Hey, everyone! Mystery Critic here, back at you with the rewrite for chapter two of Ma Fleur, Mon Ange, Mon Tout! If this is your first time reading this chapter, welcome. If you're a return reader, I stripped the rest of the story, so look forward to more updates in the future. Now, after this chapter, there will be a filler chapter of sorts, one of Harry spending time with Fleur before the bridge scene in chapter three. As always, bear with me on the updates. I am continuing to fix chapters from here on out. As for the disclaimer, I still do not own Harry Potter (CURSES! -.-), nor any of the rights affiliated with it. Anywho, grab some popcorn, sit back, relax, and enjoy the rewrite of chapter two.
Chapter 2
Italics – French
Fleur blinks and gasps before chasing after Harry, having forgotten to ask where he was staying in France.
"Mon Dieu! I could just visit 'im instead of 'aving 'im write." Fleur realizes as she runs toward him. She catches up with Harry as he was about to get into an automobile driven by the fattest man she had ever seen. "'Arry! Where are you staying in France? Maybe I could visit?" Fleur calls after him before he entered the car.
Harry's eyes widen in what Fleur thinks might be fear and she notices the fat man turning an impressive shade of red.
"Umm... I'll be staying at The Grand Hotel." Harry responds hurriedly, causing Fleur's brow furrows in confusion. She thinks she hears his voice tremble, but she isn't sure why. Before she could ask, Harry climbs into the car. The fat man, whose face was clearly red, starts yelling loud enough for her to hear his muffled rage from where she was. Harry once again has that cold emotionless face on as the fat man drives the car off the ferry before the loading door had fully opened, ignoring the attendant's screams. The car jumps the ramp and thankfully lands safely on the other side before he peels off. Fleur hears the attendant mutter something about "stupid Brits" as he begins directing the rest of the cars off.
Fleur puzzles at the fat man's behavior. "Surely Harry hadn't made them that late for him to be that impatient?" She shakes her head and turns to the more important matter of her destined. "I must get him a gift. It is tradition, after all. Maybe something from Joanne's?"
She once more cast a quick temporary privacy ward and apparates away. A faint pop echoes through the small alley as Fleur Delacour reapparates, walking out of the passage with a regal posture. She walks down the street, ignoring the stares and catcalls that come her way as she turns and opens the door of a small shop. As the small silver bell at the top of the door jingles, tinkling chimes ring throughout the shop as the woman behind the counter turns to her with a smile.
"Fleur, my dear!" The woman exclaims, coming out from behind the counter and wrapping her arms around the young veela. The woman, Joanne, was an old family friend that reminded Fleur a lot of her mother, in appearance, at least. Long blonde hair, bright blue eyes, and an hourglass figure that would make most men drool. She and Fleur exchange a greeting, pecking each other on the cheek before moving over to peck the other.
"It's been too long, dear. How have you been?" Joanne inquires, beaming at her.
"I've been well, Madame Joanne," Fleur answers the woman, smiling brightly. "How have you been? How's your husband?"
"Oh, pfft!" She snorts, waving her hand dismissively. "He could not handle a woman like me."
"I've yet to see one who can, Joanne." Fleur retorts, a mischievous smirk plastered on her face. "You are incredibly difficult to deal with, being the hormonal ball breaker you are."
"Watch your tongue, Fleur," Joanne warns playfully, a smile prying at her lips as she glares at her. "I'm not afraid to smack a friend who deserves it, young lady."
Fleur laughs and throws her hands up in mock surrender as she and Joanne hug again.
"So, my young friend," Joanne says walking back behind the counter, gesturing to the jewelry around her. "How can your favorite squib help her favorite veela today?"
"Well, I need something simple, yet elegant." Fleur looked up as she remembers Harry's eyes, smiling as she loses herself imagining his eyes. "Something as deep and green as those emerald eyes. How can eyes be so bright, yet so sad? They're filled with so much pain… I want to take away all that pain..."
Joanne gapes at Fleur as she becomes lost in her trance, a single tear sliding down her cheek from the sadness of seeing that pain. Fleur snaps out of her stupor and absently wipes away the tear, looking at the jewelry saleswoman, a confused look on her face.
"Fleur, my friend. What's wrong? Why are you crying?" Asks a worried Joanne.
"Crying?" Responds Fleurhastily, brushing off her concern. She reaches up and touches her face, finding it wet. "It's nothing, Joanne. Just some dust, I'm sure." Fleur tries to reassure her friend. 'Why AM I crying?'
"However, I'm not just here to visit. I need a piece of jewelry, male jewelry." Says Fleur. Joanne gapes for a moment before asking.
"YOU FOUND A BOY?!" She screams, rushing past her to lock the shop door and turning back towards Fleur, looming towards her. She grabs Fleur's wrist and drags her, eliciting a small squeak from the veela as her arm is jerked in the direction of upstairs. The young looking fifty-four-year-old squib practically drags Fleur upstairs as she sits her down in a chair and closes the door, rounding back on the young veela, a scared whimper escaping her mouth as Joanne towers over her.
"Tell me everything, right now!" The beautiful squib demands excitedly.
"Well, you know of him already…" Fleur begins, looking to the side when Joanne starts listing off names of people she's tried to set Fleur up with.
"Andi, Sebastian, Jacques?" When Fleur shakes her head with each name, Joanne thinks for a second before snapping her fingers and smiling.
"It's Claude, isn't it? I knew you'd take a liking to him!" exclaims Joanne in excitement believing to have guessed.
"CLAUDE?!" Fleur scoffs, poking a finger towards her throat and makes a mock vomiting sound. "He is appalling! A complete pig, and not to mention all he cares is about getting in my panties."
"Really?!" Joanne says, stroking her chin. "Well, I give up. Who is it?"
"Harry Potter," Fleur says, a slight smirk on her face, but it disappears as Joanne gasps and grabs her shoulders, shaking her as a barrage of questions leaps out of her mouth.
"When did you meet Harry Potter?! How did you meet him?! Did you take him to bed?! Was he good?! He may be much younger than me, but you can bet I want to take that to bed!"
Fleur shudders in fear as Joanne sighs softly, imagining taking her Harry to bed.
'Wait…" Fleur thinks, drifting away from the conversation a bit. 'My Harry? Sure, he's my destined mate, but he's not mine yet. Well, I mean, there's clearly something there, but he's not mine yet, is he?' Fleur snaps out of her train of thought to see Joanne staring at her, expecting answers.
"Oh, right. Well, it couldn't have been more than ten minutes ago. I met him on the ferry back to France from England. He was with some muggles that I assume were the family he's been living with during his summers. We did not get into bed together, Joanne. I'm not some harlot, you know! I'm a veela and a witch, I have more pride than that. Also, blech… I do not need to know who you would or would not take to bed, Madame."
"There's nothing wrong with taking a man you just met to bed, Fleur. Why, I can list ten men, at least, that your mother dragged into the closet downstairs two minutes after meeting them. As I recall them saying, your mother always was very good with her-"
"I do NOT need to know about my mother's sexual exploits, Joanne!" Fleur interrupts, shuddering in disgust at the thought of her mother fornicating in the closet, muttering in absolute horror. "I've changed in there … I think I'm going to be sick..."
"I just cleaned the floors. Use the trash can, dear." She insists, motioning by the door.
"I'll be fine," Fleur says, shaking her head. "Just don't tell me anything more about my mom and men before my father."
"Well, okay," Joanne shrugs, turning around with an evil smirk on her face. "Well, your mother and I did 'experiment' in there quite often, you know."
"Good goddess, Joanne!" Fleur yells, covering her ears as Joanne chuckles maliciously. "I told you I don't want to hear anymore!"
"You said nothing more about your mother and men," Joanne says, pulling forward her V-neck shirt, glancing at her breasts. "Last I checked, which was right now, I do not have a wand, Fleur."
"Okay, no more," Fleur insists, shuddering once more. "I came here for a reason. I'd like to buy a gift for him." Fleur sighs in defeat as she finally gets to what she had come here for in the first place. The blush that has crept to her face from embarrassment and defeat receded. With an evil victory smirk, Joanne opens the door and leads Fleur downstairs so that she can look around. Fleur moves from case to case, staring meticulously at each piece of jewelry before stopping at a small case and pointing to a simple silver necklace with a bright green, broom-shaped emerald charm. 'From what I've read about him, he loves Quidditch.'
"That's perfect, Joanne." Fleur indicates the piece of jewelry, smiling as she nods in confirmation. "How much do I owe you, Joanne?"
"Nothing, of course!" She exclaims with a flourish, causing Fleur to raise an eyebrow inquisitively at the old French squib. "It's a gift to celebrate you finally finding your destined mate. I did the same thing for your mother, of course."
Fleur smiles as she nods, hugging Joanne in thanks as she makes for the door.
"Just give me details when you finally take him to bed," Joanne says, chuckling when Fleur sticks her tongue out at her. "Your mother was always good with her tongue, too, you know."
Joanne quickly ducks the tickling jinx that Fleur shoots at her as she walked out of the shop, laughter following the young blonde veela from inside the shop of the insane family friend.
-Fleur-
As the Dursley car pulls off the barge and onto the small gravel road that leads up into the countryside of France, Harry looks out of the window, a carefully grim look on his face. The drive is silent except for the murmurs of Petunia and Vernon as they figure out the way to Paris through the rolling hills of France, the sun shining down on the beautiful green grass. Harry worries that they would have to pull over after Fleur had called after them, but as they seemed to be too busy trying to find their way to the hotel, Harry relaxes, thinking they must have forgotten already. Harry watches the wind blow gently through the trees, the long grass of the fields sway along with the trees, a beautiful dance that Mother Nature seems to be putting on for Harry himself. As they pass by a small lake, Harry can't help but imagining him and the blonde beauty splashing each other in that glistening clear water.
"Oh, 'Arry!" Fleur giggles as Harry splashes her, only to have Fleur splash him back. "You're so mean!"
"Yeah, well you're gorgeous!" Harry says, splashing her again. The giggles that erupt from Fleur make him stare at her with longing and a deep desire. His eyes drift down her body, beads of water clinging to the French veela, her skin riddled with goosebumps from the temperature of the water. Harry walks closer, staring at the young woman's body as her bathing suit clings to her body, her curves more pronounced in the tight fabric. He looks from her body to her face, the stare of pure, wanton desire sends shivers down his spine as she wraps her arms around his neck, drifting closer until their lips are barely touching.
"Kiss me, 'Arry..." She whispers.
"HARRY!" Vernon screams, snapping Harry out of his daydream. He shakes his head to clear his thoughts of the buxom French beauty, then reclaims his grim stare and despondent attitude.
"Yes?" He asks carefully hiding his anger from the man for intruding on his imagination.
"We're almost there, boy." He says, turning back to the road. "When we get there, you're to take our bags upstairs. You have a key, and so do we. Do whatever you want, just do not be in that room when we are not. You are not to bring anyone back with you, nor are you to go looking for any more freaks like you. Am I understood?"
"Yes, sir," Harry answers begrudgingly.
"We won't be giving you any money, so you'll have to use some of that freak money of yours to buy things," Vernon says, scoffing as if the very idea was a sin. "I assume you can convert your money into euros?"
"Yes, I can." Harry answers.
"I never thought I'd see the day, Petunia," Vernon says sarcastically, scoffing again. "The worthless freak actually doing something right for once."
As the Dursley's laugh, Harry does his best to keep his anger in control, digging his nails into his hands, drawing blood from his palms. They keep driving and eventually enter Paris, Harry starts to relax as the amusing escapades of "Vernon Gets Lost" make a comeback. Vernon pulls over and rolls down his window, leaning out the window to talk to a man walking by.
"Excoozay mwah?" Vernon says pathetically, making Harry shudder at the man's butchery of the French language. "Can you tell me where to find Lay Grand Hotel?"
"Oh, I am sorry, sir." The man responds in rapid French. "I do not speak English."
"Freak! Ask the frog where The Grand Hotel is!" Vernon snaps at Harry, knowing his ability to speak French.
"We're looking for The Grand Hotel," Harry says in a nearly flawless accent, pointing a thumb at Vernon. "my relatives and I can't seem to find it. He's never really been good at directions, and the woman can't read a map to save her life."
"Oh, of course!" The man says after laughing. "You're actually almost there. Just go down and take a right at the next street, then turn left six streets down. It's the third building on the right, the largest on the block, so you can't miss it."
"Thanks!" Harry says, waving to him as he walks away.
"You're very welcome, my friend!" The man responds, waving back. "Tell your uncle to use less cologne, and more deodorant, and have that woman learn to read!"
"I'll be sure to do that!" Harry says, laughing. He sits back down in his seat to find all eyes on him, causing his expressionless mask to come back.
"Well, what did he say, boy?" Vernon demands, motioning to the road. "Where do we go?"
"Turn right at the end of the street, go six blocks, turn left, third building on the right."
Harry responds and Vernon nods after a moment of glaring at him.
"What did you say when you were pointing at me?" Asks Vernon menacingly.
"I was just telling him that the guy at the ferry gave you wrong directions and we got lost as a result," Harry replies as respectfully as he can.
Vernon nods in understanding and steers them down the street, following the instructions Harry has given him. Harry smiles internally at how he had insulted Vernon without him knowing, but his actual facial expression is an even deeper frown.
'How would Fleur react if she finds I lied to her about me being able to speak French?" Harry thinks. 'True, I had lied so I wouldn't get in trouble with Vernon for speaking to anyone. Saying I didn't speak French was a way out at the time. I know! I'll wait for the perfect time to reveal I can and say it was a prank. The twins would be so proud!' He decides. He wipes a fake tear away and smiles a little before focusing back on the passing buildings.
After about two minutes of driving, they come up to the hotel and Vernon drives into the parking lot. Harry gets out of the car and grabs one of the baggage carts, a bellhop coming up to help him.
"No, thank you, but I got it," Harry says, nodding so that he can keep relaxing. Harry brings it back towards the car and loads the bags up onto it, rolling it forward toward the elevator. As they get up to the room, Harry follows the Dursley's into the room and sets the bags next to the dresser. He starts unpacking as they busy themselves behind him. Harry feels uneasy with them behind him, but he tries not to worry about it. He finishes unpacking the clothes into the dresser for their two-week stay and grabs the cart to walk out the door, pushing it ahead of him.
Harry suddenly feels someone grab his hair and pull him backward, throwing him to the ground. He sees Vernon above him before feeling a kick to his ribs. Through the tears that sprung to his eyes, he sees Dudley watching grimly. He had always watched but never laughs or smiles during Harry's beatings. Petunia walks into the kitchen, talking about how lucky they are to get this hotel suite, seeming to not hear the impact of kicks and hits as Vernon beats on Harry's torso.
After Vernon became red in the face from exertion, he sits down on the bed, sweating profusely. Harry revels in the fact that as he gets older, the beatings from Vernon always get shorter.
"Who was that girl, boy?" Vernon asks calmly, the vein in his head bulging.
"She was just a girl, Uncle," Harry replies softly, keeping the pain from his voice. "She was a student doing research on England for a paper for her school. She had noticed me and asked me some questions. I think she was trying to finish her paper, or she was lazy, like most French people and never actually started it. It would have been rude to not answer the questions, and I didn't want to embarrass you." Harry explains his lie quickly, playing on his uncle's opinion that the French were lazy.
"Watch your tone, boy," Vernon growls and kicks Harry's chin, causing his head to snap back. Harry nearly loses consciousness, but he fights through it and recovers. "Take the cart back downstairs and don't come back. You will return when we are asleep and you will sleep on the floor of the kitchen. You will wake before us and have breakfast ready. Am I understood, boy?" Vernon orders as he lies on the bed, lifting his head to look at Harry. Harry nods and stands, remaining emotionless as he pushes the cart back into the elevator. He leaves it in the lobby and walks out the front door, while unbeknownst to him, a certain beautiful blonde veela is watching him come out. Fleur opens her mouth to call out to him and try and stop him, but she notices the cold simmering look of pure rage on his face, so she decides to follow him instead.
-Fleur-
Fleur walks on the opposite side of the street, keeping her eyes trained on Harry as he walks. After a few minutes, Harry leads Fleur to a park, walks up onto a small bridge over a large artistry pond, and stops. He turns and leans on the railing with a heavy, growling sigh of anger and sadness. Fleur sees the pain in his eyes and is entranced by it, her heart pulling her towards him. She walks up to him but stops at the foot of the bridge.
"'Arry?" She says, taking a step onto the bridge. Harry turns in surprise as he sees her, plastering a fake smile on his face in an instant.
"Fleur!" Harry says, smiling and rubbing the back of his neck, the anger and agony on his face were no longer there as he walks up to her.
"Why are you angry, 'Arry?" Fleur asks, placing a hand on his shoulder. He flinches away from her touch, and a hurt look crosses her face. Harry doesn't notice as he pulls away looking down, shocking her at how he responds to her touch. "'Arry, what's wrong?" She asks, concern layering her voice.
"Nothing, Fleur. I was just upset with my relatives. We like to play around and it got a little rough with my cousin, so I kind of stormed out of there when they were laughing." Harry smiles at her, light chuckles escaping him as if he was laughing at his immaturity. It all seems wooden as if he practices this routine.
"But why did you flinch when I touched you, 'Arry?" She asks suspiciously her eyes narrowing.
"Oh, sorry about that. It just surprised me when I felt your hand, and I wasn't expecting it. I'm kind of a jumpy person." he answers, smiling at her. His eyes are full of warmth, but something else that the veela could not recognize.
"Alright, zen…" Fleur accepts reluctantly, looking at him. "So. When do you 'ave to return to your family?"
"Oh, not for a while. I have a couple of hours to myself. They want to rest after the long drive." Harry replies. "By the way, why were you here, Fleur? I doubt I made that much of an impression for you to stalk me outside the hotel I would be at."
"Oh… Non, zat's not what 'appened!" Fleur says, trying to backpedal. She blushes at his smirk and tries to convince herself she isn't stalking him. 'You weren't stalking him, Fleur. You were waiting for him. Yeah, that's it! Stop being so unsure of yourself and get to why you were here in the first place!'
"I live near here," Fleur explains. "I remember you telling me which 'otel you're staying at, and zought you wouldn't mind going to dinner wiz me? Paris eez known for its many wonderful restaurants, you know."
Harry chuckles before accepting. "Of course, Fleur. I'd be happy to join you for dinner, but I will have to go to the bank. I don't have any euros."
"Non, Harry. You are a guest in my country, and I invited you out. I will pay, and I don't want to hear any more arguments about it. Got it?" She insists, placing her hands on her hips and looking at him with a smirk.
Harry seems conflicted at first but then smiles with gratitude in his eyes. "Sure, Fleur. I'd be delighted. Would you mind leading the way? I kind of don't know my way around." He jokes, his eyes locking onto hers.
"Follow me." She says, smiling at him. He was so interesting but that strangeness she sees in him that follows him like a cloud, she shivers internally. 'It's gloomy even when he is smiling and laughing. Even when he looks at me it's there... I'll have to find what it is. If I do, maybe I can help.' She thinks, leading Harry off the bridge and into the crowds of Paris.
Well, everyone. That's the rewrite for chapter two. If there are any spelling, grammar, or sentence structure errors, please forgive me. Anywho, I hope to see you continue to read the rewritten chapters in the future, and are looking forward to seeing what you think. Speaking of, let me know what you think of the rewrites. This is Mystery Critic, signing off.