A/N :The characters, references and majority of the plot all belong to J.K. Rowling and I make no money or gain anything from this other than for my own pleasure. This is my first ever published story and I hope you enjoy it. Feel free to read, review and comment. Any constructive comment and review is welcome and I am more than happy to take any helpful criticism into account.
As she looked out of the carriage window, she could see a large lake, reflecting the bright moon light, the dark forest that seemed to be getting closer and closer the more she watched. Fleur was not scared of this upcoming tournament. She had been told about the safety precautions so there was little need to fear. But there in the back of her mind, the same thought emerged. What if? What if something was to happen? What if she wasn't chosen? She had few friends in Beauxbaton thanks to the veela magic that she was born with, and none of them friends had been selected to go. She was on her own. The only support through this trip was her headmistress and possible one or two others that had be chosen.
What if I am chosen?Even with the safety precautions no one could guarantee that every outcome could be covered. No one had that kind of foresight. Not even the Seers with the "Sight" could do it. Am I ready? Do I really know enough about the world to face the possible challenges? I know I have one of the best grades in Defence Against the Dark Arts and I have shown I can perform any spell they can throw at me in the exams. But that was all from books, practice in a class room, in my room at home, in the dorm rooms with my friend by my side, encouraging me, helping me. Will this be the same?
She remembered reading how thousands had failed in the event in the past, and how many had died. So many, that the governing bodies had gone out of their way to have it closed for over four hundred years. But that was the past. She thought, trying to keep her natural calm and cool demeanour. It doesn't matter anyway. Chosen or not, I still have to show that I am the best I can be because of me and my abilities not because of that stupid rumour that I use my allure to charm the teachers. No I need to compete! I have to compete! I need to prove to them that I am not just a pretty face!
As the carriage descended and landed on the grass, Fleur looked around at her fellow students whom had still be chatting rather loudly about their visit. They had all been chatting together in their groups and discussed what the possible tasks would be, who the champions would be and what the people at Hogwarts and Durmstrang would be like. The more book warmish and political minded guys were engrossed about how significant this was. About how it marked the beginning of a new era for competitions, as well as how this might be a possible ploy to garner support from other nations. They mentioned that there had been a rising number of strange disappearances over the last few weeks.
"Oui, I zink eet 'as zomething to do with zat dark wizard in ze news. Zat one oo was beaten by ze Boy-oo-Lived. Maybe zey are trying to get support in case 'e rises again." Pondered a lean and skinny blonde haired 7th year. His name was Jean Basten who had fairly good looks, almost grey eyes and very feminine features. She pondered the same thought. Being from rather influential families in the French Ministry of Magic, any friendship with any of her classmates could gain a lot of favours if the British Ministry requested it. No. She thought defiantly. If they have a war in Britain, no matter what, they should be the one to resolve it. To include any other country and drag other countries like France into a war with them will only generate more dark wizards and witches. No if I have learnt anything from muggle history studies, is that making ties with other countries only drags more innocents into the blood bath.
Other guys like Philip Boucher talked about subjects with less intelligence behind it. "What do you zink the girl will be like at 'ogwarts?", "I 'ope zey're not as bad looking as ze rumours 'ave written zem to be." and "I 'ear zat zey are very easily flattered by us Frenchmen." A look of particular disgust crept slightly over her perfect face. Sex and good looks? Is that all you want from these people? You have barely met them and you are already thinking about them like that? Her emotions may not have appeared that much on her face to be noticeable, but deep down inside, she was fuming. She knew this was not new. "Men are very similar with few exceptions" and "men will be men" was the only real advice her mother had been able to give her earlier in her youth. Advice that had been proven true to her too many times.
The conversations for the girls were more varied and in a way slightly better. "I wonder what ze weather will be little. I 'ear zat eet will be very cold at 'ogwarts.", "what will zey be like zere?", "oo do you zink zis independent person judge is?", "I 'ope ze rumour about ze English is true! I 'ear zat zey are really polite.". She couldn't help but smirk at her female classmates as she overheard them talking about their dream English guy as if he would exist or that they hoped the guys there would be good looking and gentlemanly. She knew better. Whereas her female classmates were still a little wary of the world and a little naïve. She, on the other hand, had to grow up fast, making her rather experienced at what to expect from others. After year of being approached by strange men ogling at her, she knew that almost all men were the same. They all see her beauty and her body and that was all. The allure was virtually useless to her unless she really wanted to cause a scene. Men would just see her and start staring. They would sometimes drool on themselves when she'd enter a room, start staring with lust filled eyes. Unfriendly eyes. Eyes that merely confirmed her beliefs that almost all men outside of her family would simply see her as a trophy. To kiss and gloat at their pathetic friends when they tell them that they actually got her to look at them. Her only silver lining when it came to the allure was that she was only a quarter Veela, making her allure rather weak compared to a full blooded one like her grand-mère. She still remembered what her grand-mère had told her when she came of veela age.
*Flashback*
"A Veela is more zan simply a beautiful woman. Any spell and charm can make a woman beautiful, but ze difference is zat we have ze allure to attract men. You were born one of ze most beautiful, but ze allure is zere to help you find ze best mate."
"But grandma, I'm too young to zink about zat! Plus maman told me zat a lady shouldn't use it eef she can 'elp eet." Fleur said to her beautiful grandmother.
"You are right. You also cannot use it like I can, because you are only a quarter Veela. But yours will always be on, always be releasing zis power to find you a mate. You will never be able to turn eet off, so in zat way, you can never use the allure, since you can never truly control eet. Nor can you ever control your secondary form."
"Grandma, what ees ze secondary form? I 'eard Maman speak of eet and read ze phrase in a book, but I still don't understand." Fleur questioned her grandma constantly about this subject. She had to know what she was. Why all her friends had suddenly left her when she stopped growing. Why all the boys would be dragged away from her wherever she went now.
"Zat is not important right now. What matters is your allure. As I said, you will not be able to control it like your mother and I can. So what I'm going to show you is how to try and control eet. You try to suppress it. Render eet so low zat virtually no one can feel it. But eet will take a lot of constant focus and years and years of practice. It took your mother 10 years just to have the control she has. You may take longer."
*Flashback ends*
Fleur shook her head slightly to bring her out of her daze and saw the mountains had been closing the darkening gap between them. They were getting close. Fleur's thoughts returned to her natural born ability. She knew her allure was very powerful, even if it was a fraction of the strength of her grandmother's, and she knew that even now, after years of being around her, studying with her, the boys in her school was still susceptible to it. This made her female classmate look at her with scornful eyes when they saw her every day. Hating the fact that she had the effect she did on their boyfriends and friends. It's not my fault! She cried in her mind. I never asked for this power. I never asked to grow up and have my allure. It's not my fault that your boyfriends are too weak to resist the pull. At Beauxbatons, at least the boys had started resisting, with varying success. What would these English boys be like? She questioned herself, the feeling of worry and dreading the outcome. They don't have Veela here and they already seem to be very draconian in their ethics. I really don't need to be run out of a country because of jealousy.
Being a Veela was horrible for her. She had a lot of friends when she was younger and was very happy. The very memory used to bring a tear to her deep blue eyes. But when she stopped growing and everyone else did, things started to change. Her "friends" would leave her out of events, they would all go out together and leave her alone. The friend that she had grown up with left her when she still looked like a child. It was so frustrating a time. But when the transformation occurred, she was so relieved. She now looked the way she should have. She looked like a young woman like her peers, not like a small little girl. Yet they then resented her and pushed her away when her then uncontrollable allure spread from her, causing their then boyfriends and male friends to lose all sense of well sense and try to do or say stupid thing to try and impress her. The only good thing Fleur felt that had occur from her old "friends" was that she had gotten to know her little sister. Taken care of her. Loved her and shared with her a childhood that she had wanted at the time. Fleur was only a couple of years older than her little sister, Gabrielle, but she still treated her like a little girl. Partly to tease her for now starting the no growing section of her life, but mostly, to spoil her rotten.
At this she thought of Gabrielle, all alone at home. She must be so lonely. Even at Beauxbatons, she had followed me. Now she had to be there with few friends and a majority of scornful people constantly judging, and hating her for what she is.
When the carriage started to descend, the loud voice of her headmistress rang through the room.
"We are arriving now. Everyone should be at the foyer and prepare for landing."
Fleur glanced out the window when the castle came into view. It was a huge building and one that looked like it had too many towers and would definitely be draughty. As the carriage landed, she could hear the thundering of the gigantic blue horses hooves on the ground before the wheels made contact. The whole carriage bounced uncontrollably. Once it had come to a complete rest, everyone lined up next to the door, trying to look their best and maintain a calm and cool demeanour. The Headmistress walked swiftly from her chambers in the carriage to the front door and motioned Michelle Claude to open the door. As the door opened, Fleur felt a wave of freezing cold air rip through the carriage. Goosebumps started to appear on her exposed flesh as she began to shiver, along with as the others. Stepping out onto the damp grass, Fleur's shivering only got worse as Madam Maxime walked them towards the crowd of students wearing black, all of whom had the look of disbelief etched on their faces. Looking back she could see their surprise at the house sized carriage and gigantic blue flying horses that pulled it.
"Welcome Madam Maxime. I hope your journey was not too unpleasant." Came the kind grandfatherly voice of the old gentlemen with half-moon spectacle, long silvery white beard and silver star printed cloak. She knew she recognised him from a book she had been reading for her history class but the name didn't come to mind, though her answer was spoken at that moment.
"Professor Dumblydore, eet is good to zee you. Non, eet was not too bad. May I present ze selected few zat have volunteered to compete." Came the silky voice of Madam Maxime, turning slightly to indicate them. There were a few murmurs that came from the crowd at Hogwarts and quick a few snickers at them. While she did feel cold in her uniform, Fleur enjoyed wearing it. It hugged her at just the right places to give her support where she needed it and was loose enough so she could still move freely. In her own opinion, it made her feel more lady like and proud of her school for making her feel both elegant and like she was ready for most official meetings. But at the next gust of cold October wind, she shivered uncontrollably, as did many of her classmates as the wind seemed to penetrate straight through the silk, and skin and went straight into their bones.
The old headmaster offered them all to warm up inside the castle which Madam Maxime agreed, much to the happiness of Fleur. The crowd of staring eyes dressed in black parted for them to march to the castle, led by Madam Maxime. Even as she passed, she couldn't help but feel their gaze and out of the corner of her eye, she saw a red head boy's eyes widen and jaw drop, before the people next to him tried to resuscitate him with pokes and nudges. She knew that being so close together with her classmates, few people should notice her, but she still felt rather uncomfortable adding to the annoyance she was getting at the fact that they didn't have anything warmer than a few jackets in the carriage.
As they entered the large oak doors that was the entrance to Hogwarts, they felt a nice warmth spread over them. It was not that much warmer, but it definitely was more tolerable than being outside. It wasn't long before the crowd of black cloak wearing students began walking back into the entrance hall and into what Fleur could only assume was the main dining hall, followed by a smaller group of young men clad in heavy furs, each had a look of surliness on their faces. When indicated to, Fleur and her class mates walked inside the dining hall and stood for a moment to see sea of eyes and four long wooden tables. One table seemed to consist of people that looked like they were incredibly snobbish and would more than likely be insufferable. Their uniforms were trimmed in green. The other three tables didn't seem to have anything she could say was unlikeable so she just followed everyone else to the table with blue trimming and a raven on their cloaks, whereas the surly looking ones seemed to immediately turn to the snob looking table with green and a serpent on their cloaks.
After a short speech of welcome, Professor Dumbledore clapped his hands, causing food to appear on the tables, filling the air with the smell of roast potatoes, honey glazed vegetables, an assortment of roast meats and stews. A ruckus of noise exploded into the air, knives and forks clanged and scraped together with plates and the all the students ate and drank and talked. Many of the Ravens had begun talking with the Beauxbatons students, as did the Durmstrangs did with the Snakes. Fleur was one of the few that wasn't in such a chatty mood. In fact she was rather disgruntled at all the heavy and greasy British dished that had been pushed in front of her, while the dishes that she did like had been removed and passed around away from her. She glared at her classmates, seething internally and looked around for more.
Why? I don't like this food, it looks disgusting. All that oil and grease and fat. How can you people eat that? She questioned furiously. There has to be more somewhere. I just want some stew. Satisfied that she wasn't going to find any on the table she was on, Fleur turned her attention to the table behind and found what she had wanted. There between a red head boy and a boy with jet black hair was a steaming pot of bouillabaisse, untouched and from what she could tell, was not going to be missed. Fleur rose from her seat as gracefully as ever and walked over. Clearing her throat gently, she asked "Excuse moi, but are you finished wiz ze bouillabaisse?"
When the red head rose, his face went into that dazed looked that she had come to expect from strangers, only this time, his face turned as red as the hair on the top of his head. "Yeah, take it." Came the voice of the raven haired boy. As she turned to see whom she was addressing, her eyes looked down at the male. His eyes are beautiful. She thought to herself as she looked into the emerald of his eyes she came to a realisation; ever since her coming of age she had become used men gawking at her, but this was something she never thought would actually happen; to be completely mesmerised by another and have them look at her, to see through her Veela allure and actually look at her.
"You are finished with eet?" She asked slightly shyly.
"Yeah, it was great." Coughed the red head, trying to swallow the mouth full of food he had whilst trying to breath.
"Merci." She said before picking up the pot and returning to her seat, almost cradling it in her arms. Who was that boy? Fleur ladled her stew into a bowl and was about to take a spoonful before turning round to see raven haired boy one more time. He was not even fazed. Not even when I was that close to him. He is definitely cute. She would have just left it there but these eyes flashed and stayed in her mind the entire evening. When the feast was almost over, she turned and asked a black robed female: "Excuse moi, but who is zat boy over zere. Ze one with the black 'air? I'd like to zank 'im for ze soup. "
"Oh him, he's Harry Potter. You know the Boy-Who-Lived?"
"ee is 'arry Potter?!" She exclaimed controlling her voice to keep it from be too audible.
"Yeah. Who else could he be?"
Shocked and astounded, she looked back her table. She had met the Harry Potter. How could I not have known? She questioned herself. She knew that her sister would be in a frantic excited mood when she wrote back to her about this. Once the feast was over and the instructions and warnings for entering the tournament had been announced, they were being led back to the carriage when an altercation had occurred at the entrance of the front door. Peering round her headmistress she saw him again. Harry Potter staring back up at Karkaroff, the headmaster of Durmstrang.
"Yeah that's Harry Potter." Grunted the voice of a gnarled man with a wooden leg. "If you're finished gawkin' I suggest you get back to your ship, you're causin' a queue."
She saw into those same green eyes and saw a questioning look on his face, not even looking away from that of Karkaroff. Karkaroff was the first to look away while Harry was pulled away but his brown haired girl friend with large front teeth, his eyes following the Durmstrang headmaster. When she had arrived back in her room in the carriage, she rushed to her desk, pulled out a piece of parchment and a quill and began writing.
Dear Gabrielle,
How are you all? I am already missing you all so much. I've arrived at Hogwarts and it is very cold here. I don't think I have brought enough winter clothes. I felt like I am going to freeze. The food here isn't that bad, though it can't compare to home.
When she had penned those last words, the same emerald eyes that she had only seen a few hours ago flashed in her mind again. Those same eyes that seemed to envelop her, giving a feeling of calm and peace.
'He is much too young.' She tried to shake the image out of her head. Fleur finished her letter reassuring her family that she was safe, and that she would be entering the tournament in the morning. When she had finished the letter, she opened her bird cage and took out a beautiful and majestic brown owl, attached the letter and let it go out of the window before changing into her pyjamas and crawled into her large warm four poster bed. The last thing that she thought of before sleep took her was her little sister.