Leigh!fic | Métis (1/1) | Fleur Delacour
Title: Métis (1/1)
Author: Leigh, aka leigh_adams
Characters: Fleur Delacour
Rating: PG
Word Count: 359
Summary: She hates them.
Author’s Notes: This was written for the At the Close: A Harry Potter Wars Comment Ficathon at anythingbutgrey's LiveJournal earlier this summer. The prompt was "Half breed, that's all I ever heard/ Half breed, how I learned to hate the word." I've always had a soft spot for Fleur, and this was a fun little exercise getting into her head. As always, hover your cursor over the French to see the English translation.
Fleur hates them, she thinks.
At least, some of the time she does. She hates the slow-paced country life of Ottery St. Catchpole, hates the clucking of the chickens before the sun rises. Mère de dieu, she still does not understand why anyone would willingly keep the pesky beasts. In a household full of garden gnomes, chicken, and one particularly annoying ghoul, Fleur has to remind herself that she's doing this for Bill's sake. Ginny and the annoying girl, with the boring brown hair-- Hermione, she thinks. She can't remember-- don't make things easy.
She can hear their juvenile attempts at whispers behind her back. She knows what Ginny calls her-- Phelgm. Never mind the little girl is too stubborn and sans façons to possibly understand Fleur. Not that she wants to, of course. Fleur tried, when Bill first brought her here. She did try to open up to his little sister.
It reminds her of when she was young, very young. Perhaps five or six, before she started at the école élémentaire, many years before she left Toulouse for the sloping hills of Provence and the marble halls of Beauxbatons.
"Fille d'oiseau, fille d'oiseau!" The little boys would call her, pulling the ribbons out of her plaits and kicking dirt at her. "Métis! Bizarrerie de la nature!" She remembers crying into her mother's skirts, hurt by their unkind words and even crueler faces.
It taught her how to be aloof, cold and haughty with those unfamiliar to her, and she remembers those lessons well now. Ginny does not know the skeletons in her closet, the memories of being called 'lesser' for her veela heritage. But she remembers. She remembers learning to hate at such a young age, and she knows how well it can foster in a willing vessel.
So maybe it is not for Bill that she tries to be kind to his sister. Even though she is not wanted, love is stronger than hate, and she loves Ginny's eldest brother. It is enough for her, at least for now.
And maybe, someday, she will tell Ginny about the boys in the park.
Author: Leigh, aka leigh_adams
Characters: Fleur Delacour
Rating: PG
Word Count: 359
Summary: She hates them.
Author’s Notes: This was written for the At the Close: A Harry Potter Wars Comment Ficathon at anythingbutgrey's LiveJournal earlier this summer. The prompt was "Half breed, that's all I ever heard/ Half breed, how I learned to hate the word." I've always had a soft spot for Fleur, and this was a fun little exercise getting into her head. As always, hover your cursor over the French to see the English translation.
Fleur hates them, she thinks.
At least, some of the time she does. She hates the slow-paced country life of Ottery St. Catchpole, hates the clucking of the chickens before the sun rises. Mère de dieu, she still does not understand why anyone would willingly keep the pesky beasts. In a household full of garden gnomes, chicken, and one particularly annoying ghoul, Fleur has to remind herself that she's doing this for Bill's sake. Ginny and the annoying girl, with the boring brown hair-- Hermione, she thinks. She can't remember-- don't make things easy.
She can hear their juvenile attempts at whispers behind her back. She knows what Ginny calls her-- Phelgm. Never mind the little girl is too stubborn and sans façons to possibly understand Fleur. Not that she wants to, of course. Fleur tried, when Bill first brought her here. She did try to open up to his little sister.
It reminds her of when she was young, very young. Perhaps five or six, before she started at the école élémentaire, many years before she left Toulouse for the sloping hills of Provence and the marble halls of Beauxbatons.
"Fille d'oiseau, fille d'oiseau!" The little boys would call her, pulling the ribbons out of her plaits and kicking dirt at her. "Métis! Bizarrerie de la nature!" She remembers crying into her mother's skirts, hurt by their unkind words and even crueler faces.
It taught her how to be aloof, cold and haughty with those unfamiliar to her, and she remembers those lessons well now. Ginny does not know the skeletons in her closet, the memories of being called 'lesser' for her veela heritage. But she remembers. She remembers learning to hate at such a young age, and she knows how well it can foster in a willing vessel.
So maybe it is not for Bill that she tries to be kind to his sister. Even though she is not wanted, love is stronger than hate, and she loves Ginny's eldest brother. It is enough for her, at least for now.
And maybe, someday, she will tell Ginny about the boys in the park.