Fleur Delacour was a patriot, putting it simply.
She might be a little biased, seeing as she grew up in France and very rarely traveled but she still wholeheartedly believed that France was the best; for school, for food, for music, for culture. It just, in her opinion, didn't match up to anything else.
Fleur was a little put off that she would be travelling to England of all places for a whole entire year, to Hogwarts, but that annoyance was squashed when she heard about the Triwizard Tournament.
For Madame Maxime and the rest of Beauxbatons, it was a chance to glorify their school even more. It was, however, a whole different opportunity for Fleur. Despite the fact that she wouldn't be in her homeland, the Triwizard Tournament, if she was picked from the Goblet of Fire, would be a chance for her to prove herself. That she wasn't all long legs, blue eyes, Veela charm and flowing silvery-blonde hair. Fleur was more than that, right? And if Madame Maxime believed in her, then she could do it.
The moment Fleur had started at Beauxbatons, she had been treated differently than any of the other girls. At home, it was her and Mama and baby Gabrielle and Papa, and her family members treated her fairly. They understood, because they were the same too. But when she started school, the other French girls gave her pointed looks and jealous glares, and the boys were always much too nice – and fumbling – around her for her liking. What would it take for her to be treated like a regular human being?
Proving herself. Proving that she was more than good looks, to herself (yes, hard as it was to believe with her confident, airy, most of the time snobby exterior, Fleur needed to prove herself too) and to others. Then maybe she wouldn't hear the whispers – "What can she actually do?" "She's just tres belle, that is all, there's nothing else to her." Fleur had always been taken under Madame Maxime's wing, and maybe that didn't help, but the two had differences that put them apart. Even her cousins didn't have as much Veela in them; a sixteenth, if that. And Madame Maxime was almost nine feet, a height that dwarfed everyone around her. They were both different, and different together.
When she had gotten to Hogwarts, Fleur had taken to critiquing everything in the Hogwarts castle – while big compared to Beauxbatons, it certainly wasn't as elegant as what she was used to, the gilded gold archways and the marble flooring and the French food. The uniforms were dull, not very stylish at all, and the poltergeist was offensive and annoying – Madame wouldn't let anything like that near the gates of Beauxbatons. The students were a little more – how could she put it – crude, and certainly didn't have very proficient manners, if you couldn't get that from the way most of them shoveled food into their mouths like the world was going to end tomorrow.
There would be a few times, however, where she would catch a flash of brilliant red hair from across the arena briefly, during the first task, but it wasn't an ogling, awestruck stare; no, it was like he was searching her instead of just grasping the surface, and it felt unnerving. He was much too old to be a student – mid-twenties, at least – and a short, maternal-looking middle aged woman accompanied him to the first task. The red hair was everywhere at Hogwarts, Fleur had noted to herself, catching glimpses of two identical redheads, a girl that seemed much younger than the rest, even a Ministry official, proud and pompous. They seemed to be all related, but only the slightly older man with the long red hair tied back would give her a searching gaze.
Sort of like he was seeing the whole entire ice burg, instead of the tip. And that was something she definitely wasn't used to.
It made her question herself; what did he see about her, what did he see that was so different from others? Why wasn't he fawning over her like everybody else? It scared her a little bit. Nobody had ever looked at her that way, and Fleur wasn't very accustomed to change – although one could figure that out by listening to how much she critiqued the interior of Hogwarts, compared to her school and her homeland.
Gulping, she had kept her head up high and continued preparing for the next task, amid talks about a ball. A ball. The Yule Ball, she had been told it was called. Although it would have been much better if it had been held at Beauxbatons (again, the patriotic pride), Fleur was thrilled. To walk down in front of the whole entire crowd with an attractive boy and dance the night away.
Although she did have to admit to herself, going with a boy who was going to hang off her arm and gawk at her all night didn't sound as appealing as it used to. Fleur only dared to hope that she would be able to find someone who would actually be able to hold a conversation with her. That would be refreshing and very welcome. The ball was the main topic of conversation for the weeks before Christmas, and most of Beauxbatons decided not to leave on Christmas break, just to attend it.
Although she did end up going with slightly attractive Quidditch captain Roger Davies, who fawned at her the whole night, but was decent enough, she couldn't put that redheaded man's gaze out of her mind. It was consuming her thoughts. No one ever looked at her like that. It was either the pointed jealous stares of girls or the wide-eyed ogling, or the familiar gaze of her family.
It was a year and a half before she was actually introduced to Bill Weasley.
Written for the King of the Fanfics Competition - I got the school Beauxbatons and chose the character Fleur Delacour
For the Fantastic Beasts Challenge - Common Welsh Green
Word Count: 1,009