written for the hogwarts forum
Psychology Dark vs. Light, Task 2:
A new job
word count: 525
a/n: i love fleur so much
. . .
Fleur is pretty. She is nothing else. Her main feature, her only feature, is that she's pretty. She is a girl, and she is pretty, so that is all she will be.
Not when she is top of her classes, not when she makes friends but then they leave her — first and foremost, Fleur is pretty. She learns to use it.
She learns to trap people with her Veela tongue, to flip her hair at the right moments, to play the damsel when it is most fitting; to ensnare poor men with "Oh, monsieur's" at the tip of her tongue.
First and foremost, Fleur is pretty.
. . .
But she can feel them, you know — she feels everything — the envy, the admiration, the sneers, and the hate.
Beauxbatons School of Magic arrives at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Fleur is being trained to become the Triwizard Champion.
The girls hate her.
"That Veela girl Delacour," they say, "oh, she's going to charm Monsieur Dumbledore into letting her in! And, of course he's going to let her, he's male, susceptible to her Veela charms!"
"Half-Veela," corrects Fleur with a smile at them. "I think you forget I have ears."
. . .
Fleur's name flies out of the Goblet as expected.
Fleur is pretty and beautiful and shining when she walks up and swings her hair.
It is not good enough. She can still hear the whispers and the angry curses and the talk of Veela charm.
. . .
Fleur is not the Triwizard Champion — when they return the rest of the Beauxbatons students sneer, "Because she's a girl and she can only get so far on Veela charm. Fleur Delacour is not a winner."
"No, I may not be," Fleur tells them. "But you were not even chosen. I may not be a winner, but at least I had a chance to be — unlike you — so I would watch my tongue."
"Worthless Veela scum!"
"You are nothing special."
"Just another pretty face."
"What is she but pretty, darling?"
I am more than you, Fleur wants to say, but it is not enough.
. . .
She finds some work at Gringotts bank in Britain to get away from the whispers and the jeering and the taunts. Fleur is pretty, and with a few well-placed words, they hire her.
There's a man there, Bill Weasley. He's pretty, too. He teaches her some English. Fleur has an accent, thick and rife with French words to compensate for her lack of coherence in the British tongue.
He asks her sometimes, "Waiting on a customer?"
"Yes," she replies, but it is not all she is waiting for.
. . .
"Fleur," Bill tells her one evening, "you look like you're waiting for someone. Who are you waiting for."
"Everyone and no one. Because no one's coming."
"Then why everyone?"
"I wait for everyone to stop seeing me as a pretty Veela face."
He looks at her a long moment, drinking in her features. "You're more than that, Fleur — you — ahh…"
Fleur can tell he is struggling. He has not bothered to pay attention. Still, it is a valiant effort.
It is not enough.