The face that gazed back blankly from the mirror was proud. High, refined cheekbones, slender, elegant brows, bright, clear, blue eyes and full lips all framed by flowing, silver hair. This was her face and it was perfect.
Fleur was not like other girls. She hadn't really believed that when her mother had told her when she was little, but she'd learned swiftly enough it was true. She'd been a cute child, popular and loveable, but then the other girls had changed and nobody wanted to be cute anymore. They had grown curves where she had only had sweet innocence. Fleur had been left behind. She had been derided, mocked and her friends had left her. It had hurt and despite the strong facade she had maintained there had been more than one occasion when it reduced her to tears.
It had been three very long years of wondering why she was cursed to be different and waiting to catch up, then she had changed too. Now it was those foolish, petty, plain girls who envied her. They had abandoned her for boys and now their boys abandoned them for her at the slightest glance. Fleur didn't even want their boyfriends. That was not how her magic worked, regardless of the jealous whisperings of her self-entitled rivals.
I have no real rivals, she smiled, proud of that fact.
She was more beautiful, more intelligent, her family just as prestigious as any other in France, and her magic was stronger. She would not have wanted her former friends back if they had crawled towards on her knees. Fleur had outstripped them the moment she had hit her Veela puberty and they would never, could never, catch up.
Fleur had her own room in the carriage where other girls had to share. Madame Maxime had known the moment her differences from the other ordinary, human witches became apparent that she would not be one of them again. She had her own rooms at Beauxbatons and the privilege had accompanied her here to this miserable, wet castle in Scotland.
Her younger sister, Gabrielle, had just entered her fourth year at Beauxbatons. She, like Fleur, had already been abandoned by her so called friends, but Gabby had finally begun to change as Fleur had. She had grown three inches in the last month alone and would soon follow in the footsteps of her elder sibling as she passed from being held in contempt to being regarded with jealousy. It was of paramount importance to Fleur that her baby sister not have to go through it as alone as she had.
She had been there when Gabby had come to her rooms crying because her friends had nothing better to do than taunt for remaining like a child and she would continue to be there for her. When Gabby came to her again because the girls she hoped would become her friends now she had changed lashed out in spiteful jealousy and avoided her; Fleur would still be there.
The Triwizard Tournament was not something she needed to compete in, she'd rather be back in France with Gabrielle, but nobody else from school would do as well as her. Since leaving Beauxbatons there had been those hopeful of being champion rather than her and toppling her from her pedestal. It was time to make sure the pretenders were reminded that they had not been her equals since they forsook her and would never be on the same level again.
Madame Maxime was holding a slow and painstaking conversation with Hogwarts' gamekeeper when she peeked outside. Most disturbingly the vast man was wearing an expression she recognised all too well from the faces of the boys she passed by.
Fleur quietly slipped past her up towards the castle. She was not supposed to leave the carriage unattended, but who, other than her headmistress would accompany her. It was not like she was worried about herself. A sixth year she might be, but she had had plenty of time to advance her learning while the other girls had been making eyes at boys and gossiping spitefully about her. Even so, she reduced the aura of allure that radiated off her as much as she could. This was not a time to attract attention when it might bring trouble. Madame Maxime would be beside herself if she caught her unescorted in the middle of a boys school late at night.
It would also validate the rumours those harpies like to spread. Fleur scowled at the very idea of people actually believing those lies.
Somehow her cloak was soaked before she had even reached halfway to the indoors. The rain wasn't even visible. There was as much water in the air as there was in the foul, cold looking lake. Veela were creatures of emotion and fire; they did not enjoy the wet or the cold and Fleur was no exception. She longed for the bright sun of southern France.
The grey, dreary battlements of Hogwarts were a far cry from the graceful architecture of Chateau Beauxbatons. Everything was solid, square and grey, even the few towers were sturdy rather than slender. She supposed they needed the thick walls to keep out the rain and, furthermore, deduced that there was little point in building a beautiful castle when the clouds would always obscure it.
The Great Hall was quiet; a far cry from how it had been when they first arrived. As she had hoped, the initial enthusiasm about the goblet and entering names had faded and the students that had stayed to cheer prospective champions had lost interest after a few hours and none had lingered after curfew.
With quick, confident strides she made her way down the centre of the hall to the flame-filled artefact. The age line rippled as she crossed it, but nothing happened. She was seventeen and had been for almost a month.
Fleur Delacour, the parchment's slanting, delicate script read in the blue light of the goblet before the flames swallowed it and the light flared red. Her name was accepted, as it was always going to be. She had had no doubt of that.
She spun on her heel to make her way back down the hall and to her room where she would be free of both gawping boys and gossiping girls.
Fleur froze as a shadow passed the entrance of the hall. Someone was coming.
If it is Madame Maxime I am in trouble.
The headmistress was the only person at the school she respected. The other teachers were either affected by her allure directly or were just as jealous as the girls they taught.
It wasn't the headmistress and Fleur's shoulder slumped with elegant relief. A dark, messy-haired Hogwarts student made his way along the wall to her right. He was a little shorter than her, about her younger sister's age from first glance, with round glasses that protruded past his face. He wasn't unattractive. There was an untidy, casual appeal to his face, Fleur had seen hundreds of boys with similar aesthetics back in France.
The bespectacled boy followed the edge of the wall, his head tilted to one side in thought. He looked much too young to be taking part in the tournament and must be, like her, sneaking about after curfew for reasons of his own.
As he approached the end with the goblet, its flames illuminated his face, reflecting off his glass and giving her glimpse of intense, emerald eyes. Fleur watched him dispassionately, waiting for him to notice her and grind to a halt, but he never slowed.
She knew he must have seen her, but he did not even acknowledge her presence in the slightest.
Fleur was not sure how to react to that. Boys always noticed her. Men certainly noticed her. Nobody ever just didn't notice her.