Something Real

Chapter Three: Les Premières Impressions

A/N: As per readers' requests, there'll be a little glossary-type-thing at the end for all the French phrases. Also, "consopio" is a Latin word which means "to lull to sleep." In this story, that is the charm that Fleur uses in the First Task to put her dragon in a trance. You may recognize it from the second chapter, where she uses it on the Skrewt. The way I use Latin is probably horribly ungrammatical--if so, feel free to point it out . The title for this chapter means "First Impressions."

Thanks to Acyla, Anne Keene, thecurmudgeons, Wynne, Starpiper, Katalyna, Karie, feuris, Savannah, Fawkes101, lexi, Larzdinn, Insanity70, Ozma and Chocolate Frog Card for their kind reviews. And of course, my SQ beta reader Arabella, who's responsible for fixing my comma mistakes in Chapter Two .

To: Charles Weasley, Dragon Department, Romanian Institute for the Study of Magical Creatures

From: Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Great Britain

Dear Mr. Weasley,

I understand that your father and mother have apprised you of recent events in Britain. Given your area of expertise, I believe you may be of some assistance, if you are willing. An associate of mine will meet with you near your place of work on July 1^st, to explain exactly what we need from you. Please owl me promptly with your reply, and charm the letter so that it is unreadable to all but me. Do this to all of our future correspondence.

Cordially,

Albus Dumbledore

To: Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Great Britain

From: Charles Weasley, Dragon Department, Romanian Institute for the Study of Magical Creatures

Prof. D-

I'll see your friend on the first, then. Tell him (her?) to meet me in the dragon field that's the farthest away from the Institute building.

-C.W.

To: Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Great Britain

From: Charles Weasley, Dragon Department, Romanian Institute for the Study of Magical Creatures

Prof. D-

Your friend explained your idea to me, and it's workable. I can bring the dragon eggs up to Hogwarts sometime towards the end of August, and I can get permission from the Institute to come up to Britain for a year--I'll just tell them it's for research purposes or some other such rot. Only trouble is, once the eggs hatch, it can take up to twenty wizards to get a dragon under control. I don't have twenty people who I trust enough to let in on this thing.

-C.W.

To: Charles Weasley, Dragon Department, Romanian Institute for the Study of Magical Creatures

From: Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Great Britain

Dear Mr. Weasley,

August will be a perfect time for you to bring up the eggs. I have a suggestion on how it may be possible to control the dragons without the help of twenty wizards. But before I offer it, tell me: is there a way to control a dragon's snoring, once it has fallen asleep?

Cordially,

Albus Dumbledore

To: Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Great Britain

From: Charles Weasley, Dragon Department, Romanian Institute for the Study of Magical Creatures

Prof. D-

Sure, there's a way to control the snoring--how do you think we survive after the dragons go to sleep? We just put strong Anti-Inflammable Charms on the dragons' nostrils. They almost always hold for the whole night--and if not, there's always water.

-C.W.

To: Charles Weasley, Dragon Department, Romanian Institute for the Study of Magical Creatures

From: Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Great Britain

Dear Mr. Weasley,

Then I will offer my suggestion. A certain young witch of my acquaintance is rather talented in the area of Entrancing Charms--variants on "Consopio," and the like. She is skilled enough to charm a dragon into a trance, and should be of invaluable aid in subduing the dragons. She is extremely trustworthy and I am sure she will agree to help us.

Cordially,

Albus Dumbledore

To: Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

From: Charles Weasley, Dragon Department, Romanian Institute for the Study of Magical Creatures

Prof. D-

Sounds excellent. See you in August.

-C.W.

To: Fleur Delacour, Chateau Delacour, Loire Valley, France

From: Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Great Britain

Dear Miss Delacour,

I have a task for you, should you still be inclined to aid us. I cannot inform you of the precise nature of this task through the post, for obvious reasons, but I will tell you that you will have great need of the skills you used in the First Task of the Triwizard Tournament. Come to Hogsmeade in the last week of August. A flat will be prepared for you by that time. Please owl me promptly with your acceptance, as I hope it will be.

Cordially,

Albus Dumbledore

To: Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

From: Fleur Delacour, Chateau Delacour, Loire Valley, France

Dear Professor Dumbledore,

I will be there on August 26^th.

Sincerely,

Fleur Delacour

* * *

The Loire Valley, it has been said, is the loveliest part of France. The chateaux stand so gracefully along the limpid glimmering river that one would think they had grown there.

Fleur, however, was too preoccupied to devote even a stray glance through her window to all of this beauty. The morning issue of Le Journal des Sorciers commanded her full attention.

Sifting through all of the hedging, unreliable sources and propaganda, Fleur came to a few conclusions. There had been a few attacks on wizarding families with top-level Ministry officials in them. Although there have been no reports of attacks on families with Muggle members...odd. No one had died, but a high-ranking official in the Department of Mysteries had been kidnapped and put under the Cruciatus curse. After recovering in St. Mungo's, he informed Ministry investigators that the man who had tortured him was unshaven, ragged and had wanted to know any information about Lord Voldemort's whereabouts.

The British Minister of Magic was quoted as saying that the escaped convict Sirius Black was clearly responsible. "Efforts must be redoubled to catch Black," Fudge had declared. "We will never rest, never relax, never let our guard down until this pernicious villain has been brought to heel."

The prominent wizarding journals all hailed this pronouncement as "bold," "eloquent" and "inspiring."

Fleur found it silly. Apparently Dumbledore had been right when he hinted that there were those who would rather snuggle safely down into their own illusions rather than face the truth. Fleur was fairly confident in Dumbledore's view that le seigneur foncé had indeed returned: the story was logically consistent, Professor Moody had indeed Stunned her, Harry was trustworthy and so was Madame Maxime, who also seemed to believe in Voldemort's return.

As for this Black...well, Fleur knew her geography, and there was no way one fugitive on the run could have made it from one end of the British Isles to the other in a matter of minutes. Regardless of whatever all-powerful Dark Magic Fudge was ascribing to Black, in a desperate-seeming attempt to make him seem as powerful as Voldemort himself. It simply could not be done.

"Fleur! Tu ne devineras jamais ce que j'ai su!" Gabrielle fluted excitedly, interrupting Fleur's reverie. She smiled as her younger sister pranced into the room and began to prattle on about an upcoming performance of Les Prècieuses Ridicules in the nearby village. The summer had been a pleasant one. Fleur and Gabrielle and their mother had spent their days alternating between their Loire chateau and their Paris house, idling the days away. But in spite of all that, the world had somehow acquired an ominous air. People murmured worriedly to each other in the Parisian cafés, and the villagers solemnly scanned the newspapers each morning. Something dark and sinister seemed to be lurking beneath the thin veneer of summer sunlight.

All things considered, Fleur was looking forward to her upcoming move to Britain with a sense of relief. She couldn't shake the feeling that the world was disintegrating into chaos around her, and the work that Dumbledore had promised her would at least give her the illusion of doing something. It was late August. She would leave in a matter of days.

* * *

Charlie Weasley stood at the gates of Hogwarts, tapping his foot and glancing at his watch. The witch was spectacularly late. /p>

He looked over at Nan, leaning against the gate, her hair falling over her shoulders in its usual disorder. She seemed just as disgruntled as he was; neither would have chosen to stand around in the hot sun waiting for this witch of Dumbledore's.

There was a small popping noise, and Charlie saw...

Wow.

He wasn't sure whether she was real or just a mirage, an ephemeral shimmering fantasy brought on by heat-addled brains.

"Eugh! Apparition in England is so difficult," said the fantasy in stilted English, and it was then that Charlie noticed that her clothes hung limp on her body, her shining hair was tousled and her arms were weighed down with bags. "These English, they 'ave no idea 'ow to manage anything properly..."

The girl seemed to suddenly become aware of Charlie and Nan, because her rant came stammering to a halt.

"Can I help you with those bags?" Charlie asked stiffly.

"No," the girl said, trying to regain her composure. "I can manage them." She fixed Charlie with an ice-blue stare. "I am looking for Albus Dumbledore, so I will simply go inside and find his office." Each word she said was precisely enunciated. She turned to open the gate.

"Uh, actually," stuttered Charlie, suddenly feeling like an oaf, "I'm, er, supposed to be working with you this summer, and Dumbledore asked me to meet you here and, er..." Nan gave him an impatient look, and tersely said,

"We'll bring you to Dumbledore. Follow me." She stomped off to the castle doors. The girl hesitated and then followed, gliding with startling speed. Charlie rushed after them, feeling rather like a dog trailing after its owners.

Dumbledore was in his office, eating Chocolate Frogs and whistling off-key. The girl gave him a disapproving glare.

"'Ello, Professor Dumbledore," she said, in that same clipped aristocratic tone.

"Good morning, Miss Delacour," said the Headmaster. "I trust your summer has gone well." The girl did not answer the implied question, but merely continuing to favor the Headmaster with her piercing gaze. "This is Charles Weasley, and this is Anne McKinnon. Charlie and Nan, this is Fleur Delacour. You will be working together..."

"Working on what, exactly?" interrupted Fleur.

"Ah, yes. I suppose I should explain that to you," smiled Dumbledore. "You see, Miss Delacour, Mr. Weasley is an expert in the area of dragon care, and Miss McKinnon is a trained veterinary mediwitch. You will be raising dragons that are...well, tame, at least in a manner of speaking..." Charlie grinned: 'tame dragon' was almost as much of an oxymoron as 'humble Malfoy.'

"...so that we can use them as protection around the Hogwarts perimeter."

"But...what exactly will I do?" Charlie was starting to wonder if the girl's face ever had any expression other than 'impatient' or 'irritated.'

"Ordinarily it takes twenty wizards and witches to Stun a dragon. But you, Miss Delacour, seem to have found a way to circumvent that." Fleur looked puzzled. "Your Entrancing Charm, Miss Delacour. Consopio. You charmed the Welsh Green into a trance during the First Task of the Tournament. It was brilliantly done. A charm such as that takes a great deal of power--and it must be tightly controlled, subtle power, which is what makes mind charms and mood charms so difficult. I suppose that your veela heritage helps you in that area." Fleur nodded without surprise; Charlie, however, looked over at her keenly. Part-veela, hmm? I should have known--no pure human girl has hair and skin like that.

"Given your talents, you will be invaluable to us in this task. Now, I suppose you must be eager to start work right away!" Dumbledore said brightly.

Fleur looked ready to start shrieking and throwing things. And that, Charlie thought, would be an interesting sight indeed.

"Actually, Professor," she said in a tone of voice that was--surprise!--annoyed, "could you please direct me to my chambers? I am tired and dirty, and I would like to rest and get washed before starting work. I can start in the afternoon, I suppose."

"You'll only get even more tired and dirty after working," said Nan in her usual brisk way. "You might as well start right now and rest and get clean later."

"I would much prefer to do so now."

Well, excuse me, your highness, thought Charlie disgustedly. Leave it to Dumbledore to saddle him with a high-maintenance part-veela with an attitude.

"As you wish, Miss Delacour," twinkled Dumbledore and, turning to Charlie, archly said, "I'm sure Mr. Weasley will be delighted to escort you to your Hogsmeade flat."

Aargh.

At the flat, Fleur proceeded to look around, turn her aquiline nose up, sniff disdainfully, carefully unpack her things while Charlie fidgeted and twiddled his thumbs, disappear into the bedroom to do heaven-knows-what for twenty minutes, and finally pronounce herself ready to go just as Charlie was about to decide that not even protecting Hogwarts was worth putting up with this girl for.

"Come on." Charlie jerked his head toward the door and stomped out.

* * *

Fleur was uncertain of what she had been expecting from this work with Dumbledore. Thrilling secret missions? Risk of life and limb? A stunningly handsome, sensitive and intelligent partner whose life she would save in a wonderfully romantic fashion?

She obviously was not silly enough to expect any of the above, exactly. But...well...she had been hoping for...glamour? Mystery? Adventure?

Whatever it was, it was sadly lacking in her dusty tiring job with a taciturn unsociable mediwitch and an uncouth freckled redhead.

Dragons had initially sounded interesting...until Charlie took Fleur into a dungeon and showed her a pile of dragon eggs, at which point Fleur realized that the three of them would be slaving away over tiresome Incubation Spells before any of the exciting work began.

As for her Hogsmeade flat, the best that could be said about it was that it was... quaint. Like a doll house, Fleur thought scornfully.

She sighed and turned over in her bed, staring up at the ceiling. At least this work is something. Better than what she would have done at home, at any rate. Better than helplessly listening as the frightened whispers grew louder and louder.

Comforted by this thought, Fleur drifted off into sleep.