Despite the knowledge that the tournament could be and had previously been deadly, Michel Delacour wasn't really concerned with his daughter's role in it. He didn't particularly like watching her throw herself into danger, but it had been her decision, and he was sure she was wise and experienced enough to make it through. Her resourcefulness in the first task had impressed him – it hadn't worked properly due to circumstances outside of her control, but it would have been stunningly simple yet effective had those circumstances been different. He felt certain that she would continue to succeed in the next two tasks, even if she didn't come first.
Her goal, after all, wasn't to win the tournament; it was to prove herself as a force to be reckoned with even in a manufactured environment where her parents' influence meant nothing. She had been seen for all of her life as either the part-Veela who wasn't interested in humouring her followers' romantic interest or as the daughter of one of the most influential politicians in France, and she wanted to be seen as somebody else, somebody talented in her own right, for once. And, as far as he and his fellow French delegates were concerned, she was succeeding.
He first started to worry when he realised that the conglomeration of spectators was heading down to the large, murky lake. The knowledge that it wouldn't lend itself well to the voyeuristic nature of the tournament temporarily assayed his fears, but, as they drew closer and closer to its shore and the alternate possibilities grew scarcer, he eventually had to face the fact that the second task was somehow related to the water. At least his eldest daughter knew her strengths and limitations and would be able to recognise the time to bow out gracefully.
Turning to his wife, who was quietly discussing measures to decrease countries' recidivism rates with her friend Amelia, he waited for a break in their conversation and said, "I imagine Fleur and Gabrielle will be along shortly. I'll wait for them here if you would like to reserve some standing space for us."
"Tell Fleur to stay safe," Apolline instructed him, glancing over at the lake with a frown. He had held onto the hope, however misguided he knew it was, that she would be unaware of the perils that faced their daughter, but she knew more of them than he ever could.
"And that I wish her good fortune," Amelia added. "I'm sure she's as prepared for this as she is for everything, so it's just a matter of what they each come up against down there. To tell you a secret, I'd quite like her to win, however unpatriotic that may sound. Everyone assumes she's at a disadvantage because she's a blonde girl, but I know she has it in her. It was really just chance that went against her last time."
"I'll pass both messages on." Michel heard them discussing Amelia's niece as they walked away, and focused his attention on keeping an eye out for his daughters. Approximately ten minutes elapsed before a glimpse of the familiar bright locks ended his vigil, and he pushed forward through the enthralled onlookers until he reached Fleur's side. Ignoring the crowd, he pulled her into a tight hug, although he did switch to French in order to give their conversation some privacy. "Hello, my dear."
"Good morning, Papa."
"Where's your sister?"
"I thought she was with you." She tried to pull back, but he kept her in his hold, not wanting her to see his increasingly worried expression.
"She must have gotten waylaid on her way back, then. When did you last see her?"
"At lunch yesterday. We ate together, and then she went to find you. Did she not get there?"
"It's alright," he said calmly, although it really wasn't. Schooling his expression into one of slight concern and pride, he finally released her from the hug. "She mustn't have been able to find you, that's all; she probably found something interesting to sketch and lost track of time. I'm not looking forward to how cross she'll be if she doesn't get here in time to see you start, however."
"She does do that a lot," Fleur admitted, although the scepticism in her voice was all he needed to hear to know that she wasn't fully convinced. The only negative of surrounding yourself with intelligent people, in his opinion, was that it made you much less likely to successfully fool them and much more likely to be successfully fooled. While he was blessed to be surrounded by so many witty, insightful people, it made any sort of deception into a game of chess against someone just as, or sometimes more, experienced and knowledgeable as you.
"Don't worry about it; just focus on yourself. Do you feel ready?"
"Mostly. I've been practicing casting spells underwater, but my power and scope is still significantly lessened by the environment. I should be fine, but..."
"Well, I feel the need to remind you that your life is worth more than any competition, although I've no doubt you already know that. Also, before I forget, your mother said to stay safe, and Madam Bones said to tell you she wishes you good fortune and believes you're as likely to win as anyone else. And that she personally would like you to win."
"Champions, in your places! This is the first call! Champions, come to the end of the jetty, please!"
"Be careful," Michel said, kissing the top of her head. He quickly cast a quiet spell to leave a little orb of light behind that would hone in on Gabrielle when she entered its vicinity and lead her to wherever he was, noting Fleur's smile as she recognised its purpose.
"Tell them I am grateful," Fleur replied. "And tell Gabrielle not to worry that she's late – you're just going to be staring at water for an hour, anyway."
"Perhaps they're trying to encourage introspection; why, exactly, are we all watching a tournament that is frankly a little outdated, very dangerous, and, in this case, not even something we can see?"
"Some people here need it." Fleur darted off towards the indicated spot. The crowd parted to let her pass, recognising her as the champion, and he slipped through behind her before they could fill in the gap once more. She quickly hugged and greeted Apolline and Amelia as she passed them, before lining up alongside Viktor Krum, the only champion who had already arrived. Neither of them made a move to make conversation, both seemingly content with the rare moments of peace. Stepping into place next to Apolline, Michel conveyed what Fleur had told him about Gabrelle in a quickly whispered string of French, not wanting anybody else to overhear. Apolline's proud smile became forced as she relayed the information to Amelia before resuming their previous conversation, biding their time until the task commenced and they could sneak off without Fleur noticing. Cedric Diggory joined them a few minutes later, just in time for the second call, and shortly after that Harry Potter pelted down the shore and through the gathered people to finish the gathering.
Just before the champions dove into the water, Michel caught his daughter glancing at the glittering orb still floating near the shoreline with a disconcerted look on her face.
Yes; however much he enjoyed her intelligence, he sometimes, very occasionally, wished she were easier to protect and placate.
As soon as her feet disappeared beneath the water, he and Apolline made their excuses and darted away to find the Beauxbatons Headmistress. If Gabrielle hadn't gone to stay with Fleur the night before, as the Headmistress had confirmed that morning, Maxime would hopefully know where she had wound up. Gabrielle wasn't the type to lie about her activities, so Maxime either hadn't heard it from her or had hidden the truth for some reason of her own. They passed groups of students, and nervous family members, and supervising professors, and interested members of the public, but noted a common theme throughout all of the attendees: now that the champions had gone under and out of sight, nobody seemed to know quite what to do. As time continued to pass, people grew fidgety and increasingly aware of the fact that their next hour was going to consist of standing around waiting for people to return, and a gradual shift occurred as they started looking for place to sit that would still be close enough for them to see the champions' return.
The professor they sought out towered above the crowd, a lighthouse shining a beacon out amidst the rocks of misdirection and distraction. It aided their weaving, letting them focus on actually navigating their way through the crowd rather than constantly reconfiguring their path. Before too long, they safely made their way to shore.
Of course, the oncoming storm at their heels was not directed at them, nor did it stop when the wet sand became dry sand, or when it in turn melted into the grass beyond the beach.
Michel greeted the official delegation of Headmasters, Headmistress, and Ministry workers politely, forcing himself to keep the tide at bay. He could see in their gazes that most of them had their suspicions about why they were there, and he wished for a moment that he had the time to discover and explore each one in depth before revealing the real reason. Alas, he didn't; there would be no time for building sandcastles to destroy while both of his daughters were lost somewhere in the currents of danger, going further out to sea every minute he wasted with idle play. "Have any of you seen our daughter Gabrielle? She told us she was going to spend the night with Fleur, but Fleur said she never arrived."
Olympe Maxime glanced at her fellow judges before replying, and Michel knew that it was going to come down to image once again. The witch was so focused on not appearing sympathetic to the plight of oppressed half-breeds that she overcompensated and regularly neglected the non-academic needs of such pupils. The only reason Fleur and Gabrielle still attended Beauxbatons was that it really was the best in the country in every other sense, and none of them wanted to affirm her prejudices by pulling them out. "She's a thirteen-year-old girl who regularly garners interest from her male classmates and has recently been introduced to a new country where the boys have a range of interesting and exotic accents," Olympe said primly. "I hardly think this is the time to worry about her running off to spend time with one of them."
And the first bolt of lightning flashed. "Excuse me?" Apolline asked, her voice fighting hard not to show any of her emotion but failing miserably at it. "You're telling me that you don't care if one of your underage students is off in an unknown location with some foreign boy of unknown age."
"It's only a matter of time, in any case."
"This is because she's part-Veela, isn't it?" Apolline continued, her voice now dangerously low. This was uncomfortable territory; Veela were widely accepted in France, but this was not the case in the United Kingdom. This would have been an excellent conversation to have in front of French diplomats and emissaries who were determined to stomp out such discrimination, but it was much more volatile a situation here.
Olympe merely met her eyes squarely, saying nothing. Whatever sway Apolline Delacour might have in France, she didn't have it here, and Olympe Maxime knew that the majority of those around her would support her belief that a part-Veela who drives a boy to mindless lust should reap what she has sown rather than be allowed to be the only one unaffected by the situation. They were only half-human at best, and shouldn't be allowed to mess with human minds and then have their right to do it protected.
"It's a simple thing to admit or deny," Michel interjected, but she still didn't respond, and he knew that he had her. Most of his acquaintances would interpret her silence as an admission of guilt, which was all he needed. Regardless of how the conversation ended, he would annihilate her for this.
"Miss Delacour is not fooling around with some boy," Albus Dumbledore reassured them, before turning his piercing gaze to the witch on his right. "Olympe, I hardly think the privacy clause applies anymore, or that it ever applied in the case of parents. The Grangers, Weasleys and Changs have all been apprised of the situation, after all."
"Very well. The 'treasures' that the champions are to recover are in fact those people who we have determined are the closest to them. We tried to use the champions' dates to the Yule Ball where possible but, as Fleur confided in me that forms of magical coercion were implemented in the course of her evening, we determined that it would be more appropriate for her hostage to be her sister. We discussed the issue with Gabrielle last night, and she happily consented to the role."
"You knew," Michel said. "When we talked this morning, you said Gabrielle had spent the night with Fleur; you knew she hadn't."
And that was when the thunder came cracking down. Albus Dumbledore reassured them of Gabrielle's safety, but did nothing to stop the yelling. After all, he hadn't known that Gabrielle's Veela heritage had in fact already started to manifest.
And Veelas' fiery heritage didn't mix well with water or those who inhabited it.
There wasn't much that any of them could do anymore. The magic of the Triwizard Tournament prevented them from interfering with the task now that it had commenced, so Gabrielle was stuck down there until Fleur or the merpeople pulled her out. So, after one final assurance that Olympe Maxime would regret her decision, Apolline returned to anxiously waiting with Amelia while Michel went to discuss his intense displeasure with the situation to the Head of the Beauxbatons Board of Governors. They knew that Gabrielle would more than likely be fine. Water wasn't directly fatal to Veelas, it just weakened them and restricted their powers in a way that made them easier targets for potential opponents. The most likely outcome would be that Gabrielle would emerge from the lake feeling weak and sick but would quickly recuperate from it.
Regardless, Michel Delacour knew that Olympe Maxime would never teach in France again. He wasn't going to just annihilate her politically; he was going to rip each piece apart and display all of its imperfections in front of the court before stitching her back together again so that she would know forever that her flaws were written on her for all around to read. The bigoted half-giant had finally crossed the line she had been toeing for years, presumably lulled into a false sense of security by the fact that her toe had never been pushed back into place, and he was going to ensure she would never do it again.
The only question, which would be determined by how healthy and stable his daughters were when they returned to him, was how many people would be going down with her.
A/N: Thanks to everyone who followed (Wow; there are a lot of you), favourited, or reviewed the last chapter. I hope you enjoy this one as well!