novelraw Chapter 129: Fleur Delacour's Chosen Dance Partner
Chapter 129: Fleur Delacour's Chosen Dance Partner
Fleur Delacour had never liked men who were too forward.
She suspected that their inexplicable infatuation with her was entirely due to her Veela bloodline.
So when she learned that the Triwizard champions were each expected to lead the opening dance, she immediately found herself in a vortex of endless thought.
She needed a dance partner.
He would have to be handsome enough to stand beside her without looking ridiculous; he also couldn't be so shallow as to become instantly besotted with her face and do something embarrassing in public. Most critically, someone meeting those first two requirements would also need to be witty, intelligent, and capable of normal conversation in social situations—not an empty-headed yes-man who stood there grinning foolishly at her hair.
She knew she was too particular about this—some of her requirements were even rather sensitive and willful.
But there was nothing to be done about it; she simply was that sensitive and willful. Perhaps her rosewood wand had chosen her precisely because it recognized this trait.
Even Ollivander, the wandmaker who inspected the champions' wands, had implied as much, hadn't he?
"Sister, lower your expectations! It's only a ball!" Her beloved younger sister Gabrielle said earnestly through the two-way mirror. "You know how difficult it is for people like us to find someone genuine."
People like us.
Yes—us.
For Fleur, the world was divided into "us"—those with Veela blood—and "them"—those without.
The Veela bloodline was both Merlin's blessing and a devil's curse.
Fleur Delacour was desired by half the world's population, while simultaneously suffering the worst of the other half's malice.
She was popular with the opposite sex wherever she went—that was beyond question—few men could resist the silver waves of her waist-length hair. At the same time, those of the same sex made no effort to disguise their hostility, as though she personally wanted to cause an embarrassing commotion wherever she went.
That commotion was not flattering to her, but rather an insult—it constantly reminded Fleur of one thing: no one in the world loves your soul. They only care about your face.
How tragic.
"How exactly did Mother find Father? He was clearly the exception," Fleur said wistfully to her little sister.
"Sister, 'exceptions' are so rare! Not everyone gets to encounter one." Gabrielle's small face held an air of wisdom beyond her years. "Don't expect an 'exception' to suddenly jump out from around a corner and fall into your arms."
"Oh, dear Gabrielle, why must you always pour cold water on me?" Fleur wrinkled her nose at the girl in the mirror.
"Because you desperately need a dance partner, and given your standards, you'll probably struggle to find one," Gabrielle said with a regretful shrug. "For now, you'll simply have to lower your expectations and get through the Yule Ball, won't you? The Beauxbatons champion can hardly attend the opening dance alone."
"Why not?" Fleur said proudly. "I refuse to compromise!"
"I respect your refusal to compromise. However, consider Madame Maxime, who places enormous hope in you and values Beauxbatons' honor above all else," Gabrielle said succinctly. "You wouldn't want to embarrass her with an invisible dance partner, or bring shame to your entire school because of your stubbornness, would you?"
"Gabrielle, you're terribly worldly—"
"Never mind whether I'm worldly! Am I right or not?" Gabrielle said bluntly. "Be sensible, sister. It's one dance partner for one evening, not a life partner..."
"Very well. But he must at least be presentable. That way, even if he says something foolish, his face will make me less annoyed about it." She shrugged at Gabrielle, earning a thoroughly disapproving look from her sister.
Fleur was not joking.
She considered herself an entirely reasonable person. If someone was only interested in her beauty, then they should at least be equally beautiful themselves.
She had arrived at Hogwarts with a certain degree of anticipation. She had imagined that perhaps among those reserved and old-fashioned British wizards, there might be a few who wouldn't fixate so relentlessly on her appearance.
She was disappointed. All the boys at Hogwarts were tedious. They stared at her with glazed expressions, like Flobberworms desperately displaying their complete absence of personality and wit.
Merlin above! She had no interest in watching a boy hurl himself into the Black Lake to demonstrate his bravery against the cold on her behalf. Or watching one mumble an invitation at her, only to bolt before she could even respond.
They seemed to treat her as a test of courage—where anyone who dared to invite her was considered to have already won something.
Extraordinarily boring.
One day, a red-haired Hogwarts boy—a friend of Harry Potter, the fourth champion—shouted an invitation at her across the entrance hall and then fled without giving her any chance to respond.
For the thousand-and-first time, she let out a disdainful snort and surveyed the whispering crowd—when she suddenly noticed Sirius Black.
She found him indifferent to her. Her appearance was, to him, evidently nothing particularly novel.
She walked slowly down a corridor, and nearly every man she passed turned to look. Only one dark-haired man glanced at her with faint impatience before turning back to a conversation with a pair of red-haired twins. His languid voice—which ought to have been pleasant—carried clearly to her ears: "I'd suggest you modify the charm on this portable swamp..."
A portable swamp. She, Fleur Delacour, interested him less than a puddle of magical mud.
A surge of indignation rose within her. Although she had always hoped someone would be indifferent to her beauty, the actual experience was nothing like she'd imagined.
The first thing she felt was the stinging disappointment of being overlooked—as though she'd been casually dismissed.
Sirius Black. She'd heard of him. Once a notorious Azkaban prisoner; then a vindicated heir of the Black family who had endured tremendous hardship; and now a sought-after substitute Defense Against the Dark Arts professor at Hogwarts.
Their first encounter had been a strange one.
That evening, having recently arrived at Hogwarts, she had used a Disillusionment Charm to explore the area near the Forbidden Forest. She had heard that unicorns roamed the grounds and wanted to try her luck without appearing an impolite guest trespassing in someone else's domain.
As she approached a strange, enormous willow tree, she spotted a large black dog in the distance. Just as she was considering going closer to investigate, the black dog suddenly transformed into a man.
He was handsome and elegant, laughing heartily in the moonlight. His voice held a touch of weariness, yet his manner was as carefree as a boy of seventeen or eighteen.
At the time, she hadn't known who he was. She only knew that he was a skilled Animagus—and an unregistered one at that—which made him potentially quite dangerous.
She stood motionless, not daring to make a sound. The mysterious man, Harry Potter, and a platinum-blond boy were speaking together in the distance.
After a few words, the man transformed back into a black dog and moved off with the two invisible boys.
A slow smile appeared on Fleur's face. This was extremely interesting.
It seemed Hogwarts was not quite as upright as it appeared on the surface.
She had long harboured certain suspicions about Harry Potter. Before coming to Hogwarts, she had thought rather well of the boy who had reportedly defeated the Dark Lord; however, when he appeared as an unqualified fourth champion from the Goblet of Fire, she had become uncertain whether she could still maintain any sympathy for him.
Follow these three, and one might uncover some intriguing secrets. For instance: expose the questionable dealings of this particular hero. Or discover what connection this illegal Animagus had with Harry Potter. Or simply find out what these supposedly respectable Hogwarts students were doing in the middle of the night.
Fleur made up her mind and followed them from a distance.
As she followed, she grew increasingly sceptical of her own suspicions. The large black dog didn't seem particularly cunning—it appeared almost puppyish. It spun in circles, apparently chasing its own tail, which made Harry, who had so recently narrowly escaped danger, chuckle somewhere above her in the dark.
This was entirely at odds with the handsome man's refined demeanor. She couldn't help but chuckle herself.
Could a dog this ridiculous really be plotting something dangerous? It didn't seem threatening at all. Just as she was wondering if she was being overly paranoid, she saw them—the dragons.
Fleur covered her mouth. She understood immediately what the first task of the Triwizard Tournament involved, and what kind of danger she was about to face.
The black dog was not ridiculous at all, and the handsome man was anything but naive. Whoever he was, he was not to be underestimated. He had led the seemingly guileless Harry Potter to discover the contents of the first task well ahead of schedule.
Startled, Fleur abandoned her surveillance. Before the Disillusionment Charm wore off, she slipped quickly back the way she had come and returned to the Beauxbatons carriage.
Thanks to that black dog, she had not been entirely unprepared for the first task.
Should she expose Harry Potter? The answer required almost no thought at all.
Fleur's first instinct was to stay quiet—she didn't even tell Madame Maxime.
Honestly, there was no logical or emotional benefit to exposing Harry Potter—not when she had also seen those wretched dragons.
She had no desire to cause trouble for herself or anyone else. Explaining to Madame Maxime why she had slipped out of Beauxbatons' encampment in the middle of the night, or explaining to the judges why she had been wandering the Hogwarts grounds under a Disillusionment Charm, would be a deeply uncomfortable conversation.
Therefore, Fleur focused rather more on practicing the Stunning Spell and considerably less on scheming against an underaged boy who was already in quite enough trouble.
The second time she saw Sirius Black was in an empty classroom.
She had been in poor spirits—the Welsh Green dragon had been far more difficult than she had anticipated, and she had lost points and was feeling thoroughly despondent. She had somehow taken a wrong turn in the Hogwarts corridors, lost sight of her companions, and was now faced with a group of students walking directly toward her. She had absolutely no patience for any more flustered or stuttering boys.
To avoid them, she slipped hurriedly into an empty Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom on the third floor.
As she customarily did, she cast a Disillusionment Charm on herself, settled into a sunlit seat, and stared blankly at the enormous skeleton hanging in the center of the classroom, waiting for the students to pass, while pondering the mystery of the golden egg that emitted such an eerie shriek.
At that moment, the mysterious dark-haired man reappeared.
In reality, he was presenting himself as Professor Moody—the reportedly paranoid ex-Auror, about whom Madame Maxime had shared a series of sensational and rather alarming stories—but as he limped into the classroom, his wooden leg suddenly gave way, and the enchanted blue eye swiveled free.
He turned his back to her, peered warily through the crack in the door, and closed it softly.
When he turned around, Fleur found that he had become that tall, lean, handsome man.
She watched in wide-eyed silence as he shook an empty flask from his coat pocket, sighed, and said wearily to the apparently empty classroom, "Merlin's beard—I've forgotten it!"
Despite the complaint, the man did not appear particularly flustered. He stood there a moment, thinking, then a lazy smile returned to his face, as though the oversight were as trivial as dropping a Knut.
Fleur did not dare grow careless. She could not forget that he was an illegal Animagus—and now he was apparently impersonating a Hogwarts professor.
If he found her, things could go very badly.
She held her breath, rendered herself as invisible as possible, until the sound of students outside the classroom faded entirely, and the man strolled nonchalantly out the door.
The third time they met, this ever-changing man finally revealed his true identity and was appointed as Hogwarts' substitute Defense Against the Dark Arts professor.
It was then she realised that the man shrouded in mystery was Sirius Black.
It was no wonder she hadn't recognised him sooner. He was utterly unlike the haggard, haunted image that had stared out from the newspapers. In person, he was youthful and upright, radiating a striking, vigorous energy.
Moreover, every time she had seen him, he had been an entirely different person—dangerous, yet also genuinely interesting.
Fleur's curiosity was thoroughly piqued. She began to walk deliberately past his classroom with her chin up, like an elegant swan, never allowing herself to glance in—yet always listening keenly as he explained with infectious enthusiasm how to defend against various Dark creatures.
He had transformed once again. He was no longer the mysterious man with the boyish energy who had turned into a black dog, nor the easygoing impostor disguised as Professor Moody, but a brilliant, passionate, and powerfully charismatic professor.
Fleur felt an increasing curiosity about him. How many other facets were hidden beneath that handsome exterior?
So when crowds of foolish boys were inviting her out daily only to immediately become besotted with her, Fleur Delacour, champion of Beauxbatons, had a rather bold idea—why not him?
He didn't seem particularly taken with her looks, and he was both handsome and interesting.
Perhaps she could actually have a proper conversation with him—about tracking Kelpies, perhaps, or dealing with Merpeople.
She would be the one to invite him.
He'd probably be flattered, wouldn't he? Fleur thought, with characteristic confidence.
He would certainly agree. Without question.
"No." The man finally looked at her properly.
But his eyes were both proud and weary, and the words that came from his lips were far too unexpected.
Fleur was momentarily struck dumb.
"May I ask why?" She suppressed her astonishment and maintained a polite smile and a pleasant tone.
"I haven't time for these sorts of things. I have considerably more important matters to attend to." He lazily gathered his lesson plans, glancing at her with a hint of impatience. "I'm certain someone has already asked you. Don't waste your time on me."
Fleur was deeply offended. A wave of stubbornness rose within her.
"But I only want you," she said, in a voice both beautiful and composed. "Do you have a partner?"
"No."
"Then you will be my dance partner," she said with perfect confidence.
"I'm not interested."
"Or—" she paused, studying her nails, "I could report your discovery of the dragons to Ludo Bagman and Bartemius Crouch." She looked at him with perfect ease, a rather unpleasant smile playing across her lips.
The dark-haired man's expression finally shifted.
"What did you say?" Sirius Black asked.
"I think you heard me quite clearly." She gave him a knowing look, her expression entirely self-satisfied.
Sirius frowned. He could not quite believe he was being blackmailed by a French girl.
"Fine—" He exhaled heavily, giving her a sharp look. "But only if you tell me how you found out."
"Of course. But you'll have to wait until after the opening dance of the Yule Ball." The French girl shrugged, tossed her long silver hair over one shoulder, and looked at him with wide, innocent blue eyes.
"Agreed." Sirius looked at her with a bewildered expression, genuinely uncertain what had drawn the attention of a Beauxbatons champion.
In his view, their interactions had been pitifully minimal—practically nonexistent.
Fleur Delacour—he certainly remembered her—she was one of Harry's rivals.
She was quite impressive: highly capable and genuinely brave. She had put the Welsh Green dragon to sleep with a powerful Sleeping Charm—a feat that would ordinarily require seven or eight adult wizards, or a professional dragon tamer.
Most wizards assumed Krum or Cedric were the strongest champions of the generation. Sirius disagreed.
Her magical ability was exceptional and deserved far more recognition than it received. Unfortunately, most wizards saw only her appearance and failed to acknowledge her power.
She was, moreover, the only female champion. No one should underestimate her.
Why had she suddenly come to tell him this? Was she about to betray them? Was there a larger scheme at play? Was she blackmailing him to learn about Harry's preparation for the second task? Sirius watched her expression carefully, his own face giving nothing away, his mind working rapidly.
Sirius studied Fleur closely. The champion maintained a polite smile; her eyes showed undisguised interest in him, yet she was by no means a brainless beauty—she was fundamentally different from the starry-eyed girls who followed him through corridors. Her eyes held not infatuation but composure and clear intelligence.
Looking at her this way, it seemed he might actually be able to converse with her as an equal.
That was right—they were, in their own ways, well-matched. Better to keep her where he could see her than to allow her to get close to the young and impressionable Harry or Ron through other means.
Sirius had watched Harry and Ron become barely functional in Fleur Delacour's presence. If she chose to turn that effect on a fourteen-year-old Harry deliberately, the consequences could be rather more serious.
"Very well. I'll be your dance partner—it would be my pleasure." He flashed a sudden, easy smile and said it with perfect courtesy.
Fleur Delacour assumed the expression of someone entirely unsurprised. She gave him a smug smile, turned, and walked away with light steps.
On the night of the Yule Ball, they were undeniably the center of attention. Fleur had to admit she had not chosen the wrong partner. His dancing was elegant and graceful—a genuine match for hers, she thought, with some satisfaction.
"Now, then. How did you know?" After three dances, Sirius Black finally ran out of patience. He led Fleur away from the Great Hall and into the quiet of the entrance hall.
"Rushing things is never becoming. It's hardly gentlemanly to drag a lady away from a dance floor when she's enjoying herself," Fleur said, her expression displeased.
"I kept my end of the bargain." Sirius looked at his dance partner—she resembled some kind of moonlit apparition in the soft light—with a probing gaze. "If your answer is satisfactory, I might not rule out continuing to dance with you."
"How arrogant! Do you imagine I can't dance without you? Do you know how many people wished to invite me tonight?" Her words, spoken with that distinctly French accent, had a quality all their own.
"I've actually heard quite a bit about it," Sirius said. Over the past several days, he had paid attention to Fleur's considerable impact on the Hogwarts male population and found that nearly half the boys in the school had attempted to invite her—the other half likely just hadn't dared.
"Shall we walk over there?" Fleur glanced down both sides of the corridor and nodded toward the enchanted ice grotto Dumbledore had conjured in front of the castle—where fairy lights shimmered among the icicles and snow-covered hedges.
"Certainly." Sirius nodded and followed Fleur through the corridor, strolling through the moonlight. He remained quiet, his mind turning things over, waiting for her to give him his answer.
"It's actually quite simple. I guessed," the French girl said, turning to look at him with a knowing expression.
"Nonsense. I haven't forgotten the look on your face when I arrived. I have never seen anyone appear quite that certain while making a wild guess," he said dryly.
They entered the grotto, their gazes sweeping over low snow-dusted hedges, elegantly decorated paths, and an enormous enchanted ice sculpture. Fairies winked among the rose bushes—genuinely tiny, glowing, impossible creatures—perching on petals and playing with their lanterns.
"You know, I'm rather skilled at the Disillusionment Charm. Useful for avoiding tiresome boys." Fleur smiled, watching a tiny fairy sitting on a rose, swinging her lantern. "One evening, near the Forbidden Forest, I happened to see a large black dog—and Harry Potter..."
Sirius understood immediately. He narrowed his eyes. "You followed us."
"I wouldn't call it following. I was simply very curious." Her voice was light under the sound of the conjured fountain. "I didn't hear what you said—I was too far away."
"But you followed us far enough to see what happened next." He kept his expression even, pressing the essential point.
"Merci." She openly admitted to having seen the dragons, her face—far lovelier than any fairy's—entirely unrepentant. "So I knew in advance. Thank you very much—it was genuinely useful."
Sirius looked at her shameless expression and surprised himself by laughing. "De rien."
He exhaled. The moment she admitted it, they were equally implicated. He had worried she might report Harry—but she hadn't, and had no grounds to do so now, and that was enough.
"You speak French?" A surprised smile appeared on her face.
"Only a little," Sirius said lazily.
With the tension resolved, he settled back into his usual ease.
She was very sharp. He was now fairly convinced that she had genuinely wanted him as her dance partner, rather than operating on some other agenda entirely. Looking at her smile, Sirius Black decided to extend a little more goodwill toward this French girl who had blackmailed him quite cheerfully.
"Let's go back. No sense wasting the rest of the evening." After watching the fairies for a few moments, he found he was in the mood for a few more dances after all.
"Why not?" She smiled gracefully and turned back toward the entrance hall. Sirius chuckled and followed her.
At the edge of the grotto, in a fleeting moment, he thought he caught a glimpse of a dark figure slipping through the rose bushes.
Snape.
Sirius didn't believe for a moment that Snape was out here on a date. That miserable, unrequited romantic—he was probably lurking in other people's moments again, preparing to find some excuse to deduct house points out of sheer resentment at other people's happiness. The love-starved old bat simply couldn't bear to see anyone having a decent time... He grinned and followed Fleur back into the entrance hall.
A few couples had already drifted out of the Great Hall into the relative quiet, standing close together and murmuring. Sirius spotted his godson's friend Draco Malfoy leading Hermione Granger—a notably capable Gryffindor—along one end of the corridor toward the Great Hall entrance.
He couldn't resist calling out to Draco with a low whistle, intending to tease them. But the two of them didn't so much as glance in his direction. They quickened their pace and disappeared through the entrance as fast as they could manage.
Interesting. Very interesting.
Sirius had initially assumed they were simply dance partners, much as he and Fleur were. Now it seemed rather likely that the situation was more involved than he'd imagined.
A Slytherin and a Gryffindor... Sirius smiled thoughtfully.
He was already somewhat looking forward to the day when his dear cousin Narcissa would receive this particular piece of news.