The Veela's Champion
Chapter 1
The Beauxbatons carriage landed softly on the Hogwarts grounds, the windows inside it giving them an excellent view of the ancient castle. This was the moment Fleur had been anticipating for so long, a buildup of months of work which all led to her arrival.
The carriage door opened, and a rush of cold wind blew into the carriage. It made her shiver underneath her Beauxbatons uniform, and some of the nearby students even froze, but she moved forward nonetheless. She was one of the first few to walk down the carriage steps behind the Headmistress, not succumbing to the nervousness like her classmates did. Nervousness had always been something for lesser creatures, for those who didn't know how to control a room with a single look.
The Hogwarts students stood gathered like sheep around their carriage, a blur of black cloaks and wide eyes. Fleur's expression remained as indifferent as possible while she took them in, eyeing those who fell for her Veela allure like cattle. The British schoolboys nearly fell over themselves to get a look at her, drooling like idiots as they did so.
The girls on the other hand seemed to figure out what was happening, narrowing their eyes and glaring at her. Their jealousy was palpable, similar to her classmate's own after she first went through her Veela maturity years ago. Fleur had to suppress an arrogant smirk, knowing the girls in Britain must be ugly for her to get a reaction like this.
But then her gaze fell upon a figure who seemed different. His unruly black hair caught the breeze, and those familiar green eyes that haunted her. Harry Potter stood awkwardly amongst the crowd—silent, unblinking, and utterly unaffected—as he watched quietly. He wasn't staring like the redhead boy next to him, nor even blushing at the sight of her.
'He's not affected at all.' She thought, remembering back to the Quidditch World Cup and how Harry hadn't been affected by her Veela allure then either. She had possibly thought it to be a fluke, a one-off event created by outside circumstances. And yet Fleur's heart gave a faint flutter, a sensation she wasn't accustomed to.
She subtly flaired her allure as she stood there, making the reaction of the boys that much worse. Fleur could hear the girls grumbling around her, throwing even more filthy looks than usual in her direction. She didn't care though, instead watching Harry carefully, and trying to gauge his reaction.
"What's wrong with him? " Whispered Aimee in French, her voice tinged with incredulity. She was Fleur's closest classmate, and had a good eye for noticing strange things like this, as the girl stared at Harry as well. "He didn't even look at you. "
Fleur's lips tightened into a faint line. She didn't respond, her attention still on Harry. There was a strange power in his lack of interest, a refusal to be drawn in like the others. And Fleur, who had always seen infatuation as a tool to be wielded, felt uncharacteristically unsettled because of it.
The entered the great castle then, an organized mess of students as they all entered the large stone structure and navigated its large hallways. The Headmistress led them all to a large dining hall, and Fleur found herself sitting with the other Beauxbatons students at one of the tables with Hogwarts students wearing blue accents.
She had lost sight of Harry Potter after he entered the castle, and she did her best to examine the nearby tables in an attempt to find him. But it was like looking for a needle in a haystack, with all the British students wearing the same dark robes. That wasn't mentioning the drooling masses of boys staring in her direction, along with the petty girls sending her glared.
Eventually she gave up on looking, and instead settled for eating alongside the rest of her classmates. And that presented the next problem, being the lack of food that was actually considered edible. Fleur had heard the jokes about English barbarians and their uncultured eating habits over the years, but didn't actually think it was this bad.
"This food tastes terrible. " Gabrielle whined from nearby, taking a bite of some of the British food placed in front of them. "Are we really supposed to eat this? "
"I agree. " Aimee said from Fleur's side. "It's way too thick for my liking. "
Fleur turned to one of the Hogwarts students next to their group, his robes accented in blue. "Do you have anying French that we can eat? Ze food here is a bit… bland, for our liking."
"Y-You're so b-beautiful… I-I'll make dinner if you would like that?" The boy started to stammer, speaking pure nonsense as his eyes widened and he began drooling like a fool. She couldn't help but click her tongue in irritation, seeing the English students wouldn't be any help.
She began looking around the Great Hall again, this time searching for food instead of a boy. She spotted a bowl of bouillabaisse sitting on the next table over, and stood up before walking over. Fleur didn't pay much attention to who she was speaking to, focused on getting her food and sitting back down.
"Excusez-moi." She said, gesturing at the bowl. "Can you pass me ze bouillabaisse?"
"Of course." A black-haired boy said, gently lifting the bowl and turning around to hand it to her.
Fleur didn't pay much attention to him, so focused on the familiar food that she nearly dropped it when her eyes met his own. It was Harry Potter who she happened upon, a coincidence so startling that she nearly dropped the bowl.
Fleur composed herself swiftly, tilting her head slightly as she met his green eyes. It didn't seem like she was the only one who recognized the person in front of him, as Harry seemed to suddenly have a hint of unease in the way he held himself.
Just like at the Quidditch World Cup, he wasn't gawking, wasn't smirking or trying to impress her. He was simply looking at her.
"Pardon, I'm afraid that I did not recognize you, Harry. It is good to see you again." She said politely, her voice smooth and melodic. She then gestured to the bowl of bouillabaisse he had handed her. "Zis British food is a bit too uncultured for my liking, and I figured something more refined would be better."
"Um… yeah, happy to help." He cutely ran a hand through his hair. "I've never had any problems with the food though, its pretty much been the same every year."
"Every year. " Fleur echoed in horror, her smile faltering ever so slightly as she imagined Harry eating food like this year round.
"Is something wrong with it?" he asked, his voice genuine. "I mean, it's not bad or anything—just not, you know, fancy."
She remembered her plan to get close to the boy in front of her, slowly adjusting and getting ever closer to him. And while her plan certainly seemed feasible, it seemed that food would not be something for them to bond over.
"I see." She said smoothly, her accent curling around the words. She straightened, crossing her legs under her. "That is unfortunate. But… perhaps I ask for too much."
Harry shrugged, clearly unsure how to respond. "It's no problem. Um… welcome to Hogwarts, I guess?"
His awkwardness caught Fleur off guard, and she found herself suppressing a smile. There was something disarming about his sincerity, his complete lack of pretense. She then realized that half the room was staring in their direction, and the sight of a beautiful Veela like her interacting with a celebrity such as himself had created quite a scene.
"Merci." She thanked him.
With that, she stepped back, her poise impeccable as ever. But as she returned to her seat at the Ravenclaw table, she allowed herself one last glance at Harry. He was already turning back to his friends, his laughter mixing with the chatter of the hall. Fleur's lips pressed into a faint line.
The feast continued on from there, with Gabrielle and Aimee sharing the dish of bouillabaisse she had procured. They too had noticed her interaction with the boy at the other table, and questioned her incessantly about what exactly happened. Fleur avoided their questions, and was eventually saved by the Hogwarts Headmaster formally announcing the beginning of the Tournament.
Madame Maxime had briefed them about the tournament, of course, but hearing Albus Dumbledore himself speak of it was another matter entirely. His voice commanded the room, resonating with the kind of authority that even Fleur, reluctantly, found impressive.
"The Triwizard Tournament," Dumbledore began, his voice warm yet edged with strength. "is a test of courage, intelligence, and skill. A competition for those who wish to prove themselves among the best of Europe's magical schools."
Fleur tilted her chin slightly, allowing her expression to settle into one of absolute confidence. This was the reason she had traveled all the way to Britain, to win the tournament and the obtain the glory that came with it.
'I will win this tournament.' She thought, glancing over at a familiar dark-haired wizard. 'And then, you will finally notice me. '
Dumbledore's next words drew her back. "To ensure the safety of all students, only those who are of age will be permitted to place their names into the Goblet of Fire."
The whole room seemed to pause in shock, before a huge outcry of anger erupted, particularly from the younger students. The redheads she had seen before were the most angry of the bunch, making sure their frustration was heard. No doubt many of the younger students wanted to enter, and were making their frustrations known to any who would listen. She briefly glanced at Harry Potter, only to see that he seemed entirely uninterested about the whole ordeal.
"An Age Line will be drawn around the Goblet." Dumbledore continued on, speaking over the noise. "Anyone under the age of a grown wizard attempting to cross it will find themselves… most unpleasantly rebuffed."
The corners of Fleur's mouth twitched into the barest smirk. She had no need to worry about such restrictions. She was old enough, skilled enough, and determined enough to enter. Her name would be in that goblet before the end of the week, and the Triwizard Cup would be hers.
"They are like children. " She said condescendingly to the classmates around her, watching as several Hogwarts students grumbled and complained. It didn't really matter that the younger students couldn't compete anyways, seeing as it was typically the older-years who were typically more skilled. 'None of them will be able to compete against the likes of me anyways.'
Her eyes flitted back to Harry. He was laughing now, talking animatedly with a bushy-haired girl and a red-headed boy. Fleur clenched her jaw, pushing down the flicker of irritation that crept in. He might not notice her now, but by the end of this tournament, that would change. He would see her not just as Fleur Delacour, the beautiful Veela, but as Fleur Delacour, the champion. The victor.
The feast soon ended, and she was making her ways through the various halls of the castle when a small redhead girl suddenly stepped in front of her. She went to pass her, only for the girl to move and stand in her path once again. The girl was ugly in her mind, having no physical traits that stood out with a disgusting frown on her features. Fleur was sure the girl would grow even more ugly with age, sprouting wrinkles and fat that would only make her poor body even more unappealing.
As she looked closer, Fleur recognized the girl. She was the annoying redhead that had been hanging off Harry at the World Cup, no doubt one of his admirers and probably someone who wanted Fleur to stay away from him. Fleur had been in situations like this only too many times over the years, where jealous girls tried to deter her from getting closer to men they liked. And as such Fleur knew exactly how to handle girls like this, or more specifically, how to crush them.
"Can I help you, leetle girl?" Fleur asked in her most condescending tone, looking down her nose at the small redhead.
The redhead girl fumed at her tone, her face becoming as red as her hair. Fleur could see the spark of anger in her gaze, and knew it would be that much more enjoyable to break her. "Listen here, Veela, I don't-"
"Ah, you know about me already, non?" Fleur interrupted easily with a smirk, throwing her hair over her shoulder. She was used to insults, especially ones related to her heritage, and it washed over her like water upon rock. "I should not be surprised, I am ze envy of most women, after all."
"I don't envy you!" The girl spat. "I saw you with Harry at the World Cup, and again just now in the Great Hall. And I want you to stay away from him!"
"You are afraid that I will take your wizard then?" She smirked confidently, getting to the crux of the matter. "I would be worried too, if I were you. I am a girl zat is used to getting what she wants, and if it is Harry zat I desire, then there is little you can do to stop me from taking him."
"You bitch!" She seethed. "Harry would never fall for some harlot like you!"
"And who should have him then? You?" She looked down at the redhead. "You're nothing more than a silly leetle girl. Flat-chested and without any curves to show, someone who will only grow wrinkly with age. I, on the other hand, am majestic, beautiful, and buxom, something that will be sure to get his attention."
"Stop! Just stop talking!" The redhead girl looked close to tears, making Fleur smirk. "I don't care! And neither does Harry pay any attention to those things!"
Fleur felt a flash of anger, knowing that it was somewhat true that Harry didn't value her looks as much as she wanted him to. It made her goal of winning the tournament that much more important.
"Oui, maybe zat is true." Fleur concealed, before leaning closer to her. "But I am sure zat I will have his attention when I win the Triwizard Tournament."
The look on her face was priceless, and Fleur continued on her walk back to the carriage with a smirk.
'I am going to win this tournament.' Fleur decided. 'And when I do… Harry will be mine. '
"Fred and George said they got a plan to pass through the age line." Ron glared at the Goblet from his spot, as if it was his mortal enemy.
They were in the Great Hall, along with a significant portion of the school as they all watched the Goblet. Upper years entered sporadically to put their name in, along with various students from other schools. No one had yet to test the age-line, but Harry was sure there would be some who did by the end of the day.
Hermione rolled her eyes. "It's not going to work."
"And why is that?"
"Because Dumbledore himself made that age line." Hermione said simply. "And if Dumbledore made it, then no one will get past it."
"Still, it would be worth a try." Ron grumbled petulantly, before his gaze turned wistful. "Fortune and glory, think about it. You would be set for life!"
"I don't think it's all it's cracked up to be." Harry muttered from the side.
"Of course you would say that." Ron turned on him. "You already have fortune and glory, and that's not mentioning how you even have that French girl talking to you. For the rest of us, we would probably have to win the tournament to even get recognized!"
"It's really not that big of a deal, Ron." Harry said. "All I did was hand her some French stew, and before that we talked for a bit at the World Cup. It's not like we've even had a full-blown conversation or anything."
"But you've talked to her. And that's more than anyone else has done!" Ron retorted. "She even knew your name!"
"Do you hear yourself Ronald!" Hermione intervened, looking irritated. "You talk about her as if she's just some object! And at least Harry can look at her without drooling like an idiot, something you and the rest of the boys in this castle can't even do."
Ron's face reddened in embarrassment, and Harry had to fight down a laugh.
Hermione's face suddenly contorted in thought. "Now that I think about it, the men at the World Cup drooled over the Veela there as well. Maybe that's why they drool over Fleur? Because she's a Veela too?"
"Ginny actually said something about that." Ron grumbled. "She seemed quite irritated about it, but apparently Lavender already knew she was a Veela."
Harry didn't really know what to do with that information, instead opting to continue watching silently as different students continued putting their names in the Goblet. Ron's hostility when it came to the tournament was starting to get to him, and Harry really was ready for his friend to move on. He figured that his attitude would change when the Hogwarts champion was picked, but until then he would just have to get through it.
"Ah, Harry, there you are." A sudden accented voice called out from behind him.
Hermione tensed next to him, and Ron's eyes widened before he began drooling similar to earlier. Harry turned around to see Fleur Delacour headed their way, with a younger looking blonde girl walking next to her.
"Hey, Fleur." He greeted.
"Harry, zis is my sister, Gabrielle." Fleur smiled at him before she nudged the small girl next to her forward, who looked very excited to see him for some reason.
"It's a pleasure to meet you." He nodded and shook her hand, with the tiny girl looking close to exploding with excitement. She didn't speak, nor did she seem capable of speaking, almost as if meeting him had rendered her comatose.
"And these must be your friends." Fleur smiled, showing off two perfect rows of teeth, and he felt Hermione stiffen from beside him. The girl was supposedly trying to be nice, but Harry couldn't help but mentally compare her to a shark in that moment. It was as if she was a predator examining her next meal, being himself and his friends.
"Err… yes, these are my friends Hermione and Ron." He introduced them, with Hermione nodding while Ron continued to drool.
"A pleasure." Fleur looked at Ron dismissively, before looking over at Hermione. "Perhaps you can take care of this one?"
Hermione seemed to get the message, and silently grabbed Ron to lead him away. He suddenly noticed that Gabrielle was missing too, having left , leaving just him and Fleur by themselves and separated from the rest of the students in the Great Hall. For some reason it made him feel isolated, like he was stranded on an island with a dangerous tiger for company.
"It was nice to meet your sister." He said awkwardly, trying to be sincere.
"Oui, I do appreciate that." Fleur suddenly moved closer, enough that he had to look up to meet her gaze. It was either that, or look down at the impression of her large breasts on her uniform. She had an uncanny way of making him feel small and awkward, even when she wasn't trying. "But there was something else zat I wanted to speak to you about, and not just to let you meet my sister or be introduced to your little friends."
He couldn't help but feel that himself or his friends were being subtly insulted, but her body being so close to his own and feeling her breath against his skin was too distracting. "What is it?"
"I wanted to tell you something." Fleur said, her voice shifting to a softer, almost conspiratorial tone. She stepped closer, her hands clasped behind her back. "I have decided I will win zis tournament."
Harry blinked at her, for once taken back by her arrogance. "You think you can win the tournament that easily?"
"I do not think, Harry." Fleur purred, leaning forward slightly, her icy blue eyes fixed on his. "I know. "
He tried to avert his gaze, but Fleur was close enough that there was nowhere else to look but directly at her. "Why are you telling me this?"
"Because I want you to watch." Fleur said, her voice dropping slightly, almost as if she were letting him in on a secret. "I want you to see what I am capable of. Zat I am not just 'ze pretty girl ', as so many seem to think. I will show all of you—especially you."
"Especially me?" He asked, feeling his cheeks heat up.
"Oui." Fleur replied smoothly, though there was a flicker of vulnerability in her expression, gone almost as quickly as it appeared. "You have a way of… not noticing things. And I am going to make sure that you start noticing me."
Harry didn't know how to respond. Part of him wanted to laugh off her arrogance, while another part wanted to see just what she was talking about. But before he could speak, Fleur turned on her heel.
"You will see me, Harry Potter." She said over her shoulder as she walked away. "I will make sure of it."
She marched directly away from him, spearheading through the crowd in the Great Hall who parted in her wake. She walked as if she was a fashion model on stage, the clacking of her heels and the rhythmic swaying of her bum getting his attention. She finally arrived at the Goblet, gracefully passing the age line with ease and letting the slip with her name slide off her hand and into the cup.
When she was done she turned around, her determined gaze locking onto him for only a moment before she left the Great Hall.
A/N:
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