A/N: Heya, hope everyone is safe and well. Thanks again for the reviews, favs and follows. Please feel free to keep that up, it motivates me to keep writing in these trying times. Also, if you like to talk to me about the story, come find me on my discord.
Beta: For this chapter I had a group of Flowerpot betas proofread my work. Please join me in thanking Misty, King Raph and Noble K for their hard work. *Thunderous Applause*
Disclaimer: I do not own anything from the HP universe or the mentioned brand names in this story, they belong to the appropriate entities that brought them into this world.
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Chapter 4: Love & Friendship
August 30th, 1994
Black Manor
Harry sat in the kitchen, a car magazine spread out on the table before him as he munched on his well deserved chicken-cheese sandwich. Next to him sat the quiet form of Celine, a steaming cup of tea placed next to her newspaper as she read it tentatively. He could hear her mutter almost silent thoughts, their meaning lost to the absence of context.
While Celine was somebody who liked to talk, she also seemed to be able to immediately tell when he was in no mood for it, and considering how busy the house had been during the past week, the silence that hung between them was a godsend.
The quiet of the bookstore was also one of the primary reasons he felt comfortable working there, despite the customers frequenting the shop.
One of the reasons the house had been livelier than usual, was the surprise visit of Mr Weasley a few days ago. Harry couldn't remember telling his godfather about meeting the redhead man, much less informed his relative of Mr Weasley's willingness to sponsor him in time for the upcoming event.
Upon asking Mr Weasley how he'd known where Harry lived and how he'd come to be acquainted with Sirius, the man had seemed mute for lack of an answer before his godfather had intervened and referred to Mr Weasley as an old acquaintance.
Further questions that arose from the suspiciously unspecific explanation were dashed when Sirius had moved the other man along and disappeared inside Sirius' study. A place where Harry had never been permitted to enter.
Taking another solid bite from his sandwich, Harry chewed away at his irritation and focussed his attention back on the magazine on the table. The time of the race was fast approaching, as was his return to homeschooling. His private tutors weren't due to start their lessons until the middle of September. He still had time to mess about with his project.
Groaning internally at the thought of suffering through endless lessons in preparation for his O-Levels, he wondered how other kids felt about their studies.
Hermione was no mystery but she also was no average example of your average high schooler. She loved studying to the point of being an obsession. She definitely was going to be going places in the future.
He, on the other hand, was just fine passing his subjects and focussing his attention on his hobby. Sirius and Celine disagreed with his lacklustre approach to his studies but they also placed their hopes of encouraging him to aim higher on his private tutors. So far, Mr Burton and Ms Clearwater had kept him on his toes, making sure he scored high enough for most future universities to take an interest in him.
Thinking back on Hermione's approaching trip to her elite school, Harry couldn't help but feel abandoned. He wasn't particularly keen on surrounding himself with people, but Hermione had made an impression that left him wanting for her presence. It made him consider the exclusive benefits of attending a school: making friends.
While he'd offered his godfather to stop taking expensive private lessons and attend a normal public school, Sirius had waved the idea off, citing the lacking qualities of mass education.
To be fair, Harry couldn't remember ever having attended a nursery or pre-school while he still had lived with his parents. His mother, Lily, had taken to teaching him and for what it was worth, it had always been a rather fun experience with her.
"What are you thinking about?" Celine asked curiously, her grey eyes studying his face.
Caught off guard by her sudden inquiry, Harry had a hard time deciding whether he should speak through a half chewed bite or not. He went for finishing the bite before answering. "What do you mean?"
Shaking her head at him, Celine gave a small shrug and nodded at him. "You just had a look about you. You looked...happy," she explained nonchalantly.
Realizing that he must have smiled at the thought of his parents, Harry returned to look at his magazine in embarrassment, trying to avoid having to explain what the smile could have been about.
The older woman took that as a sign that she'd struck gold and left her newspaper to throw her full attention at him. Folding the newspaper closed, she placed her elbow on the table and laid her chin on her palm, her demeanour entirely inquisitive.
"Is it perhaps about Hermione?"
He jerked at the question and eyed her with confusion, his mouth opening and closing in wonder. Shaking himself, he cleared his throat and went to answer.
"What?"
She hummed in amusement, shaking her head at him. "You heard me."
Of course. "What about her?"
"Well," she started, seemingly unsure of what to say.
Celine had been very excited to meet Hermione on that day. To be honest, Harry had never seen the woman look as joyous as she had then, gushing over his friend's surprise visit. On the other hand, he also remembered that Hermione had looked at him differently. It felt familiar and not in a good way.
"When a girl comes to visit, it usually means they're close. Perhaps very close," Celine explained cheekily.
"What are you insinuating? She's my friend and wanted to see where I lived."
Harry's face was red with embarrassment at the misinterpretation of what Hermione's visit meant to the woman sitting next to him. He'd never even thought of his bushy-haired friend in that way. At least, not until now he hadn't.
"Celine," he rubbed his forehead in annoyance, "I sometimes believe you've watched too many of those teen dramas on the telly."
Shrugging at him, she returned her focus on the newspaper, opening it at the page where she'd left a dog ear and began reading.
"Did you notice how she dressed?" She asked him, her eyes not leaving the open page in front of her.
He frowned at the question. "Yeah, of course, I did."
"And, did you notice how she took care of her skin and hair?" She prodded further.
Again, his frown deepened.
"Yes, that too. I even told her how nice she looked."
Celine smiled at that and let her purple eyes move to the side to meet his emerald green eyes.
"And then," she said with a disappointed gasp, raising an eyebrow in disappointment, "you let her come into the house with that ghastly greasy thing in her hands, staining that beautiful skin."
Harry dropped his eyes back toward his magazine, trying to look at anything but her. "That happened too, yes."
"And yet, did you hear her complain?" She pointed out further.
"No, but she was only being polite. What are you getting at this time?" He muttered, his hand massaging his eyes or simply raised to help him hide from the woman's knowing gaze.
Clearing her throat, she leaned back on her chair and graced him with a smile, her teeth barely visible in the subtle split of her lips.
"That girl likes you, is what I'm saying," she stated like it was a matter of fact. The scoff that died in her chest, made itself known in her disbelieving eyes.
"Nonsense," he replied clearly, no longer in the mood for Celine's mind games. "Hermione is many things but she doesn't see me like that. We've only ever been friends. I've never heard her say or do anything that would indicate the opposite."
Her face screwed up in confusion while her eyes widened in disagreement, his words seeming to have had the wrong effect.
Leaning back toward him, Celine raised her palm in protest. "Why would you be so adamant about her not liking you, Harry?"
"Because she doesn't," he replied curtly, his feelings on the matter resolute.
After a few brief moments of silence, Celine decided that he'd not see the issue from another perspective and made to change the topic.
"So, if Hermione wasn't the reason why you smiled, what was it you were thinking about then?"
The question hung in the air for a while as he thought about his answer. Gladdened by the change in topic, he wasn't sure it changed anything about his forthcoming with a response. He normally didn't talk about his parents with anyone other than Sirius and even then, it was mostly Sirius who'd bring up past memories of them.
Between Celine and himself, the topic of his parents never really arose. It wasn't nor had it ever been a thing. He wasn't sure if it was because he never mentioned them or if she preferred not to bring them up. Perhaps it was time to rectify that.
"I was thinking of Mum," he uttered quietly while he crossed his arms in front of him.
Rubbing his arms defensively, Celine noticed how uncomfortable the answer made him. She reached out to him and gently stroked his lower arm that was closest to her. He smiled vaguely in return.
"Was it a nice memory, then?" She asked gingerly.
He nodded subtly at her question. "It was one of the few ones I still remember of her."
Celine eyed him guiltily. "I'm sorry for pushing you. I shouldn't have done that."
He shook his head at her slowly, "It's fine."
Gladdened by that, Celine eyed the magazine that laid in front of him. The picture of a modified car raising an idea in her mind.
"Did that remind you of her?" she asked, her finger pointing toward the picture on the open page.
"No," he answered quickly, "it was school actually."
"School?" She wondered.
His jaw tensed but he made to answer anyway, his shoulders rose and fell with a subtle shrug. "I was just thinking that school would be starting again and not being able to see Hermione reminded me of how much going to a school with other kids would be nice," he admitted to her.
A look of pity crossed her eyes but she quickly let it pass. Harry didn't do well being pitied, he never had.
"Have you asked Sirius again, if he could enrol you? Perhaps he would change his mind this time," she proposed, her encouragement carried by her hopeful voice.
He shook his head at her again but this time he allowed for a small smile. "We've had a long discussion on the matter a year ago. He's been very clear on the issue. Homeschooling for another four years and then I can do whatever I like. If I wish to attend university or engineering school, he'd support me unconditionally."
She nodded slowly at his recollection of his discussion with Sirius. Thinking about the man's possible motivations, realization dawned on her. "I remember, he'd told me then too. You'd be eighteen in four years," she stated, her feelings on his growing older forcing a bittersweet taste to her lips.
He nodded with pursed lips, having come to that conclusion then as well. "The age where his responsibility as my godfather would cease, yes," he confirmed bitterly.
Celine was aware that Sirius was adamant about keeping an eye on his godson and that his care may have caused him to be rather overbearing in that regard. Harry was growing up and with each year, the mix between the hovering and aloofness of Sirius may hurt their relationship more than it did to help.
"What about your job at the bookshop," Celine recalled with renewed hope, "or the car meets you've been going to? Haven't you made friends there?"
Harry considered the questions for a few moments, before letting his head hang a bit lower shortly after. "The people I met at work are more like acquaintances or colleagues than friends. And the car meets are mostly a crowd of older guys who are nice but would rather spend time with other adults than with a fourteen-year-old kid."
Not letting the issue go, Celine continued to dig for anything she could use to lift his spirits. "What about that Janine girl? I thought you were getting along well."
"She's cool, " he admitted, "but we don't really talk outside of work. We work well together but we don't really mesh well as people."
"I see," she commented, "so Hermione is your only friend?"
Thinking about it, Harry nodded at that. "I guess so."
Celine studied him after his reply, her features morphing into a blank, unassuming gaze. It didn't take long before she moved to ask another question.
"Having had the opportunity to speak to your Hermione, I'm just surprised how the two of you even became friends. You say that your co-worker Janine doesn't mesh well with you but that a studious, knowledge-driven girl does?"
Pausing for a moment, considering how to explain their relationship. "One day she came into the bookshop and we talked and it just...I don't know...fit? We have entirely different hobbies and interests, true," he nodded to concede her point, "but we got along really well regardless. Looking at it now...yeah...it's a funny thing, really."
Before Celine could snap at the bait Harry had brought forward, he raised his hand to halt her enthusiasm. "Not like that. We're friends," he reminded her, his eyes rolling at her.
She huffed at that and lowered her head back on her hand. Her eyes didn't leave him, instead, they stared into him.
Harry could see the wheels turning behind her purple orbs, the information he'd fed her up until this point being processed.
When she blinked, she moved back toward him, lowering her arm back on the table. "Considering what you've told me, Harry, the upcoming racing event is really a make or break moment for you then?"
Unperturbed by the vast change in topic, he went with the flow, celebrating internally.
"Yeah, a good performance would perhaps draw some attention to me and enable me to make my way into the amateur league."
Celine being unfamiliar with muggle motor racing, waited expectantly for more information.
Picking up on that, Harry went on to explain further. "Before I can make a living off of racing, I have to get experience, learn the ropes, make connections. I will have to do that as an amateur. Amateurs don't get paid and must finance everything themselves. There are, however, chances of getting sponsors or patrons, if you will, who can alleviate the burden of costs. Anyway, before any of that happens, I need that," he pointed at the door to the garage, "to win me the favour of potential sponsors for amateur teams."
Her nodding indicated that she followed his words and understood what he intended to do. "And how many such events do you have to participate in to make waves?" She asked.
He shrugged at the question as he himself didn't know an answer to that question. "Preferably only one race, but realistically speaking, I think this will keep me busy until I'm eighteen."
"That long?" she sounded surprised. "I thought you'd have to be quicker."
He nodded but went to explain further. "For aspiring drivers, age does indeed matter. For technicians and mechanics not so much actually. I don't want to be a driver, so I don't have to work with that timeframe in mind. All I have to do is impress people with my machine, not my driving. If my car can handle the abuse of racing and outpace other cars, then I'd be well on my way."
"But wouldn't a good driver make you look better? You said your driver for the upcoming event is a little more than a novice. Wouldn't he make you look bad?" She asked again.
The truth of her statement stung him but he knew that he had no choice in the matter. If he wanted to make it to that event, he had to accept the deal with Mr Weasley. Money for a racing seat. In the best case scenario, Ron might be a prodigy and worst case, the car ends up in a ditch with a bit of damage.
"As I said, preferably only one event but it will take some to make an impression," he admitted.
Looking at him talk, Celine recognized the joy in the boy's eyes as he talked about his racing aspirations. If she didn't know better, she'd assume that he was taking the initiative to follow in his parents' footsteps. Whether that was a good thing or a bad thing, she couldn't say yet.
His circumstances were entirely different from his parents'. A muggle doing muggle things didn't bother anyone in the Ministry.
Seeing as he had finished his sandwich, Celine took the opportunity to tidy up the table. "Well, you best get back to your project then."
"Yeah, thanks for the food. Sublime as usual, Celine," he called as he stepped around the table to make his way out of the kitchen and down the hallway, to the door of the garage. Before he left the kitchen, he turned briefly to tell her one last thing.
"And Celine," he said, calling her attention to him again.
"Yes?" she turned to him, halting her submerged hands in the sink.
"Thank you," he muttered with a small smile, "for the talk."
Celine smiled at him before she turned back and spied his reflected silhouette disappearing in the glass of the kitchen window in front of her. His absence brought back the silence of the house, leaving only the sound of porcelain knocking into one another.
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Same day...
Château de la Cour, South of Toulouse, South France
The room felt warm and welcoming and the light reflecting off the light coloured walls illuminated the elegantly organized furniture. On the bed that was positioned against the wall and in the centre of the space, clothes laid strewn across in a wild assortment; indicating that something akin to a wild animal had come through here.
Other than piles of clothes, there were also school materials laying on the floor. Books upon books and an endless number of scrolls could be found in plain sight, partially poking out from under the bed and hiding in the corners of the room.
The mess could easily be sorted and cleaned up but at the instruction of the person living in it, the house-elves had reluctantly left it as it was.
Carefully tip-toeing her way through the minefield of personal belongings and fragile utensils, Gabrielle made her way into her big sister's sanctuary, her eyes splitting their focus between the floor and their search for the older Veela girl.
"Fleur?" she called.
A huffing could be heard coming from the walk-in closet that was attached to the room, accessible through an additional doorway that passed by the vanity.
"Oui?"
Her ears twitching at the response, Gabrielle whipped her head toward the closet and twisted her body mid-step that would allow her to change direction without accidentally stepping on anything of value.
"Maman wants to know how you are getting along with your packing. Said the portkey is due to activate soon."
Finally passing through the door to the walk-in closet, Gabrielle spied her sister's form on the floor. Fleur had bent down to go through her shoe collection, seemingly unsatisfied with the choices she had.
The closet was a magically enlarged space that could easily house several queen size beds. Hangers and shelves lined both sides of the closet, and the far corners of the walking space were garnished with full body-length mirrors, permitting not only a view of a choice of attire but also how it fell while walking. It helped judge if something sat awkwardly and needed readjusting or replacing.
Fleur had received the space as a birthday gift on her 14th birthday from their mother, the day she had finally begun her Veela maturation.
That her maturation had occurred on that day was purely coincidental, it wasn't like nature worked on a clock.
In Fleur's case, it had been her immunity to burns that alerted their mother to Fleur's maturation process. It had most likely already begun a while before her birthday, but it was on that day that it occurred to Apolline that Fleur hadn't burned her finger holding the blisteringly hot oven tray on which they had baked a cake.
Fleur hadn't jerked her hand away in pain and neither were there burn marks to signify the radiating heat coming from the metal piece.
The walk-in closet hadn't been on the list of gifts before, but after that, it had.
"Fleur?" she called again.
This time her sister reacted visibly, pulling her head out of the darkness of the shoe closet and sitting down on her bare heels. Her hair fell back as she turned her head to gaze up at her younger sister - her eyes softened when they recognized the little Veela chick.
"Oui, Gabby?" she finally said.
"Maman wants to know if you're done packing yet," Gabby repeated. Turning to look through the doorway back into Fleur's room, she couldn't stop a giggle from escaping. "I think not."
Listening to her sister's amused observation of her preparation status, the elder sister sighed exaggeratedly, lifting a hand to scratch her scalp in frustration.
Pulling her focus back toward Fleur, Gabby continued her inquiry. "Didn't you say you'd start packing early? Why did you start on the day you're supposed to leave?"
Biting her lip at the question, her sister got up from the floor while massaging her painfully stiffened knees. Having made sure the blood circulation to her legs was restored, Fleur collected the few pairs of shoes she'd found acceptable for a trip to Scotland.
Entering her bedroom again, she dropped the shoes on the bed next to her other wildly organized pieces of clothing that she'd decided on beforehand.
"I did," she started suddenly, leaving Gabrielle to wonder for a few moments what she meant.
"Did what?"
"Start early."
"Huh?" Gabby uttered, her eyes scanning the room again.
"I did start a few days ago. Did take me a fair time to find everything I'd need," the elder sister explained while she ticked off her mental list as she looked across her bed.
"You don't usually take that long to pack."
"I don't usually travel to Scotland."
"What's wrong with Slotcand?" Gabby asked in a frown.
"It's...cold," her sister stated plainly.
"But you've gone to cold places with Papa before."
"In the muggle world, yes. This is different."
"Different?" she asked, her head shaking at the word.
"My usual clothing wouldn't hold up against what I'll be facing there," Fleur explained calmly.
Gabrielle eyed her worriedly before she continued their conversation.
"Is it because we are Veela? Is the cold weather in Stoc-...Scotland dangerous to us?"
Fleur shook her head reassuringly. "No, not like that."
"What do you mean then?" Gabrielle asked more intensely.
The older Veela crossed her arms and rubbed softly at her biceps, a thoughtful look travelling across her face. She then moved to make space on the bed for both of them to sit but made sure to organize the clothes on it with a silent spell.
"Did Maman or Papa tell you where I'm going this year?" Fleur asked gingerly.
Gabrielle nodded. "Oui, they said you'd first go to Beauxbatons for a month and then you'd travel across the sea to Hogwarts in Sco-tland."
"And did they tell you why?" she continued.
Gabrielle nodded proudly at that. "Because Auntie Olympe has chosen you to participate in the big tournament where winners become legends."
Fleur nodded slowly, smiling at Gabrielle's obvious sense of pride at the words.
"That is more or less what this is all about, yes," she began, "but it's because the tournament is difficult and challenging that winners are remembered, Gabby."
Gabby's smile flattened at that. "Oh…"
Worried that she may have scared the little girl, Fleur quickly raised her hand to rub her sister's back comfortingly.
"It's nothing to worry about, trust me. In the worst case, I lose and come last."
Gabrielle nodded reluctantly and moved to hug her sister dearly, pressing her head into her chest. Fleur bent her head down onto the smaller head and lifted her free arm to close the hug in a perfect circle around her younger sister's much smaller body.
"Maman said we'll be able to come visit you there. She didn't say when, though," Gabrielle muttered into Fleur's skin, her nose blowing hot air in small puffs.
"I know. I can't wait for it," Fleur responded, her voice muffled by the head of hair under her cheek.
Remembering their shopping trip just a few days ago, Gabrielle moved her head a bit to free her mouth to speak louder.
"What about the dress?" she asked.
"What about it?"
"It's not going to help you win a tournament," Gabrielle stated.
"Maybe not, but maybe yes," Fleur countered.
Frowning at her sister's vague answer, Gabrielle loosened her hug a bit and raised her gaze to her sister's, a question on her lips.
"How so?"
"It's the dress you chose for me, Gabby," Fleur began, dropping her forehead onto the smaller one carefully, "it will remind me of you and grant me strength every time I glance at it."
Hearing the words, Gabrielle's cheeks turned scarlet, closing her eyes in an effort to hide from her older sister's caring words.
"It's not enchanted armour, Fleur," she admonished fakely as she lowered her head away from her sister's head, placing it on the shoulder instead.
Fleur shook her head at the chicklet. "What is it that Maman used to say when it came to love?"
Gabrielle grinned at the question, a realization dawning on her.
"Love is the fairy's magic," she quoted the oldest Veela in the house.
Fleur nodded. "And why did you want to help me choose a dress?"
The question made the younger girl smile widely as it had been the easiest question thus far - the answer only too eager to be unleashed.
"Because I wanted you to have a dress as well. We'd be able to dance together. You wouldn't be alone out there."
The childish honesty of the words struck Fleur, although she'd always been very close with her chicklet sister. They warmed her heart.
Gabrielle felt a warm hand palming her cheek as her older sister kissed her on her temple, the kiss soaring hot.
"And that is why, when the world seems dark and cold, and the challenge such a difficult task I would consider forfeiting, I will remember the dress that hangs dormant in my room. I will remember your love and push onward. I will persevere and succeed."
Gabrielle giggled at the words, the heat of the kiss on her face still burning hot. "Fleur, that's so cheesy."
The older Veela giggled at the words in return as well and went to tickle her sister. "You're my baby chicklet sister, I can be cheesy," she insisted as Gabrielle's giggles morphed into a full laugh, only interrupted by gasps of air.
A sudden knock at the door broke their playful display between sisters, allowing Gabrielle to escape the predatory hands of her older Veela sister and move to get up and off the bed.
The darker oceanic blue eyes of Fleur left the lighter turquoise of Gabrielle's, turning to move toward the origin of the knocking sound.
Apolline stood there leaning against the door frame to the room, her gaze defined by amusement.
"Gabby, l sent you to see how she was doing with her packing. I didn't tell you to distract her even more," she reprimanded her youngest daughter lightly.
Gabrielle eyed her mother innocently and shrugged as she waved smugly at her older sister and quickly disappeared through the small gap between the doorframe and her mother's form.
Watching her daughter disappear behind her, Apolinne then made to enter the space that had just seen a member of the Delacour family leave abruptly. Studying the mess in the room, the mother of two Veela daughters came to stand next to her still sitting child.
"I see you're still not done," she summarized.
"No, I'm actually in the final stages of my packing," Fleur corrected her, pointing to the piles of neatly folded clothes on the bed next to her two large bags.
Apolline nodded and eyed the clothes that were not on the bed. "What about those?" she pointed.
"Leftover from my pillage of the closet," Fleur stated.
"I see."
Apolline pulled her wand from her pocket and cast a spell that floated the clothes back into the walk-in closet and also returned most of the strewn about things to their places of origin.
"I know how to clean up my room, Maman," Fleur complained.
"Yes, darling, I'm aware," she said nonchalantly, "but I still like doing it."
Satisfied that the room looked organized and as elegant as it was, to begin with, Apolline put her wand back into her pocket and turned to do what she originally came for.
"Olympe called," she started, "she asked me to tell you to go meet her as soon as you are able. As soon as you would arrive at school even."
Fleur looked away from her packing at the message and gazed at her mother in question. "Why so suddenly?"
"Don't ask me. I may be your mother but even I am not privy to the headmistress' plans for you," Apolline shrugged.
Fleur eyed her suspiciously. "Says the woman who almost went to burn down the school at the previous headmaster's rejection of my attendance?"
"That's different. That buffoon called you a 'creature'," she huffed at the reminder, "I should have burned more than just his hair for that remark."
Fleur grinned at the memory of the charcoaled former headmaster, his head now defined by a perfectly shiny hairless scalp.
If it hadn't been for her parents, Fleur would have never been allowed to set foot in Beauxbatons and her mother would have seen serious legal action being levied against her for her violent act. Fleur wasn't one to act the part, but she did appreciate that one perk of her paternal noble family name's measure of influence in the French magical circles. Even though her father had seen plenty of ridicule for his choice of mate, together with her mother they'd braved the insults and harsh press.
Considering it now, there would be a cold day in hell before anyone treated Gabrielle that way and came away unscathed. The next time there'd be two balls of flame burning.
Returning her attention back to her packing, her mother moved around the bed to fetch the dress hanging behind the door, leaving Fleur to focus on the sequence of her packing order.
The older woman returned to her side with the dress hanging from her finger before being laid down on the bed.
"Have you tried it on again since the first time in the store? Madame Eclipse said to wear it is to be the dress," Apolline said encouragingly.
Fleur sighed in response. "No, I haven't. It fit the first time and will for the rest of my life."
Apolline shook her head lightly at that, letting her hand stroke the soft satin fabric of the faint blue ball gown. A melancholic look passed her eyes as she let the feelings of uncertainty wash over her.
"This Tournament is dangerous, is it not?" she started quietly, her eyes travelling from the gown to her daughter's turned away body, "Should I have pushed Olympe to tell me? Should I come with you, just in case?"
Shrinking the last of her things, Fleur stowed the miniature shapes into a pocket of her bag before turning to eye the gown and then her worried mother's form, fidgeting next to it.
"Not you too, Maman," she moaned with a warm sigh, her mouth gracing a kind, comforting smile. At the confused look of her mother, Fleur explained what she'd told her younger sister which encouraged a wide happy grin to form on Apolline's face who'd then pulled Fleur into a tight embrace.
"My girls," she muttered into Fleur's shoulder, "if anything, I've taught you the most valuable lesson successfully."
Fleur humm-ed to that, patting her mother on the back while they were still hugging one another, the warmth coming from Apolline reminding her of the younger days when she could barely reach her belly button.
Another knock at the door announced the arrival of the last member of the Delacour family, his fully clothed appearance reminding Fleur that time was running out and their departure for the portkey imminent.
"Ready Fleur?" Her father asked with a tone of urgency adding to the overall sense of a rush.
She nodded at him while her mother disentangled herself from their embrace. Spying Jean at the door, Apolline kissed Fleur on the cheek before muttering a quick goodbye into her daughter's ear. Turning and walking around the bed toward the door, she stopped briefly to kiss her husband as well and subsequently disappeared around the white frame of the door where Gabrielle had vanished to a while ago.
At the pointed look of Jean, Fleur brought her wand forward and angled it at the gown laying on the bed, it's form slowly shrinking as to ensure that it didn't get damaged by sudden uneven distortions to its proportions.
After finally putting everything in her bags and having ensured that she had nothing left forgotten, she sprinted into her closet to put on her going-out clothes and then rushed down the stairs with the baggage floating sharply behind her.
Reaching the door where her father waited, Fleur briefly turned to wave at her mother and sister standing next to each other, the former's arm around the latter's small frame in comfort.
"Shrink your bags Fleur, we need to run to make it on time," her father instructed.
Nodding in agreement, Fleur quickly shrank her bags and pocketed them inside her jacket. Patting herself down one last time to make sure she was ready, she sighed in relief and trepidation.
She was leaving the only sanctuary that she knew and would spend the next months not only at an institution she didn't exactly like but also in an entirely unfamiliar country. Despite all the comfort she'd been gifted from her family, the sense of dread still hung heavy on her as she gazed one last time behind her.
Nodding to herself and at her father, they both stepped out into the world and let the heavy door to their home fall into the lock behind them.
###
Shortly After...
Somewhere in the Pyrénées Mountain Range, Southern France
The hustle and bustle of incoming students in the floo arrival area echoed off the white walls of Beauxbatons Academy, drowning the conversations of already waiting groups of students pooled around the reception area. The stress of the new school year already marked the sweaty faces of the ladies attending the overly excited freshmen yelling questions in pandemonium.
Older students, who already knew what procedure dictated, walked around the shorter students, like water flowing around a rock in a river.
None of the people, short and tall, wore their uniform yet. Beaxbatons, other than in schools found abroad, allowed the arrival in casual clothing during the week preceding the first day of school. This allowed newcomers and older students to feel more comfortable when they first get acquainted.
Shaking her head at the annual chaos of every new school year, Fleur moved to follow the other students, hoping she'd get away without being noticed by them. Tough luck however.
Most students at the academy already knew who she was and had learned to prepare themselves for her appearance - an effort not to make fools of themselves. Of course, not everyone mastered self-restraint in equal measure as the occasional dazed individual would pluck up the courage to step in her way and make demands.
Luckily it was only rarely that she would have to resort to harsh words or rarer even, a hex, to disentangle herself from unwanted encounters. The one or other student would intervene and drag pitiful persons away to lessen their respective sense of embarrassment later, when their minds caught up with reality.
The loud noise from before slowly subsided as the freshmen began to notice her, in what sounded like a domino effect of heads turning and words dying on their tongues. The young boys stared in amazement while girls eyed her in admiration as she continued to walk past them on her way inside the castle.
At the snapping of fingers, the freshman turned their attention back to the ladies at the reception, who'd followed the spectacle with little amusement. They gave Fleur neutral glances but she was sure, those eyes were hiding daggers.
Arriving at the inner yard of the castle, Fleur found her only other ally sitting by the fountain, a leg bent of her knee and the French equivalent of Witch Weekly in her hands.
Sitting down next to her, Fleur cleared her throat and bumped her shoulder in the other girl's, drawing the latter's attention to herself.
"Woah," she jumped surprised, almost dropping her magazine onto the floor. Turning to give the person that shocked them the evil eye, they instead spied Fleur.
"Fleur! You scared me. A simple 'salut' would have sufficed, you know," the girl moaned annoyed.
"Sorry, 'Cilla. I thought you heard me."
"Well, I didn't. Was busy reading this week's teen romance section. I was getting to the good part when you almost shoved me off the bench," she faux complained.
Fleur gave her an apologetic smile before she turned her attention to the part of the building she'd to enter next. The office of Olympe Maxime was somewhere in it, enchanted to appear only upon being invited. Without an invitation or an emergency, the door to the headmistress' office would never reveal itself.
"Have you heard anything about Madame Maxime calling for me?" Fleur asked her.
Cilla shook her head at her. "Didn't hear anything about that. Why?"
Fleur shrugged. "My mother said to go see her upon arrival."
"About what?"
"I just asked you that," Fleur reminded her.
"Oh, yes. You did."
Sighing, Fleur crossed her arms in front of her.
"Are you excited about the tournament?" Cilla asked suddenly.
Fleur thought about it but knew she didn't, not really. "I'd rather stay here and use the weekends to continue my driving training. My last race didn't end so well. My teammate lost her mind right in the middle of it."
"That muggle woman, Paula, right?"
Fleur nodded with an angry frown. "Yeah."
"What did she do?"
"Nothing much really," Fleur started, "it's more what she failed to do."
With the questioning look coming from Cilla, Fleur briefly explained what had happened during the race between herself and the older muggle woman. Her friend Cilla shook her head angrily at the retelling, making the odd 'hmph' sound in between phrases.
"What a cow," she finally said.
Fleur shrugged at her friend's expletive. She had spent enough time cursing the woman before already and didn't need to add anything further.
"So you didn't win this time?" Cilla inquired.
"No, I got ranked sixteenth. Almost dead-last," she sighed.
Cilla nodded at that, a grin forming on her lips. "You know, if you mess up at the tournament, you'd get third place at the worst."
"Oh-la-la-la, Cilla," Fleur complained with a grin. "I thought you were my friend. Where's the loyalty?"
"Oh, I'm sorry. You'd get third place at the worst, madame," she repeated with an exaggerated submissive tone.
Giggling at her friend's antics, Fleur shoved her playfully before an imposing sense poked at her Veela instincts.
Jerking her head forward, she quickly spotted the intimidating gaze of her headmistress as the tall woman walked toward the two girls. Her determined walk even split groups of students, who'd made way in intimidation of her physical appearance and status. Cilla swallowed visibly and began gathering her things, turning her gaze back to Fleur only once she'd been sure to have collected all her belongings.
"I better go then," Cilla said quickly, "She looks like business and no play. I'll see you in the dorms later, Fleur."
Waving at her as she walked, Cilla bowed slightly at the tall woman with a curt "Bonjour Madame" before she disappeared behind the large form.
The half-giant woman came to a stop once her shadow cast over Fleur's sitting form, the sun hiding behind her.
"Come," the tall woman ordered flatly before she turned without another word. Her large body swaying in the circular motion, the mass only more noticeable.
"Oui, Madame," Fleur responded in kind.
Fleur followed her headmistress through the courtyard silently and despite her hurried steps to keep up with Madame Maxime's large stride, the only sounds she could hear were the subdued voices of those observing the two people walking past them.
It was an unusual display for most students at Beauxbatons. The headmistress very rarely demanded to see a student and it was even rarer for her to fetch a student herself. The school prided itself on following and enforcing proper etiquette and conduct within its premises, even within the confines of a duel. Bad behaviour and disrespectful actions were punished harshly, sometimes even with full expulsion from the institution.
However, it hadn't always been like that. Under the previous headmaster, Beauxbatons had allowed discrimination and blood-purism to thrive within the teaching ranks and those taught. Many students who'd been deemed 'undesirable' or 'disreputable' had been rejected and were forced to seek education at either Hogwarts or Durmstrang.
According to Fleur's father, the families whose children were rejected by Beauxbatons were primarily admitted to Durmstrang due to its overall welcoming nature. Its environment was harsh and cruel but believed in equal opportunity. Those who 'washed out' had no one to blame but their own selves.
Fleur respected that and she would have agreed to attend that school herself, had her parents not made a spectacle at her rejection to attend Beauxbatons. Looking at it now, she knew better than to oversimplify their decision to push out the 'old guard' of the school in favour of a fresh board of governors and teaching staff.
With Madame Maxime, a legendary mistress of enchantment, the matter of skill over race was a loose debate. Her father had pushed for her acceptance as a new Headmistress and won with relatively little resistance. How he'd managed that, he never said, but she knew that he'd had a career in the magical Ministry of Interior before he'd married her mother and had her and Gabrielle. A string from that past must have helped lay the matter to rest and win him his daughter's admission to the illustrious institution.
Looking at the students passing them, Fleur recognized nobody who'd remembered the changes of the school. All those who'd studied during the days of the previous headmaster had graduated last summer. Her grade was the first freshman year under Madame Maxime's tutelage. Her year signified the clean slate of Beauxbatons, the new era.
Considering it now, a win at the Triwizard Tournament would serve as a celebration of the headmistress' success as an educator and executive officer of the school. The irony that Fleur, the reason why the reforms of Beauxbatons passed in the first place, might be chosen to represent the school at the legendary competition wasn't lost on her. Madame Maxime was many things, but coincidences didn't fit her modus operandi. The woman had always a plan in mind.
Reaching a random open door in the corridor they'd been walking in for a while now, Madame Maxime reached for the handle and closed it in front of her. Pulling a bronze-red key from her pocket, the headmistress locked the door and then unlocked it again. Upon unlocking, the door pulsed and a ripple through the fabric of reality passed the immediate area around it.
Her massive hand with the long spider-like fingers still grasping the door handle, pushed the door open to reveal an entirely different interior than the empty classroom that it had led to just moments before.
"It amazes me every time," Fleur commented unintentionally.
The tall woman's ear perked at her student's words and turned to smile at her, the intimidating presence from before evaporating entirely.
"It's one of my greatest inventions," she said, "it's a simple arithmetic formula now but the theory behind it took me ages to develop. I thank you for the compliment, my dear."
Fleur could only return the smile at the headmistress' appreciation at her observation. It wasn't a compliment if it was the truth, but splitting hairs over that was unnecessary.
"Come in and have a seat, please. I'll go fetch us some tea from my cabinet."
"Bien sûr, merci Madame, " Fleur nodded.
Closing the door behind her, the half-giantess walked over to her desk and opened a cabinet behind it. With a wave of her wand, the cup ware and ingredients moved as if by an invisible hand.
Fleur sat patiently on the sofa in the middle of the office while her headmistress went about her tea ceremony.
The office was relatively moderate in decor and served only to help Madame Maxime go about her duties as the head of the educational institution. The space lacked personal touches such as photos or paintings of relatives or places she'd cherished. Nothing that would indicate that this place was meant to be only hers.
Instead, the room was littered with books and papers on the theory of enchantments from different ages. There were also dusty books garnishing the shelves that addressed alchemical theories. Some bindings even mentioned the philosopher's stone by the infamous N.F. - Nicolas Flamel, that is.
Why the headmistress had a book on alchemy on her shelf was most unusual, but perhaps it was exactly that reason why her office looked the way it did. Some information to speculate on her motivations but not enough to pinpoint an answer to that question. It left most visitors unassuming of her while it drove unwelcome guests on the backfoot.
But something that Fleur was perfectly aware of was that she stood not only on her mother's shoulders but also on Madame Maxime's. She didn't need to see any personal belongings to know that she owed the woman and owed big.
With the sound of porcelain being put down in front of her, Fleur withdrew from the musings, turning instead to gaze upon the giant woman placing the teacup and some sweets on the table separating the both of them.
"Merci."
"De rien, Fleur." The woman returned.
After adding the appropriate amount of ingredients to her tea and taking a first reluctant sip from the piping hot liquid, the Veela girl cleared her throat to announce the beginning of their meeting.
"What is it that you require of me, Madame?" she started.
Maxime, still turning the spoon in her cup, raised her gaze to meet Fleur's expectant glance. Studying the young woman, the headmistress' lips formed a wide smile that reached her eyes, the pride in them softening the overall presence.
"I see you'd like to skip pleasantries and cut straight to the heart of the matter," she commented evenly but letting her smile remain on her face, "Something I hope you'll keep doing when we cross the channel. You'll do yourself no favours by playing cute."
Fleur nodded obediently at words coming from the woman sitting opposite her. Taking another sip from her tea, she bought herself time to seem patient with her answer.
"I'm going there to win, Madame, not waste my time making nice with the English," she offered evenly.
"Exactement, my dear," she noted, "they may say that it is an event to deepen the relations between the three schools and their student bodies. But believe me when I say, a victory is as important to them as it is to us," she intoned.
"I have no qualms about using my elbows. I won't give them any quarter and neither will I expect it from any of them," Fleur agreed.
"Good," she stated, "then tell me what you've been doing the past summer in preparation for the tournament."
The question was valid and she already had expected it. Madame Maxime had tasked her with completing exercises ranging between arithmancy, transfiguration, enchanting and duelling.
"As you've instructed I've worked my short-comings in transfiguration and my potion making and I'm happy to declare that I've managed a reliable grasp on the spells you've given me to improve. The reverse disintegration spell imo-reducto has almost accidentally destroyed my father's oak tree in the garden but I've managed to cast it more proficiently since then."
"That's good," she nodded," and how is your swimming?" Maxime inquired further.
"My swimming is excellent, Madame," Fleur huffed.
"That's not what I meant, Fleur," she shook her head at her, "have you learned to fight underwater with the bubblehead charm?"
The headmistress continued to stare at Fleur, who'd remained quiet at the prodding inquiry. She lowered her head and admitted wordlessly that she'd yet to master that exercise.
Sighing to herself, Maxime swallowed to clear her throat, but made to sip from her tea as well.
Placing the cup back on the table, she eyed Fleur with slight disappointment and pursed her lips.
"I tasked you with these things to prepare you for potential tasks that you might have to face in the tournament. I won't punish you for failing to train for these eventualities, but it's you who might punish yourself for failing in the end, Fleur."
Shaking her head at the headmistress, Fleur's voice took on a hot touch. "Why are you so sure that it will be me participating in these tasks? Last I checked it's the Goblet of Fire that determines the champions."
The half-giantess leaned back on her chair and looked down at Fleur with mild amusement at her protestation.
"Do you really think anyone other than you will be chosen as champion?"
"There is always a chance," she responded confidently.
"Don't insult our intelligence by being so falsely humble," Maxime stated, "isn't it you who worked harder than any other student at this institution to prove herself? Wasn't it also you who broke every single standing record of this institution?"
Maxime eyed her intensely at her prodding questions, her words jabs at Fleur who'd flinched slightly at every incline of the headmistress' voice.
"Yes." Fleur offered reluctantly.
Satisfied with her answer, the giant woman then leaned the arm of the enlarged chair she'd been sitting on. The padding of the chair reached up to Fleur's head, forcing her to twist her head upward. Had she been able to, she'd have charmed the Sofa to float upward to even the scale between herself and the headmistress'. The room was, however, warded against foreign spell casting other than the owner's magic.
"Have you read up on the history of the tournament and familiarized yourself with the previous champions' solutions to the tasks?"
"Oui, although I believe that many of the tasks would have benefitted from my Veela heritage. Their solutions were rather crude by comparison." Fleur commented.
Maxime nodded at that with pride, the inclusion of the innate nature of the Veela a remarkable sign of personal growth.
"I believe that your gauging of the problem-solving skills of the past champions is the most fruitful outcome of the exercises that I have given you."
"How do you mean?" Fleur asked, the cryptic comment confusing her.
"The tournament is unlike any other test you'll ever have to face. It weighs not only your knowledge and prowess as a witch, Fleur, it also measures your mettle as a person," she explained.
"The fact that you've looked at other champions' solutions and found them inadequate, and even offered your own personal advantages over those, proves that you've learned the most vital lesson required to master any challenge," Maxime added.
"And that would be?" Fleur asked.
"Independence," Maxime stated proudly, "you've learned to see things through your eyes only and used critical thinking on how to best go about it. You've gone over past challenges and instead of narrowing down on what others did, you've gauged how you would go about doing it."
Fleur smiled at the praise but moved to take another sip from her tea and possibly hide from further inquiries into her summer.
It wasn't a secret that Maxime saw no profit in Fleur's career in motorsports but it was also thankfully not on the agenda of the upcoming school year and as such hopefully not part of today's meeting.
"So, now that I know you've learned to see things in a new more controlled light," Maxime began anew, "how would you go about fighting underwater?"
At the urging glance of her headmistress, Fleur considered the hypothetical task in her head.
For those who knew, Veela were beings of air and fire, able to transform into avian warriors that can wield blue fire that was hot enough to melt steel in seconds upon contact.
Water was the natural enemy of any Veela, not only suffocating any chance of summoning their innate fire but also weakening their general attributes as an avian being. Spending any time in the water, let alone under any water surface spelt calamity.
Unable to come up with a brilliant idea, Fleur settled on the most simple skeleton key to any conversation.
"I'll figure it out when it comes to that, Madame," she stated confidently - on the side she was anything but.
Staring at the young woman for a few more moments, Maxime nodded at the answer, indicating that she found it acceptable enough.
"Very well, I'll leave matters to you then. You still have time to improve your shortcomings and I'll inform the professors not to give you too much homework-"
"No!" Fleur interrupted.
"Pardon?"
"Leave things as they are, please. I'll manage even without preferential treatment," Fleur insisted.
At the unsurprised look on the headmistress' face, Fleur groaned inwardly, realizing she'd just been tested again.
Humming to herself, Maxime nodded at Fleur and got up from the chair, indicating the approaching end of their meeting and the subsequent dismissal of Fleur.
"As you wish, I will say nothing and leave you to your business. Oh, and don't forget to bring a dress for the Yule Ball. As a champion, you will be required to open the dance,"
Maxime reminded Fleur, as she moved toward her desk in the farthest part of the office, the light falling through the large colourfully stained windows drawing pretty pictures on the wooden desk.
"Yes, thank you, Madame," Fleur responded, a smile gracing her feature at the words that followed, "and don't worry about the dress. My sister has made sure I'm well equipped in that regard."
"Ah, good," Maxime commented, a toothy grin emerging, "I will have to pass my thanks to her then when I write to your mother."
"I'm sure she'd be happy at the praise," Fleur offered.
The following silence allowed Fleur to finish her tea, for which she thanked her host, and move to leave the office through the door that may lead her to an entirely different place than from where she entered it.
Opening the door, she sighed dejectedly at the scenery before her.
"My apologies," Maxime called from behind her, "I may have figured everything out with this spell of mine but still struggle with the 'exit' part of it."
Fleur chuckled at the explanation and continued her departure from the headmistress' office, closing the door behind her.
Breathing in the manured air, she jerked and raised her hand to close her nose shut between her fingers. Stepping forward on her way back to the castle, she raised her free hand to pet the snout of the curiously nudging white Abraxan that poked its head out from its open door.
Of all the places to end up in, it had to be the horse stables.
End of Chapter
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A/N#2: Poor Fleur, her shoes are ruined. *Oh-la-la*
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