A/N
Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition, Round 2. Team, Position: Appleby Arrows, Chaser 1. Task: (setting) Beauxbatons
Prompts: (image) s5. favim orig/150131/black-and-white-city-dark-grunge-Favim. com-2431975. jpg (black and white pictures) / (poem) Don't Go Far Off — Pablo Neruda / (style) letter-fic
Word Count: 2205
Thanks to Sophy and Lexi for beta'ing and giving me precious advice!
Ma chère Fleur,
I've started getting nervous about your prolonged silence. I know you've just been married, but hey, you do remember that you still have a sister, right? Just kidding! I'm actually worried. The teachers try to shield us as much as they can, but we're all aware of the ongoing war. Are you and Bill fighting in it? Are you keeping up the family's honor? And most importantly, are you being careful? For me? For Maman et Papa? They miss you. I miss you too.
Sorry, I think I just stained this with a tear, but you know me; too lazy to rewrite this, even if there aren't many words written yet. Mais hey, we can't waste parchment, can we? Madame Maxime wouldn't be impressed, I fear. I can't understand why she's that crazy about it. Do you? They say it's because she likes animals. What does it have to do with parchment? I guess I'll just go to the Bibliothèque and find out what it is. Have you ever been there? Oh, pardon, silly question. It's amazing! I didn't even know that many books existed and could be in the same place!
I spent my first night there, too. It was rather comfortable actually. I couldn't find the way to my dorm, so… The dawn was stunning to see though!
So weird how things can still be beautiful. Despite the war, I mean. I feel très, très, très alone and sad sometimes, so much that I fear it'll crush me. I would have never thought such a strong and intense feeling could grab me. I just want to go home and be in Papa's arms until you and the others have stopped Celui-Dont-On-Ne-Doit-Pas-Prononcer-Le-Nom (wow, that's long to write!). But I know it doesn't work like that. I don't think you and our parents can keep me safe anymore, sorry.
First, that horrible Tournament you took part in, and then, when the Mangemorts attacked… Why? Why at your wedding? I wanted to scream so loud that it would scare them away, but Papa just took me and disapparated.
So did Harry and his friends.
And when the so-called Savior—the same one who saved my life and the Wizarding World—runs away, well, it speaks volumes, I'd think.
I had even fallen in love with him, do you remember? Mais non, it wasn't supposed to happen, and he chose your husband's little sister.
Why am I not good enough? He's the Chosen One, but still… Je suis Gabrielle Delacour! And you, you were enough for Bill—and for anyone else, for that matter. So now, you are there, you went far off, and I'm here by myself. With only my monsters and fears to keep me company.
C'est la vie, I suppose.
.
Sighing, Gabrielle read what she had written so far. She couldn't send such a letter to her sister; Fleur would never understand. She had married, chosen her husband's side. She had even stopped speaking French, and—Gabrielle was sure—she would send her potential children to Hogwarts. Betraying Beauxbatons, which everyone had always looked down on, even now that many Professors and students from the Academy had chosen to side against Celui-Dont-On-Ne-Doit-Pas-Prononcer-Le-Nom. And they weren't forced to do that; they could have just waited, let English Muggles be killed, and avoid war and death.
But Fleur had chosen, and Gabrielle was not included in her British life. Her sister—the proud Mrs. Weasley—had even stopped writing, and the loss, the sense of abandonment, still burnt, turning into a useless anger or a biting concern, depending on the day. Even Mère and Père seemed to have gone missing; she didn't know anything about them, and sometimes, against her will, she found herself wondering if beyond the wards, an owl was waiting to deliver her their letters.
Frustrated, she drew a line on the word Fleur and wrote Gabrielle. Then, she tilted her head, chewing her lip, and she nodded; letters to herself—it was a good idea.
This way, she knew for certain someone—someone who cared—would open and read her letters; she planned to write many. And in case she wouldn't actually read them, well, she'd know why, without letting her worry, perhaps unnecessarily. With the added benefit that Gabrielle wouldn't wonder when they'd reply to her, but she would enjoy the anticipation of getting mail for once.
Yes, she liked the sound of that.
.
.o.
.
Ma chère Gabrielle,
I can't believe it's been a year already since I started writing these letters. It feels like yesterday, yet... Everything's changed.
If you'll ever decide to come back here—and I hope you do; Beauxbatons needs an illustrious person like you to consider its worth—
.
She stopped writing and giggled, squirting some ink on the parchment—she didn't care. She figured she'd need something to cheer her up in the future, the darkness and the coldness heavy on her heart even at this young age whenever she remembered.
Cold.
Lonely.
Soaked.
Bound.
Why, oh why had Fleur brought her where she was but a leverage? Why did they want to drown her, an innocent child?
She coughed as soon as air painfully filled her lungs, but her heart was still choking, sinking.
Taking a deep breath, she dipped her quill in the ink again.
.
—please, be sure to see the 'Remembering Wall', or, like I call it, the 'Eyes Wall', which should also help you find it. Trust me, it's breathtaking. All those pictures—colored, black and white… All those faces… All those eyes; aware, defying, mysterious… They look at us. Look into the empty distance.
Expecting.
Who knows if they'll still be waiting for something when you'll stop by? You'll come, won't you? I think I may need it in the future—this reminder.
I'm sure you'll recognize many eyes pretty easily, but just in case… See those blue ones? You met her in the Bibliothèque right before your first exam. And those green ones? He was your first kiss. "Just a try," he had said, a sparkle in those deep eyes.
Which reminds me; you are being careful with your Veela power, right? You know how endangering those can be.
.
Sometimes, she missed her big soeur and her advice, and she figured she would always miss her. But someone had to be there for Gabrielle now, and the thought of baby-sitting her adult self wasn't even that odd at this point.
She wondered if she'll ever have children of her own. Nieces? Nephews? If the future wasn't so lonely as it looked, she'd share those letters with them. Gladly.
.
And don't forget those ones in the left corner. They are as elusive as their owner, dear Mademoiselle Martin, the only one who truly looked at you without seeing Fleur or your Mère. It's sad—
.
She scratched that.
.
—odd—
.
It didn't feel right either.
.
—familiar? refreshing? encouraging? to see them again. I really hope to hear your opinion soon; can't wait to actually as I'm at loss for words. As I said, breathtaking; and one of my favorite things of Beauxbatons.
Who knows how many eyes you've been seeing by now. Are they treating you well? Without the usual greed and hunger? Because you deserve it—respect, sincere admiration—you know? You're smart—smarter than most—and your mind is sharp; you can have anything you want. Just don't be afraid of greatness. Remember? It's what Fleur used to say whenever your Veela side scared you. Too much power. I think, I dare say, your sister—
.
It somehow felt good to write your sister, distancing herself.
.
—loved, loves me? you? us? Par la barbe de Merlin, what a mess! It's silly, isn't it? I hope you'll laugh as hard as me at the moment! Just imagine. She and… one, two of us. Surprise! Oh, it's such a pity I can't hear you, and you can't hear me laugh. Which reminds me, I hope Wizards will be using phones when I grow up. Muggles' things are interesting sometimes; they compensate for the lack of magic in clever ways. Having both magic and their technologies would make one so powerful… I wonder...
Oh, Claire is calling for me. Right, dinner time! Très bien; I'm starving!
Take care,
Gabrielle.
.
.o.
.
"We love you," Fleur and Bill had said to Dominique as she had been leaving for Beauxbatons. "Don't forget to write to tell us how you are doing."
And write she did; she was very dedicated.
Letters kept coming from France, scads of letters. So many that Fleur and Bill wondered when Dominique found time to study. (Apparently, she did as she was at the top of her class.) So many letters that they had decided to split them, replying to them alternately.
They didn't realize Dominique was aware of their innocent deal until an old box came; the note on it brief and scribbled.
Papa, I know you'd be supposed to answer this time, but I really think Maman should be the one to open this. Please, be by her side. Maman, there is a loose brick in the fireplace in my dorm. I wasn't searching for it, I don't think I was supposed to find it, but I did, and I discovered its hidden secret. Tatie truly works in mysterious ways sometimes.
There weren't many tantes in their family, and even less were the ones who'd fit such a description.
Ma petite soeur. So brave, so sweet, so stubborn, Fleur thought, her heart aching. So stupid.
Her sister had disappeared soon after the end of the War, never to be heard from except some random news about a mysterious Dame and her supposed followers who—as they themselves had put—sang death to the enemies.
"Enemies who are still unknown to anyone but those 'singers'," said people. But that's where their jokes usually ended as no one really wanted to deal with such elusive shadows that seemed to swallow people. The ones who were released wouldn't speak, and the others just disappeared into nothing; not even memories of them were permitted to linger.
Fleur glanced at Dominique's note once again, hope and fear battling in her chest.
Gabrielle.
Could she finally find her little sister in that box? Whispers brought by the wind about a Dark Lady rising could never find space in her heart, but this...
Steadied by Bill's warm hand on her shoulder, she opened the box; it was filled with letters. She recognized the flourished hand-writing.
Gabrielle might have been lost to them, but her soul—its vastness and greatness—was still there, enclosed in such a tiny thing.
.
To whoever will find this, or rather, to whomever this has found its way to,
your heart is pure, and so is your intent. Let this help you. It was a gift, a gift to myself, supposed to help me prevail against the solitude and bitterness that wrapped me when I was young. My teen self thought I would be delighted to find company and solace in my own letters while aging. I was young and lonely; the war raged. The wards, meant to protect us, shielded us from love as well.
There was indeed a time when I forgot, let the bitterness prevail, but these letters didn't allow me to stray from the path I had chosen for myself.
What needs to be done must be done. People are basking in their fake safety as the darkness lurks and grows. All you're asked to do is to pass the torch to the next person so that its light can reach further and further chasing the shadows, burning their shelters. When the last remaining of darkness will disappear, then, and only then, I'll be found—shadow amongst shadows, not to disturb the newborn light.
.
Fleur's tears shone on her face as they rolled on her cheeks. She let them stream, hoping they'd be bright enough to bring Gabrielle home.
Silently, Bill summoned a quill, an inkwell, and some parchment.
§§§
Because in that moment you'll have gone so far
I'll wander over all the earth, asking,
Will you come back? Will you leave me here, dying?
§§§
Fleur,
Beauxbatons is still as beautiful as I remember it. I like wandering through its majestic gardens; it's like a lenitive balm. Dominique seems to be aware of it too. She is a fine young Lady, and you must be very proud—I know I am. When you'll come and visit her on the Parents' Day, remember, both of you, I'll be waiting by the place where the sun dances, ma soeur.
Love,
Gabrielle
P.S. That loose brick I'm certain Dominique mentioned in her last note seems to be an exact copy of the one in our old room at home. That's why I chose it.
.
Gabrielle watched the owl soar, her letter safe between its claws, as she plunged her hand into the clear water of Beauxbatons healing fountain, the fresh caress soothing her soul.
Some French words:
-Ma chère = my dear
-Maman/Mère = Mum/Mother
-Papa/Père = Dad/Father
-Soeur = sister
-Celui-Dont-On-Ne-Doit-Pas-Prononcer-Le-Nom = He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named
-Mangemorts = Death Eaters
-Bibliothèque = Library
-Très bien =very well
-Petite = little
-Tatie/Tante = Aunt
-Dame = Lady