Just something short I wrote. I saw GoF the other day and was inspired. This is mostly my characterization of Gabrielle; I've always thought she would be a precocious but easily lovable little brat. Anyway, enjoy.
Of Precocious Little Sisters
When she and Ron had been told that they were needed in Professor McGonagall's office, she thought they were in trouble, that they were going to be reprimanded for helping Harry research and prepare for the second task. She was not expecting to be thrown into a room with Cho Chang, Ron, and a little proud-looking blonde girl who bore a frightening resemblance to Fleur Delacour. She'd never felt more like a pedophile in her life than then at that moment, sitting there and thinking that that little girl was one of the most beautiful things she had ever seen, with her shining blonde hair and her clear, almost haughtily blue eyes. They sat and listened as McGonagall told them that they were to be a part of the second task, that they were to be put under a sleeping spell and placed under water, that they were the treasures the champions were supposed to be seeking. Ron let out a frightened squeak and retreated to a corner, muttering about his ineptitude at swimming. She gave them ten minutes to collect themselves; Hermione spent three sitting in shocked silence. She would have been happy to sit in shocked silence for the remaining seven minutes, but the beautiful little girl approached her and began to speak in a rolling French accent thicker than even her sister's.
"I'm her treasure, you know," she said, small nose upturned, staring the much taller, much older Hermione down.
"That's good," Hermione said with a smile, slightly alarmed by the girl's icy glare, "It's good that your sister loves you."
"More than you," she sniffed.
Hermione's eyes widened. "I beg your pardon?"
"She told me," the little girl said as if obvious, "that she is, how you say, short of words and breath when she sees you. She likes it that you don't become a mindless zombie every time she walks past."
Firstly, she was amazed by the child's articulation. However, Hermione bit the inside of her cheek and stifled the urge to beg to differ; apparently, she hid her attraction quite well behind a wall of pretended hatred. Krum also served well to deviate attention. No one seemed to have any idea how difficult it was for her to speak every time she even thought too vividly about the elder French girl, how weak her knees became when Fleur once walked past her and Hermione caught a light waft of her delicate perfume, how often Hermione daydreamed about what it would be like to tangle her fingers in Fleur's unbelievable hair.
"Fleur told me, 'Gabrielle, Gabrielle, I will always love you most, so you must be nice to Hermione.' So I'm going to be nice to you, but only because Fleur asked me to. But I want you to know that I'm her treasure, not you. You're the ugly Bulgarian boy's."
Hermione was floored, not only by Gabrielle's surprisingly eloquent speech, but by the fact that Fleur Delacour knew her name and was, by her younger sister's admission, attracted to her. She found herself utterly unnerved, but also enlightened. Suddenly, she understood the strange, glazed look that was on Fleur's face when she asked for the bouillabaisse the first night Beauxbatons and Durmstrang spent at Hogwarts. She was startled out of her stupor by McGonagall's clipped and strained voice telling them that they had only two minutes left before the spell was to be cast.
Gabrielle sighed loudly and began to walk away, muttering about how salt water was awful for her hair. She stopped in mid-step and threw her long hair over her shoulder, turning slightly so she could stare at the still thoroughly stunned Hermione from the corner of her eye.
"She really likes you, you know. She told me so herself. She thinks you're beautiful. I guess you are, for someone so…brown," Gabrielle sniffed, arching an eyebrow at Hermione, "She really doesn't think that that lumbering Bulgarian oaf deserves your attention at all."
Hermione nodded stiffly at Gabrielle and smiled in thanks. The truth was that Hermione didn't think Krum deserved her attention either; he was merely a distraction. He was only even there to spite Ron and prove that she, Hermione Granger the bookworm, was indeed capable of getting someone's attention. She smiled to herself, feeling her heart jump in her chest at the thought that Fleur Delacour's crystalline eyes were pulled to her, when she was supposedly so plain. She ached to know what brilliant shade of purple all the boys' faces within a fifty mile radius would turn if she told them that they had even less of a chance than they thought with Fleur Delacour.