The stench of freshly turned soil and plants around me turned my stomach as I made my way to yet another turn of the maze. The utter darkness surrounding me felt like a physical weight on my lungs, preventing me from drawing another breath. I have been wandering, for what felt like days, in this seemingly endless abyss. Surely someone will come looking for me in some time? But even hoping felt foolish at the moment, my insides screaming at me that I will never be the same fleur that entered this maze.
Finally, after yet another turn, the maze opened up to a small clearing. With a sigh of relief, I gave a silent prayer of thanks to my stars. Finally I was at the center of the maze. Finally this will be over, regardless of whether I won or not. But as I stepped closer, instead of looking at the tri-wizard cup, my eyes took in a cloaked shadow figure that stood in the middle of the clearing.
Before him, stood two other people, one of them short with bony structure and glasses, the other one taller, thicker and more muscular standing in a slouched posture. Harry and Krum. They stood facing each other; not noticing me; not moving at all. I can see the cloaked figure in the space between them as he suddenly raised his hand and pointed a wand straight at me. "Avada kedavra", the figure screamed and a jet of bright green light traveled in slowly towards me. I try to scream but no sound comes out of my mouth. My feet refuse to cooperate too as I try to move out of the way. Feeling beyond helpless I glance at my feet, willing them to move when I notice that there is a boy lying at my feet on his stomach. Immediately I duct down, another scream building in my throat, as I grab his shoulders and turn his face upwards. All air leaves my lungs as I immediately recognise the boy. Cedric Diggory. His eyes were open, staring unseeingly, lifelessly up at me.
Dead.
My eyes snap open as I come back to a brightly lit room, the sunrays only obscured by pale pink curtains, as the stench of soil and plants still seeming to linger around me. It takes a few minutes and wrinkly, concerned face of a house elf to finally make me sit up in my feather bed. Trudy places the tray with elegant tea cup down on a nearby vanity table and hobbles her way towards my bed. "Iz my miss OK feeling?" She asked, in her slightly wavery voice. "Do Trudy call mistress, Miss?", she further inquires as she reaches my bed and place her wrinkly hand on the side of bed, as if to pull herself up. Calling my mother would only mean more fuss around my room, and after the graduation ceremony at Beauxbatons academy of Magic two nights ago and travelling back home from Pyrenees to Paris in an almost whole day's journey in the flying carriage, the last thing I needed was my mother's over enthusiasm in her elder daughter graduating. So in, what I hope, a calm voice, I reply, "non non Trudy, I 'ave asked my family to meet me at breakfast table. I do not want to disturb zhere daily 'abits becauze of me. And oui, tea zis morning weeell be lovely." Trudy, being a loyal elf, quietly hands me my tea before hobbling out of my room.
Even though I have lived in this house all my life, it feels weird to get up in this room which has been decorated like a fairy princess' room,complete with a set of sparkly pink wings above the headboard of my pale pink feather bed. Strangely, it used to feel comforting to get up in my childhood room and so I had insisted to leave it as it always has been.
Many things feel odd and weird since the last few months, I think with a big sigh. Climbing out of bed and finishing my tea, I head to wash off the grim of my nightmare.
I am the first to reach breakfast table. Usually, its Gabrielle who is first to be present here, but it seems all of my family is having a slow start this morning. Or rather, I am having an early one. I shift in my seat impatiently, waiting for my family to grace me with their presence. There is a strange bubble of nervous excitement in me as I think about the conversation I am about to have with my family but I tamp it down. I cannot loose nerves in front of them or they will never let me do what I plan to do with my future. I know I have to convince them that this is what I really want and is not a decision taken under trauma or emotions. Finally, my family of 3 starts to trickle in the dining room. First is Gabrielle, who gives me a tight hug and a smacking kiss on the cheek and starts off a mile a minute, asking me about beuxbatons, graduation, Madame Maxime and so on. She is supposed to start her school this year, and she seems to be on a mission to know every single thing about the school before she set foot on the grounds. As she starts to ask another question, my father enters, thankfully halting her questions. "Papá! Bonjour. Eet ees so good to see you!" I say, bouncing up from my seat and hugging him fiercely and making him laugh in delight. "Bonjour Fleur! You look very good my child. I am so 'appy to finally 'ave you 'ome". My father is a tall, very jolly looking man with round cheeks, brown hair and dark eyes courtesy of his british heritage; my mother, equally opposite of his English attributes having silvery blond hair, big deep blue eyes and tall willowy figure completing her French Belle looks with an extra touch of charm and a silvery glow emitting from her as a heritage from her full veela mother. As a child, we were insisted to speak in English at home as my father did not want to loose his british mother's connections, and wanted his girls to know difference between tale and tail. But living in france and having a French Nana, grandpá and mother made it almost impossible to learn my father's british heritage.
Years ago, he was said to be visiting his grandma and grandpa for the summer when he encountered a half veela, my mother, living in his grandparents' neighborhood. By the end of that summer, my father and mother were inseparable. My british grandma was said to be the most offended party from my mother's half veela status, but my mother once states that, "eet was a battle worth fighting for. And a victorie too, as I got your papa and your grandma's approval". Apparently, my grandma was under the impression that my father fell in love with my mother because of her beauty and veela charms. But anyone looking at them, even after all these years, could tell that there was no cupid arrow sticking or veela magic involved; as after all these years, they still seem to glow around each other. I briefly wonder, what it must be like for my mother to know with surity that my father loved her for who she is and not for her beauty.
A sudden image of sparkling blue eyes flashed through my mind, but I dismissed it as soon as the image entered. Must stay focused, fleur! I chanted it in my mind.
This was during those times when Voldemort was at the peak of his powers, the whole Britain scattered with fear and impending war. After my parents' marriage that same year at Christmas in Britain, and my mother getting impregnated with me, all of my grandparents thought it will be safer for us to live in France. It was more than 3 years after that, that voldemort was stopped, but till then we were perfectly settled in France and my parents saw no need to return to Great Britain. Still, we tried to speak in English at home, just to please my father.
As if on que, my mother entered breakfast room, mere minutes after my father and gave me a tight hug and her trademark sophisticated air kiss. "Fleur! mon enfant. I cannot beeleavee you are finally 'ere!" Holding me at arm's length, she scanned my face with a delighted smile on her face and proudly stated, "mon fille ees graduated! Can you beeleeeavee zheez Monsieur Delacour?" She always called my father Monsieur Delacour instead of his name Adam, like calling him with a respect given to a stranger, but the smile she directs at him tells otherwise, like she is enjoying some private joke every time she calls him out. "Non Apolline, I cannot! When deed she grow up from our leetle girl to a young woman?"he reply with a melancholy sign. I shift under their loving gaze, knowing what I am about to ask will not please them, but also knowing that the path I have chosen starts right from this day.
It is after everyone has tucked delicious breakfast in and Trudy has hobbled off to look after the dishes in kitchen, that I broach the subject. "Maman, papa zere eez someteeng I wanted to talk to you about", I start; attracting both their attention. I clear my throat, a nervous habit, and recall all of my speeches, arguments and counter arguments that I have prepared through these past few months. I cannot stumble now, I say to myself. If I don't sound sure about this, then they will never let me do this. "oui, mon cher?" My mother inquires in a soft voice. Steeling myself, I blurt it out in a single breath. "I weesh to go to Great Britain and work at a wizarding banque while working on my eenglish". I release the breath I didn't knew I was holding while blurting this and look at my family. My parents seems to have frozen at the place, their expressions blank, while Gabrielle has got both her eyebrows raised in a stunned surprise, no doubt at the audacity of my words. Seeming to be the first to recover, my dad ask me in a soft, confused voice, "You what, papillon?" Ignoring the childhood nickname that makes me want to murder every butterfly nearby for some reason, I continue in a calm voice. "Oui papa, maman; as vous said, I 'ave graduated from 'igh school theez annèe and I 'ave decided to go to Great Britain. I talked to Madame Maxime about zees and through 'er contacts at banque in London, she 'as obtenir a part-time job for me at Gringotts Wizards Banque". As the words finally registered, my mother, as expected, turns red, as if ready to blow up any second. Which she does.
"LONDON! Are you out of your 'ead fleur! Where 'as zis non sense been coming in your 'eah? Eez zees becauze of your leettle voyage in Britain zis annèe? Or what 'appened zere? Do you realize 'ow far London ees from Paris? And what about your le abri? Or do you plan to sleep on London street?" As she stops to come up for air and my father strokes her hand while eyeing me with concern, I realized that this is my only chance to convince them. I know that if my mother started again, she will say a straight forward no without any arguments and my father knows better than to pressurize his wife when she slips into part bad french - part bad English mode. I always suspected that my father feared that my mother, if pushed too far, will turn into the angry swan bird with pointed beak, throwing fire everywhere with her bare hands, even though it is impossible with her part human self from her father.
Taking a deep breath I start, "Maman, papa; I know you are both worried about my decision. I also know zat you need better assurance about my plan and safety, considering current environnement in London. But do trust me, zat I can take care of moi-même zere. In fact, ze environnement zere ees one of ze reasons I want to go zere." Seeing as my mother open her mouth to interrupt, I hurriedly continue. "All my life, I 'ave been seen as delicate papillon; beautiful and weak enough to admire from afar, to 'old and 'andle weeth immense care. It 'as always been just assumed zat I weel be marié to a prince charming and every garçon around 'as always tried to be one, be eet because of my beauty or my quarter veela 'eritage. But for once een my life, I want to do sometheeng zat actually counts, 'as some value een a bigger picture. I want to make a difference some 'ow! I am tired of people juzt agreeing to me because zey are too dazzeled to theenk and say non around me. Zeese ees one of thee reasons why I asked Madame Maxime to appeal for me at a wizard banque. I am quite sure zat a goblin would not care eef I am beautiful or not. 'E weell value me on my brain and capacité. And I also 'ope zat staying close to ze problem weel 'elp me do sometheeng to solve eet."
I pause for a breath, and thankfully nobody tries to interrupt me this time as I confide a weak part of myself with my family in a quiet voice. "I steeel 'ave thoze rêves. Thoze cauchemar; nightmares actually, as rêves are supposed to be good, oui? I feel zat ze only way to get rid of zees dreams ees to face eet upfront. Eef I cower now, I weel never sleep peacefully again. I need to go to london papa, maman where I weel work as well as eemprove my eenglish at Gringotts wizard banque and leeeve at an appartement nearby ze banque at a place named Diagonal Ally. And I promise to care for myself well and write regularly to you, but pleeease let me go. S'il vous plaît. I 'ave selected my path, let me walk on eet. je prier vous. I reeally reeally request you."
I stop as my voice breaks on the last word, not wanting to cry and mess this up.
The whole room is silent for a full minute, before my father speaks, "Are you really sure about zis fleur? You really want to do zis for yourself and not from any misplaced sense of responsibility to your late friend about 'elping to avenge 'im or bringing 'im justice?" Looking him straight in the eye, I shake my head and say I am as sure of my decisions and reasons as they come, in French. After studying me for another excruciating minute, my father finally nods and says, "eef you really are sure, zen bien. You can go, as long as you fulfill all your promises to us about keeping us informed and being safe". I cannot believe it for a minute. This is new! How did that happen? Did he just agree? I was speechless. Though, my mother wasn't.
Listening to this, her head snapped towards my father and she went off in French, non stop about how it is a crazy thing to agree to and inquiring what is wrong with my father to agree to this. This, i expected. Feeling my equilibrium return at the normalcy of my mother's protests, I hear my father reply in a calm tone and English language saying, "Apolline, I know what you say ees right. I am worried too. But we 'ave to trust our fille. And we 'ave to let 'er live 'er life ze way she wants eet. I would also want to 'ave our fille leeve at 'ome and be safe, but we cannot coddle 'er all life long. We 'ave to drop ze bird from 'er nest for 'er to learn to fly, to know zat our little papillon can take care of 'erself after we are gone; as we weell be one day. Let 'er go, mon amour." I waited, holding my breath, as my parents stared in each other's eyes, as if having a silent conversation.
Finally, my mother sighed, and said in an almost petulant tone, "bien. But eef you don't write to us een every 2 days, zen I am personally coming to London to drag you back 'ome, young lady. Comprendre?" I felt as if a fireworks of joy erupted in my chest as I sprang from my chair and hugged both my parents over the table sitting across from me and beside each other. "Oh merci, merci, merci dad and Maman!" I babble as a trickle of tear runs down my cheek.
Gabrielle, never one to miss a family hug from across the table, jumped from her seat beside me and threw her short hands around my parents from their back, her arms barely reaching me. In those moments of physically uncomfortable but loving embrace of my family, I knew that the journey I have chosen for myself might not be stars and flowers and unicorns; but I will do my best, be my best; or die trying, to make people in my arms at the moment, happy and proud and never regret their decision to let me fly.