A/N: Okay, so I've been going back and forth on this chapter a lot. I really struggled with portraying Fleur's background and how she has ended up in her situation. It still feels a little clumsily told to me, but I figure I can always come back and re-write it at a later date. I'm just so ready to keep moving with the story!
CHAPTER FOUR.
To say Fleur was unhappy would be an understatement.
Every part of the farce that was being carried out was just another nail in the coffin of her already strained relationship with her mother.
Apolline— for she no longer merited the name 'Maman' with Fleur— had always been, for lack of a better term, careless.
Growing up, it wasn't unusual for Apolline to "forget" about Gabrielle and Fleur, leaving them unattended in the Delacour manor for up to a week at a time. She'd go out for a night of carefree fun, meet a man, reel him in with her thrall, and then go off on a whirlwind fling without a single thought of her daughters at home.
Fortunately, the Delacour grandparents had been wealthy, leaving Apolline with more than enough wealth to hire a house assistant— who ensured Fleur and Gabrielle were kept fed and clothed during Apolline's unexpected departures. Fleur did the rest: putting Gabrielle to bed, reading her stories, making sure she was doing her homework.
Apolline had told Gabrielle and Fleur from a young age that she couldn't remember who their fathers were, but that it didn't matter. For when you had the thrall you could easily find another man. Why let one man treat you as disposable, when you could simply turn the tables and treat all men as disposable themselves? Apolline had laughed.
But then one day, Apolline had come home from a trip into town, ashen faced. She had thrown herself on her bed and remained there for days, barely eating or sleeping. Fleur had recently finished Beauxbatons, so hadn't cared. She was applying for jobs at the French Ministry and would soon be free of her mother. Gabrielle would be able to start Beauxbatons the following year too. She wouldn't need Fleur to watch over her so closely. Things were looking up, despite their eccentric mother.
Apolline eventually surfaced after her dramatic depression. She had been in a strange mood, had sat Gabrielle and Fleur down and told them about the great wizarding war. Full blooded humans, she explained, were cruel and treated creatures as lesser beings. They hated every part of their magic spark— everything that made them special. They kept elves as house slaves and had all but exterminated giants.
It was this tension between creature and human that had led to many magical creatures taking the side of the Dark Lord during the war. He fought to celebrate magical blood.
It was with this, and many other profuse excuses, that Apolline explained one of her flings— when Fleur was very young— had been with the Dark Lord himself.
The information alone had hit Fleur, and a young Gabrielle, like a tonne of bricks. They had been aware, through their magical history lessons, that the Veela had been on the side of the Dark Lord in the last great wizarding war. But they had no idea their mother had been so intimately involved with a man known to be one of the most cruel and evil figures of wizarding history.
Back in current time, Harry got to his feet, holding his wand to his throat to amplify his voice. He began to give a very boring — and very false— account of witnessing Fleur and Hermione falling in love. Hermione still had a look of anxious disapproval colouring her expression. Fleur suppressed a groan. She wished the brunette would just pull herself together already.
Apolline, being quite into the mystical world of Divination, had regularly visited a Seer to have her future told or to buy trinkets.
The Seer had presented her with a small orb— a prophecy she had rendered that involved Apolline directly.
The prophecy foretold that the "half-Veela" who had lain with the Dark Lord had a daughter. When this daughter's blood was spilled into the soil of the United Kingdom by a Death Eater, the Half-Veela would be redeemed and the Dark Lord's fall would inevitably follow.
If it was anyone else's mother, Fleur would have expected a different outcome.
But Apolline wanted that redemption.
After her days-long depression, she had owled a group called the "Order of the Phoenix." They were based in the UK and were a Dumbledore-associated guerilla group focussed on taking down the Dark Lord.
She'd owled them before even talking to her daughters about the prophecy.
So then it just came down to which of her daughters was going to the UK.
Fleur, unable to bear the thought of Gabrielle being sacrificed for the war, instantly vetoed any notion of Gabrielle being the daughter to fulfil the prophecy. But then she argued aggressively with her mother about why they even needed to act on the prophecy.
Apolline had screamed dramatically. It was a chance to end the upcoming war! They had both been there at the Triwizard Tournament when Harry Potter had announced the Dark Lord's return. Apolline implored Fleur to think of the countless lives that would be saved if she allowed the prophecy to play out.
Of course, Fleur knew it was more than that. Apolline, though careless, was a proud woman. It would no doubt have bothered her after the Dark Lord fell the first time that she was on the wrong side of history. As far as Fleur was concerned, this was all about Apolline's own selfish redemption.
The Order of the Phoenix had quickly set Fleur up with a job at Gringotts in the curse-breaking department. This would allow Fleur to obtain a work visa and remain in the right spot for the wizarding war.
Fleur had loathed her first meeting with the Order. They spoke as if she were not there, talked about when would be best for her to die strategically, calculating lives lost as if it were as simple as a game of chess. They spoke in terms of good and evil, black and white— but all Fleur could see was grey.
It was only when they had discovered that it was harder for someone with magical blood to obtain a visa that the wedding scheme had developed. Fleur had had her work visa extension declined, and the Order had quickly found Bill Weasley to volunteer to marry her.
But Bill was a pig.
Fleur, in her short time at Gringotts, had endured constant indecencies at his hand. Every time she was in the same room as him, he would knock something of hers out of her hand "accidentally" so she would have to bend over in front of him. He never bothered to raise his eyes from her chest when she spoke to him. Worst of all, when the wedding arrangement was agreed upon — he grew bolder.
Fleur felt totally disposable.
Yes, she had already gone through her teens with boys and girls alike toying with her for her looks and thrall before tiring of her.
Yes, she had gone through her whole life with her mother carting her out for special occasions and forgetting about her the rest of the time.
But at least then she had had some autonomy.
Now she felt like the last parts of her that made her feel whole were now being taken away. Fleur felt like she was made up of gaps where people had taken a part of her away. More empty than whole.
Accepting that she was to die hadn't been the hard part. Fleur had long conceded that everyone else's needs would always come before her own, no matter how hard she fought to be seen.
She had done some frantic research in the first week or two, before ultimately concluding that yes, official prophecies had a hideous knack for coming true. No matter how hard you struggled.
The hard part had been dealing with Apolline.
At almost every opportunity, Apolline burst into tears. She dramatically bemoaned the sacrifice of her daughter— as if the entire situation were about her. She went on and on about how she would be the one to end the Dark Lord once and for all, through her own child.
It drove Fleur crazy.
As if Apolline were the one that had to sit through numerous Order meetings discussing the best point in time for her to die as casually as discussing the type of tea. As if Apolline got told what job she had to do, and then what person she had to marry.
No. At the end of all this, Apolline would still be as wild and free as she always had been.
Apolline was so careless she had even wanted to bring Gabrielle to the wedding! That had been enough to make Fleur seriously consider cursing her own mother. With a prophecy floating around that a daughter of Apolline was to die in the United Kingdom?! It would be totally reckless to bring the eleven year old to the wedding. She wouldn't be safe visiting the UK until Fleur had fulfilled the prophecy.
Fleur had spent the days before the wedding avoiding her mother as much as possible.
Apolline had arrived from France well in advance of the wedding, announcing she wanted to spend time with Fleur before the big day.
Fleur had quickly accepted the offer to stay with the Weasleys in order to escape her. She knew Molly Weasley loathed her— hated her for the accusations against Bill, for driving the pig-headed boy away. Hated the way her own husband's gaze lingered on Fleur despite her pitifully weak thrall.
It was a sacrifice, to be sure, staying with people that barely tolerated you. But it had allowed Fleur some peace from her mother. Until the day of the wedding.
Fleur had already been in an entirely foul mood when her mother had burst in, teary eyed and already smelling of wine. Apolline had wanted to share a box— trinkets Fleur had thought at first— with Fleur. She had opened it to reveal a number of small vials with the silvery cloud of memories within them. That and the cursed orb containing the prophecy itself.
Fleur had been in a white hot rage ever since.
It was sick!
In what world would Fleur possibly want to view her mother's memories with Voldemort?! In what world would she want to spend her days idly replaying the prophecy foretelling her own death?!
Fleur had snapped, arguing wildly with her mother, not caring that their voices raised. In the end, as always, Apolline had left her in the room alone.
A final act of walking out on Fleur.
Fleur finished readying herself alone in the bedroom.
When she looked at herself in the mirror in her wedding attire, she didn't see a happy bride. She saw a ghost. She had no idea how she was going to sell this marriage. But she had to. The fate of the war depended on it.
More importantly, Gabrielle's own life depended on Fleur being the one to fulfil the prophecy.
So Fleur walked down the aisle obediently, like a lamb to slaughter. She plastered a fake smile on her face. She married Hermione Granger, the insufferable know-it-all.
It didn't mean she had to be happy.
Fleur tapped her fingers impatiently as Apolline sobbed her way through a speech. The words were falser than Apolline's own care for her children. Hermione cast her a hard look from her seat beside her, and Fleur took the hint to dab a handkerchief delicately at her eyes as if she were getting misty-eyed from her mother's speech.
"What's your deal?" Hermione hissed, "You were the one telling me to pull it together, but now you're sitting here looking like someone's about to die."
Fleur snorted darkly.
It was evident The Order hadn't told Harry Potter and his friends about Fleur's role in the war. Perhaps to keep their hands clean? Perhaps they didn't want the teens to find out just how many lives were to be lost in the pursuit of ending one man's crusade.
Finally, thankfully, the dreaded speeches were over. Fleur could once again push Apolline to the back of her mind— and all the anger and blame that came with it.
Now she just had to get through a little bit more with her 'wife' before they could make their excuses to go to their new home.
Fleur was mentally counting how many hours left of the wedding she had left when Hermione stood up and offered her hand.
Of course. The first dance.
Fleur, plastering another smile on her face, took her new spouse's hand and allowed herself to be led to the makeshift dance floor.
Fleur wondered idly how Hermione could possibly be comfortable in her suit in the dreadful heat. The brunette had yet to take her suit jacket off, and didn't appear to be breaking a sweat.
Fleur had to hand it to Tonks, she had done a fantastic job when she took Hermione shopping for her wedding attire.
Leave it to Tonks to take a bookish know-it-all and find a way to make her look gorgeous. Fleur couldn't stop looking at Hermione — if only to take in how stunning she looked. She had been floored when she had seen Hermione at the end of the aisle in her tailored suit. Since when had Hermione Granger possessed this kind of 'daddy' energy?! But Fleur had rapidly pushed it from her mind. Hermione Granger was Hermione Granger after all. A self-conscious wallflower who loved to cut people like Fleur down with whatever fact she had read in a book that day.
It was years gone now, but Fleur still remembered hearing the stinging insults from the bushy-haired witch's mouth whenever the Beauxbatons delegation walked past her in the halls at Hogwarts.
Hermione turned around to face Fleur, a slight blush on her cheeks as she stepped forward. She seemed unsure of herself again.
Fleur suppressed another groan. Did she really have to do Hermione's job for her on top of everything else?
Fleur flashed a seductive smile, taking Hermione's hands and placing them firmly on her hips.
Brightest witch of her age and she doesn't know how to dance with another woman, Fleur thought tartly to herself.
It was bad enough that the wedding was a means to Fleur's end. Having to guide Hermione through it was just too much.
Fleur placed her hands on Hermione's shoulders, running her fingers across the smooth material of Hermione's suit jacket.
To Fleur's surprise, Hermione began to lead the dance, dancing quite well. The surprise must have shown on her face, as Hermione quirked an actually sincere smile.
"Ginny and I used to practice together before the Yule Ball," Hermione explained quietly, "We took turns leading."
Fleur's gaze drifted to the redheaded friend of Hermione's, sitting at a nearby table watching them. She was attractive, in an athletic way. Fleur felt an odd sort of annoyance.
Fully aware she shouldn't be looking irritated on her 'happy wedding day,' Fleur returned her gaze to Hermione's. The Gryffindor's eyes were calming, despite the brunette's know-it-all tendencies. Fleur let herself get momentarily lost in the warmth of them and the rhythm of the dance.
Fleur liked dancing, she always had. It was just that at school dances, boys had always had a terrible habit of letting their hands roam. It made Fleur feel cheap and ruined any fun she'd had dancing.
But Hermione's hands remained firmly on her waist, her eyes locked respectfully with Fleur's. Fleur felt herself able to relax for a moment.
The music faded into another song, others joined the dance-floor, but Fleur scarcely noticed them.
Hermione didn't bother to push conversation. Hermione didn't roll her eyes. Hermione didn't move her hands or eyes anywhere disrespectful. Fleur felt safe and able to enjoy a dance with her partner for once.
Maybe this sham marriage wouldn't be so bad?
Fleur's relaxation was jarringly cut short by a scream.
Hermione released Fleur, her face paling as she looked over her shoulder.
Turning, Fleur saw with horror a blaze of emerald smoke pluming in the sky— a giant skull made up of emerald stars, with a serpent protruding from its mouth like a tongue. The green smoke around the skull spread wider as it rose higher in the sky.
The Dark Mark.