Disclaimer: I don't own anything.
Chapter 13– A French Flower's Struggles
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"Dear, Mr. Potter..." Fleur muttered under her breath, her quill slowly and carefully scribbling away the unfamiliar English words.
She sat still for a moment, stuck on how to proceed, before the next line materialized in her mind.
"Dear, Mr. Potter." She started again. "Oui was...very impressed with your performance...Non, that's too patronising."
She sighed, once again leaning back against her chair as the motivation to write suddenly left her.
It has been a few days since her fight with the now famous Harry Potter, and she was still stuck on how to talk to him.
The idea about this had come to her in a moment of rare genius. Her little sister always chattered on about her penpals, and how exciting it was to exchange letters with them.
The idea of having her own penpal had seemed ludicrous at first, but a single day of constant thinking had convinced her otherwise. The problem came on how to proceed after that.
Fleur never had anyone to write to in her short life of 17 years. All her friends were simply temporary admirers who she couldn't stand for more than a few minutes at a time, so writing to them was asking for trouble.
But then her thoughts had shifted to him.
Harry Potter; he'd personally introduced himself as. Harry Potter, the only person to ever defeat her, and he did it so simply. He'd asked her to keep in contact but at that time she had just taken it as empty obligatory instead of a serious proposal.
But now she just didn't care. She didn't have anyone to talk to, and the boy had offered her a solution. She simply needed to take it.
The problem was ...she didn't know how to proceed. Making the decision to write to him had been difficult enough, actually writing it was proving to be nigh impossible.
Her mind was constantly revolving on stupid questions: what if he was just being polite? What if she was being a nuisance? He was probably busy dealing with all the new fame he's now got, what if he just wrote her off with the rest of his admirers?
'...What if he doesn't like me?' She shut down the thought as soon as it came.
Groaning in her seat, Fleur Delacour rested her head on the desk, tired.
'Why can't life ever be simple?'
A rough knock banged against her door.
"Open up." Her father growled from the other side, and Fleur felt her heart drop.
'Why was he here now?'
The last few days in her life had been more or less peaceful. Her father had shut himself in his room as soon as they reached home, dragging with him a bucket load of beers. She'd heard the sound of sobbing and broken things from his room but the man never came out himself.
Unfortunately that had changed now it seems.
'Why couldn't he just kill himself?' Fleur snarled in frustration. 'It'll save all of us the trouble.'
"I won't ask again." Henri Delacour slammed the door with strength. "Open the fuck up!"
'Just get this over with.' A part of her mind whispered. 'He'll scream at you, maybe give a slap or two, but that's it. It'll be over soon.'
But she shut down that thought as well, her passive occlumency reminding her of her promise.
'I will not take it anymore. I will not back down.' She repeated the words again and again, even as she got up on shaky legs. 'I will not stay quiet any longer.'
"Open the damned door!" The man bellowed again.
She remembered the boy's face then. She remembered Harry Potter, remembered the supreme confidence that he carried, the detached and contemptuous way his eyes glanced at the crowd, completely unaffected by their cheers even after winning perhaps the most important tournament for any Dueller...
'Would he let himself be beat down like this?' A loud and clear 'No' came as the answer.
And she tried to imitate him now. Her Occlumency helped her, firmly placing the image of her charming idol in mind. Her shoulders straightened, her legs stopped quivering, and her fingers turned the handle of the door with a confidence she never had, when facing her father.
The door clicked open to reveal a man who could've easily been taken as a homeless. His hairs were shabby and unkept, with strands of dirty brown sticking to his damp face. His shirt was wet with sweat, and a sharp stench of alcohol overtook her senses the moment he opened his mouth.
"Come with me." He grunted and turned around.
"No." The answer came involuntary, with a strong steely edge that she'd never normally use when speaking to the man.
Henri Delacour whirled around, bewildered shock quickly growing into rage. "What did you say?"
She should've shut up then. A part of her knew how futile this all was. There was nothing she could do here. Even though she wanted to, she couldn't leave the house without her mother, and unfortunately her mother couldn't leave the man even though she would love nothing more to do.
All her vows and promises were just a farce, and will do nothing for her situation.
And yet, she found herself staring at the man in defiance. "Say whatever you want to say right now."
The rage grew hot in her father's eyes and before she knew it, the man was in her face, a hand painfully pulling her hairs to the wall. "YOU DO NOT SPEAK AGAINST ME, GIRL! WHEN I SAY COME, YOU FUCKING COME!"
He let go, stepping back and turning around with a disgusted snort. "Now, come! Or I'll drag you to the hall by your hair."
Whatever mound of confidence that had come over her went away like wind, along with her shattered occlumency, leaving behind just numbness, and a familiar mixture of fear, frustration, and sheer helplessness.
She couldn't help but close her eyes, silent tears trickling down her cheeks as her legs automatically walked behind the bastard who she had misfortune of being birthed to. Her Occlumency shield rearranged themselves, but she payed them no mind any longer.
As her eyes focused on the man's back however, she quietly thumbed her wand.
'Just a single word. Just a single word.'
A single word was all she needed to end all of this.
It could be something as simple as a Flippendo, and the man would go tumbling down the stairs and hopefully break his neck, which could be easily explained away as an accident.
It could be something as familiar as Incendio, and her supreme control over the fire would ensure the man's body would be burnt beyond recognition.
Or it could be something more convenient like Obliviate, and he would forget everything about the last few days. Even though she wasn't particularly skilled in the spell, she was sure it would be enough to shape his mind as she wanted.
And yet, like everytime she came close to cursing the man, she hesitated in the last second. 'What if something went wrong?' Her mind would whisper. 'What if you're arrested? Who would take care of mother and Gabby? What if he survives? Who will save you from his wrath then?'
No one. Apart from her two precious ones, she had no one. And so she stayed her hand, the uncertainties of the world too much to face alone.
When they reached the hall however, she wished she'd done it. Wished she had cursed the man to death. Because her heart stopped cold when she took in the scene in front of her; Her beloved little sister was crying in her mother's arm, both sitting on the floor.
But Gabby had a glaring red palm-shaped mark on her cheeks that made Fleur want to cast the unforgivables.
Apolline turned to them as soon as they entered, and her glare could've incinerated the man alive had she not been bound so tightly to him.
"Sit." He commanded to Fleur, waving at the other two.
But her eyes were stuck to her sister, and a foreign determination was slowly overtaking her being. 'This can't go on. This... I can't let this continue. I have to...'
"I said, SIT!" The man bellowed suddenly, whirling around with a raised hand...only to be stopped cold as her mother suddenly apparated between them, a whip of fire close to burning the offending hand.
"Touch her again..." Her words were hot rage. "And I will make you regret it."
Fleur loved her mother. Even at the darkest of times, she stuck by her daughters no matter what.
But Fleur also knew the powerlessness behind her words. Apolline Delacour cannot harm her chosen mate. It simply wasn't possible.
Atleast, not without suffering fatal damages herself. Even now Fleur knew her mother was suffering. Her wand hand was quivering slightly, and her breaths came out in painful huffs. Even this slight bit of threat against her mate was causing her a world of pain.
And yet, she suffered. For Fleur and Gabby, Apolline will gladly suffer whatever injustices this world would throw at them. Which was why Fleur would never abandon her mother, no matter how much the woman begged her to.
Unfortunately, her father also knew this. He knew how utterly worthless all their threats truly were. And thus, he didn't pay Apolline more than a disgusted cursory glance, before waving at her again.
Fleur quickly moved forward, guiding both of them to sit beside Gabby to stop her mother from suffering even more.
"Hmm, where should I start, where should I start?" The man muttered, acting animatedly, before clapping as if he found the answer suddenly. "Right! The very start."
Henri Delacour stopped moving, absently taking a big gulp of the beer can from the table. Then, he turned to them slowly. "From the start, I see."
And then he began regaling them with his sob story, and every single one of his words filled Fleur with a cold rage.
He told them about how much he'd 'Suffered' for not being born the eldest of the house. About how he had to work for success instead of being handed it down like his elder brother. About how his brother was always held the better of them two, even marrying the love of Henri's life.
But Fleur's anger reached a new peak when the drunk cretin lifted a finger at her mother.
"I worked for everything I have. I, me...Henri Delacour, became the undersecretary to the minister. To the fuckin' minister! But because of this...this halfbreed bitch! Because of you! I lost all of it! Because I married a freak like you! They didn't want me no longer! All because of you!"
Her mother tightened her hold on Fleur's arm and she realized she was shaking again. But this time, there was only one thing inside her...
Wrath.
"And now you!" The cretin then pointed at Fleur. "I thought you'd wash away the shame of your mother...I thought you'd do me proud! I raised you! Trained you! Made you what you are! And what did you give me? What did you give me!? Nothing! You lost to a Potter! And the least famous of them! You had one chance, one chance to push the Delacours above the rest...and you fucked it! That boy used you like a stepping stone! He crushed you beneath, like the bug you are! Look at him now, he's on every fucking newspaper!"
He threw a bundle of the latest newspaper at her, but Fleur didn't react. Even as it smacked her on the face, she didn't look away from her fath–...from the man's eyes.
"Like mother like daughter, fucking useless bastards." He muttered, approaching them. "I've lost hope on you. So your sister will now replace you. She will wash away the shame."
The man walked towards Gabrielle, who was now starting to sob in panic, looking at her and mother for help. Her mother tried of course. Oh how she tried, but her wand hand was completely limp now, and she could do nothing but hopelessly clutch Gabriel close to her chest.
And as his fingers came close to clamp down on Gabby, Fleur finally snapped.
Every bit of hesitance, every bit of fear, vanished as if it was never present. The future stopped mattering, the world stopped making sense. Only one thing was visible to her: Henri Delacour and his hand inching towards her sister.
And Fleur let go.
Her vision grew blurry, and the world grew hotter. Fire birthed from nothingness, Wandless and powerful. It coated her hands, it coated her face. It encircled her entire world. And without a moment of hesitation, Fleur let the raging flames roar at the man who'd caused her so much pain.
Her world shook as the fire exploded forward, and a scream, pained and agonizing, spread through the Delacour Residence. Henri Delacour frantically rolled on the ground to stop his entire body from melting, but the fire was unquenchable. It was thirsty, and it wished to eat through the vile man entirely.
But Henri Delacour wasn't some incompetent fool either, or else he wouldn't have become the undersecretary of a magical minister. The moment he managed to wrap his fingers around his wand, a fountain of chilling water burst forth inside the room, finally managing to quench the thirst of the flames.
Still, what the fire left behind was a barely breathing pile of meat.
Strength seemed to leave Fleur as soon as the raw power stopped coursing through her vains, and she fell down on her knees, not even knowing when she'd actually stood up.
Her breaths came out ruggedly, and she felt her heart might pop out of her chest any moment now. She vaguely felt a pair of arms wrap around her, rocking her in comfort, speaking in soothing tones. But her attention was firmly fixed on the ugly burns that her tormentor now sported.
'Finish him.' Came a whisper from deep within. 'Finish him...or you'll regret it.'
For an average wizard, those burns would've meant death. But she knew her fate wasn't so kind. Henri Delacour was alive, barely but surely, and he will continue to do so. His personal house elf would no doubt provide him with the best medical care...
She should finish what she started.
She remembered the boy she'd so come to admire lately. The boy who supplied her with confidence to take on her father...
He would've finished what he started.
Only one thing stopped her from proceeding. The hands of her mother wrapped around her, and Gabby's cries of distress.
'What am I doing?'
"Fleur, baby calm down. It's alright now. Everything is alright." Her mother's whispers finally reached her, and she quickly let go of the boy's image from her mind.
Instantly, a whirlwind of shock flooded her being. 'What have I done?'
'You did the right th–'
She cut off the whisper with a renewed set of occlumency shields, taking deep breaths. Her priority was her mother and sister. Henri Delacour no longer mattered.b
She ignored the man's agonizing wails, standing up and taking ahold of her sister. "Come on, maman, Gabby. We're leaving."
Her mother may not be able to leave the man, but that didn't mean she had to rot in this house. They could easily stay in a hotel that was close to the Delacour Residance, avoiding the bond's power through technicality.
She had more than enough money to take care of the three, most she'd gotten from the tournaments, but there were also expensive jewelries that her admirers had gifted her, which Henri never knew about.
They'd never tried doing this before, due to the fear of that vile bastard. But Fleur no longer cared. She may have left him alive, but if he comes back for more, She will finish what she started.
'I'm Free.' Fleur smiled, revealed and carefree for the first time, though the boy's face once again intruded in her mind.
Her smile simply grew wider. "Thank you."