AN Whoops! For those that saw the reupload, my bad!
This is the correct chapter :I
A room full of people were arguing heatedly in a space far too small for all of them and the big table it housed.
Everyone seemed to have their own contrasting points, and were dead set on shouting them out so that a dozen voices overlapped and no one was really listening to anyone. This created a jumbled mess of English Fleur had no hope of following, so she didn't try, just leaned against the wall and gloured at nothing in particular. There was a heavy sigh beside her and she glanced over at the little boy she followed now.
Not so little anymore.
She realized, as she looked up at him, that in her mind's eye he was still that short skinny figure standing in front of a dragon waiting for his broom to come. Short and skinny he was not, but he was still much too young to be cowing these men and women. He did shut them up though. With a single pound of his fist on the table, and a shout, every head was turned toward him and fell silent as the grave. They eyed her now too, and almost subconsciously she altered her allure, promoting docility, gentling the prey for the kill.
He told them what to do, how to set up their new home, what protections to use, and they listened. For almost an hour he lectured them on what their new normal would be and they drank it up like they had just stumbled out of the desert. She just stared at his back as he talked, she didn't need to focus to translate his speech, he gave it every time they visited new people.
-o-o-o-
It was raining when Fleur woke up.
Like most mornings after one of those dreams she was groggy and unwilling to leave the blankets. Unlike most mornings, the windows were pelted with cold fat drops, and then the whole room swayed and dropped a few feet as the air shifted beneath them. They were on their way to Hogwarts, and that was motivation enough to get out of bed.
She was sharing a room with three other girls, an inconvenience she hadn't had to suffer since her second year of schooling. She wouldn't miss it when she moved into the private room as the Beauxbatons Champion. The others were gone when she woke though, further evidence that her dreams had delayed the start of her day. A glance outside showed the weak light of a rainy midday sun and barely visible patchwork fields far below in the pale light. She dressed in her formal Beauxbaton blues in preparation for their arrival and went to find coffee in the sitting room.
Madam Maxime was already there, reading a book and sipping a comically small cup in her over-large hand. She gave Fleur one of her rare smiles, reserved for the academically inspired, and cleared her neighboring seat of its collection of tomes. The other Beauxbatons hopefuls were spread around the room, reading books and magazines, from armchairs or chaise lounges. A painting of sophisticated youthful grace. She fell into the portrait with them, at the table beside the headmistress, the centerpiece.
"Charm crafting again, madam?" she guessed, reading the spines of books as a conjured pot poured her coffee for her.
"Always dear, always," the Headmistress purred as Fluer dumped spoonfuls of sugar into the bitter drink to make it palatable.
"Is England always like this?" She asked as she took her first sip. The room was chilly, despite the fire burning merrily away, and the rain was constant.
"I'm afraid so." The two French women commiserated the weather with shared grimaces. "Are you prepared for the challenges?"
Neither student nor teacher doubted who would be selected champion, and it filled Fleur with pride. The other boys and girls were a formality, her audience, brought along to represent the school and show the others the best that Beauxbaton could provide. But not to compete. No one noticed or listened to their quiet conversation, a few of the boys were now talking about broomsticks and drawing much of the room's attention.
"I am." She did not know what they would be, but she was prepared for anything.
"Good, we will be arriving in a few hours." The headmistress went back to her books, scratching out notes on a pad periodically, and Fleur had a second cup of coffee poured over the sugar left in the bottom of the first. The rest of her classmates joined them at the table sporadically in twos and threes. Five other girls and six boys, all in their final year, all some of the top performers in class. Some may even have been able to claim advantage over her in individual areas. Luc Bennet might be the best dueler in the school, Marie Claire was arguably the best at Charms, but none of them could outshine her on the whole.
The boys served them a light lunch because they only had one house elf for the trip, and she read her ancient runes textbook throughout it, barely touching her parfait. The subject was becoming one of her favorites, an odd turn of events as she previously would only put enough thought into it to perfect it. For the last few months though, she'd found her interest in charms waning. She would get lost in runes and begin sketching enchantments of her own designs in her head, as she was now.
She held an image in her mind, an enchanter's circle with four equilateral triangles on its circumference, perfectly aligned to form a square centered on the circle's origin. She'd been playing with the design for the last week, and as they grew nearer and nearer to their destination she began plugging runes into the equation at different points along the shapes.
An enchantment was characterized by the geometry and runic composition of its circle. The one she was conceptualizing now would waterproof clothing. She added another circle around all of it, this one touching the tips of the triangles, providing four new points to place intrinsic runes. That would not be enough to add warming charms to the enchantment, she would need more complex geometry.
She could visualize her work almost as clear as she could see the room around her. So engrossed in her planning, she was, that she was hardly aware of the dozen other people around her. Just when she thought she might have had something, almost to the point of sketching it out, the carriage trundled onto solid ground again and shook the image free. She cursed under her breath and looked around, the carriage was rolling to a stop, the rain had lessened to a drizzle, and her classmates were standing and correcting their uniforms. Some of the other girls had begun wrapping excess scarves around their heads and shoulders, like shawls to try and stave off the chill. She twisted her silver sheet of hair into a loose bun at the back of her head and did the same.
If it was cold in here she could not imagine what awaited on the other side of that door. The fact that her hair was not as tightly bound as Madam Maxime's strict chignon du cou was acceptable only because she hid it in several layers of silk. The door opened and the headmistress stepped out to the applause of the Hogwarts party. The rest followed, making last minute corrections to hair and uniform to present a unified and perfect front for their neighboring school.
Fleur had not managed to find pictures of Hogwarts in her research over the last month. At least not in Beauxbaton's library, and she felt no need to purchase a book for a picture alone. So it was with fresh eyes that she stepped out of the carriage last, so that she stood beside Madam Maxime with the rest of the students to her left. First impressions were everything, and this one was lackluster at best.
The school was … impressive, formidable was perhaps the better word. At seven stories with multiple towers, it was decidedly on the fortress end of the castle spectrum, and as cold as the English autumn to her eye. Stone walls, unadorned apart from gargoyles along the roof and simple windows, utilitarian really. The weather was the main factor of her distaste if she was being honest with herself. The fire that lived beneath her unblemished Veela skin retreated and sulked in the wet and cold. She resolved to finish that enchantment as soon as possible as she policed her face into serene neutrality, lest she let her displeasure show before the Hogwarts students.
Their heads of school exchanged words and Marie and Amiee crowded close to her to try to absorb some of her Veela warmth. This had the symbiotic effect of keeping the drizzle off her and together the three peered out from under shawls with growing apprehension.
Dumbledore, the famous and great, suggested they go inside and warm up while they waited for the Durmstrang delegation. For that alone she decided he was worth his reputation, and the sea of heavily robed children parted for them looking far too comfortable in this miserable weather.
The entrance hall was grand and impressive, in the way a cathedral was, inspiring to behold but not somewhere she would want to live. Some of the boys branched off to look at suits of arms or portraits but she marched resolutely to the corner furthest from the doors and huddled with her little entourage of shivering witches.
"How can they live with this? It is terrible." Amiee said.
"They must freeze over completely from November to March." Fleur agreed.
"Perhaps we will be hibernating this winter." Marie guessed and all three laughed, it helped ease their discomfort a little. When the Durmstrang students did arrive they led the march into the castle, led in turn by the three school heads. Madam Maxime wordlessly ushered the rest of her students toward Fleur and her two companions and as a unit the twelve of them slipped into the Great Hall in the midst of the Hogwarts tide.
The others deferred to her, or at least she saw the need to take charge. Beyond the wide double doors the four rows of tables ran the length of the hall to the far end where the Headmasters and teachers were getting situated. She knew the school was divided into houses, and ascertained that these tables corresponded with them, but she did not know which table was which at first glance. So she made a quick scan and set off for one arbitrarily, toward a girl with hair almost as bright as hers who had open seats around her.
"Do you mind if we sit 'ere?" She asked, realizing as she did that this girl was little more than a child.
"Oh, no..." she said dreamily, smiling up at her as if she could see her through the mess of scarves. "I'd like that."
She sat. Amiee and Marie squeezed through the narrow gap between tables to sit across from them, and two boys took seats on the other side of the young girl. The rest of her schoolmates found seats elsewhere at the same table.
The girl, Luna Lovegood, was as odd as her name but she sat surrounded by students four or five years her senior and chatted away without a hint of intimidation which garnered respect in Fleur's eyes. Her schoolmates asked questions about the school and houses, which Luna answered with complete candor, bluntly expressing her opinions on the various houses and even individual students if given the chance. More than once her statements on the virtues of a house or competence of a student got surprised laughter from Fleur and her classmates. Every time they laughed she would blink and smile hesitantly, as if not quite sure what was funny but delighted to share the joke.
Dumbledore gave a speech, welcoming their guests, and summoned the feast. She could not contain her mirthless and unbecoming bark of laughter when he expressed his belief that they would feel at home here. She did have the propriety to at least feel ashamed at it, even without Madam Maximes quick and harsh glance in her direction. By the time the food appeared she felt revitalized enough to remove her head covers and shake out the hastily made French twist.
"Oh wow you're quite beautiful." Luna said vaguely, she smiled without waiting for a reply and returned to dividing her attention between potatoes and a book.
"Merci." Fleur responded anyway with a small smile, ignoring the reaction of the strangers around her. Fleur felt an unexplainable fondness for this little English witch. She was also glad to see that she could get away with reading through meals, many of the students at her selected table seemed to, she distantly recalled Ravenclaw being the smart house.
The food was… another trial. She did not have much experience with English cuisine, her parents had never taken them across the channel on holiday. She now had to privately conclude that the stereotypes held true. She served herself the smallest portion of shepherd's pie she could manage without being rude and found it bland and heavy.
"They have coq au vin down there," Marie said wistfully in French, craning her head to peer down the other end of the table. Fleur brightened considerably, looking around as well. The dishes nearest to her all seemed English, though she supposed a few could be vaguely eastern European.
"I will find us something edible," she told them and received relieved smiles and nods. They'd found their seats just inside the great hall, so she made her way back toward the entrance and turned to walk down the row between two further tables that had no visiting students. Heads turned as she walked by, mostly male, but they were ignored imperiously. She caught the fragrant scent of saffron before she could see the bright orangish dish on her right.
"Excuse me," she said, leaning between two boys who had their backs to her and interrupting their conversation. "Are you wanting the bouillabaisse?"
She kept a tight rein on her allure almost perpetually, but it was not something that could be turned off entirely. The redheaded boy to her right turned purple as he struggled for words, the mousy haired girl across from him scowled at him in contempt. A round faced boy seated next to the gaping ginger passed the golden bowl to her wordlessly, turning pink slightly but otherwise unaffected. She gave him a dazzling smile in thanks and watched with some amusement as his pink cheeks darkened to true red.
"Merci." She said, watching the girl's lip curl as she took in her two mute friends. She was all too familiar with that look, she wondered if one of them were her boyfriend, they looked just old enough to begin dating.
She turned away with her bounty only to have her whole world tilt slightly on its axis. The golden bowl of fish soup slipped from her hands and fell to the floor with a great clanging clamor that turned heads all over the hall. Hot, bright orange soup splashed up onto her legs and uniform but she did not have the presence of mind to notice. She felt on fire, like a fever intent on killing her was raging within, and she was paralyzed on the spot. Her eyes had locked with another's across the hall, with a man whose face she knew as well as her own. He had the scar on the left cheek, sometimes he did not.
It was the man of her dreams, or at least the man from her dreams, whose face she had seen at minimum once a week for most of her life. Since the announcement of the tournament that frequency had increased to the point where most every night she drifted off to the odd visions.
She did not understand how he could be there now, and how he could have that scar, when she had seen him without it. Been with him when he got it.
She felt as if she'd been struck by lightning, the fire within her was raging like it wanted to burn her away. He was just staring at her with his head tilted slightly, like a hawk inspecting a field mouse scurrying through the grass. As she watched, a corner of his mouth lifted slowly into a satisfied little grin that thrilled her and enraged her in equal measure. He turned to his left, breaking that gaze to say something to the dark-skinned woman beside him.
Just like that, whatever spell he had over her shattered, the world around her came back into focus with a crack that jolted her. People were laughing, girls glared and boys stared dumbfounded. The weaker willed ones like the redhead from before were drooling or otherwise trying to stand and approach her. She clawed back her allure that had slipped free in her distraction. The golden bowl and soup had been vanished away. The spots of it staining her uniform were the only evidence of the whole affair, she had no idea how long she'd been standing there like an idiot.
She whirled on the spot, painfully aware of Madam Maxime's eyes on her back, and retreated quickly to her spot. An embarrassed flush crept up her cheeks now she was safely seated, the raging inferno within her died to hot coals.
"Fleur what happened?" Mariee asked in French, staring at her with her big confused doe eyes. Fleur ignored the question, and Aimee, who cleaned her uniform with a silent wave of the wand.
"Luna, who is that man?" She said quietly, pulling the young girl from her book. She was perhaps the only person in the hall to have missed Fleur's episode.
"Hmm? Oh, that's Professor Potter, he's a new professor this year. He teaches Enchanting, and Warding to the older students, his class is really great..." She carried on at length, describing how unusual his style of teaching was and how interesting the class was. Fleur was deaf to all of it.
He did not look back in her direction for the rest of the meal. Her eyes kept flicking toward him, no matter how hard she tried to stop them, and she hardly touched the food even when one of the boys went and retrieved the coq au vin Marie so desperately coveted.
When the feast was over Dumbledore stood again and spoke about the tournament. She knew of the Goblet of Fire already from her research and she largely tuned him out. She did, however, keep her eyes dutifully glued to the old wizard as he spoke. She knew he was looking at her then, as everyone else in the hall was focused on the headmaster. She could feel it.
She was the first person out of their seat when the feast was declared complete, just as Madam Maxime was the first adult away from the teacher's table. The Beauxbaton group were out into the entry hall with the Hogwarts students nearest the door and they fell into formation behind their headmistress to cross the lawns to their carriage. Madam Maxime saved her discussion until they were safely inside, giving Fleur a single look that told her she was to stay as she dismissed the other students to bed.
"What happened in there Fleur, you embarrassed our school in front of everyone!" She hissed at her in a tone so rarely used on Fleur. It made her wince, she wanted to hide behind her hair, wanted to escape to her bed. She felt weak, like a little girl being scolded, and she hated it. She did not retreat, and she did not pull back into herself, because she was Fleur Delacour and she was better than that.
"I'm sorry madam, I do not know what came over me."
She did not know what to say, she could not tell her headmistress that she had been seeing a Hogwarts professor in her dreams for as long as she could remember.
"The bowl slipped from my hand." She finished lamely, not addressing her subsequent petrification.
Maxime squinted at her for a few more seconds, trying to glean what it was Fleur was holding back. Instead of answering she raised the back of her hand to Fleur's forehead. It was a singularly maternal gesture, as touching as it was useless. All Veela felt feverish to others.
"Well," She said finally. "If you're feeling fine now then get to bed. We are all going up to the school to enter your names first thing tomorrow morning."
"Of course madam," the headmistress stared at her back as she hurried off to the room she shared with her two friends.
After tomorrow she could move into the champions suite, it couldn't come fast enough. Marie and Aimee were not asleep of course, but Fleur denied them the chance to discuss the events of the meal. She told them in clipped tones that they would have to be up early and then got into bed facing the wall with the blankets up to her ears. It took a long time to fall asleep and when she did at last it was only to have more dreams.
This one a familiar one, as old as they came. She was sitting on a cot, in a room surrounded by injured people, some of which had quietly passed away already. The witch who puttered around checking bandages and administering potions did so with a hollow empty look in her eyes. They stayed clear of her charge though and she ignored them in turn. She just looked down at the no-longer-little boy's head in her lap. Almost his entire face was wrapped in bandages that were finally, finally, staying clean and white.
When he woke she would be sure he knew just how close that knife had gotten to taking his life. She would enlighten him as to how hard she'd had to work to peel back the curse and heal his wound. And she would begin detailing the long and arduous steps he would have to take to repay her that debt. For now though, she just stroked what little of his hair was exposed. Gently running her fingers through the mess of black locks, humming a lullaby her mom used to sing for her, as he slept a deep magically induced sleep.