The Secret Diary of Fleur Delacour, Aged Sixteen and Three Quarters

Part One

Chapter 1 - Back to School

31^st Aug. 1994

It's back to Beauxbatons tomorrow; sixth year. I'm glad to get away from home! I can't stand mother any longer. She's always going on about being perfect, and having to make an effort, and how good she was at school, and how she expects me to be nothing but the best ... if it wasn't for Gabrielle... She'll miss me; another boring year in the mansion with that terrible tutor of hers - no kids her age around, still three more years until she gets to go to school, and then I'll have left already, so she'll be lonely again...

Lonely! Sometimes I think I'm the only one who really knows what lonely means. How I wish I could make friends! Real friends, not stupid girls sucking up to me expecting to - I don't know - be more popular with the boys, perhaps, and gossiping about me, telling stories behind my back, envious of my looks. And the boys are even worse! I hate how they all turn into drooling half-wits whenever they set eyes on me. It's not my fault, is it? And none of them have any idea of the real me, not that any of them would be interested, anyway. Oh, to meet someone who doesn't fall under that stupid veela charm! I'd love someone to hate me for a change!

But no such luck has come my way yet. Charmaine and Mireille will fawn over me and gossip about me behind my back, as always, and as for the boys - well, I'd better not think of them.

Silly of me, I know, getting depressed thinking about this again - I have been familiar with it for years, haven't I? And the stupid idea comes up again, as it did last year, and the year before - run away, hide somewhere, perhaps even live as a muggle... though of course it won't work. They'd find me in no time, and though I hate to admit it, I'm too much of a coward...

So I suppose it's going to be studying and working hard for another year, to take my mind off these things. Well, at least mother will be proud of me!

Sept. 1^st, 1994

Still a couple of hours to go until our train arrives. Charmaine and Mireille have finally settled down to chat to a couple of seventh year boys, and I have managed to ward off all the unwelcome admirers at last, thus getting some peace to write this.

When I left for Paris, there were the usual farewell ceremonies, the phoney smiles and kisses, the all too sincere exhortations of mother's ... Gabrielle was crying when she hugged me, there's nothing phoney about her. I must at least send her as many owls as I can.

I was stunned when I saw Charmaine again after those nine weeks of holidays. Not only has she found some charm to get rid of her acne, she's also put a charm on her hair that used to be a mousy colour; now it looks exactly like mine, silvery blonde and reaching down to her waist.

"Fleur!" she screamed excitedly as I stepped out of the fireplace at the Montresors' town house. She dashed towards me, hugged me very briefly, then danced away twirling around on tiptoe.

"How do I look?"

It took me some seconds to find any words. Then I said, trying to sound indifferent, "Not bad at all. Now who do you remind me of?" I added with a forced smile.

"You, of course!" Sometimes she can be incredibly thick. "You know I always wanted to be like you, don't you?" she continued, and the look in her brown eyes (that don't go with her new hair colour at all, how typical) was so puppy-like that I felt my anger melting away.

Of course, she's been imitating me all these past five years, so I suppose it shouldn't have been a great surprise anyway. Come to think of it, I ought to feel sorry for her; I mean how is she ever going to be a personality in her own right? And of course it never entered her dense little head to ask herself how I might feel. But I guess I shouldn't be too hard on her, she is a kind hearted person, after all, and she's the nearest thing to a friend I've got at school.

Anyway, we were just going to get Charmaine's things together (a task that usually takes quite a long time) to pack them in the family Daimler that was supposed to take us to Gare St.Lazare. But Monsieur Montresor, who was going to drive us, came in to inform us that there was apparently some Muggle demonstration going on, so the streets were closed and there was no chance of getting to the station by car, magical or not.

"I'm afraid you'll have to take the Metro," he finished.

"Oh no," Charmaine pouted. "Do we really have to? Can't we Apparate or something?"

"I'm sorry, ma chere, you know you haven't got your licence yet."

"But I know how to..."

"No, and that's final. It's against the law, and you ought to know it's much too dangerous for inexperienced youngsters."

There was nothing to be done. We put a shrinking charm on our trunks so we could carry them in muggle plastic bags. Grisabel and Blanche were quite fed up with us when we shrank them to mouse size (as any self-respecting cat would be), but that couldn't be helped. We were not going to heave them all over the place in their kitty-carriers in a crowded muggle subway.

After finally changing into inconspicuous muggle clothes (it seems these trousers they call jeans are the thing if you don't want to be noticed), we grabbed our bags and left the house.

As soon as we got outside, however, it became apparent that with me in tow we were never going to be inconspicuous. Male muggles are even worse than wizards! They have no idea what veela are, so they act even more stupidly. I'd never have believed it. We had hardly closed the door behind us when a man in a pinstriped suit crashed into a street lamp with a tremendous bang because he had been craning his neck after us. I swear, he might have been my father or even grandfather, by the looks of him!

Charmaine giggled in that exasperating way of hers.

"Now, what do you think," she said, nudging me. "which of us was he staring after?"

The fun of it was dawning on me. "You, of course," I replied, "just look at you!"

My sarcasm was lost on her. "I could imagine," she said smugly, "I daresay I don't look too bad."

It was even worse in the Subway. The carriage was terribly crowded, and we had to stand there packed like sardines, hugging our bags so that the shrunken cats wouldn't come to any harm. A fat muggle was standing extremely close to me. His face was red, droplets of sweat were forming on his forehead, and he smelled of onions and stale tobacco. He seemed to allow himself to be pressed closer against me than was really necessary, and from a certain reaction of his that I could feel against my thigh I concluded my impression was probably correct. I was so annoyed - I mean, a dirty stinking muggle, how dare he? - I put an itching hex on him and was very pleased with myself when he started scratching himself immediately. (This is the good thing about these hexes, nobody can prove them, as their effects look perfectly normal to muggles and wizards alike; it would have been a different thing if I had equipped him with a pig's tail or something, of course.)

By the time we finally got off at the Gare St.Lazare, we were in a somewhat dishevelled state. Soon we had passed the barrier and had finally arrived at perron 3 ¾ where the flashing blue engine of the Expres Beauxbatons was already billowing steam.

***

It's later in the evening now, while I am writing this. There was the same routine as always, the sorting, the boring speech of Madame Maxime, the stupid stories of what everyone did during the holidays. Of course, I'm being unfair here; I'm just jealous. It seems that everybody else gets to do the most interesting things. And it is only me who has to stay at home all the time being bored and revising for school - just to have something to do. Michelle went to Martinique and learned a few interesting things about voodoo spells, Patrice spent some exciting weeks in Quebec and keeps on talking about the old Ojibwa shaman that showed him how to enter the minds of animals, and what can I talk about? I really must try and convince mama to send me somewhere next holidays. I'll tell her it will be good for my education and make me even more perfect at school than I am already. Such arguments always work with her. Egypt might be an interesting place to go, those pyramids sound quite exciting. I'm sorry for Gabrielle though, she would be lonely during the summer, too - but perhaps I should also think of myself for once.

Grisabel is purring softly on my pillow. I'm glad I have her with me, she makes me feel less lonely. Tomorrow everyone will get the familiar haughty and conceited Fleur they are used to. Good night.

Chapter 2 - An Experiment

Sept. 8^th, 1994

It's only a week, but it seems like ages have passed since we began school. Weird, how fast you can slip back into the old routine. Everyday is exactly like the others, nothing special ever happens, which is why I haven't been back to you for all these days; there hasn't been anything to write about.

Tomorrow's the first Batonville weekend. As usual, every single boy from fifth year up - and one or two second years as well - have asked me to go to Les Trois Balais with them. And as usual, I have declined each invitation in my well-known haughty manner. I sometimes wonder if they will never learn ... I mean, how often have they asked me this kind of thing, and how often have they been rejected? It's a nuisance being only a quarter-veela, Grand Mere could at least transform and scare the pants off her admirers whenever she got fed up with them. (Mama would be shocked at the language I have just been using! "Fleur, you are a lady!")

I wonder if I should accept an invitation for once? There wouldn't be any harm in going to the brasserie with a boy, would there? I'd make it perfectly clear from the outset it was nothing more than a chat, so if he got any stupid ideas it would be his own fault. That way, I could go with Charmaine and Yves and wouldn't feel left out - well, why not give it a try?

Sept. 9^th, 1994

11.30 a.m. - I've just told Patrice I'll go to Batonville with him. I've never seen anyone turn so red, and it took all I could do not to laugh right into his tomato coloured face.

"Mind you, it's just this afternoon, so don't get any ideas," I told him. I wanted to be straight with him right from the beginning. "I'm not committing myself to anything, and I don't want you to feel under any obligation, either. Get me?"

"What? Yes, yes, of course, whatever you say ..."

When I went up to the dormitory, he was still standing there in the common room as if he was in a trance. I'm not really certain that he heard a single word of what I was saying.

11.30 p.m. - I might have known. Complete disaster!

I took great care with my appearance, so I would not set Charmaine back too much. It's really unfortunate that I simply can't magic myself into looking plain and average - another annoying veela attribute, but I did my best: forced my hair back into a single massive braid, put a spell (which only worked partially) on it to make it duller, put on some Muggle make-up to make my face look pale and dressed in my baggiest robes. (Can she not cut her hair? You'd think that was what she would do if she was so eager to get rid of her veela attributes.)

Charmaine seemed to appreciate my efforts.

"What have you been doing to your hair?" she inquired, when she saw me come out of the bathroom. "It looks awful! And you're so pale! Are you going to be ill or something?"

Of course, she could not imagine my motives, it would never enter her head to make herself deliberately less attractive, so I just smiled at her.

"I just thought it would make a change," I told her. "And I'm feeling perfectly all right, thanks."

"Oh, have it your own way," she shrugged. "What d'you think of me?"

She pirouetted in front of me in that annoying way of hers. She really didn't look too bad. The charm on her hair had been renewed, and it really shone with an almost authentic veela-like lustre; and she had carefully chosen her most elegant robes. Only there is not much inside those robes to show off with.

The boys were waiting for us in the common room. If they found anything remarkable about our appearance, they didn't say it. I just noticed that both of them had their eyes on me most of the time.

The café was already full of students when we arrived. Everybody fell silent and stared at us entering. It was quite embarrassing, but it was even more embarrassing when they all made a point of averting their eyes and resuming their conversation. We found a table in the very centre of the room, so everyone could conveniently watch us without having to turn their necks too awkwardly. The boys went to get some biere-a-beurre and presently returned. I noticed that several of the other boys were winking at Patrice and secretly giving him the thumbs-up, and it annoyed me a good deal already, especially when I saw the stupid grin with which he responded.

I don't remember much about the things we talked about, the usual meaningless chatter about school, and how dreadful it is to have those long papers to write about Jeanne d'Arc and the role of magic in the Hundred-Years-War. Actually, I rather admire Jeanne. Considering the time she lived in it's surprising how she mustered the courage to do what she did. Of course, she could have used her powers for something more sensible than fighting in a stupid war between a couple of kings who couldn't have cared less for people like her. But then, I suppose those were different times ...

Anyway, there we were, talking, or rather Yves and Patrice were talking, with Charmaine trying to get some words in here and there. And I noted that Yves was eyeing me all the time, hardly ever sparing a word for her, even though she, after all, was supposed to be his date. I was definitely not enjoying myself, and I might have had the sense to leave then and there.

But you know how it is: With all those people looking at us, I didn't have the nerve, so you might say it's partly my fault. However, I don't believe it could have been my fault that the stupid idiots got into that stupid argument.

"You know," Patrice was saying to nobody in particular, but looking at me surreptitiously. "In Canada, I learned to enter the minds of animals, and my teacher said I was very good at it. He had never seen anyone learn it so quickly, and he believes that I could even manage to do that with people too, which is about the most difficult thing ever..."

It was embarrassingly obvious that he was bragging like this to impress me, - not that it worked, of course, at least not on me. It worked quite well with Yves, though.

"Oh, yeah," he said derisively. "They feed you those mushrooms, don't they, and you have god knows what hallucinations, and believe everything they tell you. And what's the use, after all?"

Patrice had slowly turned red during these words.

"You bloody snob," he growled. "You're just jealous there's something I can do you can't. But believe me, I can do some other things you can't do in a million years..."

And he put his arm around my shoulder.

If I could I'd have transformed instantly, I would have, I was so mad! I jumped up from my seat, giving his arm a violent tug that almost caused him to lose his balance.

"How dare you!" I screamed at him, and I believe I turned absolutely purple with rage, in spite of my pale make-up. "And you, -" I turned to Yves who, was gaping at me, "provoking him like that - oh sod you all, you bloody stupid idiots!" I felt my voice break, and I stormed out of the cafe; the last thing I wanted was for anybody to see the tears in my eyes.

Of course, when Charmaine came back, she was fed up.

"I knew you'd ruin my date, how could I ever have been so stupid as to go out with you? No boy will ever be safe whenever you're around! I bet you've been hexing them, haven't you? Just leave me alone," she sobbed, when I tried to point out the unfairness of her accusation. "You're a veela, you're doing this sort of thing for sport, I guess. How could you ever understand?"

Great. Now I've succeeded to make the only person here that used to be something like a friend hate me. Good job, considering it's only been the first week of the school year!

Chapter 3: Letters and messages

Sept. 12^th, 1994

Nothing much is happening. Patrice has tried to talk to me once or twice, but I keep ignoring him. Of course, he is best friends with Yves again. Sometimes I see them talking quietly, giving me rather dirty looks when they think I'm not watching. What do I care? Or, rather, what dare I care? I'm pretty sure all the boys in the whole stupid school share the same opinion about me: Oh, yeah, man, good to look at (I just don't want to imagine what other thoughts they may get, and what they might picture themselves doing with me) but hardly human, really. Everybody knows what veela are like, right? Cruel, heartless creatures whose only joy is torturing poor innocent boys by making them fall desperately in love with them. LOVE! How I hate that word! No, I don't hate the word, really, what I hate is the perverse meaning people seem to give it. Love must be more than just the effect of an instinct, a function of glands triggered by an optical stimulus. I get so sick when I think what the only aim of this so-called love of theirs is! Do they want to know how I feel, are they interested in what kind of music I like, what books I read, what my dreams and fears are? No, there's only one thing on their minds...

If that's love, then give me hate any time!

At least, Charmaine is speaking to me again, after I promised solemnly never to go out with her and a boy again. I had no problem at all promising that, I really don't feel like doing anything of the kind ever again.

"I forgive you," she said magnanimously, and it took al my self-restraint to keep calm. As if there was anything I'd done that she could forgive me! But I kept quiet.

"Thank you, Charmaine," I replied meekly; I almost added that I'd never do it again, but there was still some pride left in me, and so I stopped myself, sighed resignedly, and went over to hug her. Actually, I suspect that at least part of the reason for her to come round so soon is that she wants my help with her homework again, particularly in Charms, where, to be honest, she can use any help she can get.

I've sent an owl to Gabrielle, telling her about the incident with Patrice and Yves. I've exaggerated things a bit, because I hope it will amuse her and divert her from her boring days.

Sept. 18^th, 1994

I should have known it was not a good idea to tell Gabrielle about those two stupid boys. I might have guessed Mama would get hold of the letter. And she didn't like it a bit, of course! Luckily, she hates public sensations that show any of us in a negative light, so she didn't send me a howler, as it would have embarrassed her more than me, but she did send me letter. I've decided to keep it if ever I should forget what kind of a person my mother is.

Are you completely out of your mind? Have I taught you nothing at all? You know how important it is to make friends with the right people, and this Patrice of yours does not only seem to be a promising young wizard, he also is a Dulac, from one of the most ancient and important wizarding families in France. And I do not think I have to remind you how useful such connections can be. So whatever absolutely idiotic motives may have caused you to behave in this abysmally stupid way, I demand that you apologize and make use of the privilege of your heritage, although I am beginning to doubt that you even deserve it.

Also, I forbid you to put absurd ideas into your sister's head, and so I will tell you quite frankly that I have decided to check on all the letters you write to her. It seems that you are developing a rebellious attitude that I am not going to accept, therefore, I will also be in close contact with Madame Maxime who has promised to keep me informed about the progress of your schoolwork. You know that your family expects you to do nothing but your best, and I will not be satisfied with anything less.

If anything like this incident occurs again, I will seriously reconsider your future school career.

Your affectionate mother,

Isabeau Delacour

Affectionate, what a joke! Yes, Mama, you HAVE taught me something, you've taught me not to want to be like you! And he is not MY Patrice, and he'll never be if I can help it! And I'll definitely not apologize!

I'll have to find a way to communicate with Gabrielle, though, without mother knowing. I couldn't stand not being able to tell her my real thoughts and feelings. After all, she's the only person I can really confide in.

Sept. 19^th, 1994

After dinner, Mme. Maxime made an announcement. The Triwizard Tournament is going to be held again, after a long pause of a couple of centuries or so. I remember reading about it in Histoire de Beauxbatons. It used to be held every five years since the thirteenth century, among the leading wizarding schools of Europe. (Besides us, there is one in Britain and one somewhere in Eastern Europe - Bulgaria, if I remember correctly.) Apparently, the tasks were quite dangerous, and casualties were quite frequent, so that in the time of the eighteenth century, when it seems that a life began to count more than it used to, they stopped the competition. Mme. Maxime was going on about what a most excellent way it was of establishing ties between young witches and wizards of different nationalities, but I believe all she is really interested in is us winning. She stressed, of course, that everything would be quite safe, and that some Committee or other had taken all possible precautions, and that due to the developments in modern wizardry there would be practically no mortal danger.

There is going to be a competition for sixth and seventh year students who wish to take part in the Tournament, in order to decide who is going to that school in Scotland, where it is taking place. However, you have to be at least seventeen by October 31^st. Just my luck that that's exactly my birthday, and knowing mother, she'll of course expect me to take part - and win!

Charmaine has already declared that she thinks I'm raving mad to do it, and I did not bother to try to explain why I do. It's easy for her, as she's a couple of months younger than me.

Well, as there's no way mother will not hear about all this, anyway, it might be wise to be a dutiful daughter and write a letter to her telling her right away, and promising to do my very best, of course. And it really shouldn't be too difficult to get shortlisted to go to Scotland, at least.

Actually, it may be quite interesting to go to a new place, after all. I only hope I can take Grisabel with me.

Sept 22^nd, 1994

Just got mother's letter. She can be the sweetest person in the world, as long as everybody does what she wants. Apparently, she thinks her telling me off has worked, and now she's giving me the carrot treatment after the stick. Said how brave I was to try out for the Tournament, just being so very young, and that she'd have understood if I had not - I don't even want to think what she'd have had to say to me if I really had not put my name down on that list! And she knows I'm going to win, of course, and wishes me all the best. And she signed "Your loving mother" this time, the hypocrite!

I have borrowed a book about the Tournament from the library, and I'm going to study it today, while Charmaine is in Batonville again. Perhaps I can get an idea of what to expect - if I ever make it that far, that is.