A/N: This will be...interesting...I suppose. Not my best work; actually, I rather dislike it. But I shall give it a try anyway. Please correct my atrocious French if you have the capability to do so. Don't be shy, I want to know! I take Spanish so I'm utterly devoid of French skills. Reviews would be ever so lovely, as always.
Two Sisters
The day was promising and bright.
The sun was pouring through the windows, covering everything with its benevolent golden smile, and highlighting the hair of one particular girl. Her name was Gabrielle Delacour, and she was waiting to be called.
xXx
Gabrielle basked in the warm light of the sun and smiled to her friend, Amélie. Her friend rolled her eyes. "I hope La Madame announces quickly," Amélie said unsympathetically. "I want to eat."
Gabrielle only laughed and tossed her brilliant platinum blonde curls. "You always want to eat. La Madame always says you're a glutton. French girls are supposed to be elegant and show little appetite." Amélie was thicker and stockier than graceful Gabrielle. And La Madame had never let it go. Beauxbatons was a school for the beautiful; everyone knew it. Gabrielle continued, oblivious to Amélie's scowl. "Besides, aren't you excited? This could be the one chance to get out of this stuffy school." She leaned in closer. "British men are supposed to be attractive," she said coyly.
Amélie frowned deeply. "You're starting to turn into La Madame. What does the woman have against food?" Her expression saddened. "And you know that I won't get chosen. La Madame chooses favorites. You're one of them. Little wonder. You're the prettiest girl in this school, next to your sister. La Madame has always liked pretty girls."
Gabrielle sniffed disdainfully. "I'm always second best to my sister. Fleur this and Fleur that, you'd think that she was the only child. She's prettier than me too. She just has to be good at everything. She will be called for sure." And then that will be dandy; all the more reason to fawn over Fleur, Mama's flower, she thought.
Her friend considered her kindly. "You two are both lucky. Your grandmother is a veela, and your mother is so beautiful that you'd think she was pure veela herself. I wish my family was like yours."
Gabrielle snorted at this. "You wish your family was like mine? If you're not pretty in my family, then you're disowned. There's no alternative. And my mother obviously inherited Grandmother's temper. She'll get angry in a second, and when she does, you'd better watch out. If you look carefully, you can almost see the wings growing out of her back, and her nose changing into a beak as she yells," she said derisively. "Veela are scary," she added. So it isn't really true. Maman had a much more agreeable temper than Grandmother. But Maman is so undeniably French. From the clothes, to the perfume, to the obsessive weight-watching, Maman is French through and through. Grandmother, is a veela, and she'll be Bulgarian for life, thought Gabrielle.
Before Amélie had a chance to reply, La Madame stood up and clapped her hands imperiously. "Mes filles et mes messieurs, calme, s'il vous plaît. Quiet please!" she said loudly, in her oddly accented English. The rustle and talking lasted a moment longer before settling down. La Madame cleared her throat. "As you all know, I have been making decisions as to who will have the privilege of going to England. The people I have chosen are expected to be good ambassadors and representatives of Beauxbatons and France. I have looked at your grades and behavior. From these aspects, I have chosen twenty lucky students who will be accompanying me to l'Angleterre, the land of the English." La Madame emphasized "the land of the English" in the same way that she might emphasize something such as "the land of the mentally unsound."
Questions started whizzing around the room, and Gabrielle could hear them going around. "It's supposed to be a privilege. Who even knows why we're going to England? I've heard it's a dreadfully barbaric land. What business do we have there?" Gabrielle knew about the trip beforehand: courtesy of her darling sister Fleur. But Fleur had refused to give information as to why the esteemed Academy of Beauxbatons was visiting the "ratty" Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. The two schools had not been on the best of terms, Gabrielle had heard, and so she was sure it was not simply a courtesy visit, and God forbid they visit the barbaric English for a social occasion. It simply Wasn't Done. There was a rather large list of things at Beauxbatons that Weren't Done. Examples were: not revealing oneself to a Muggle, not losing one's elegant figure due to overeating (heavens no, that was hardly even imaginable), and being mistaken for anything other than French. Being French was the epitome of fashion, and they were told never to forget it. Now of course, being on too friendly terms with the loud, bawdy English was probably Number One on the list of things that Weren't Done. And the entire school knew it. Probably even La Madame knew it, judging from the distastefully wrinkling of her nose.
Gabrielle decided then that the French were incredibly pompous. Somehow, she had never inherited that attitude herself, possibly because she had actually lived in Bulgaria for a measure of time, with her Grandmother. Bulgaria was a much more down to earth place. From Grandmother, she had learned to be very, very humble about herself, and not draw flamboyant attention. Grandmother was a veela, thus, her temperament easily going from happy-go-lucky to not-so-much in the span of a few seconds. And one learned after an encounter with a veela that veela-anger was not a terribly pleasant thing to witness. Fleur, on the other hand, being doted on by their very French mother, was eager to be the star, eager to show off her talents. Needless to say, Fleur and Grandmother did not get along well. Neither did Fleur and Gabrielle. Fleur was constantly calling her a "shy little church mouse" and saying how she was too timid to do anything. I am not timid, Gabrielle argued mentally, I am just not stuck up. There's a difference.
La Madame hushed the students. "It has my explicit desire for the details of our little visit to be kept a secret from all of you. I did not want any false or nasty rumors to be spread, as you all so very notorious for spreading gossip shamelessly. But now I shall tell you, my dears." She paused slightly for dramatic effect. "The three wizarding schools, Hogwarts, Durmstrang, and our own Beauxbatons have arranged for an age-old tournament to be brought back into effect. The Triwizard Tournament has not been attempted for hundreds of years due to the extreme risks and high mortality rates. However, after a few revisions, the tournament has been deemed safe and revived. I trust you all have learned of this historical tournament in your history classes?"
The students bobbed their heads in assent.
"Lovely. Now you all know the reason for our trip to England. It will be a chance for us to bring honor to Beauxbatons. I hope you all take this quite seriously and support those of us who are going, instead of feeling sour and neglected. It is just as wonderful to be at home and wish our champions good luck." There was chittering. Amélie elbowed Gabrielle meaningfully, whispering, "See? She wants to make it seem like 'we're all special.' That's a load of hooey. Everyone knows that the ones that go are the best. The rest of us are just leftovers."
Gabrielle said, "That's not true," although she knew perfectly well that Amélie was right. La Madame continued, "I am sure you are all eagerly awaiting my announcement, and I shall torture you no more. Here are the names—"
The students took a collective breath. Gabrielle closed her eyes. I better get it. I know that Fleur will, but I better get it too. She shot a glance across the huge hall and saw Fleur smiling knowingly. Prat. She knows she'll get it. I'll wager that La Madame already told her. The names were being called.
"—Henri Thoreau. Alexandre Girard. Aimée-Marie Roux. Adrien Morel. Stephanie DuBois. Blanche Bernard. Fleur Delacour—"
There it is. Fleur's name. Good God, look at her over there, with her dazzling smile, trying to outshine the sun. Mama will hear about this within the minute, I'm sure. Oh La Madame, call my name, s'il vous plaît!"
"—David-Sophie Moreau. Anne Blanc. Luc Lambert. Christine Martin. Louise Chirac—"
Why hasn't she gotten to my name yet? What if I'm not going? What if it's only Fleur? Please no, Mon Dieu, let me go! Several few more names passed. Then to the last few.
"—Jacques Bernet. Jean-Baptist du Bourg. And Karine-George Pétain. Congratulations to all of you who have been chosen. Good health to you who have not. Good day, mademoiselles, messieurs."
But…my name. You didn't call me! What about me, La Madame? You can't leave me behind in Beauxbatons, you just can't! I'll drop out. I'll run away to Bulgaria. I'll fly to England by myself, but you can't leave me here in France. You must have made a mistake. You must have. Gabrielle felt the panic rising uncontrollably in her throat. True, she was well-tempered. True, she was the sweet one. But she was beautiful; she was part-veela, and she was not used to being denied things in life. Especially not now. She could feel pressure at her shoulders, and she knew that if she were a real veela, the wings would be sprouting, big and ugly, right now.
Amélie's dumbstruck voice intruded. "La Madame didn't call your name, Gabrielle! I can't believe you weren't chosen! But that's all right. Really, it is. You can stay here with me. Let Fleur go off to stupid England. We'll have a grand old time in France; you'll see!" she said hopefully. No, thought Gabrielle, her throat thick. You don't understand. I can't be left in France. I'm not meant to stay here. I don't want to stay here! She was, after all, still a slightly spoiled child.
Gabrielle made her decision swiftly. She jumped up rudely, ignoring Amélie's surprised squawk, and marched straight up to the front table where La Madame sat smiling. "Madame Maxime," Gabrielle said loudly, planting her feet purposefully on the ground. "I believe you forgot to call my name," she said, as if it was an obvious mistake.
La Madame narrowed her eyes. "Oh did I, Mademoiselle Delacour? I don't believe I did. I don't think you were on the list at all to begin with."
Really! The nerve of that stupid woman! "You don't think I'm intelligent enough to go to England with you? Am I any less so than Fleur? Have you even checked our grades recently? Or have you simply been choosing favorites like you always do? Am I not pretty enough to go to England, dearest Madame? Not pretty enough to be a favorite?" Gabrielle asked daringly. "Can you look me in the eye and tell me that I am any less beautiful than Fleur? Really, look at me, and tell me so."
La Madame seemed taken aback by Gabrielle's sudden outburst. "Mademoiselle Delacour, your conduct is unseemingly for a French lady. Now, I shan't even consider your request; you are far to rash to be a proper ambassador."
Gabrielle frowned fearsomely. "I can do magic better than Fleur, Madame. I can certainly do better than her."
La Madame settled back into her chair. "It hardly matters in your case, mademoiselle. The tournament is for wizards and witches of age seventeen or above. And you will only be turning fourteen, yes?"
"But you are taking other girls and boys that are fourteen! Why can't I be one of their number?"
"Because you are rude and unladylike. Does that answer your question?"
"I am going, Madame. Whether I have to go with you or not, I am not staying in this stale old school, one of the leftovers. I am going to l'Angleterre," Gabrielle said with determination. "You can't stop me."
At that moment, Fleur came breezing up to the front table, a look of carelessness spread like a veil across her delicate features. "Madame Maxime, is my sister pestering you?"
La Madame smiled warmly when she set eyes on her favorite pupil. "Ah, mon petit cher, your sister is being a little bothersome. She isn't on the list, yet she is quite the forceful debater. I should commend her, if it weren't for her shocking audacity." Gabrielle rolled her eyes when she heard this. My goodness, I don't think I've ever seen a teacher suck up to a student until now. Who is La Madame, my sister or Madame Maxime? Fleur waltzes around like she owns the place, and the teachers seem to be buying her little charade. What a bunch of airheads.
Fleur grinned. "But La Madame, why can't she go?" she asked innocently, stretching her blue eyes wide, shooting the merest glance at Gabrielle. "I shall be desolate and lonely in England by myself. I should think that Gabrielle would be good company."
Gabrielle was shocked, and it was showing quite plainly on her face. Why is she arguing in my favor? Fleur has never been one to show sisterly devotion. What's that girl got up her sleeve? Knowing her, this can't be an act of compassion. La Madame considered Fleur's words for a few seconds, before melting like butter under Fleur's winning smile. "Oh, I suppose so. I wouldn't want my star student to be alone in a foreign country. Having family nearby is always nice." She cast a flippant hand toward Gabrielle. "The girl can go. Having twenty-one students instead of twenty shouldn't be too much of a burden."
Ah, but au contraire, Fleur employed her sweets again. "Madame, it should be quite the squeeze, and that disreputable Hogwarts might think we are trying to cheat by bringing an extra student. I think it shan't be too much of a worry to let someone go, like, oh I don't know, maybe Aimée-Marie Roux. I've noticed that Aimée-Marie's grades have been slipping just a little, and perhaps the stress wouldn't be good on her figure. God knows she's been eating her feelings, and—" she bent in closer, "—it's showing," she whispered confidentially.
Gabrielle grimaced. Fleur, you're a witch, you are. You know that Aimée-Marie is your only competition, so you mean to get rid of her. And so you used me as an excuse to kick someone else off the list. You're a witch in the truest sense, and you're doubly a witch, both magically and in personality. But I'm glad you've worked me into your little scheme. I shall enjoy being in England very much.
La Madame seemed to contemplate it for a minute. "Oui, I have been noticing a slight bit of bloating on Aimée-Marie's part, and I've been trying to lower her stress levels, but that girl simply cannot avoid food when she's nervous. I suppose it won't be too much of a trouble to let her go. But I'm sure we're all jealous of your veela metabolism, Fleur. Who wouldn't be?" she said merrily, trilling her French like a bird. Gabrielle was miffed. Yes, and I'm not veela at all. Thank you quite much, La Madame. "Ah hem," she said loudly, to remind the two of her presence.
Fleur and La Madame looked over at her with surprise, as if they had forgotten she was there. La Madame jolted up, "Oh yes. So I shall arrange for you, Gabrielle, to come on the trip." She smiled complacently. "But you must remember to whom you owe this dear privilege. Your kind, self-sacrificing sister. You are not in England for a vacation, remember. You will be keeping your sister company."
Fleur simpered politely, "I shan't have you leave my sight, Gabrielle. It's not a safe place, after all."
La Madame nodded vigorously. "The conditions for your acceptance are simple. You are cater to Fleur's needs, because as we both know, Fleur is very delicate in health, and the harsh English weather will not be good for her in the slightest. I shall be placing her in your care, Gabrielle."
Gabrielle felt her heart sinking and swiveled around to face Fleur. "So I'm going to be your handmaiden? Your servant, perhaps?"
Fleur smiled with all the venom of a cobra. "A labor of love is not a labor at all, Gabrielle. Shouldn't you be happy that you're coming with me? We will have quality sister time together, time that is so precious and sparse."
La Madame chirped happily. "You said it just right. 'A labor of love is not a labor at all.' Of course not. It shouldn't be, if you truly love her, Gabrielle."
Gabrielle felt her stomach clench and unclench. You make the worst things sound like candy, Fleur. You know full well that you're sentencing me to a year of servitude. You're a lovely girl, you are. And La Madame is an airhead along with you. You could convince her of anything. But Gabrielle knew that it was a lost cause, and that really, she should be grateful that she was going to England at all. She would find some means to get away; there was plenty of time for that. And Fleur was so easily distracted; she would certainly forget that her sister wasn't there. Gabrielle smirked in the privacy of her mind. Fleur and I don't get along. She'll get sick of me soon enough, that she'll have to send me away. She won't find me a compliant lady-in-waiting. Non! And all that pish posh about Fleur's "bad health" was just that. Pish posh. Fleur was as healthy as a blooming young filly; there wasn't anything wrong with her. She was simply good at feigning delicacy that everyone believed her. Fleur is as strong as a young lad, Gabrielle thought impishly.
"Away you go then, both of you," said La Madame airily. "The owls will be going out to the parents of the selected. Lucky, the Delacour family who will have both their girls going." She winked.
Fleur patted Gabrielle repulsively on the back and went to her own special table. Gabrielle walked back to Amélie, a smug smile gracing her lips. Amélie fluttered up to her. "What did you ask La Madame, eh?"
Gabrielle grinned. "I'm going."
Amélie sat down, disappointed. "You are? You're going to leave me behind again? Gabrielle, there's no one interesting left in this school. Beauxbatons this year will be a waste of time. I might as well drop out."
The smiling girl hugged her. "Don't be so blue. You'll do fine. You don't like England anyway."
Amélie looked genuinely sad. "Perhaps not. But that won't make it any easier here. Will you remember me in England? Promise you'll write?"
"Every day. I promise," Gabrielle assured her.
Amélie suddenly threw her arms around her friend in a wild embrace. "Come back, okay? Don't get hurt in England," she whispered into Gabrielle's shoulder.
Gabrielle laughed. "Silly girl. The English won't hurt us. Why should they? Unless their jealous," she said mischievously. "Which they may well be. We French inspire jealousy in everyone." Despite her cheerful attempts at keeping things light, she felt a lump growing in her throat. It would be difficult to leave everyone behind. But Amélie would be fine, maybe even meet some new people; she always clung around Gabrielle, which made making new friends difficult. It was all for the best. Gabrielle finally said, "Take care. We'll be back before you know it."
Amélie wiped her wet face. "Au revoir, then."
They said their goodbyes, and Gabrielle rushed to the dormitories and stuffed her clothes into a duffel bag. She was going home with Fleur, to pack. She glanced out the window grinned at the bright sunshine in the courtyard, full of promises. Today was a new day, indeed. The beginning of something special.
"À l'Angleterre. Et la à l'aventure," she said to herself softly.