The Houses Competition (or THC) Challenge 3: Little Mini Drabbles (up to 500 words)
House: Slytherin
Class: Ancient Runes
Prompt: [Character] Gabrielle DeLaCour
Word Count: 495
Disclaimers/triggers: The perils of being part-Veela are not only Fleur's cross to bear. Very light allusions (supported by canon based on what we know about Veelas and part-Veelas) to attempted abduction and human trafficking.
Allure
Gabrielle wakes as the sun rises and stretches, catlike, until her vertebrae pops in a satisfying manner. Each movement reminds her that she is still free.
It is time for her daily run.
She dresses, puts her hair up in a bun, then slips on her trainers. Slick with sweat, her senses are on full-alert as she bends down to remove a pebble from her shoe.
Nobody sneaks up on Gabrielle.
She finishes her run by doubling back several times before sneaking through the back entrance to her building. It has four entrances and exits, two of which are not visible from the street.
At home, she checks the wards and locks on the doors and windows, only showering once she has confirmed each one to be undisturbed. Her wand sits in a ziplock bag in the shower just in case she needs it, and she doesn't dare to play the radio.
She towels dry and looks at her face in the mirror, hating the poreless, shining visage that greets her. She spends the next twenty minutes covering her skin with various concealers in an attempt to look more ordinary.
She was only eleven the first time someone tried to take her. The last attempt had been less than a year ago. She does have a few friends, but there is always that fear that maybe they are pretending, all the while looking to sell her to the highest bidder.
Veela-blooded girls have always been a high-priced commodity, after all.
Gabrielle spends the afternoon reading, then practices her krav maga moves in the mirror. She sits and meditates, visualizing her fingers turning into claws and her teeth growing sharp. It doesn't happen, of course, that part of her bloodline is lost to her. All she has is the luminosity that marks her as something slightly more than human.
She misses Mell, the smiling brown-eyed girl who she'd casually dated before the black van had tried to snatch her off the street. She'd been glad she had worn her trainers that day instead of the silky high heels that she'd foolishly considered because they went with her outfit. The outfit had been ruined by mud and grasping tree branches anyway.
She looks wistfully at the photo of them smiling together, but she can't bring herself to send Mell a letter. Alluring or no, Gabrielle harbors no delusions that she is truly unique in any meaningful way.
Gabrielle eats a hearty supper. She never skimps on butter or cheese, but her waistline remains narrow, much to her chagrin. Anything to escape the prison of her body.
That evening, she releases her frustration on her punching bag. Another shower, and then, hair in a bun, Gabrielle locks and wards her bedroom door before she allows herself to jump onto her fluffy, stuffed-animal-covered bed. Sleep comes easily, but Gabrielle knows that her dreams will be troubled. They always are.
Such is the life of one who is hunted.