Godrics Gift
A/N: An interlude and new point of view. Some context to see our couple's relationship develop. Also, did you know that the French sometimes refer to folks from the British isles as roast beef (rosbif)? I, for one, fully endorse sandwich-based insults and will henceforth be calling those from Philadelphia "cheesesteaks," Louisianians "Poboys," and the French "jambon-Burres" or "jamburgers" because it will sound less refined and thus more insulting.
I am grateful to several members of the Flowerpot Discord for the Beta Help!
Italics indicate French.
Not a Hair out of Place
Sapphire eyes silently searched the small mirror in the corner of her carriage. Frustratingly enough, she discovered three strands of hair that escaped her effort to force her voluptuous hair into a bun. While the walk from the carriage to the Great Hall was barely half a kilometer, the walk could not be made comfortably without the warm winter hat she had packed at Harry's suggestion. A hat that, while warm, would ruin any work she would put into her hair save her tight bun. Such a style suited Fleur Delacour just fine. She did not need the extra attention an elaborate hairstyle would bring; she received enough attention as it was through her looks and her allure. English boys fared no better than their French counterparts regarding her effect on them, though, to their credit, they often looked ashamed of themselves after ogling her, unlike her countrymen. The notable exception was the green-eyed enigma to whom she was grateful for the idea of packing her warm hat.
She did not know what to think of him. He had saved her and her sister's life, of that she was almost certain. However, the reckless manner he had done so was somewhat concerning. Youthful nobility and innocence or arrogant overestimation of his abilities? This was Britain's hero non? The heir to an ancient and wealthy house. She was almost certain that, in the end, he would turn out to be like every other rooster she had the misfortune of meeting.
Then he wrote. Contrary to the famous cocksure heir she had half-expected, his letters were humble to the point of timidity. He was polite, complementary, and incredibly interested in her. Not Fleur, the Veela beauty, but Fleur, the duelist. The skill forged of her magical power and years of focused effort. Harry was captivated by that which Fleur most prized in herself.
So he is Harry now? A life or death experience, a few letters, and now she is this familiar with him.
Fleur shook her hair out and drew it into her hands, making another attempt at the bun, this time without any hairs out of place. Cold or not, she would look perfect when her name came from the Goblet of Fire, and she was certain that it would be her chosen from Beauxbatons at the end of the feast. There was no student from the delegation her equal. She doubted there was a student from any of the schools who could match her, she would find out during the tournament, but she knew her classmates, and there were not any who could compare.
Hair in place, she put on her hat and exited her room. She was not alone in exiting the carriage. Quickly she dawned her facade of neutrality and attempted to reign in her allure. Eye contact was central to all the mind arts, and her allure was no different. Mask in place, she exited the carriage and fell in behind two of her classmates, overhearing their conversation.
"I simply cannot stand this food for an entire year. It is as heavy as it is flavorless." Colette said haughtily.
"Oui, if this is the food they prepare at a feast, I shudder to think what the normal fare will be; hopefully, Madame will not make us eat with these others too often," Ava responded with equal disdain.
It was true that most of the food offered did not sit well with Fleur, but the Hogwarts hosts clearly tried to make foods from her country, and the Boulliobasse was actually quite good.
"Ohh Fleur, I did not see you there; where are my manners? It is such an honor for you to grace us with your presence." Colette sneered at her.
Fleur did not deign to reply. Irritation rose up within her, but she bit it down, never dropping her mask. Colette was a talented witch but had taken it upon herself to make Fleur's life as difficult as possible. In her younger years, Colette's taunts and gossip wounded her deeply. She was the ringleader of the influential girls in Fleur's year. Colette had seen to it that Fleur was ostracized by the other girls. In her fourth year, she gave up trying to build relationships with her peers and threw herself into her with more ferocity than before. If she could not be one of the girls, she would take pleasure in crushing them on every exam and in every dueling competition where they would be foolish enough to test her.
Realizing she would not get a rise from her, Colette continued.
"Ava, who do you think will be chosen from our school?"
"I don't know; we've brought so many talented witches and wizards. Anton seems to be most likely if it is a boy, although if this Goblet has any sense, it will choose a girl. Perhaps it will be you, Colette." Ava replied diplomatically
"Ohh no, it will certainly be you," Colette replied with feigned sincerity. "Although this Goblet being an ancient artifact, should be able to pick proper witches and wizards and not partial ones." Colette finished throwing the briefest of looks at Fleur.
"Do you not grow tired of embarrassing yourself, Colette? The more you insult my heritage, the more it must pain you to finish behind me in every examination." Fleur replied with disdain.
Colette scoffed and stalked away with Ava in tow. Leaving Fleur searching for a place to sit. She would have liked to sit with Harry, as he was rather resistant to her allure, but Madame Maxime had demanded they sit together for the ceremony. So, Fleur found a seat at the end of the Ravenclaw table next to an eccentric-looking girl with blonde hair and a dreamy expression on her face.
"It must be magnificent to have wings," the strange girl said.
"Pardon?" Fleur responded, taken aback. No one had ever seen her transform. Only her family knew it was possible. How did, what did this girl know?
"You must be even more beautiful with them." She said again.
"I am afraid I do not know what you are talking about; I do not think we have met. My name is Fleur Delacour; what is yours?"
"I'm Luna Lovegood," Luna responded cheerfully. "It's quite nice to talk to someone at dinner." Luna continued. "You should know that most of my classmates don't sit with me, so if you want to sit with others, sitting here isn't your best choice."
"Would you like me to leave?" Fleur asked.
"No, not at all; I like having someone to talk to." Luna responded honestly.
Fleur smiled sadly, recognizing the loneliness behind the dreamy eyes of the strange girl.
"Then I am appy to sit ere with you," Fleur responded. "We seem to ave at least one thing in common." Fleur finished.
"I'm afraid I don't have wings," Luna replied.
"Non, I do not either," Fleur said quickly. "But I struggle to make friends as well."
"I'd love to be your friend," Luna said excitedly.
"Magnifique, then Luna, my friend, tell me what your favorite subject to study is."
oOOOo
The conversation with Luna was perhaps the most unusual conversation she had had in her life. The combination of unabashed sincerity, bewildering oddity, and childlike wonder made Luna Lovegood, unlike anyone she had ever met. While Fleur could not shake the feeling that Luna knew and understood more than her airy persona let on, it was one of the most pleasant dinners she had ever had. So pleasant that she had almost forgotten the purpose of the feast. She was reminded as the food from the plates vanished, and a voice cut across her musings.
"Ahh, it appears as if the Goblet is ready," Dumbledore announced, hushing the audience.
Fleur looked towards the Hogwarts headmaster, who stood imperiously over the Goblet, waiting for the selections to be made. After a moment red flames billowed out from the Goblet, distorting the color in his lilac robes, from the flames, the aged headmaster, nimbly snatched the parchment fluttering down.
"The Durmstrang Champion is Victor Krum." Dumbledore beamed.
Raucous applause burst from the hall as the squat Bulgarian rose shook a few hands and went over to Dumbledore. The Headmaster's genial smile welcomed him, and he beckoned him to an antechamber adjacent to the Great Hall.
Fleur's heart began to beat as the faintest hint of nerves started to grip her. She was confident her name would be selected, but a trickle of doubt began to leak into the basin of her mind. It was flushed away when sapphire flames, her flames, sprung from the Goblet. She did not need to hear the Headmaster read the parchment as she had seen those flames thousands of times. She was amazed at the magic of the Goblet. How could it create her flames? Her magic?
"The Beauxbatons Champion is Miss Fleur Delacour," Dumbledore read.
Fleur barely heard the applause as she rose from her seat.
"It's neat that my friend is the Champion," Luna said to her, beaming.
Fleur smiled at the girl and turned towards the Headmaster, but before she did, her eyes met with Harry Potter. His face was alight with happiness which filled Fleur with warmth. Despite the cold, Hogwarts had already received her more warmly than her school in the south of France. Madame Maxime would be pleased with her, and when she was not preparing, she would enjoy the company of her two new friends over the course of the next several months.
"Well done, Miss Delacour; I greatly look forward to watching you compete," The Headmaster told her with a genuine smile. "Head through the door Mr. Krum went through; we'll be with you in a moment."
She walked into the small room. A fireplace was alight warming the room and filling it with soft light. Victor Krum stood by the flames staring intently into them. He turned as she approached.
"Hello, my name is Victor Krum," Krum said in quite passable french.
He smiled but did not look her in the eyes. She appreciated the attempt to resist her allure.
"I am Fleur Delacour, a pleasure to meet you; You speak my mother tongue quite well."
"I have played club Quidditch in the French league for several years now." He replied. "My French is far better than my English, although I will improve this year." Krum finished.
Fleur knew that Krum had played in France, as her Father was a massive Quidditch fan, so she regularly heard him bemoan the unfairness of the Lyon Leopards signing Victor Krum two seasons ago. They had not lost a title since.
"Do you enjoy Lyon?" Fleur asked.
"The food is wonderful, but the weather has taken some adjusting. It is much hotter than Bulgaria. Then again, I mostly only spend my summers there during the season." Krum replied genially.
Fleur began to reply when a tall boy with sandy blonde hair and a bright smile walked in, beaming at the pair.
"Cheers then, you two; I'm Cedric Diggory," Cedric said jovially.
"Victor Krum," Victor replied.
"Fleur Delacour," Fleur offered.
"Great to meet both of you. Mr. Krum, I saw you at the World Cup; truly it was an incredible performance."
"Vhank you," Krum replied politely but with a hint of sadness in his voice. "Ve are equals in this room, so please call me Victor."
"Cheers," Cedric replied cheerfully.
Fleur nodded at the boy, who was doing his best to avoid her eyes. Like Krum, he, too, felt the pull of her allure and seemed to be attempting to compose himself.
Their conversation was interrupted by the sound of the door to the antechamber swinging open and an utterly bewildered Harry Potter walking inside. Fleur was perplexed. Why was Harry coming in? Was he sent as a messenger? What was that look on his face?
"Arry," she asked tentatively, "do they want us back in the all?"
His tired face stared back at her blankly, his lips parting, trying to find words but seeming to fail.
"Something happened with the Goblet." was all he managed to get out before the booming voice of Ludo Bagman drowned him out. Fleur, however, looked directly in his eyes; there was something in there she could not place.
"Magnificent, downright extraordinary, gentleman and lady, may I present the fourth Triwizard champion." The boisterous man declared.
Pandemonium seemed to grip the room as many people packed into the small room. His words hit Fleur like an anvil. Why would Harry do such a thing? Nothing about what she knew of the boy indicated that he would want to be in a tournament such as this; he knew his own limits and even sought her out to try and grow in magic. Nothing, except their first meeting.
She thought back to the fear and adrenaline that gripped her body as she dueled the cochons trying to harm her and her sister. Blue flame flowed effortlessly from her wand and her hand as she held the attackers at bay. She could have held them off had it not been for that disgusting man targeting Gabrielle. Her sister was defenseless; protecting her was her downfall. Until that boy, barely more than a child raced out and tackled a man twice his size. She grimaced, remembering him crumple when the fist connected with his eye. But his recklessness had saved her and her sister. Bravery or stupidity? Was he selfless and decisive, circumstances forcing him to take a risk? Or was he stupid and reckless, overestimating himself and simply lucky up until this point?
As the room continued in its uproar Fleur looked at Harry, searching his face for any signs of a smirk, of cockiness, or even of the neutral facade which would hide such things. What she found was confusion and exhaustion, and a hint of fear. She was not a legilimens, but Veela had their own sort of legilimency, the ability to detect the mood of those around them. While Harry's resistance to her allure made him difficult to place, his exhaustion weakened his resistance, and she could feel him.
He must not have done this himself. It was a Triwizard-Tournament. A fourth champion meant there was something sinister afoot. Albus Dumbledore was supposedly the most powerful wizard alive; how could he let this happen to Harry? He was so young and now he would be accused of treachery and thrust into danger that he knew he was not prepared for. It was an outrage.
"Ow can you allow thees to appen" Fleur bellowed, her voice filled with emotion "He is but a child, and now e must face these dangers with adult wizards."
Her eyes were fixed squarely on the Headmaster, her accent coming through with her emotions. She saw the faintest hint of confusion, then sadness flicker across the electric blue eyes of Dumbledore. He looked softly at her and almost bowed his head in shame, but before he could reply; a sneering voice cut across the room.
"The Headmaster cannot be solely to blame; Potter has proven truly exceptional in both rule-breaking and attention-seeking. The only areas he could be considered anything other than mediocre." The dark-haired professor spat a hateful smile on his lips.
"That is enough, Severus," Dumbledore cut across him. The dark-haired man stopped but continued smiling evilly toward Harry.
Dumbledore approached Harry and stared deeply into his eyes. Fleur was certain he was using a form of legilimency.
"Harry, did you place your name in the cup? Or did you ask an older student to place your name in?"
"No, Sir," Harry responded, looking directly into his Headmaster's eyes.
"Albus, of course, this boy is lying." Madame Maxine.
Fleur opened her mouth but was cut off.
"I'm not a liar." Harry spat, anger consuming his exhausted face. He looked distraught. Fleur wanted to approach him. To protect him. Feelings she only ever felt for Gabby; she was feeling for this boy.
"Albus Dumbledore is perhaps the best legillimens in the country; I would not doubt his word," said the hideous professor. "I don't see how a fourteen-year-old could produce a confundus charm powerful enough to hoodwink an artifact like the Goblet of Fire."
This made perfect sense to Fleur. But her thought was interrupted by the Durmstrang headmaster.
"You seem to have given the matter quite a bit of thought." The Bulgarian huffed.
"It was once my job to think like Dark wizards do, or have you forgotten Kakaroff."
"Alastor," Dumbledore said firmly.
"I don't want to compete; I forfeit, problem solved." Harry said.
"I am afraid it is not that simple, Mr. Potter. Your name has come out; therefore, you have entered into a binding magical contract; if you do not compete, you could lose your magic and perhaps your life." Barty Crouch said.
"How can I be in a contract if I didn't put my name in?" Harry asked.
"Perhaps you are telling the truth; it is possible the Goblet will recognize that, and you will not be punished," Crouch said. "If the Goblet is confounded as Mr. Moody says, it may not recognize your situation. You would be taking an incredible risk by forfeiting."
Harry fell silent, and Fleur tried to catch his eye. He looked so defeated. She wanted to reassure him with her eyes that he was not alone and that she believed him, that she would protect him. But it was to no avail. He looked at no one. He seemed to withdraw into a shell of himself and no longer hear or see anything happening around them.
The meeting ended, and Madame Maxime was hurrying her away. They spoke when they were well away from the others.
"Congratulations Fleur; I cannot say I am surprised; your marks have always been excellent. I am certain you will make Beauxbatons proud." her Headmistress said, smiling at her.
"Thank you, Madame. I have always done my best to make my family and my school proud. I will do the same here." Fleur responded.
"I am curious, child, what do you think of this Harry Potter? You know him, and he was involved with the events at the World Cup, non?" Maxime asked.
Fleur was somewhat wary of the question. Her Headmistress missed little and could be both cunning and ruthless.
"He has courage; when Gabrielle and I were surrounded by those men, I was disarmed, and he saved us. He threw himself at a man twice his age and size without a wand. Apparently he had lost it. His distraction gave me time to recover my wand and dispatch the rascals. For his efforts his eye socket was crushed but he did not complain. From what I have learned later, he is quiet and not given to boasting. Madame, I do not know what is going on, but I do not believe he would have entered himself. Fleur said, keeping her voice neutral.
Madame Maxime paused for several moments, considering Fleur's words. Then replied: "If that is true, then a powerful person is interfering with an already dangerous competition. We must be absolutely prepared, and you must be cautious. I will investigate the Goblet myself and see if I can find any trace of magic upon it. Enter the carriage and be cordial with the other students. I know they have not treated you well throughout your years, but they will respect and support you this year; I will be sure of it." With that, Maxime turned on her heel and swept back towards the castle.
Fleur nodded gratefully; her headmistress was a severe woman but always had empathy for Fleur. Perhaps because both of them faced similar prejudices. Fleur opened the carriage door and stepped out of the frigid night. As she removed her hat, she caught sight of her reflection and smiled. Not a hair out of place.
oOOOo
A/N: A new perspective. Let me know what you think of Fleur's thoughts!