Fleur
Fleur hadn't meant for it to happen.
The day had been perfect, until she turned. A shining sun overriding the chill of early winter, cool grass against her feet, she'd run around the park for hours with Chloé and Marie.
They'd sung and danced and giggled until they were exhausted, and then they'd rolled around in the damp grass, staining their leggings a myriad of colors. Chloé's eyes sparkled when she told them that Beauxbatons had accepted her application, and Fleur couldn’t have been happier.
They were seven and restless, favorite carpet spread against the grass and eager dreams exchanged like poorly kept secrets; seven and fools, broken hearts when a friend looked the other way, gifting daisies like they were gold. But they were also seven and pure.
Chloé and Marie had never looked at her weird because she was quarter-Veela. The rest of the kids stayed away, either because their parents didn't care much for what her mother was, or because fear was a contagion, and maybe just one person was enough. But never Chloé and Marie.
They made her believe there wasn't something intrinsic in her that she needed to fix, or hide, because it would bring her only disgust. She thought she could fight the world with them. Hell, only seven, and she thought she didn't need to fight the world as long as she was with them.
So though she wasn't sure how much of Veela magic had manifested in her, she didn't care. They wouldn't leave her over something like that.
She'd even told them some of what it entailed.
"My maman told me she turned into a bird sometimes," she said, yawning and cuddling closer to the two of them during one of their precious sleepovers.
"So cool," Marie breathed.
"I want to be a Veela too," Chloé said, and they started laughing.
So when a new kid in the neighborhood started saying mean stuff to her, she didn't worry so much. Sure, he was a little more aggressive than most, and he badmouthed her around a ton more, but this was still par for the course. She had her friends, and that meant she had all she needed.
Until she didn't.
Fleur still couldn't figure out what exactly went wrong that day. Maybe it was the insults, a tone sharper than she could unhear. Or maybe it was the winter sending chills down her spine, making them hurt more. Maybe it was the shove, hateful and uncaring.
She didn't know why he hated her. Was it because the way her hair floated about her was just a little unnatural? Or was it the slight music in her cadence, and the shimmer in her eyes? Was it because he didn't actually know her, and so believed in the ridiculous rumors?
Whatever it was, it stirred something up in her gut. The shove had hurt, and even as Chloé and Marie stepped forward to give him a piece of their mind, Fleur felt the strangest thing come over her.
"That's a very bad thing to say to someone!"
"How can you even defend her?!?"
Her shoulders and face buzzed, and Fleur bit back her intervention in favor of gasping. The most terrible anxiety, burdensome frustration burrowed itself somewhere deep, and she wanted it gone.
How dare he—
How dare—
"You blithering moron— she hasn't even shown any signs of—" Marie's voice seemed to fade to nothing, and before she knew it Fleur had a ball of flames licking her palm. Her ears roared.
She knew where she wanted to throw it. She knew, and she wanted it to hurt.
The boy's eyes snapped to hers, and he let out a shriek before fleeing.
Chloé and Marie whipped around, and it was the shock on their faces, the fear, that stopped her from hurling the fire after him.
"Run, Marie," Chloé's eyes were wide, dilated as she'd never seen them, and Fleur didn’t understand.
She felt a bit groggy, and her eyes blinked slowly. And then they were gone, strangers in the distance.
She tried to chase after them, fireball extinguishing without thought, but she stumbled and hit the ground hard.
Fleur pushed herself up, and her eyes fell on her hands. Or rather, a beastly distortion of them.
Her fingers had elongated into sharp claws with long, pointed nails, skin merging into oily black feathers at her wrist.
Oily features that mirrored the textures of her coal black wings.
Fleur struggled to turn her head and see them properly, and the direction brought in view the sharp, cruel-shaped beak she had for a nose and mouth.
Fear sunk in.
"What—?"
She'd heard her mother speak of her transformations before, although she'd never seen it herself.
Everything felt wrong. Her mother had told her stories— she wasn't supposed to be this scared. But Chloé and Marie had looked at her like she was something alien.
The new boy in town had trembled as he ran.
She had the sickening realization that she would have burned him.
She didn't even remember what he said.
Tears plopped on shiny, reflective scales, and Fleur didn't dare wipe them away with her claws.
Feathers she hadn't noticed before fell to the ground, and she whipped her head around, beak poking her shoulder, which was now shedding them at a rapid rate.
She stared at the scratch the beak had caused. Her favorite dress had torn, and the jagged rip made her wonder if it could ever be fixed. She didn't recognize herself at all.
A minute or two passed, and her beak shrunk, before disappearing altogether, and her claws seemed to retract back into her hand, scales hidden once more as if they'd never been.
She got up, slow and tired and afraid, and then in a sudden burst, ran to her maman.
She would know what to say, what to do. She always did.
She wasn't supposed to be afraid of this. They weren't supposed to be afraid of this.
Right?
Her cozy little home came into view. Elara Delacour was relaxing in a chair onin the lawn, knitting needles and yarn in hand. Her eyes met Fleur's, and she must have noticed something that made her set them aside and rush to her, meeting her halfway.
She crouched down at her level.
"What is it, dear?" Her crystal blue eyes were so entrancing, soothing, and Fleur found her sniffles subsiding on their own.
"Maman– I—" the words stuck in her throat. Would her maman be mad at her? She would have burned him. She was a very bad girl.
Her maman squeezed her arms, and Fleur's tongue loosened.
"I t-transformed today, maman." Fleur cast about for the words, "My-my nails grew all big and sharp and I had a beak and there was fire— I— Chloé and Marie are scared of me now. What do I— why—?"
Maman's face took on a graver cast, but she pulled Fleur in a hug nonetheless.
"It's going to be okay, Fleur. Just two questions: have you been doing the exercises I showed you? And what did you do with the fire?"
Her stomach sank.
"No…?" She couldn't answer the second question. She couldn’t.
Steering her firmly but gently, her maman led her back to the lawn set in front of their house, and sat her down in her chair instead.
Her silence made Fleur feel worse. No, she hadn't done the exercises, Maman's stern words falling on deaf ears, only pretending to meditate when she came to check in. It was boring, and despite what her maman had told her about the importance of managing her emotions as a quarter-Veela, she hadn't felt the need. She was seven and restless, seven and free, and she certainly didn't want to sit still in a room for hours together, eyes closed, when she could go out and play instead.
"Fleur," her maman's voice sounded a little tired, but also firm, "For-for people like us, carrying Veela blood… we are more volatile than most. We need to have a good grip over our emotions, so that we don't go out of control."
"But I—" Fleur muttered, not even sure why she was arguing, "I never needed it before."
Her maman sighed, "Magic asserts itself in people in its own time, Fleur. Magical gifts usually surface at thirteen, but there are exceptions. Inherited traits are usually there from birth— your singing, for example, has always had a very alluring quality, and you can convince people far more easily than others, but at what time some of the more magic intensive traits show up… that depends on how much, and particularly what kind, of Veela magic you inherited. Only ten percent of quarter-Veelas even have a bird form, and I was storing hope on the other ninety. And even if you did inherit it, I'd shown you the exercises, and I thought that would be enough—" a sad smile graced her features, and even in sorrow she looked beautiful, "I'm sorry, my bébé."
"No, no—" tears started welling in Fleur's eyes, and she shook her head fiercely, "Why are you sorry? It's-it's my stupid fault."
Her maman caressed her cheek, and Fleur found herself leaning into it, "What's done is done, love. But tell me, did someone get hurt? With your fire or claws?"
Fleur shook her head, mute.
A silence grew, filling the space around them with something heavy, until finally she couldn't take it anymore.
"But I almost did hurt someone," she rushed out, "The new neighbor boy. I-I had fire in my hands, and I was about to throw it after him."
There was worry in her maman's eyes, but no judgment, "and why didn't you?"
"Because- because Chloé and Marie looked scared, maman," she sniffled, "They- they are right to be scared, aren't they? Chloé told Marie to run."
Her mother shook her head slightly, but didn't deny it.
"I think… I think you should focus on yourself for a while, Fleur." Her mother said, voice soft yet serious, "Focus on yourself, your meditation, and I'm sure you'll be able to recover from this. This isn't the end. I, too, had episodes— sharper, harder to control than yours will be, because you are only a quarter-Veela. This power can only take over you if you let it, and I didn't. Understand yourself, your emotions, your impulses, and…" she smiled slightly, "Have you ever seen me transform?"
Fleur shook her head.
"Because I don't anymore. And one day, you'll be the same."
Fleur looked into her maman's eyes, and saw that she believed it.
That had to be enough for her.
"Alright," She took a deep breath, "how do I start?"
"For today?" She smiled, leaning forward to give her a peck on the top of her head, "Get some rest."
The next day she sat with maman for hours, re-learning how to observe her core, and Fleur gasped when she noticed that her water core had turned a deep green at its heart. After some hesitation, she reached forward, and her mental avatar relaxed, for lack of a better word, upon contact with it.
Bewildered, she came to, and her mother's keen eyes told her she had been watching over her while she meditated.
"Magic likes to be used," Her maman said, almost a little fond, "Used, and acknowledged. Now that your Veela traits are showing, you should learn to positively channel them instead of keeping them buried."
"But I don't want to transform like that again," Fleur's lips trembled.
Her mother shook her head, "You do not need to. There are other ways— singing, or dancing, for example."
Fleur frowned, "I do that already."
"You will need to learn to utilize your Veela magic for it, for it to truly count," Her maman tilted her head to the side, "But that is way off, yet— it will be a while before you can willfully bring your charms to your disposal. You need to remember that even though you are considered a pureblood, your magic will have wilder elements due to our creature blood. It will react quickly and in unexpected ways, if you are emotionally volatile."
"Like when I'm upset, or angry," Fleur realized.
"Correct. You need to know what triggers such emotions in you, and how to best avoid getting swept up in the moment." Her maman noticed her troubled frown, and gently pulled her up, "That's enough for today, I think. I've prepared Bouillabaisse for dinner."
Her eyes lit up, "Thank you!"
"Anything for you, my bébé."
The next week, Fleur spent her time oscillating between meditation and stuffing herself with mouth-watering food. Something about the art exhausted her, and her maman's cooking always seemed to help. In fact, she almost forgot about all of her worries when she sat at the table with a steaming bowl before her, her maman tucking in her napkin fondly.
The transformation faded from her consciousness like a bad dream, vague and wispy around the edges and yet all sharp emotions at the slightest remembrance.
Fleur tried not to think of it.
But there was only so far willful ignorance could take her when she remembered that she'd not spoken a word to Chloé and Marie since that day, and she was not sure if she ever would again. Her maman went and talked to their parents the day after, tried to explain the situation and assure them that Fleur would have her powers under control enough to allow her to play with their children soon enough, but the adults had been positively forbidding, and she never heard from her maman what Chloé and Marie themselves thought.
For now, there was nothing for her but ignorance. Fleur would not know until she saw it for herself, when she was ready to face the world once more.
Before then, she didn't dare ask.
Two weeks and four days in— Fleur was definitely not counting —she made a breakthrough.
She abandoned her meditation and pushed herself up against the ground, almost hitting her shoulder against a shelf in her excitement.
"Maman!" She ran towards the kitchen, "Maman! You won't believe what just happened!"
She took a turn and the kitchen came into view, her mother turning to catch her eyes.
"Fleur?" Elara Delacour smiled, and Merlin, Fleur could never get over how beautiful her maman was, "What is it, my bébé?"
"I felt my magic! The Veela part!" Fleur fumbled for the words, "Like, I could feel it was… different, from the rest of my core."
Maman's eyes lit up. "That's wonderful, Fleur! Could you do anything with it?"
"I poked at it!"
A brief silence, and then her maman raised an amused eyebrow.
"You… poked it."
Fleur nodded.
"And what, dare I ask, does that mean?" Maman was definitely suppressing another smile, now.
Fleur shrugged a bit helplessly. "Like when you beat wheat?"
She didn't think the raised eyebrow could go any higher, but it did. "And when have you seen me… beat wheat?"
Fleur blushed. "I didn't. But the men were doing it. Back where you took me to see where Papa had lived."
Maman sighed, "Of course." She eyed Fleur curiously. "Could you do it again? I'll link my core with yours."
Fleur gave a nod of assent and led her back to her room.
Inside, she hesitated before taking her place on the yoga mat, back against the wall. What if she wasn't able to do it again? What if Maman thought she was lying?
Well, she'd just have to try.
She closed her eyes and felt a prodding on her core, still a beautiful sea-green at its center, and she let her Maman establish a connection between them.
Fleur didn't know how to put it, but it felt nice when they shared that connection. Like an unbroken line of magic forever making them one because of their own choices. Or maybe she was just getting emotional. She tended to do that.
Perhaps mediation is making me more self-aware, Fleur thought wryly.
Or maybe she just liked to think she was getting self-aware.
This again, she mentally groaned.
Her mental avatar, practically indistinguishable from herself except in its clothing— a soft, wonderful purple frock with frilly sleeves that she'd gotten for her fifth birthday and never quite grown out of— stretched out its hands curiously. She could never quite get over how surreal the experience felt.
It occurred to her that she'd worn this dress both on the best and worst day of her life. It had been this very frock, after all, that she'd had on the day her powers manifested. A fact that the poor frock had borne with the tear on its shoulder, devastating until maman had muttered a few charms and had it fixed up. Her worries that it was beyond repair had been for naught, so she should have been happy, but Fleur only felt a strange, fluttering emotion in her heart when she looked at where the rip should have been and wondered what else magic could fix.
She shook her head and refocused on her task. Aware of her maman getting a feel for her through the magical link, she shut her eyes (not that there was need to, but it made her look cooler. Calmer. Less likely to panic and screw this up).
Fleur reached out to her core, calling for it to give away, and the core parted at her touch, the string of pretty vines that built up her first layer pulling away to reveal the velvet-like water that represented her magic.
Or most of it, anyway.
Fleur's brow pinched in concentration, and the even blue water, moving in slow, gentle waves, gave way to the sea-green at the center heart.
Her Veela magic.
"Yes!" Fleur whispered.
The magic began to vibrate, brimming with a newfound energy, and Fleur directed it with a calm precision.
She had known, ever since she'd first connected with her Veela magic, that it was extremely versatile and could present itself to her in many different ways. How she knew, she wasn't sure, but the knowledge had burrowed itself in her head like a sacred, revered truth. Her eyes shut without her conscious input, and she felt the rapid vibration settle into a gentle thrum of energy.
Fleur could feel her maman's curiosity like something tangible through the link. She took a deep breath, and opened her eyes.
Before her, the world had changed. She was in a maze of mirrors, one seamless surface reflecting the other in a continuous loop. Even the floor and ceilings were not spared. Fleur saw herself everywhere she looked.
An troublesome feeling bloomed in her gut as she met her mirror self, uncomfortable. She looked a delicate, graceful kind of beautiful; and yet, alien. She couldn't quite pin the cause. Was it because the way her hair shimmered around her and her eyes held the gravity of stars were just a little bit… unnatural?
Fleur had always known she was unusual; it hadn't been a hard truth to accept, with her maman always being by her side and Chloé and Marie there to remind her it was okay.
But not a month ago she'd grown claws and wings and a cruel beak uncontrollably, and she'd held lethal fire in her hands because she'd been angry, and the thought didn't sit right with her anymore.
Was it less about being unusual, and more about abnormality? Was she… bad?
"I want to be a Veela too," Chloé had said.
She couldn't have said that if it were a bad thing, right?
But Chloé had also run away with fear in her eyes, unrecognizing, when she'd seen Fleur's truth.
Fleur took a deep, shuddering breath, and then glared at her reflection. Even in the ethereal shimmer that seemed to halo around her, she saw only the devilish crow.
Fingers clenched, she shut her eyes and willed herself back to the real world.
Her maman's eyes were on her, proud and wide.
"Did you see?" Fleur asked her, even though she obviously had.
She shook her head slowly, "I saw you up until you tinkered with your magic's outward perception." Then, she smiled, "You were remarkable, Fleur."
Fleur smiled, though it was laced with confusion, "How come you couldn't see it? And what exactly do you mean by 'magic's perception'?"
"Veela magic, or indeed, any magic inherent to a creature, have a certain… flexibility where the expression of their magic is evolved. Our magic is Wild, more so than any halfbloods' or even muggleborns', but the thing that makes it all the more unique is that creature magic does not mesh with a wizard's core. So while you have a repertoire of Wild spells that you may be able to access, it does not affect the more… pureblood tendencies of your usual magic."
"That's…" Cool, Fleur wanted to say, except there was a lump in her throat. She'd never imagined anything good could come out of this, not after… after that day.
Her maman seemed to understand.
"Dinner?" She asked, and oh, how her eyes sparkled.
Fleur nodded, an anticipatory smile creeping up her face, "Of course. Is it what I think it is?"
Her maman winked, "Only one way to find out."
***
Days passed in a similar vein, with Fleur focusing single-mindedly on her meditation exercises, many of which bore quite a resemblance to beginner Occlumency training. Her mother peppered her earnestness with suggestions and encouragement, often with accompanied salivating dishes.
Therefore it was a rather surprising and pleasant turn of events when one fine Sunday, her maman stilled midway slicing a loaf of positively divine home-made bread to inform her that they'd be going out that day.
"Really?" Fleur gaped, "You- You think I'm ready?"
"More than," Her maman tucked her fingers below the girl's chin, "My Chérie, you've been diligently doing your exercises and being mindful for more than two months now. You've done well, and I couldn't be prouder."
Her voice dipped into something more mischievous, and she leaned towards Fleur's ear to say the next words even though there was no one around to hear, "In fact, even I didn't possess this much commitment at your age, dear. My mother had to… Well, let's just say resort to extreme measures to get me into any semblance of a routine."
Fleur's eyes went round, "Wait, really? But you're so… perfect!"
Her maman actually froze at that comment, and their close proximity allowed Fleur to observe the strangest emotion flicker through her eyes before she broke into laughter. It tinkled like delicate wind chimes, and the space between them came alive with a most surreal allure.
"Is that really what you think?" Her maman asked. Fleur blinked, taken aback. The tone of the conversation had suddenly shifted into something tender, and she couldn't fathom why. "No one's perfect, my Chérie. No one."
Fleur tilted her head slightly, "Well then, you're the closest thing to perfect."
Her maman smiled at that. A genuine, heartwarming smile that took Fleur's breath away.
"I should say that to you."
Fleur blushed to the tip of her ears. "So where are we going today?"
Her maman turned around and neatly finished slicing the bread.
"Somewhere special," she said after a pause, and Fleur could hear an old, almost forgotten excitement in her voice, "somewhere you'll have fun."
"Oh?"
"Indeed. And more importantly," she turned her head to catch Fleur's reaction, "I'll be sharing some good news while we're there."
"I can't wait." Fleur's grin could have banished the mightiest dementor, not that she was aware of it.
"Well, good thing you won't have to," her maman cleared her throat, setting the bread on the table, "Finish up your food, and we'll set off right away. The earlier we get there, the more time we'll have to enjoy."
Fleur eagerly set to her task.
Soon after, the girl found herself side-along apparated to the hollow behind a stairwell.
Fleur looked around curiously. Nothing struck her as odd.
"Maman?" Confusion, mixed with slight disappointment in her voice.
A wry smile crossed her maman's face, "Relax, Chérie. We've apparated here merely to avoid the notice of muggles. Can't be breaking the International Statute of Secrecy as well, now can we?"
Fleur frowned a bit at that. As well? Whatever did that mean?
Her maman had already started walking away, however, so Fleur had no choice but to leave her rumination for later (if ever) and follow her. They came out into the street, and walked in silence for several minutes. She was just about to express her confusion again before they rounded a corner and she let out a gasp.
A makeshift entryway laced with ribbons and bearing a board proudly proclaimed the words 'Rendez-vous du Carnaval,' in bright colors. In the distance, Fleur could just make out the shape of a Ferris wheel, camouflaged by a clump of trees. Various rides littered the space between them.
Her maman had brought her to a Fair!
Fleur whipped around and hugged her tightly.
"Thank you," she said, "Thank you so much."
She'd only seen such a thing before in the single photograph they had in their home that included papa. Her maman and papa, smiling blissfully against the backdrop of a Ferris wheel in the setting sun. The orange sky made their eyes shine even brighter, and her maman had looked swathed in gold.
She'd asked her maman for a visit so many times, and was always refused. Well, not outright, but her maman would do her best to distract her until Fleur forgot about it. Eventually, she stopped asking.
"You're welcome. I—" Her maman's voice sounded odd, like something was stuck in her throat. It was so unusual, so far from her usual soft, airy tones that Fleur pulled away to look at her, eyes wide. "I should've brought you here sooner. I'm sorry, ma Chérie."
She shook her head slowly, "Non, maman. I understood why long ago."
And she had. For maman, such events obviously held very strong connotations to papa. What exactly, Fleur didn’t know. Maybe it was just a sweet memory she couldn't bear to touch for fear that she'd live in a time no more, or maybe the pretty picture was the scene of something awful.
Maybe… maybe she'd lost control, the day that photograph had been taken. The thought had only occurred to Fleur after several weeks of meditation. Surely her maman must have had her own bouts of uncontrolled transformation? And if they had been anything like Fleur's, or worse…
Well, Fleur was sure she wouldn't be able to walk the park where she'd transformed without shuddering, so who was she to judge?
Her maman smiled, and it was a sad, proud thing.
"Let's go, Fleur."
And she took her hand and led the way in.
A flurry of colors greeted the young girl as she stepped into the carnival world, and the hours blurred as she moved from one pastime to another: from the bright silver and gold ponies that moved in a slow circle, what maman called a carousel, and to the bumper cars that had her out of breath with laughter. The Tilt-A-Whirl was particularly fun.
None of that held a candle to the Ferris wheel, however.
Fleur pressed against the glass window and looked down at the glorious scene before her. Large, sleek muggle buildings interspersed with pretty green splotches she recognized as trees— oh, how laughably little they seemed from up here! —and the glorious sun dipping out of view.
Their rotation had neared the top of the Ferris wheel.
Her maman tapped her on the knee, and Fleur turned back and examined the woman sitting across from her. She looked tired, and flushed with an emotion almost akin to… pride.
"Fleur," her maman began, "I want to share some great news with you."
Fleur frowned, remembering a snippet of their conversation earlier that morning. Entranced with the beauty of the Fair, she had completely forgotten!
"What is it, maman?" She tried not to let her mind run too wild. There were so many things she wanted to go right: her friendships, her powers, her schooling, but there was no point getting excited about something impossible—
"You've been accepted into Beauxbatons."
She blinked. Took a deep breath. Blinked again.
"I'm sorry, could you repeat that? I don't think I…"
"You got accepted, my Chérie," her maman's eyes sparkled with the depth of stars, "You can go to Beauxbatons."
"Wha…?" Fleur stared at her, "How… how is that possible?"
"The Headmistress," her maman said simply, "She managed to get a resolution passed. For people like us."
Fleur didn't know what to say to that. Her entire life, she'd been told there was no chance of her attending the famous school. That Académie de Magie Beauxbâtons was far beyond her league, laughably beyond the realm of possibility.
A witch with creature blood flowing through her veins? Ha. The day Beauxbatons accepted someone so muddied would be the day the world had gone to the dogs. Muggles, at least, were some fashion of a human. But Veela?
"It's a test," Fleur said softly, stumped as to why there was water gathering in her eyes, "There's no way it isn't."
Her maman cupped her face in her hands, "So what if it is? You are more than capable and undoubtedly deserving."
"If something goes wrong," Fleur protested, "They'll think I'm a monster." And they'd be right.
"Nothing will go wrong," her maman assured her, shifting to sit beside her and pulling her into a hug, "You're doing great, my bébé."
Fleur let her stupid tears leak out. Ugh, why was she crying?
She sniffled, snot blocking her throat.
"’M Sorry. Wetting your shoulder," she mumbled.
Her maman chuckled, "You have nothing to be sorry about."
For a moment, there was silence, and Fleur basked in her mother's warmth. It protected her better against the chill of the night than the enchanted winter clothes she wore.
"Maman?" She said finally, pulling away to see how she'd react.
"Yes?"
"Do you… do you really think I can do it?" It felt like there were needles in her mouth. "That I won't lose control?"
"Of course, Chérie. You must keep doing your exercises and being self-aware, but we'll handle anything that comes up together. Don't take on any undue stress, alright?"
"But what if I…?" She swallowed, "Say I mess up. Big time. Will I—"
—"They should put you down like the animal you are!"
"No, please, I —"
"Stay away from my child!"—
"What'll be done to me?" What would I do to them?
"Nothing," Fleur almost flinched at the forcefulness in her maman's tone. She took a deep, calming breath and then held Fleur's hand in hers. There was a taut strength in them that Fleur hadn't noticed before. Her eyes flashed a cold steel. "I will die before I let anything happen to you, Fleur."
Fleur's lips trembled. "No talking about dying."
Her maman withdrew her hands and shut her eyes for a moment.
When they opened, she seemed back to her usual self.
Soft, sweet, kind.
No sign of the previous fervor that almost had Fleur leaning away.
"You're right. Sorry," a delicate, tired smile, "I'll just say this: Beauxbatons is a wonderful opportunity for you, Fleur. One of the best schools there is, certainly among the list that can accept us now. We could always homeschool you as planned, but you know as well as I what kind opportunities are afforded to such students. And America…" she looked away, but not before Fleur caught the faintest hint of moisture in her eyes. Her shoulders shook.
"I haven't been able to get the funds. We… I can't afford sending you there. I'm sorry."
Fleur shook her head vehemently, "No, maman, it's not your fault! I'm the one who couldn't crack the scholarship—"
"You wouldn't have had to try if I'd done better," her maman whispered, "I should've—"
The Ferris wheel creaked to a stop. They'd reached the bottom.
Her maman stilled before inhaling sharply and getting off with a sigh. She then turned around and lifted Fleur up from the carriage and onto the floor, not meeting her eyes. Instead of pointing out that she could traverse the gap between the two just fine by herself, Fleur let herself take comfort in her maman's firm grip.
But it rang hollow when her maman refused to look back at her.
"Maman," she said, tugging at her dress as she followed after her, "Maman!"
The woman paused.
"It's not your fault," Fleur blubbered out, "So please don't— I don't— I'll go to Beauxbatons. It's not that I didn't want to, I just, I'm scared, maman—"
She heard a soft exhale as her maman crouched down on her knee to meet her eyes. "I know, Chérie. I'm so sorry, I never wanted to pressure you. You don't need to make a decision right away— we have three days to confirm your admission. You can take your time and give it proper thought. Do what's best for you." She rubbed her eyes. "You know I'll always support you, don't you?"
Fleur nodded.
"Then that's good enough," she looked up at the darkening sky, "It's getting late. Shall we leave?"
"Yeah."
And with one last look at the glorious Fair, they went back the way they came.
That night, Fleur couldn’t sleep. She didn't go to her maman though. She had the strangest feeling her mother would prefer to be left to herself for the night. A feeling that probably had to do with the absolute quiet she sensed when she passed by her maman's room. Unnatural. Magically-constructed.
Silencing charms to hide quiet murmurs. Or repressed sobs.
Either way, Fleur didn’t want to impose. She did that enough already.
Instead, she twisted around in her bed and tried to sort through the tangle of emotions in her head.
Her meditation, at least, seemed to help. She took a second to identify it, and then started with tackling the cord that lay at the root of today's events.
Papa.
What did she even know of him? He was a pureblood wizard who had a passion for Herbology and sought to combine both the magical and mundane with his farming techniques. He'd died before she was born, leaving only that one photo with maman, still latched onto the wall from when they'd first mounted it. Collecting dust, because maman never touched it.
Fleur had tried to, once: standing atop a stool and tracing a hand across the photo to clear away the dirt and see his face clearly. Brown eyes, dark freckles. A smile that held you transfixed, and yet somehow a world apart from maman's. With her, you could almost notice the soft Veela magic if you felt it often enough, like being aware of the fact that a siren was singing to you, even if in the end you were ultimately helpless against it. His smile, though… there was a genuineness that she couldn't fathom, that rooted her to the spot and stole her breath away.
She could see why her maman would have been drawn to him.
She remembered the longing that had plagued her for a month afterwards. The questions. What would have it been like to have him as a father? Would people have looked at her as though she was a little less alien, if she could show that she was the daughter of someone like him?
Fleur shook her head. She was getting off track. Her hands clenched, and her Occlumency directed her thoughts back to her original analysis.
Her maman had obviously loved him greatly. Enough that she hadn't been able to take Fleur to a place where they'd sown important memories, though Fleur had her suspicions as to what could've taken place there. But she remembered visiting papa's old farm, so how on earth had her maman resolved to take Fleur to his hometown? She'd even met with his parents, however well that had gone.
"What do you think you're doing, coming here?!"
"Carmine, please. She has his blood as much as mine. You're all we have left."
"How dare you? After taking him from us, you— you—!"
They'd been practically thrown out, though Fleur had only witnessed a bit of it before her maman had left her to play in the nearby park and tried to reason with her paternal grandparents herself to spare the half-orphaned girl further turmoil.
Not that that had moved her grandparents any better.
In fact, whatever they had said to maman must have had the desired effect, because maman never tried to approach them again. She'd answer any questions Fleur had about them as honestly as she could, though she didn't seem to know them much at all. Fleur gathered that theirs had been a love marriage without the approval of papa's parents.
As for maman's relatives, well… Maman never talked about them, and the three times Fleur had brought them up, the terrible, helpless intensity in maman's eyes had been enough for her to never broach the topic again.
All in all, we're a weird family, Fleur thought with a nervous smile. God, what was she meant to make of all this?
Fleur rolled onto her other side. Even ignoring for a moment all the chaos that was the weird dynamics in their family, what was she supposed to do about Beauxbatons?
The school had been a dream for her, when she and Chloé and Marie had talked about attending together. A dream squashed all too quickly, when her maman heard their discussions and gently pulled her aside to explain their grim reality.
Beauxbatons didn't accept those of creature blood. Fleur couldn’t go.
It had been hard, coming to terms with it. Every sharp jab alluding to her Veela blood had hurt more. But Marie had said she was going to attend Hogwarts, so Fleur had eventually learned to live with the fact that the three of them might not be meant to be at school together. That it wasn't somehow her fault.
But… it had hurt her, like a thousand curses condensed in a simple no. Why couldn't she go? What was so wrong with her?
After her… transformation, Fleur knew the answer. Had even understood.
And then Beauxbatons had to go and allow her again.
Why, if she was dangerous? Why, if she was inhuman?
Fleur didn't know the answer.
And the entire night of rumination yielded only more questions.
There was a choice before her. Her maman had explained, on the way back, that as part of the test project, Fleur's education would be covered by the Board of Education. They wouldn't have to worry about anything other than buying school books and uniforms, and they had enough for that.
The other alternative was something she and her maman had been contemplating for a while, because really they had had no other choice before: homeschooling. While not a bad way to learn, and certainly Fleur enjoyed her maman's lessons, the bleakness issue had been that of her future.
To be perfectly honest, Fleur didn’t really care, and perhaps that was a sign of how comfortably her maman had raised her. Despite the lack of money, Fleur had never felt like she wanted anything more. The prospect of her future opportunities seemed abstract, and too distant to fret about now.
That was, until… Well, until she'd turned into a bird.
Fleur still remembered the rush of magic that had flooded her, ensnaring her senses and hindering rational thought. Her emotions had heightened frighteningly, and her clawed hands had held fire with the intent to hurt another so very easily.
Before, she had thought just having her maman and friends would be enough. That she'd be content. But that day had made her realize the danger she posed to all those around her if she wasn't in control. If she didn't receive some kind of training.
And suddenly a bleak, terrifying future was all too clear: aimless, roaming from street to street because she had put faith in those close to her and they had ultimately realized how dangerous she was. How she wasn't worth the extra caution, because in the end, what did she do except impose? What did she even have to offer?
Fleur stiffened, then slowly rolled to the edge of the bed. What was she doing? All this thinking would do her no good. Her course ahead should be obvious, clear: she had to work hard, make sure she'd never end up a burden, and get a grip on her Veela powers.
What was there even to contemplate? A life where either of those didn't come true wasn't even a life worth living.
She got off the bed, and headed to the bathroom, splashing cool water against her face. Then, she headed off to her maman's room.
The unnatural silence signaling the earlier silencing charm had gone, and instead Fleur heard the dull scratching of a quill.
She bit her lip, then turned the handle.
"Maman?" Fleur said quietly.
The room was dark save for the yellow light coming from a detached lumos orb floating in a corner, bright enough to let her see that her maman was on the desk, writing something on a roll of parchment.
"Fleur?" Her maman rose swiftly, "What is it, my bébé?"
"Nothing," Fleur winced, "I mean, there is something. Something I er- wanna tell you?"
Her maman's eyes were cast in darkness now that she had moved over to Fleur, away from the orb. She said nothing, waiting patiently for Fleur to find her words.
"I, uh," Fleur took a steadying breath, "I've thought about it, and I'd like to go to Beauxbatons."
A considering silence.
"You are sure?" Fleur couldn’t name the emotion in her maman's voice.
"Yes."
"Come here," her maman spread her arms, and Fleur needed no further invitation.
"Everything will work out," the words were mumbled into her hair, so soft Fleur almost didn't catch them, "It has to."
Fleur shut her eyes and let herself believe.
