Sitting in the Great Hall, at the appointed house table, she was beautiful.
Constantly watched, and by one person in particular sitting two tables
away from her, she knew what she had and flaunted it.
She had a perfect face: expertly shaped eyes, tantalizing lips, and such a complexion that it sent chills down the watcher's back. How they longed to take the plunge into her, feel her body, touch her soul, and become almost a part of her.
And such hair, oh, that hair! It seemed to have a will of its own: constantly shimmering and cascading down the shoulders of its owner, free from her personal movements. It complimented her; giving the illusion that she was an angel. Indeed, her teasing smile or inviting eyes were refreshing and made the young woman so alluringly heavenly... But no one could touch her.
The onlooker sighed. It had become a habit for them - pretending to eat their meal, telling their friends they were too tired to converse, and instead looking up and staring over her.
Always staring at Fleur Delacour.
***
Fleur stood up from the Ravenclaw table. She brushed crumbs (though there were not many) off of her robes delicately and whispered 'See you later' to a friend.
In her earlier years, she had been a shy and insecure girl, blushing a pale pink and stepping backwards into the dark corners. But at age 13, during third year at her school Beauxbatons she had discovered her sudden attractiveness. It almost startled her - as only part Veela, she wasn't sure how she'd turn out. However, her confidence began to build as she watched others taking notice of her as well. And now, at age 18, she had blossomed spectacularly - both physically and mentally.
Admirers were regular but certainly not routine. Deep inside of her, Fleur forever remembered the days of loneliness and the feeling that she was just an awkward little girl. Amazingly, her chest still swelled up with happiness, although now very slightly, at a double take or gawk - just as it had ever since the whole deal had started.
She strolled out of the Hall, with no particular destination in mind.
***
Unblinking eyes followed her out of the room, widening in excitement. Fleur's robes swished silently, dancing about her dangerously curvy body, and there came an almost undetectable moan.
I'm sorry, Ginny Weasley, the onlooker told herself. Even *you* know it isn't possible.
She had a perfect face: expertly shaped eyes, tantalizing lips, and such a complexion that it sent chills down the watcher's back. How they longed to take the plunge into her, feel her body, touch her soul, and become almost a part of her.
And such hair, oh, that hair! It seemed to have a will of its own: constantly shimmering and cascading down the shoulders of its owner, free from her personal movements. It complimented her; giving the illusion that she was an angel. Indeed, her teasing smile or inviting eyes were refreshing and made the young woman so alluringly heavenly... But no one could touch her.
The onlooker sighed. It had become a habit for them - pretending to eat their meal, telling their friends they were too tired to converse, and instead looking up and staring over her.
Always staring at Fleur Delacour.
***
Fleur stood up from the Ravenclaw table. She brushed crumbs (though there were not many) off of her robes delicately and whispered 'See you later' to a friend.
In her earlier years, she had been a shy and insecure girl, blushing a pale pink and stepping backwards into the dark corners. But at age 13, during third year at her school Beauxbatons she had discovered her sudden attractiveness. It almost startled her - as only part Veela, she wasn't sure how she'd turn out. However, her confidence began to build as she watched others taking notice of her as well. And now, at age 18, she had blossomed spectacularly - both physically and mentally.
Admirers were regular but certainly not routine. Deep inside of her, Fleur forever remembered the days of loneliness and the feeling that she was just an awkward little girl. Amazingly, her chest still swelled up with happiness, although now very slightly, at a double take or gawk - just as it had ever since the whole deal had started.
She strolled out of the Hall, with no particular destination in mind.
***
Unblinking eyes followed her out of the room, widening in excitement. Fleur's robes swished silently, dancing about her dangerously curvy body, and there came an almost undetectable moan.
I'm sorry, Ginny Weasley, the onlooker told herself. Even *you* know it isn't possible.