fleurdeliscour-blog

[fleurdeliscour-blog]

rogerdavics‌:

Roger was inside a clothing shop in Hogsmeade, trying to cultivate his knowledge of Wizarding World fashion. He was never an expert at style, but he figured this was a skill that wouldn’t hurt to develop, particularly now that he was showing up for prospective jobs. “Oh, sorry,” he said to a woman with which he’d collided. It took him an instant to realise it was none other than Fleur Delacour. She’d clearly been from a dress fitting.

“Uh… hi.” She was always gorgeous, but at the moment she seemed to glow even brighter than normal. She looked visibly happy, presumably because she was engaged to someone wonderful. Roger was always realistic about the fact that Fleur wouldn’t end up with a boy younger and dumbstruck by her, so he wasn’t foolish enough to scramble to impress her. But he couldn’t help improving his posture, looking as dignified as he could in the sharp, emerald green suit he was trying on.

He wanted her to at least see that he’d matured. Her effect on him hadn’t really shifted, however. His brain yet again offered something extraordinarily stupid to say to her: “Oh, Delacour! How have you been? I’ve been, you know… in the last two years, I’ve turned two years older.” Oh, for Godric’s sake. |  closed starter for @fleurdeliscour.

Fleur’s mind was a whirlwind, which perhaps accounted for her being distracted enough to run into someone as she was leaving from one appointment to another. There was still so much, in her mind, to do for the wedding, and not nearly enough time.

“Roger,” She gave a smile in greeting, eyebrows raised in amusement as she remembered their ill-fated date to the Yule Ball. At the time she’d been highly irritated; Roger’d been known for his intelligence as much as his looks and charm which is why she’d agreed to go with him in the first place; their night together had fallen sort of her expectations, to say the least (was one night of semi-intelligent conversation so much to ask for?). Still, as time separated her from the dance, she was able to look back on it with a sort of fond amusement; Roger did not mean any harm, anyway, that much was obvious. And maybe over the years he’d grown out of---

Well, maybe not. Fleur turned her laugh at his proclamation into a polite cough, turning her head to the side for a moment. “Two years older----yes, that is rather how time works, non?” She changed the subject, not wanting to give him too hard a time, “Are you shopping for yourself? Green suits you.” She gestured to his suit.

[fleurdeliscour-blog]

ofremuslupins‌:

It was, by all accounts, not at all sensible to be walking around at Diagon Alley right now. While officially the Death Eaters were still in hiding, they hadn’t exactly been subtle about their existence the past year or so. The attacks on muggles and shops on Diagon Alley alike were telling. Today it seemed like Remus was in luck. There was, surprisingly, no queue at Flourish and Blotts, one of the few shops at the wizarding shopping street that he frequented. As he was on his way out, however, he spotted a familiar face and paused to smile and greet them. “It is surprisingly calm in the store for this time of year, isn’t it?” he queried. “Are you browsing, or are you looking for any book in particular, like me?”

Fleur had been so absorbed in examining the shelf in front of her, she had not noticed that someone had stopped to speak to her until their voice reach her ears. Upon looking up, she smiled, “Remus, it is good to see you.” She gestured to vaguely to the books in front of her, “Herbology, I suppose---my spices are not growing quite as well as they did in my garden back in France---Britain is so cold, so I am trying to see if there are any----spells or potions to help specifically in counteracting the weather here.” She peered over at him, curiously, “And what book are you looking for, hm?”

[fleurdeliscour-blog]

florcarrow‌:

“ don’t leave. “ her stubbornness made her wait until the very last moment, just as the other had their hand on the door to exit madam marlkin’s. her consciousness, however, got the best of her, and so the words were rushed out in a sharp tone. “ there’s trouble next door, “ she revealed, her eyes moving at last from the rack of cloaks to the other. flora had seen a potential conflict, or attack just as she was walking in, and in current times, especially in public laces like diagon alley, one could never be too careful.

“Trouble?” Fleur’s eyes narrowed, fingers twitching toward her wand in her robes without even thinking about it. “If there’s trouble, someone should help, should they not?” If someone were in danger, she could not just stand by and hide out in a robe shop.

[fleurdeliscour-blog]

Merlin’s beard, what is ( FLEUR DELACOUR ) doing out at this hour? For a ( HALFBLOOD [¼ VEELA] ) who is ( 21 ) years old, ( SHE ) really ought to know better. You know, I hear that they’re aligned with ( THE ORDER ), but that could be just a rumor. I do know that ( SHE ) is a( CIS-WOMAN ) and a ( BEAUXBATONS ) alumni though. They’re very ( + COMPASSIONATE ) and ( + FIERCE ) but also quite ( - HAUGHTY ) and( - GUARDED ), which could be why they remind of ( AN ANGER SIMMERING UNDER YOUR SKIN, BURNING THROUGH YOU LIKE A FOREST FIRE EVERY TIME YOU ARE UNDERESTIMATED / MARBLE SCULPTURES STOWED SAFELY BEHIND VELVET ROPES AT THE MUSEUM; EXQUISITE, IMPENETRABLE, ALWAYS SLIGHTLY OUT OF REACH / THE ELECTRICITY CRACKLING THROUGH THE AIR BEFORE A LIGHTNING STORM ). Some people say they’re the spitting image of ( MELISA PAMUK ), but I’ve never heard of them.

BACKGROUND

(tw: parental death, death during childbirth)

Fleur Célia Delacour was brought into the world in the early evening of August 11th, 1975, and her mother departed this life shortly thereafter. The memory of Apolline Delacour was kept alive, however, in the stories and memories her father would share, particularly in her early years. From this she knows her mother was strong, and kind, and beauty---funny, too, from her father’s anecdotes. But memories cannot hold you, and though her father loved her very much, and tried his best, Fleur longed for her mother----longed to feel her kiss on her forehead, to have her braid her hair in the morning, to read to her on nights when papa had to work late. It did not help that no matter how Adrien Delacour tried, there was a part of Fleur that he could never truly understand, could never talk to her about in the way that her mother could----her father never shied away from her Veela heritage, never ever made her out to be any less for it (and she was not, she knew), but without her mother there to teach her, to speak from her own experience, Fleur felt adrift, like half of her was missing.

When she was nine years old, Fleur got her wish---in a way. That was the year that her aunt, her mothers sister, Esme, came to stay with them, with her daughter and Fleur’s cousin, baby Gabrielle. And all at once, things shifted. Her childhood, raised only by her father, was not an unhappy one by any means----but Fleur, even with the ache of missing her mother, did not realize how much she would gain being introduced to her mother’s side of the family. Auntie Esme had even more stories of her mother, ones from their shared childhood, stories of their family, and finally---Fleur felt a little more whole. It was an odd situation, she supposed, from the outside looking in----but they became a family, and a tight-knit one at that. Gabrielle was more a sister than a cousin, and so that is how Fleur introduced her; Esme more of a mother than an aunt, and so that’s what she called her. She would never forget her own mother, would never love Apolline or miss her any less----but wasn’t being blessed with two mothers better than one?

BEAUXBATONS

Fleur’s childhood was idyllic, but it was not until she ventured to school that she realized how truly sheltered it had been. She had spent her formative years surrounded by friends and family, people who loved her, who looked at her and saw Fleur, not a pretty face or a half-Veela child. Fleur found her Veela heritage only complicated things when others allowed it to; she loved her mother’s side of the family, once she was able to get to know them; loved the history and the songs and the community that her family built, one that she was now a part of.

And Veela were not really looked down on in French magical society (Britian, she would find a few years later, was much more backwards, in her opinion); but the sterotypes were always there, ready to slap her in the face the moment it was convenient for others. Her friends at Beauxbatons were true, but there would always be whispers alongside every accomplishment she made----why had she gotten top marks in their Charms class? Why had she been elected one of the year leaders? Was she truly a brilliant duelist, or were her opponents thrown off by her charm? They were cruel when she first heard them at eleven, and remained so as she grew older; but as she aged she no longer gave anyone the satisfaction of a reaction, simply holding her head that much higher with every pointed look.

(And this, in part, is why she was so relieved when the Goblet of Fire was revealed to be the thing that would choose the Champions for the Triwizard Tournament. When her name came out of the goblet, she was all grace, as she’d been taught, but a small, vindictive part of her wanted to shout: ‘You see? The Goblet has no eyes to be blinded by; I earned this. I am good enough. I have always been good enough.’)

And so she is guarded, Fleur knows this. It is easier that way; easier to have people put off by her sometimes-haughty nature than to open up to them and have them reject her anyway, due to ignorance or jealousy or whatever their reasons may be. Easier to close people off to her warm, compassionate, generous nature than to have them reject it, to throw it back in her face---or worse, take advantage. For all it may seem otherwise, friends are not in heavy supply for Fleur----but the ones she does have, mean the world to her.

PRESENT

After graduating Beauxbatons, Fleur took a job with Gringotts as a cursebreaker----and was sent to the London branch for her training. She did not mind; she was not unfamiliar with the country, thanks to the Triwizard Tournament, and not entirely without friends there. More importantly, she had taken Professor Dumbledore’s words after the tournament---after the death of Cedric Diggory---to heart; if a madman was coming for them all, shouldn’t she do whatever she could to help them fight? Others may underestimate her, but she knew her own strength---and she would do whatever she could to keep their world safe for her loved ones.

[fleurdeliscour-blog]