Reversal
Chapter 1. Be Careful What You Wish For.
"Harry Potter!" Dumbledore's voice boomed throughout the Beauxbatons great hall.
Fleur Delacour blinked. It wasn't necessarily the most surprising thing in the world. She had seen the older boy around the school. Mostly in the library, but it was few and far between. At least she recognized the name.
Something bothered her about his selection as champion. During the short time that the other schools had been visiting, she had heard whispers of various things about the British celebrity. Rumors that he was a dark wizard, something about parseltongue was included in that but she didn't catch the entire conversation. That he had killed a professor in his first year.
On the flipside she had heard that he was the next coming of Merlin. How he could produce a fully corporal patronus at the age of 13 and fended off over a hundred dementors at once.
The rumors that circulated the halls about the boy-who-lived seemed so utterly ridiculous and farfetched that she had decided to ignore them entirely.
Those who wore gold and red sung his praises, while the students who wore green seemed to curse the land he walked on.
It was an… odd dynamic. One that seemed similar to her plight at school, in a twisted way.
Fleur saw the raven haired boy stand up. There was an air of confidence to him and he seemed briefly surprised at the selection, before a small grin had replaced any previous expression.
As Harry passed by Dumbledore. Fleur could have sworn there was a silent conversation between the two. The way their eyes locked. How Dumbledore tilted his head ever so slightly, and the almost miniscule nod that Harry seemed to give the headmaster.
She didn't have the best view, but it almost seemed like the old wizard had given a small resigned sigh after the quiet exchange. If it even was an exchange at all. It was entirely possible she had misinterpreted the entire thing. She had a bad habit of doing that after all.
Look underneath the underneath she had read in a book once. Hardly mattered if she just created something from nothing though. Good for nothing life advice she had scavenged from some random author she couldn't be bothered to remember the name of.
As Harry Potter disappeared into a side room, one that Viktor Krum had been escorted into after he was called. It was as if a spell had been lifted from the crowd. Whispers broke out in all kinds of languages.
"...the Harry Potter?" She heard from some group of girls off to her right.
Fleur sighed. At times like these she was glad she was mostly a loner. Even if not necessarily by her choice. Of course it was the Harry Potter. There weren't any other Harry Potters in their age range.
There were the quiet whispers that came from Durmstrangs table. Talking too softly to hear and even then she wouldn't have been able to understand it. Despite the difference in language, she was certain it couldn't be too far off from the other conversations that were being held.
She shifted her gaze to the Hogwarts table. The whispering seemed much less like a whisper and more of like a heated discussion that was trying its best to stay quiet. People didn't look too happy, and they were doing an awful job from keeping the other tables from listening. Although she doubted many people were even bothering, much more likely to be absorbed in their own silent discussions.
"... he's a cheater!" Fleur had heard from a blonde haired boy. He was dressed in green and his face seemed to have a purple tint to it. Likely from anger if the latest exclamation was anything to go by.
A black haired girl spoke up. This time wearing gold and red. A gryffindor if she was correct. Fleur could hardly catch what she was saying as the girl seemed to be much calmer than the blonde boy.
It was odd. From what she had heard, Gryffindors were supposed to embody the courageous and brave. One could take that as brash and thickheaded. But the… Slithers? The Serpents?
Fleur shook her head. She really should have paid more attention to that mandatory lecture about the customs of the other schools.
The green house. She decided. Was supposed to embody the cunning and resourceful. Yet it was odd seeing a member of the green house showing less restraint and composure than the house for knuckleheads. Perhaps that was just her bias talking however.
The only thing she had managed to pick up from the black haired gryffindor girl was something about an age line.
She sighed. Why on earth they were talking about the age line for the goblet was beyond her. No one could get past unless they were older than 17. It had been the first thing they had explained about the goblet. There was no reason to-
Fleur stopped her line of thought.
No one could get past the goblet unless they were older than 17. Why did that bother her?
Viktor Krum was over 17. He was 18. And juggled a professional quidditch career with school. Impressive if she thought about it.
Harry Potter was-
She blinked. Harry Potter was 16. Yet, he had been chosen. Chosen at 16. But the age line…
Fleur felt like her brain stopped momentarily before it started back up again.
He had gotten past the age line? How? Madame Maxime had claimed to personally verify Dumbledore's age line. There was no way a 16 year old wizard, even one such as Harry Potter, would be able to get past an age line created by the most powerful wizard in this day and age.
It was improbable. Impossible. Yet, it wasn't. A wizard older than her by only a year, was able to do something she hadn't even considered possible.
She had wanted to learn. Wanted to know if it was something she could do as well. Whatever he did. He had managed to fool not just one, but two headmasters of different schools.
She was good. Brilliant even. Near the top of her class in most subjects and the best in her year at charms by far. Surely he couldn't be that much-
"SILENCE!" Dumbledore's voice echoed through the room. His piercing voice quelling all conversation in an instant. "The goblet is ready to choose the Beauxbaton champion!"
The Goblet of Fire went dark for just a split second, before it shone a deep pink. The brightness intensifying to an unnatural degree. One that seemed to compel any person to gaze at it, brightness notwithstanding. It sputtered for a brief moment. It's pink flames seeming to almost become an inferno before coalescing into a single flame.
And then it went back to its soft shimmer of blue.
A small note fluttered down from the air. Slightly singed but wholly intact. Dumbledore had grabbed onto it during its descent. Unfurling the paper and giving it a turn to read off the name.
"The Beauxbatons champion is…" Dumbledore paused briefly. The anticipation in the air grew for a brief moment. "...Sophie Florence!" He finished. Giving a nod to the brown haired girl that had stood up from her table.
The tension in the air dissipated and turned into a happy fanfare. Applause thundered the halls as the newly appointed champion. Sophia, gave a bright smile and walked into the door that the previous two champions had gone into.
Fleur gave a small polite applause. She hadn't known the older witch personally. Or even talked to her. But the older witch was obviously powerful if she had been chosen.
She glanced at some of the people near her. Despite the warm festive mood, it seemed like not everyone was receptive to the selection. She could spot one of the older years in tears, two of her friends comforting her. And more than a couple of the 7th years seemed to have a scowl on their faces.
Fleur just rolled her eyes. Some people should consider becoming actors after they finished their education. It would fit them better.
Albus Dumbledore spoke up after the short round of applause. "Excellent!" He called. His hands intertwining with the other and a warm smile on his face. "We now have our three champions! But in the end, only one will go down in history. Only one will hoist this chalice of champions. This vessel of victory the Triwizard cup!"
As he finished his short speech. Dumbledore turned quickly. Pointing to the cloth covered object that stood by the table where the professors resided.
The cloth vanished quickly. Leaving only a moderately sized trophy behind.
It was an ethereal blue.
The handles of the trophy were a lustrous silver that extended down into the base of the cup. It looked as if the handles were wrapped in vines of silver. The cup itself had little indentations that formed an intricate design. At the base there was a root of metal that seemed to snake up the cup, breaking off into wisps of nothingness as it reached the main part of the object.
It seemed as if it pulsed with power. The triwizard cup was a soft glow of moonlight blue. The letters WIZ engraved onto the glass of the trophy.
It was truly a beautiful object.
And Fleur felt a bit dumb knowing she chastised those who were upset at not being chosen. Had she been of age to enter, and had the means to, there was a chance she would have entered just for the chance to win such a beautiful prize.
The entire hall seemed to be as mesmerized as her with the object. Between the soft hum of the Goblet of Fire and the ethereal beauty of the Triwizard cup. The room was a buzz with magic.
She sighed. Perhaps they would host another tournament when she was a 7th year. If the trophy then was anything like it is now. She would do anything to get her hands on it.
Fleur wasn't a vain woman. Beauty and money didn't mean as much to her as it did to so many of her peers.
But the way that single object captured the attention of everyone. Demanded their acknowledgement. Demanded their respect. All from a singular trophy that was barely bigger than her forearm.
It was intoxicating.
She wanted others to give her that same respect. To have others acknowledge her not because of her blood but because of her abilities. It was petty. She knew she shouldn't care what others thought of her. What others said behind her back.
But she could picture herself as the winner of the entire tournament. The trophy held high. The people in school apologizing for how they treated her in the past. All so she could spit in their faces for leaving her the second it became convenient.
Definitely a little more than just petty. She thought. But she was 15. She was allowed to be petty for a few more years. At least that's what she told herself anyways.
"...Fleur Delacour."
The sound of her name broke Fleur out of her thoughts. The hall was eerily silent. As if all the previous cheer and festive nature vanished and what was left was nothing but a deafining silence.
Fleur craned her head across the room. Trying to figure out who had called her name. People were staring at her. Their faces unreadable.
In the center of the room stood Albus Dumbledore. In his hands a scrap of paper.
"Fleur Delacour." He called. Once more, she realized, as he had been the one to initially call out. He was scanning the crowd of students. Looking for something.
Looking for her. A small part of her brain whispered.
She stood shakily. And his eyes locked onto her.
It was as if she was in a dream. Her mind was numb, unable to process any real thoughts and only able to go through the motions. Her legs carried herself to the center of the room, where Dumbledore stood with the now extinguished goblet.
It wasn't until she was directly in front of him that she realized why first hand why Dumbledore was so revered and respected. His eyes seemed to pierce straight through her soul. As if searching for something. This closeness had allowed her to feel the powerful magic the old wizard gave off.
He blinked once. Before gesturing with his head, a slight tilt, to the room that Viktor Krum. Harry Potter and Sophie Florence had disappeared into.
Her legs moved before her thoughts could even have a chance to form. Walking slowly through the hall and into the open door. Where the other champions were sure to be waiting.
Her footsteps echoed loudly. Deafeningly so. In a hall full of people. The silence of the masses were like crashing waves upon rocks. Loud and tumultuous, yet sickeningly silent.
But every step she took. Every echo of her shoes upon the stone. Felt like thunder roaring and striking upon her position.
She couldn't think. Everytime a thought was beginning to form, her footsteps echoed and washed away any semblance of thought.
Clack.
Clack.
Clack.
She came upon a room she had only seen once before. The Beauxbatons' trophy room. Only once. In her first year.
It was a room littered with trophies. Big and small. Plaques of various achievements scattered on the walls.
She couldn't help herself. Despite everything, despite the years that had gone by since she had seen the room last. It was still mesmerizing.
Her gaze swept the room, looking at the various dates engraved into trophies. Achievements dedicated to students whose names she had never heard before. Gold and silver and bronze decorating the room and giving it a glow.
She kept looking. Drinking in all the detail. Forgetting about what had happened minutes before.
Her eyes stopped on a man with raven coloured hair and the tip of a scar peeking out over the fringe of his hair.
Fleur Delacour stared at the man named Harry Potter.
And piercing green eyes stared back.
Start: Feb 5th. 2021.
End: Feb 6th. 2021.
Words: 2367.
Hello. Flandre Nightshade here. I wrote this at 10pm until 1am. Almost nonstop writing for the most part. I have work at 5am. So I definitely should have been sleeping instead. Oh well. I work best under pressure. A new series from me for my favorite pairing. This is an old idea but with a new twist basically. Pretty sure everyone and their mother has read stories where Harry is older and goes into the triwizard tournament blah blah blah. But what if Harry was older, yet still not old enough. And what if Fleur was younger, but for some reason she's the 4th champion? Also we're located at Beauxbatons because why not. Who knows. I hate what if scenarios. Im rambling.
I have another Harry/Fleur fic I'm writing the prologue for at the same time as this. I just felt like I had to churn this out.
I don't really know my plans for this fic. I have a general outline already written up but plans never survive first contact. All I can say is don't expect the same boring tasks. We're in Beauxbatons. Thing's are gonna be different.
And don't expect to see Fleur's point of view often either. In fact, I doubt you'll see her POV again until at least the Yule Ball. If I ever get there. Okay I'm reaching my 200 word AN limit. See you next time.
-FN