book, but relished the thought of precious time with him. During dinner, she sped through the last chapters of the riveting literature, and fled the dining hall to the cozy confines of her bathroom vanity. Makeup was hurriedly donned, hair was brushed at lightning speed, and several experimental grins and winks were aimed at the rose-tinted glass.
About a half-hour after dinner's end, Fleur found herself outside the soon-closing yet wonderful library. The view was spectacular not only for the stacks of books and atmospheric charm, but also the mop of curls awaiting her at a center mahogany table. Her feet found themselves speeding towards the empty chair next to his, book in one hand and nothing in the other. Alexandre smiled in her direction, but Fleur realized with a melancholy feeling that he was not excited to lay eyes on her, but on the thick book she had cradled in her arm.
"Merci, Fleur. I look forward to exchanging opinions on this fascinating work and topic. Bonne nuit." He punctuated the remark with a sip of iced tea from the dining hall, and proceeded to leave the library through a side exit into a small garden clearing. As she watched his slow trek to a secluded bench, her heart sank as though dragged into quicksand, with little hope of return. Her fingers reached the vial with her meager amount of Amortentia through the pocket of her silky robes. If she used this, there was no going back. She could have what she dreamed of, no, she would have it! She wanted - needed Alexandre.
With desperation written in every tremble her forefinger and thumb, Fleur cautiously stepped forward. His drink lay forgotten on the table in front of her. The library was now dimly lit by twinkling pink lights close to the ceiling, yet another reminder of the impending holiday. In two small movements, the sole thing she longed for in life could be within her grasp. As a small, quivering breath caught in her throat, Fleur seized the glass of tea and spilled the alabaster liquid out of the vial and into the cup.
"Alexandre, mon ami!" She cried, her voice growing stronger with each syllable and miraculously not disturbing the drowsing librarian. "You have forgotten your drink!" And with a turn of her heel, Fleur strode out of the side exit and reached a bemused Alexandre.
"Ah, yes. I was contemplating where I had misplaced that." His calloused palm touched hers for a split second, and she could swear sparks flew between their fingertips. He took a lengthy sip of the liquid and blinked several times before his eyes glazed over, then refocused slowly. "Fleur?"
His face seemed to soften the more he examined her angelic features, book and drink dropped and forgotten on the ground. Those sparkling eyes roved over every aspect of the young woman before him, and his full lips pulled back to reveal a wide, lovestruck grin.
"Fleur," he breathed, testing the melodic name upon the tip of his tongue. "Fleur." With each repetition, the drum of her heartbeat increased in tempo to a flawless crescendo as both of her hands were seized in his. Under the fading rays of the sunset, her hair delicately framed her face, and a cool breeze tousled a carefully styled swath. As the platinum locks fell onto her face, Alexandre broke the embrace of their hands and swept the strands away from her spell-binding midnight eyes. Fleur thought she could melt.
She wondered to herself then, during those moments they shared with eyes locked, fingers intertwined. She wondered if her potion had been enough to uncloud his eyes, to allow him to look past the everyday, look past himself and his studies, and see her in front of him. As their lips met across a dying sun, as her intentions and worries melted away into long-awaited bliss, she thought to herself, of course, it was true. You are Fleur Delacour, and now, you have everything you've ever wanted.
As days ticked into hours and hours faded into stolen kisses and whispered moments, the student body became suspicious. Fleur spent all her spare moments obsessing over the wonderful Alexandre, as was the norm, but now, Alexandre has begun to return the affections in earnest. He had completely reversed the platonic relationship between himself and Miss Delacour, and had done so in a completely opposite fashion than his normal behavior.
His meals, formerly spent in solitude and study, transferred to tables of adoring fans and romantic meals prepared for two. His passages in between class periods, eternally spent in sunlit alcoves with companions of literature and poetry, took place in shadowy broom closets with a giggling sheet of blonde hair. His serious nature had been abruptly abandoned for grand gestures and doting affection; his mysterious charm replaced with chivalrous adorability.
Whenever Lucille and Angelique attempted to outline these differences to Fleur, she would simply melt into a puddle at the mention of Alexandre's name and become unaware of phrases that followed. She was incoherently and irrevocably in love with Monsieur Beaumonte, and would not reason with anyone who questioned their relationship. At last, on February 13, an intervention was staged.
"What has happened to Alexandre?" Angelique questioned as she forcefully dragged Fleur into an empty classroom. Her black braids sliced through the air as she whirled around to close the door behind Lucille. With the dreamy cast of her eyes fading, Miss Delacour turned on her two best friends.
"Why? Are you assuming there is something wrong? Is it shocking that I would not have a Valentine? A prince charming to sweep me off my feet?" Her eyes darkened to a near violet. "Non. I will not have you insult me and Alexandre, I simply will not have it!"
"But Fleur, mon ami, don't you realize it?" Her brunette friend erupted. "He is not the same Alexandre you fell in love with, he simply isn't!" And with a sinking stomach and a crestfallen whimper, Fleur realized that her longing and clouded judgment had altered the boy she fell in love with to the core. Her only option was to allow the meager effects of the potion to wear off, but how would she be able to break it to her friends, her peers, her teachers, and worst of all, Alexandre?
"He is not! And I fully take responsibility, I beg of you, mes amies, do not unfairly judge me for this mistake!" Her eyes began to water as she realized the true consequences of her actions. She had not only broken school policies, but tampered with another student's mind and confused his judgement severely. This no doubt affected both of their studies, their friendships, their reputations, and their souls. Fleur did not require a glance at Angelique or Lucille to reach her decision. Tomorrow was Valentine's Day, and she would not have anyone to celebrate it with.
She tucked a note into Alexandre's robes during lunch, requesting a meeting. Later that afternoon, a solitary scrap of paper attached to a lonely rose fluttered down from the sky, illuminated with the piercing sunlight. When the delicate flower drifted down upon her books, her shaking hands unfurled the parchment message.
Chérie,
In response: upon the eleventh hour, a courtyard rendezvous.
~A
Fleur anxiously paced in the dark courtyard, circulating the golden fountain that was decorated with whimsical pink flowers in preparation for tomorrow's holiday. Her worries flooded her senses, and a voice in the back of her tumultuous mind whispered that she may have made a tragic error in inviting Alexandre to meet with her. Alas, she was not alone with her emotions and the moon any longer, for the boy in question was emerging from a pathway leading back to the castle.
"Fleur, chérie!" He exclaimed as quietly as possible.
"Alexandre, I have a confession. Je suis un imbécile." Her voice quivered and shook until breaking on the last word, and her hands nervously fidgeted in the dim light cast by a far-off dormitory window.
"A fool? But why, my love?" In this one perfect moment, she examined his gorgeous features, the boy she fell in love with over the years and realized to preserve that boy she must let him go.
"I have committed a wrong, a great wrong. But no longer will I attempt to hold you in this relationship. Je t'aime, Alexandre. But you don't love me back, and I must accept." As the words erupted from her lips, she dropped the vial with her remaining Amortentia and ground the glass into the dirt. His face hardened in confusion. It was midnight on Valentine's Day, and the effects of the befuddling potion had worn off (as love potions do).
"Fleur? Why have you done this, I have been explicitly clear that I will not pursue-" But he never got to finish his sentence, for Fleur uttered 'Obliviate' and erased the memories of the best week of her life from his mind. As she walked away from the bewildered boy, she turned around one last time to watch Alexandre pick up a book from a bench. The book that had lain forgotten on the ground after their first kiss, reunited with its rightful reader at last.
As the Valentine's buzz faded from Beauxbatons and exam preparations ensued, Fleur thrust herself into her studies with a newfound fervor and swore off love for the foreseeable future. Although she was constantly courted by adolescent boys aplenty, she cast off any romantic attention and channeled her pent-up passion into research of adventure and aspirations. No one questioned her abrupt separation from Monsieur Beaumonte. As a matter of fact, several rejoiced, because it meant Fleur was available to woo once more.
And as for Alexandre himself? Well, he reverted back to his reserved, enigmatic, desirable self. Occasionally, someone would remember the brief fling he shared with Miss Delacour, but he would simply pause for a moment in the hallway, attempting to remember what seemed to have happened in a faded dream. After a moment of puzzling, he'd soldier through the powder-blue robes at Beauxbatons with a look of amused confusion on his face, none the wiser.