AN : translation of the french parts at the end of the chapter !
Chapter 19 :
Fleur Delacour was full of schadenfreude : over all her overbearing classmates -bullies-, she had been chosen as a Champion for the Triwizard Tournament. Her, the so-called Half-breed Whore of Beauxbâtons, was going to represent the School known for the elegance and dignity of its students.
Take that inbred morons ! She thought gleefully. I am the better Bitch !
The two other Champions took a step back at her savage grin but Fleur didn't care. She already knew these sad examples of toxic masculinity would prove to be no challenge for a strong woman like herself. They were merely spawns of Patriarchy after all, nothing impressive about them. A little smile here, a nice word there and they would be putty in her hand soon enough. This school year was decidedly going to be fun.
Her smile was barely getting a little toothy, that a small being entered the Champions room. It was a smol boi with messy dark hair and the most woeful green doe eyes ever. He looked like a lost lamb, hesitating on the threshold without knowing what to do.
Aww~ He so cute~ ! She thought to herself before asking out loud :
"Do you need something, Little Boy ? Is it time to go back to the Great Hall yet ?"
"Erh..." Tried the boy, somewhat both sheepish and unbearably sad at the same time. "I am the fourth Champion... ?"
"WHAT !?" Exclaimed the Hogwart chosen without any tact. "But, I am already the school's Champion !"
Even the Durmstrang guy grunted nosily, frowing at the poor kitten who seemed to deflate like a balloon under his stare.
Fleur could take it no more, she glared the two baboons into submission and took the puppy as far from them as the small room permitted.
"Don't worry about them, Little Boy" she reassured him softly. "They're jerks."
"Merci" answered the smol creature in an adorable French. "J'ai un mauvais passif avec les- erh, « jerks »."
"Je pense que le mot que tu cherches est « connards »."
"Thanks, je ne trouvais plus le bon terme pendant un moment... Je m'appelle Harry, enchanté."
"Pas de problème, Harry. Je suis Fleur, charmée." She smiled. "You have an adequate French and a terribly cute accent, but let's stick to English to be understood by the « imbéciles » around. Now, tell to Big Sis what's going on."
Little Harry's shoulders fell down in a slump as he let out a big sigh, like he had the weight of the world on his back. But barely had he opened his mouth to answer, that Dumbledore came hurtling in with the other members of the Triwizard Tournament committee and a few Hogwart's professors.
"Mr Potter !" Cried out the esteemed Headmaster while tearing the smol bean from Fleur's loving clutch. "Have you put your name in the Goblet of Fire !?"
Snape was disgusted by his own accursed fate : here he was, with the perfect opportunity to vilify the Potter brat enough for at least two lifetimes, and he couldn't use it for fear of the brat's Guardian Devil's retribution. Worse, if he didn't do the minimum to defend Potter... this day might prove to be his last on Earth.
Defending a Potter... What has the World come to... He sighed.
Well, at least he could still find some happiness in seeing the insufferable brat being shaken till his teeth rattled by Dumbledore.
The poor boy was completely surrounded by irate adults who obviously knew better than him and therefore didn't feel the need to listen to whatever he said. The Potion Professor never really believed it before, but there was indeed joy in the smallest things.
He took an instant for himself, breathing in deeply and enjoying Potter's face going from green to puce. He knew it wouldn't last, but he somehow achieved some kind of inner peace by staying just a step away from the disastrous situation. Here, in his little corner, he was at the perfect place to spectate this absurdity and notice its many ingenuous details.
For exemple, Ludo Bagman, the Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports in the Ministry and one of the organiser of the Tournament, was so hyped that he was literally squealing and skipping in the background. Quite ridiculous and yet no shame at all. On the contrary, his coworker and co-organiser Barty Crouch Snr, Head of the Department of International Magical Co-operation, was so infuriated that he looked like someone fed him a whole lemon seasoned with Habanero pepper.
On the other hand, the Durmstrang Headmaster and the Beauxbâtons Headmistress were totally ready to fight it out mano to mano.
The Beauxbâtons Champion was leaking flames from her hands and growing feathers on the nape of her neck -Hm ? A Veela perhaps ? Who knew...- while the other selected champions were cowering in her burning shadow.
Mad-Eye Moody, this year's new DADA Professor, had a butterfly knife out and was dexterously playing with it while eyeing the Durmstrang Headmaster with suspicion.
Now that I think about it, remembered Snape, Karkaroff was a member of our « old gang », wasn't he ? Headmaster of a school... He sure went far in life.
The Potion Professor exhaled a breath of contentment, perfectly satisfied to look at responsible adults blaming an undeserving -this time- kid of rule breaking, without searching for truth nor solutions, from afar. Alas, the heat of the assumed Veela's fire -Delacour, was it ?- started to reach his hidden pocket, unsettling some of his emergency potions.
No more willing to explode in gore because of a potion's bad reaction to heat, than he was to face Nott Jr if the latter knew that he delayed his rescuing of Potter on purpose, Snape softly cleared his throat, put on his best sneer and said :
"I doubt Mr Potter has the brain prowess necessary to outsmart your Age Line, Headmaster Dumbledore. Many that were more cunning and experienced than him, have failed after all."
When everyone in the room turned toward him, shocked beyond belief that he dared to defend the spawn, he could only wonder if he shouldn't have let them kill each other in a bloodbath. At least, he wouldn't have to suffer them anymore...
Translation:
"Merci" : Thank you.
"J'ai un mauvais passif avec les- erh, : I have a poor track record with, erh
"Je pense que le mot que tu cherches est « connards »." : I think that the word you are searching for is "jerks"
"Thanks, je ne trouvais plus le bon terme pendant un moment... Je m'appelle Harry, enchanté." : Thanks, I couldn't find the good term for a moment... My name is Harry, nice to meet you
"Pas de problème, Harry. Je suis Fleur, charmée." : No problem, Harry. I'm Fleur, pleased to meet you
« imbéciles » : morons
AN : If you have a better translation, don't hesitate to share, please. While I can somewhat write both English and French, I suck at translating them.
Anyway, the character I was talking about in the last chapter is Fleur. She's awesome!
