A/N: The credit of the Harry Potter plot and characters belongs solely to J.K. Rowling. I own nothing of it but my own words.
Fugacity: First of all, I want to thank you for reviewing. I love getting feedback on my stories, and I always try to take your opinions into account. That said, the beauty of Harry Potter is that J.K. Rowling did not write a single one- or even two-dimensional character. Every character is flawed and yet understandable, and so I believe that every character is "defensible," simply because I consider — as I hope you do too — them all to be human. Yes, people like Voldemort and Rita Skeeter and Dolores Umbridge weren't good, and I'm not saying they were, but I am saying that there is so much more to the story than the other characters and the fans ever consider.
I'm writing this story to try to highlight the aspects of these characters we so love and hate that we often overlook, so the list of characters I have planned out is not limited to heroes or villains or anyone in-between. It's a collection of all, and I believe it's my duty as a writer to show all sides of the story, good guy or bad.
Additionally, I'm writing this story using the points of view written in the book, not how fans see it, so while you might think there's no reason Cho needs to be defended, the other characters did in fact belittle her for her overemotional tendencies.
Again, thank you so much for the review, and please do not let this put you off continuing to share your opinion, but in this case, I felt the need to clarify, and I am sorry to say that, as a writer, I am disregarding this review and continuing to defend the characters of my choosing, whether you think they deserve it or not.
Pretty: In Defense of Fleur Delacour
All anyone saw when they looked at Fleur was her beauty. The slim figure, the shiny hair, the small nose, the full lips, the big eyes. Girls envied her. Boys were infatuated with her. They looked at Fleur, and they saw the Veela.
(Once upon a time, she'd worn loose and baggy outfits to distract from her body. She'd shorn her hair short and wore no makeup. She'd kept her head down and her shoulders slumped. She'd done everything she could not to be the center of attention. She'd failed. She'd cried, and people had come running and begged to know why such a gorgeous girl was upset. It'd never occur to them that perhaps she was upset because she was gorgeous.)
But if they'd dug just a little bit deeper, took a second glance at her, they'd have seen past the smooth skin and captivating (fake) smile. A little deeper, and they'd have seen the snob who criticized everything and yet had burnt out at the Triwizard Tournament. People like that said she was a disgrace to women, that because of this one pathetic girl, people would assume women were incapable of doing everything a man could. That because this one girl had so badly lost the competition, no one would expect a girl to be able to win it. People like that said she was a superficial, haughty Frenchwoman who nothing was good enough for. They saw nothing more than the upturned nose and eye rolls, and they heard nothing but z's and scoffs ("Uh! I zink zis is poor quality, no?")
Maybe if they'd looked just a second longer, they would have seen those mesmerizing eyes shine with tears and that mightily raised nose waver. Maybe if they'd been a bit more sympathetic, they'd have seen a homesick little girl who used to at least be able give her mother a hug after a long, hard day. Maybe they'd have seen a girl who craved for her own school and her own food and her own bed. Maybe they would have slipped her a reassuring smile every now and then.
Gone another layer down, and they'd have seen a hard worker. Someone who'd worked day and night to be worthy of that tournament, so that people might see her as more than just a pretty face. They would have seen the girl who studied Charms, Transfiguration, and basic Defense, but had never thought to look at creatures. They'd have seen the girl who was the best of the best at Beauxbatons, but was still seen as good-looking before anything else.
And deeper than that, they would have seen strength. Pure, unadulterated strength. They would have seen the girl who'd had to be physically restrained to be stopped from going back in that damned lake for her little sister. The girl who would later hold her husband's hand in that hospital wing, kiss his scarred face, and never leave his side. The girl who took in ragged teenager after teenager at Shell Cottage without asking questions or analyzing their filthy outfits, without even saying a word in complaint. She cared for five teens, an old man, and a goblin within her first year of marriage, and she only ever thought to give them a warm smile and good food.
And at the very center of Fleur was passion. After years of being at the receiving end of lust, she'd almost lost track of what love was, until she met Bill, who patiently and thoroughly uncovered every layer of her like he truly cared, which was so much more than Fleur could say for most. And she'd taken care of him with a kind of ferventness that could rival Molly Weasley's, and never once did she ever consider leaving his side.
But the thing about all of this is that nearly no one ever managed to make it past layer one, and no one but Bill and her own parents had ever gone past layer two. Because that's the thing about beauty. It's skin deep. And it's deceptive.
People look at Fleur, and they see a body. Or they look, and they see a stuck up little brat. They see the Veela. Let's see the human.
When you're beautiful, people think it defines you. It doesn't. You're defined by what you're willing to fight for.
Fleur would fight tooth and nail for her family, and she would probably win, but it would be anything but pretty. She didn't know how to defeat a grindylow, but she would risk everything to do it, if that's what it took. Fleur risked her life multiple times for a war that wasn't hers, and doesn't that make her more than a face?
People call her a shame for losing the tournament so badly, but nobody had ever taught her to deal with dragons, and she'd heard some Durmstrang in the audience comment on her legs, and she'd never seen a dragon before, so cut her some slack, yeah? And she'd seen her baby sister down there, surrounded by those horrid looking merpeople, and the grindlylows were vicious, really, and creatures were never her strong suit anyway. And how many of you would have held up against a Death Eater, at age eighteen, when you weren't expecting it?
She's a disgrace to women, sure, but the Goblet of Fire hadn't thought so. Actually, it'd thought her to be the most worthy of all Beauxbatons students, so maybe we need to blame their curriculum.
Fleur defied odds and expectations, and people still underestimated her. She lost the tournament and won a war she had no obligation to fight in. She got engaged to a handsome guy, but she didn't marry one. She was homesick, but she made Britain her home. But yes, she's shallow and conceited and weak.
Beauty is skin deep, but below that is fire and compassion and commitment and humanity and truth, and don't tell me that's not what's really important.
Fleur was nicknamed "Phlegm" by her future sister-in-law and coldly tolerated by her future mother-in-law, but she held her chin high, and she only let Bill see the tears. Fleur was ogled at by half of her future brothers-in-law, but she was used to it by now. Molly had offered her an out that night in the hospital wing, but Fleur knew better than to judge Bill for the way he looked. Hermione whispered behind her back for years, but Fleur still wrapped her in a blanket and tried to stop her shaking that night after Malfoy Manor.
If you remember nothing else about Fleur from this point onward, remember this. Remember these moments and remember that that's what defines a person, far more than beauty or words. Don't remember Fleur Delacour, 1/4 Veela. Remember Fleur Delcaour, 3/4 human.