we were promised glory
title: we were promised glory
characters: fleur delacoeur, viktor krum
rating/word count: PG/485
"That Diggory garcon is cute, mais non?"
"Vraiment? I 'adn't even noticed."
There are, after all, other boys in the room.
This is all before of course. There really is no after.
She cries after the first task, feet firmly on the ground and hair singed at the tips. Her maman told her stories when she was younger, dragons got defeated and princes were won. She beat that Common Welsh beast, this is true, but her hands can't stop shaking and she smells like burnt hair. Viktor clasps them together with own until they steady again, pats her shoulder gently and goes out to fight his own battle. She guesses she's only halfway through this story.
There's a moment of white hot jealousy. Hermione Granger. What a strange choice she thinks before blowing a kiss at a staring boy.
The Yule Ball - even when she was there it seemed more memory than real life, half-dreamed and she could be floating as she's spun around by boy after boy. She's not quite sure who took her, not now with Bill in her bed and Victoire trapped between them both. Silly Hermione had cried over Ron, she remembers that. Viktor, she remembers too, the heavy weight of his arm across her stomach later that night and the sound he made when he slept.
"You are more than Veela, Fleur."
Viktor's accent does terrible things to French, she thinks briefly. Her name sounds more like Flooer, two syllables where there should only be one.
It's painfully quiet and she swallows hard.
"But of course I knew that."
She wonders what he thinks of her accent, the briefest of vain moments in a history of them.
He kissed her forehead and left.
The broom cupboards of Hogwarts don't seem big enough to contain her thumping heart, Viktor pressed flush against every inch of her body and her foot stuck in a wooden bucket.
"Would you rather 'ave saved moi?" she says with a laugh and Viktor grunts in response.
Gabi cries more over Cedric than she does.
Write me , she hears him tell Hermione.
She bites back a smile, kisses Ron Weasley on the cheek.
Their story was never meant to last anyways.
She runs into him later, out of dreary England and back in beautiful France. A chance encounter at a party leads to delightful conversation and a friendly embrace, but nothing more. She kisses both his cheeks and gets scratched by his five o'clock shadow.
"Zat is dreadful. You must shave it immediatement," she teases affectionately.
"Si tu veux," he manages in that terrible accent.
She throws her head back and laughs, leaves alone an hour later.
At her wedding, he kisses her hand and wishes her well. Bill's hand settles warmly on the small of her back and she pecks Viktor on the cheek and lingers near the corner. It is more than enough.
characters: fleur delacoeur, viktor krum
rating/word count: PG/485
"That Diggory garcon is cute, mais non?"
"Vraiment? I 'adn't even noticed."
There are, after all, other boys in the room.
This is all before of course. There really is no after.
She cries after the first task, feet firmly on the ground and hair singed at the tips. Her maman told her stories when she was younger, dragons got defeated and princes were won. She beat that Common Welsh beast, this is true, but her hands can't stop shaking and she smells like burnt hair. Viktor clasps them together with own until they steady again, pats her shoulder gently and goes out to fight his own battle. She guesses she's only halfway through this story.
There's a moment of white hot jealousy. Hermione Granger. What a strange choice she thinks before blowing a kiss at a staring boy.
The Yule Ball - even when she was there it seemed more memory than real life, half-dreamed and she could be floating as she's spun around by boy after boy. She's not quite sure who took her, not now with Bill in her bed and Victoire trapped between them both. Silly Hermione had cried over Ron, she remembers that. Viktor, she remembers too, the heavy weight of his arm across her stomach later that night and the sound he made when he slept.
"You are more than Veela, Fleur."
Viktor's accent does terrible things to French, she thinks briefly. Her name sounds more like Flooer, two syllables where there should only be one.
It's painfully quiet and she swallows hard.
"But of course I knew that."
She wonders what he thinks of her accent, the briefest of vain moments in a history of them.
He kissed her forehead and left.
The broom cupboards of Hogwarts don't seem big enough to contain her thumping heart, Viktor pressed flush against every inch of her body and her foot stuck in a wooden bucket.
"Would you rather 'ave saved moi?" she says with a laugh and Viktor grunts in response.
Gabi cries more over Cedric than she does.
Write me , she hears him tell Hermione.
She bites back a smile, kisses Ron Weasley on the cheek.
Their story was never meant to last anyways.
She runs into him later, out of dreary England and back in beautiful France. A chance encounter at a party leads to delightful conversation and a friendly embrace, but nothing more. She kisses both his cheeks and gets scratched by his five o'clock shadow.
"Zat is dreadful. You must shave it immediatement," she teases affectionately.
"Si tu veux," he manages in that terrible accent.
She throws her head back and laughs, leaves alone an hour later.
At her wedding, he kisses her hand and wishes her well. Bill's hand settles warmly on the small of her back and she pecks Viktor on the cheek and lingers near the corner. It is more than enough.