✴ Chapter One ✴
Fleur smoothed the pale-blue hat perched jauntily on her perfect blonde hair.
"How do I look?" she asked with a winning smile. Mirielle laughed as she combed out her brown tresses.
"Like Aphrodite," she joked, bending to brush her almost waist-length hair. It was Fleur's turned to laugh – she took the brush from her friend and performed the task for her, as Mirielle closed her gray eyes in cat-like bliss.
"Ladies, ladies!" cried their Headmistress, Madame Maxime, in a strong French accent. She clapped her hands and all the girls lined up, chattering. Mirielle drew her hair back in a pony-tail, her hands brisk and practiced. She placed the hat upon her head, brushing a stray lock behind her ear.
The tall doors to the Great Hall swung open, and the girls of Beauxbaton entered, Mirielle in perfect step with her classmates.
The Great Hall was impressive, the tall ceiling disappearing into a night-sky, many illuminated candles hanging, suspended in the air by magic. As they walked down the long alley between the tables, Mirielle felt every eye upon her and her classmates. She held her head high and stared straight ahead, pretending to ignore the rushing embarrassment she felt under the gaze of all. Ahead of her, she saw Fleur switch her mechanical stride to a showy walk, swinging her hips. That made Mirielle laugh, as she saw the stunned expressions on the boys they passed.
They reached the front of the hall, and lined up. Their Headmistress exchanged words with the Hogwarts Headmaster, Albus Dumbledore. Fleur was standing next to her.
"Look at them," the blonde girl breathed into her ear. "They're dumbstruck." Looking around, Mirielle found that Fleur was right. The boys were staring at the group of Beauxbaton girls as if petrified.
"C'mon, Miri," Fleur nudged her. Offering a resigned smile to Fleur that made a boy nearby sigh, Mirielle pulled the tie from her long hair, letting it stream luxuriously down her shoulders. A few eyes whipped from Dumbledore towards her direction. Fleur, reveling in the attention, offered the crowd a beguiling smile that made a boy nearby, gulping from a goblet, choke.
Madame Maxime urged her students to disperse.
"Ladies, find a seat," she said, in her French accent. Fleur linked arms with Mirielle, smiling they watched the boys around the Hall quickly scoot over to make room. Fleur pointed to a table at the far end, that was draped in blue cloths. The boys there seemed entranced.
"There?" she asked Mirielle. Without a word from her dark-complexioned friend, Fleur dragged her towards the table, and they sat there and ate. Fleur was soon in a deep conversation with a sixth or seventh year named Roger. He seemed dazzled by Fleur, and kept nodding blankly as Fleur chattered on. His fork kept missing his mouth, and his brown eyes were misty and unfocused.
"What's your name?" asked the boy sitting next to Roger.
"Mirielle," she replied, glancing over his shoulder, attempting to find someone she could chat with.
"Miri?" the boy wondered. Mirielle looked at him sharply.
"Mirielle," she corrected. Fleur was the only one who she allowed to call her by her nickname. The boy, however, was unperturbed by her clear message. He kept trying to strike up conversation through the end of the last course and the beginning of dessert. Finally, Mirielle could stand it no longer.
"Fleur?" She asked quietly. The blonde girl looked questioningly at her.
"I'd like to go now. I'm rather tired, from the trip." Her usually light and melodic voice was short with anger.
"I'll take you to your carriage," offered the boy.
"I'd rather Fleur take me," Mirielle replied, using her most dazzling smile to make the boy go misty-eyed.
"You go without me," Fleur replied impatiently.
"Please?" begged Mirielle. "You can see him later." She didn't bother to keep her voice down. No one ever cared what she said.
"Well, goodnight, Roger," Fleur told the dark-haired boy, reaching across the table to briefly touch his hand. She got up and left, not waiting the five minutes it took him to sum up the courage to reply, "Goodnight, Miss Delacour."
As they left the Great Hall, Fleur grabbed her friend by the arm to command her attention.
"What was that about?" she asked sharply.
"I don't know," Mirielle responded honestly, sweeping her long hair behind her shoulders and out of her face, clutching her hat in her free hand. Fleur clung to her other.
"I don't get why you didn't like Roger." When Mirielle didn't respond, she continued. "He's such a sweet boy," Fleur began. Soon she was jabbering. ". . .and he's so handsome. I think he might be worthy."
They reached the end of the entrance hall, and Fleur let a stunned-looking second-year hold the door open for her.
"Did you see anyone worthy?" asked Fleur as she turned to her brown-haired friend.
Mirielle had looked away. A boy around their age had caught her eye. He was tall, so tall that his face was thrown into relief by the torch that hung a few feet above her head. His hair was pale blonde, falling across his forehead towards his eyes, which were intense and blue. Those eyes caught her attention, and threatened to pull her backwards.
"Did you?" asked Fleur asked impatiently, drawing her friend's attention. The boy had turned, he was walking away, back towards the center of Hogwarts, his green and black robes billowing in the warm castle-air.
Fleur glanced back, trying to see what her friend was staring at.
"No," Mirielle responded after a pause. "No one." She glanced back once more, but the boy was gone. They continued back towards the carriage and left the heavy wooden door to swing shut behind them.
The next day Fleur woke Mirielle at dawn.
"Up, Miri!"
"Five more minutes," Mirielle mumbled, still asleep. Her friend laughed and yanked off her covers. Her brown-haired friend yawned and turned over, and within seconds was asleep once more.
They walked around the lake that was in front of the Hogwarts Castle. Although Mirielle disliked getting up so early, she enjoyed those few hours right after dawn, as it seemed as if the rest of the world was asleep, and she and Fleur were alone in the pale, misty dawn. As they walked, they talked. The subject of the Triwizard Tournament came up again.
"I don't want to enter," Mirielle replied stubbornly.
"Why don't you?" asked Fleur.
"Because I don't like that sort of pressure," Mirielle replied honestly. "All those people cheering, others booing and yelling at you. . ." The dark-haired girl stared emptily out at the grey lake.
"You like that sort of attention," she added, staring at Fleur, who laughed and shook her flowing blonde hair.
"But you must be suicidal to enter the Triwizard Tournament!" Mirielle exclaimed when Fleur didn't respond.
"Only on Mondays," she replied with a laugh.
Madam Maxime had arranged it so that the girls of Beauxbaton would continue education, albeit not as strictly. Each morning she would lecture to her students about different magical theory, and then they would read from different books, depending on the subject of the morning's lesson.
By noon the lessons were done for the day and they were free to wander the corridors. Fleur often dragged her friends off to attempt to find Roger. He had exams that year, and studied fiercely. He spent most of his time in the library, reading. Fleur, instead of being upset by his defensive reaction to her, was impressed by his studious nature, and annoyingly doting.
They had been at Hogwarts for a week when the headmaster, Dumbledore, unveiled the Goblet of Fire. Fleur stared at it in apprehension and excitement. Her expression made Mirielle feel hopelessly alone; while they both enjoyed sharing everything, from teaming together to get attention from guys, to sharing notes from Charms class, Mirielle couldn't hope to ever share something like the Triwizard Tournament with Fleur. It was the dividing line, the thing that differentiated attention-seeking and risk-loving Fleur from grounded, fun-loving Mirielle.
It rained that afternoon, and all the girls of Beauxbaton bundled up in stylish blue cloaks and their hats. Fleur was the first of Beauxbaton to enter, crossing the age-line easily and placing her name fearlessly in the tall, flickering, blue flames.
Mirielle met her right outside the circle of admirers and entries, clasping her hands and wishing her luck. As they left the Great Hall, Mirielle found the boy again. He was leaning nonchalantly against the wall, and his blue eyes followed Mirielle as she left. She swivelled, her hand still locked in Fleur's. He seemed comfortable and relaxed, standing alone in the shadows. He was looking at her, his blue eyes strangely compelling and deep.
Mirielle was yanked from his gaze by Fleur, who was anxious to return to the library. They walked down the corridors chatting, and soon Mirielle was no longer thinking about the blonde boy with blue eyes. When they entered the library, Fleur suddenly pulled Mirielle behind a bookshelf.
"What?" whispered Mirielle.
"It's him!" responded her friend triumphantly. Quickly she removed her hat, untied her hair, and looked hopefully at Mirielle.
"How do I look?" she asked confidently, as always. Mirielle laughed. She was running out of clever responses.
"Like Roger's girlfriend," grinned Mirielle. Fleur grinned back and winked, leaving a giggling Mirielle in the shadows of the library.
Mirielle poked her brown-haired head from behind the library shelves, and grinned yet again. Fleur had walked over to Roger, and when he saw her his face lit up with ebullience. Fleur easily sat down before Roger had a chance to object that he was studying. Soon they were talking quietly, Fleur helping him read over his Charms notes. Although she was talking about Charms, not about a relationship, the twinkle in her eyes told Roger otherwise.
Glad that her friend was happy, Mirielle took a book from her bag and seated herself comfortably in a different part of the library. She was reading when a pair of feet came into her vision. She glanced up from her reading to see a boy a few years younger, standing with a book on plants clutched in his hands.
"Hi," he said breathlessly.
"Hello," replied Mirielle, her musical voice light and friendly. She glanced up into his brown eyes with a smile in her gray.
"I'm Longville. I mean Neville. Neville Longbottom."
Mirielle smiled kindly at him, which made him go a delicate shade of red.
"Nice to meet you. I'm Mirielle." She looked at him, a measuring look that made him redden even more. She decided that this boy would definitely do anything for her. Also, she was thirsty. But she knew how to play this game, and she had all the cards.
"Do you mind if I –" He gestured nervously at the chair next to her.
"Not at all," she replied with a smile. Mirielle never tired of this game. He didn't seem to want to talk, so she returned her gaze to the open book.
"So . . .so how do . . . how do you like Hogwarts?" he managed to ask. Mirielle looked up, and replied, "It's nice, I'm sure." She added one of her perfect smiles. Somewhere near, a person rearranged books. Otherwise it was silent, and the silence seemed to unnerve the boy.
"How are you?" he asked after a pause. Mirielle could have grinned, but instead she arranged her face in a bland albeit discontent appearance.
"I'm rather thirsty."
"Can. . .can I get you anything?"
"I'd love a butterbeer," Mirielle replied. She knew that she had him.
"Of course," he replied, staring wide-eyed at her. Then he stood, and hurried off. When he turned a corner, then doubled back and made another turn, Mirielle laughed aloud. She had won the game yet again.
"Do you do this often?" came a drawling voice. Turning, Mirielle felt her heart skip a beat. It was the blonde boy.
"Whenever I'm thirsty," she replied with a wicked twinkle in her gray eyes. His eyes matched hers, mirroring the expression. "Why do something when others would feel honored to?" she wondered.
He easily took the chair that the boy, Neville, had vacated. She noticed the ease and comfort that she had seen in him before. He seemed completely calm and unflustered, a welcome change from the usual blushing and clumsy boys she talked with.
"So do your admirers usually to everything for you?" he asked. A question for a question. It made Mirielle grin. Finally someone to play the game with, someone she didn't know she'd win against.
"Define everything, and then the answer will be yes," she replied foxily. He raised an eyebrow at her cunning remark.
"Do you expect me to do this undefined 'everything'?" he asked.
"What couldn't you do for me that I could do?" countered Mirielle, giving him an intense look that made him grin. She cocked her head and smiled as she felt his eyes stare at the river of her hair as it streamed over her shoulder. Those strangely compelling blue eyes locked with hers again.
"You could tell me your name," the blonde boy drawled casually.
"And you could tell me yours," Mirielle replied, glancing becomingly up at him through her dark lashes. "But why ruin the mystery?"
"I like watching a mystery unravel," he replied with half-smile that made Mirielle's heart turn over. She was about to say her name when she heard footsteps.
"Here! I got you a butterbeer!" the boy was breathless, and clutched an unopened butterbeer in a sweaty hand. He paused when he saw the blonde boy.
"What are you doing?" he asked the blonde boy, looking hurt.
"He was just helping me find some books," replied Mirielle, locking eyes with the blonde boy who grinned and took the clue.
"Right," he said, his voice calm and sly. He glanced at Mirielle, as if savoring the cunning smile and flowing hair, and then was gone, vanishing deeper into the library. When he left, Neville held out the bottle to Mirielle.
"Thank you, Neville," replied Mirielle. She opened it with a tap of her wand, and took a long sip from the bottle. Fixing the boy with a grin, she judged him for a moment, then asked, "Would you like a sip?"
"Oh. . n-no thank you," he replied. Mirielle grinned. She knew he would refuse. She loved it when she was right.
"Well, thank you, Neville," she murmured, her melodic voice making Neville blush again. She closed the book, and swept easily from the library, leaving a stunned Neville standing alone, and the blonde boy grinning in the shadows.