Dec. 15th, 1994
The Christmas decorations have already been put up in the castle. They are nothing like the sophisticated ones we have at Beauxbatons, but they are quite nice in a simple and old-fashioned way. And the never-melting icicles on the banisters are really a nuisance, as they are icy cold to the touch. I wonder why nobody has thought of a spell to make them feel warm. The twelve enormous Christmas trees in the Great Hall are quite a sight however, although the constant hooting of the golden owls that are in them can get on your nerves. Some of the suits of armour have been bewitched to sing Christmas songs, but again, in this weird way they seem to have all round Hogwarts, none of them is able to really sing the complete text. Maxime would never tolerate anything like this. Another thing she would definitely not put up with is that awful poltergeist. He thinks it is great fun to hide inside a suit of armour and sing new stanzas to the old traditional songs. My English is not good enough to understand most of it, but from the expression of the caretaker, whom I watched extract the poltergeist from one of those armours, I could guess that it was perhaps not on the calm and bright note. (Considering that the caretaker himself is not the most refined person, those words must have been absolutely disgusting.) I really don't understand why they allow him to stay. Only yesterday I was just passing one of those armours, when a croaking voice blurted out:
They came upon a midnight clear,
Those fathead dullards of old,
The angels retched in clear disgust
All over harps of gold.
Followed by the typical cackling laughter. Before he could go on, though, one of the teachers, the severe-looking elderly witch that seems to be second in command here, threw a spell at him and he zoomed out of the armour and straight through the wall. (I'm not sure what dullards are, but I expect it's not a very nice word.)
I have successfully persuaded my friends not to do any research about underwater survival until New Year, although Iphigenie was not really happy about it. I mean it can't be that hard to find something. Many people have been doing it before, even Muggles can, or so I've heard.
Dec. 16th, 1994
Something funny happened today: Harry's friend, the Red-haired Moron, as I keep calling him to myself, asked me to go to the ball with him! I was standing in a corridor talking to Cedric, when, completely out of the blue, he was suddenly standing there, goggling at me in that half-witted way he always has when he's near me, and gurgling out a very unclear sound, of which I could, at any rate, make out the words "ball" and "with me".
I was absolutely speechless, and I must have looked at him in a very surprised way. I mean, he's never said a word to me before (apart from the idiotic sentence about the bouillabaisse), and has the nerve to ask me to the ball! Anyway, the look I gave him must have been less than encouraging because he went redder than his hair and literally fled down the corridor.
"Another secret admirer," Cedric grinned.
"And frightened of his own courage," I added, giggling.
Looking back, it is perhaps a bit unkind; it seems the poor boy is especially susceptible to the Veela charm, and so I should probably not be too hard on him, but his expression was absolutely hilarious, nevertheless.
Dec. 17th, 1994
"Do you know what?" Cho told me this evening at dinner. "Harry asked me to go to the ball with him!"
"He what?"
"Yes, you heard me. He was sweet, really, went all red and stammered in an absolutely incomprehensible way, so I had to ask him to say it again. Of course I told him I was sorry, I was going with Cedric. But if I didn't have Cedric… I don't know, he was very cute… He looked so disappointed…"
Funny, I always expected he'd go with that girl he keeps hanging around with, the one the Daily Prophet wrote about. And now he's asked Cho? I don't know why, exactly, but I have to admit to myself that this bothers me. Especially as the symptoms don't seem much different from Ron's when he asked me…
Dec. 18th, 1994
It's been snowing heavily for the last two days, and there is already a thick layer of snow in the grounds. We have to walk up to the castle in tunnel-like paths, it's bitterly cold, and the daylight period is awfully short. The castle's house-elves are only cooking typical English stuff, heavy stews, fat puddings and pies filled with things I don't even want to know about. I don't know why they have stopped doing at least one or two French dishes like they used to in the beginning of our stay.
Yesterday, I must have eaten something that didn't agree with me, and I've felt slightly sick all day long. I said something about it to Cedric in the corridor, and noticed Harry's friend, the bushy-haired girl, whose name I seem unable to remember, giving me one of her looks of deepest loathing that she seems to reserve for me. I'd really like to know why she hates me so much.
Wonder who Harry is going to take the Ball.
Dec. 24th, 1994
In contrast to the British custom, we have celebrated Christmas this evening. There is a tree in the middle of our common room, not nearly as big as the ones up in the castle, of course, but beautifully decorated in blue and gold, the Beauxbatons colours. Maxime had our own house-elves make a gorgeous French dinner, and we were even allowed one glass of Bordeaux Grand Cru. She was, for her, in an almost sentimental mood.
"I know it's hard to be away from home at this time of year," she told us. "And you would all love to be at home with your families- " (I am actually in two minds about this: On the one hand, I'd really love to see Gabrielle again, but on the other, I can do quite well without my mother.) "But we have to stay for the ball, of course. It only takes place together with a Tournament, and therefore it is a social event of a lifetime that is not to be missed, as nobody knows when or if the next Tournament will be. I am sure you will put up with this inconvenience, and I hope you will enjoy the ball tomorrow."
I got a very sweet present from my little sister, a pair of woollen gloves that she has (with the help of her tutor, I expect) treated with a warming charm. "So you won't have cold hands when flying anymore," her photograph that came with the parcel told me. I really appreciate this present. Doing any permanent spell is very difficult for a small child like her.
My mother must be in an exceptionally good mood (even though she wasn't too happy sending me my broom), she has given me a most remarkable gift: A beautiful moonstone, exactly the colour of my eyes, on a delicate silver chain. "For my beloved daughter, to look her very best at her first ball," the picture said. It wouldn't be my mother if she hadn't managed to put in this admonishing tone even into a Christmas card.
Margaux, Iphigenie and I have given each other the usual assorted sweets and things, nothing too original, to be sure, more a sign of good will than anything else. Finally, Maxime arranged a small firework outside the carriage, and we kept looking at the multicoloured sparks and flashes for about ten minutes, each of us busy with their own thoughts.
I'm not even sure myself what those thoughts or feelings were. A strange mixture of pride at being a champion for my school, dread of what is still to come, happiness, - no, not happiness, really, contentment, rather, at being with people I can consider my friends, and, deep down, the old loneliness, the feeling of missing something, not even knowing what …
Dec. 25th, 1994
11 a.m. - So it's the ball today. I have a feeling of uneasiness, to be honest. It's probably stupid of me, I'll have Maxime perform the Obscurata charm on my hair, and Roger promised to put the Equanimity Spell on himself, so everything should be perfectly all right, but still…
We'll all start getting ready around four in the afternoon, and around half past seven Maxime is going to lead us all up to the castle.
7 p.m. – I have taken great care with my appearance, and I think I look good, even for Veela standards. The silver-grey satin robes Maman chose for me look great, and the moonstone is just about perfect with them. Margaux and Iphigenie have congratulated me, and I don't even think there was any envy in their voices. In a couple of minutes, we are going to the castle, and I really look forward to the ball now.
Dec. 26th, 1994
The dirty, cheating…! It's one in the morning, and I ought to go to bed, but I'm still so furious I can't sleep. Never before have I been so shamelessly treated. Why, oh why can't I transform like my grandmother? I'd have loved to teach him a lesson! But I should calm down and start at the beginning.
When we entered the entrance hall, it was already buzzing with all the students. The Hogwarts poltergeist was having a great time, clanging pieces of armour together and singing one of his indecent songs. (One piece of armour started "Silent night, holy night", and he went on: "Look, a tart comes in sight", giving me a nasty look before disappearing through the wall.)
Roger Davies was waiting for me there, and Cedric and Cho joined us presently. Harry Potter was already there, too, accompanied, not as I had expected, by his bushy-haired friend, but by an extremely pretty Indian girl with long pitch-black braids in shocking pink robes. For a short moment, I noticed Ron, the red-haired moron, who was obviously hiding from me, and couldn't help smiling. A few minutes later, the Durmstrang students, headed by their headmaster, entered, too.
One of the Hogwarts teachers (she was wearing rather terrible robes in red tartan and had topped off the bizarre appearance with a wreath of thistles round her hat!) told the champions to wait next to the door to the Great Hall. Now I could also see Viktor Krum's partner, and it took me some time to recognise her as Harry's bushy-haired friend. While normally I'd have described her as rather plain, she looked very pretty now, in her blue robes and her elegant hairstyle that must have taken her hours to do. Many girls from Krum's admirers gave her murderous looks, not unlike those she's often been giving me.
After all the others had entered the Hall, we were given a sign to get in line and walk in, too. Amid applause, we walked up to a large round table, where the judges were already sitting, and sat down there, I between Cedric and Roger.
There were golden plates before each of us, and a small menu next to the plate. There was the compulsory Christmas pudding, goulash, and pork chops, all those heavy dishes full of saturated fatty acids that had been served continuously for the last two weeks, but luckily they had some fish, too, which I ordered by talking to the menu.
I don't remember what made me do it, perhaps it was that I was fed up (A/N: I'm not sure whether this phrase exists in French, too, but it's a nice pun) with the monotony of the food, or just some subconscious motivation, but I started criticising the decoration of the Hall; to be sure, it wasn't very much to speak of, just some frosted walls and a couple of garlands of the boring mistletoe and ivy that for some reason or other are so popular in England. Anyway, I started telling Roger about the Christmas decorations we use to have at Beauxbatons, the ice statues, and the wood-nymph choirs.
"… and if a poltergeist ever entered into Beauxbatons, he would be expelled like that." And I slapped my hand on the table rather loudly, looking at Roger.
If I'd been more alert, I'd have noticed the signs even at this early point.
"Absolutely right," Roger said, "Like that." And he repeated my gesture, apparently perfectly unaware of what I had been saying. Now I also noticed his dazed look and the way he kept missing his mouth with his fork. But I didn't think anything of it at the time.
Looking around, I saw that Viktor Krum was talking animatedly to his partner, the ugly-duckling-turned-swan in the blue robes. She was teaching him to pronounce her name, and I thought this would be an opportunity to finally remember it too.
"Her-me-own", he said, which is the perfectly normal pronunciation of the ancient Greek name Hermione, as every French speaking person knows. (I wonder how her parents got the idea to give her that name.)
But no, English is different; I'll never catch all its subtleties. She kept telling him again and again to say 'Her-my-own-knee' an absurd way to say it if anybody asks me.
Viktor, although he may be a good wizard and a diligent student, didn't seem very quick on the uptake, and "Herm-own-ninny" was the closest he could get.
Another thing I noticed was (and I won't pretend I didn't feel some satisfaction) that Harry and his date didn't seem to have a good time at all. Although the girl tried to talk to him, he did not bother to answer and rather turned to a young man sitting to his other side who I didn't know, but who, with his flaming red hair, seemed to be a brother of Ron the moron. (He seemed to be filling in for the Ministry official who had been there at the previous occasions.)
After dinner, Headmaster Dumbledore told everybody to stand up from their tables; with a move of his wand, he moved all the tables towards the wall so that there was a clear space in the middle of the hall; then a platform for the musicians was conjured up, complete with all the musical instruments on it, including, as I noticed apprehensively, a set of bagpipes.
Presently the musicians trooped on to the stage. They were seven women, all with elaborately unkempt manes of hair, in black robes that were full of holes and tears, rags, actually. "The Weird Sisters!" I heard Cho say excitedly. Apparently, they are a very famous group over here, judging from the enthusiastic applause that greeted them. When they picked up their instruments, the lanterns on the table went out, leaving only the dance floor in clear bright light. Everybody at our table stood up, and I realised we, the champions were to begin the dancing.
It was a slow tune, and the really weird sounds of the bagpipes gave it a mournful feeling, not, as I thought, very befitting for a ball like this.
Roger and I started in the normal dancing position, with one of his hands on my waist, and I was careful to keep some space between us during the dance. When, a minute or two after the dance had started, put his other hand on my waist, too, I grabbed it tenderly but decidedly, and pulled him back to the original position.
"Please, don't", I said softly.
"Sorry."
I did not enjoy the dance very much, and looked around me at the others. I saw at once that Harry was not enjoying himself at all. His movements were clumsy and wooden, and it seemed unbelievable that this was the same boy who had outflown a full-grown dragon. I noticed that he kept watching Cho and Cedric, with a distinct frown on his face.
The next song thankfully was much faster, so each of us was able to dance for themselves now; and I was beginning to enjoy myself at last. After two or three more dances (all of them of the faster sort), we found a table with Cho and Cedric again, had some butterbeer and watched the crowd on the dance floor.
"You watch it," I said to Cho. "Seems Harry Potter has a crush on you. Have you noticed how he keeps staring at you all the time?"
"How could I not?", she replied, and I'm sure she blushed. "Poor boy, but he knows I'm with Cedric, doesn't he?"
"Now way he could not," I told her, grinning. "Just look at the two of you."
After some time, Roger, who had been remarkably quiet most of the time, said he wanted to show me the enchanted garden that had been especially designed for the ball. The strangled tone of his voice and his glazed look did ring a warning bell deep down inside me, but I refused to listen and rose to accompany him outside.
I must admit that garden was some achievement. Here, in the middle of a frozen snowy park, they had conjured up an ornamental garden that would have been quite good enough for Versailles, complete with fountains and blossoming rose bushes. Everything was lit by sparkling fairy lights. What was perhaps not in the best of tastes was the large statue of Pere Noel and his reindeer in the middle of the garden.
"Beautiful, isn't it?" Roger said in a whisper.
"Yes, very," I had to admit.
And then he put his arm round my waist, pulling me towards him. I stiffened instantly. "Don't," I said, still softly.
"Come on," he insisted, his voice hoarse, putting his other arm round my shoulders. "I've been waiting long enough for this moment."
"What moment?" I whispered, taken aback.
"You know exactly what I mean. You've been playing the ice queen with me long enough now. I won't have it any more. Making me put that stupid charm on myself and everything, think I'm a stupid idiot, do you? Bet you're doing it to hundreds of guys for the fun of it?"
"What are you talking about?"
"I'll tell you what I'm talking about! I'm not putting up with it any longer, right? Took that bloody equanimity stuff off myself just a couple of minutes ago! No, Fleur Delacour, I want you, and I'll have you!"
If there had been any trace of tenderness in his words, I might have reacted differently. But there was only aggressiveness in his movements and I could only see anger and perhaps even hatred in his eyes, as he lowered his face towards mine.
"How dare you!" I screamed at him, and I believe my voice must have carried across all of the castle grounds (I clearly heard a couple of people hurrying off through the bushes nearby).
Pushing him back with all the strength I could summon, shocked as I was, I threw the first curse at him I could think of – "Vomitus!" - and dashed off through the bushes, tears now streaming down my face.
Hardly thinking where I was going, I made my way out of the enchanted garden, barely noticing the biting cold of the snow, as I was stumbling down towards our carriage.
Shaking with the cold, but even more with anger, frustration and humiliation, I let myself in, and collapsed sobbing in an armchair next to the fireplace.
Not even a minute later, the door crashed open again, and Maxime, of all people, stormed in, in a very agitated manner, her face flushed and her eyes sparkling. She stopped shortly at seeing me, but apparently she was not in the mood for talking, but disappeared through one of the doors immediately. Normally, I'd have said something to her, but I was so wrapped in my misery that I didn't really care.
Writing all this down has helped me to calm down a bit, but I still feel perfectly miserable. I don't see how I can go up to the castle tomorrow and meet Roger again. He must have planned this all the time, lying to me all those weeks, pretending to be nice and sensitive, so I let down my defences, believing he liked me for who I am, not how I look. And meanwhile the only thing he must have been thinking of all the time… I hate him! He'll probably invent the most awful stories about me - what will Cho say? And Cedric? He is a boy; will he believe him? Will he finally follow the common Veela prejudice? And – Harry? Somehow, what I'm most afraid of is that he might see me in that light, too. I suppose I'd better avoid him until the second task. Hope Cedric hasn't forgotten to tell him about the egg…
Grisabel has curled up in my lap while I'm writing this; she always knows when I'm down, and if it wasn't for her, I don't think I could put up with this.
Two o'clock in the morning – I really should go to bed…