Fleur stumbled as she landed on the oak boards, falling hard into the wall of her childhood home. Moody grabbed her shoulder and pulled her roughly to her feet. “Pay attention!” he hissed.
Fleur yanked her shoulder out of Moody’s grasp. “Let go of me,” she shot back.
“Well, if you’ll be so kind to notice what your family is doing,” Moody said patronizingly. “Just tiptoe over here with your satin slippers and watch.”
Fleur glared at him for a moment. Then she turned and gazed around the sitting room at her family. She saw herself at once. Little Fleur was still quite small and round-faced. Her hair, still the pure gold of corn silk, hung down to her hips with nary a wave or twist. She was kneeling before a rack that Fleur remembered was just outside her bedroom door. She picked out one of her shoes and walked across the room to the large fireplace. She placed it on the brick edge of the hearth. As little Fleur walked back toward her room, the adult Fleur knelt in her path, wide-eyed. Little Fleur strode straight through Fleur, completely oblivious to her older self’s presence.
Fleur stood, her eyes big as Galleons, and stared at Moody. “Where are we?” she demanded. “What is going on ‘ere?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” Moody inquired. “It’s Christmas Eve. This is your home. What is your family doing right now?”
“We’re getting ready to go to midnight Mass,” Fleur replied. “I just put out my shoe so Pere Noel would fill it with sweets in the morning. Zis is the year I turned eight. I fell asleep in Mass, and my father had to carry me home.” She smiled. “It was a good zing I had put out my shoe now.”
Fleur heard the familiar click of high-heeled shoes on the stairs and turned. Her mother was there, emerging from the staircase with a golden-haired baby on her shoulder.
“That’s Gabrielle,” Fleur supplied. “My little sister.”
“Yes, I remember,” Moody replied. “She was your hostage for the Second Task of the Triwizard Tournament.”
Fleur looked at him in confusion. “But “ I zought you were being held captive ““
“I was,” Moody replied gruffly. “I found out about it all from Dumbledore. About how that scum used my body to try and kill Harry Potter. Pay attention.”
Fleur turned her attention back to her family. Apolline had handed Gabrielle off to her husband while she put her fur-lined cloak on. “Fleur, choose a cloak,” she ordered brusquely.
“Oui, maman,” the young Fleur said and rushed to the hall closet. She selected a dark blue coat with rabbit fur around the collar. She buttoned it up over her pink dress and replaced her light, fashionable indoor shoes with brown leather boots better able to withstand the cold and snow outside.
“Fleur, why don’t you take your seester and wait outside for your muzzer and me,” Fleur’s father suggested, though it was really more of an order. Little Fleur took baby Gabrielle, already tightly bundled up, from her father and went outside, shutting the door securely behind her.
“Very direct, aren’t they?” Moody remarked.
“Zey love me,” Fleur replied. “Zat is what really matters, not zat zey were sometimes short.”
“What is ze matter, mon coeur?” Apolline asked, moving to take Monsieur Delacour’s hands.
“I cannot provide for you,” Monsieur Delacour said sadly. “I ‘ave lost my job at ze Ministry, and now I cannot give you, or Fleur, or little Gabrielle ze life zat you all deserve.”
“Darling, zat does not matter to us,” Apolline said. “You will find anozzer job. We all love you. I knew when we married zat zere would be ‘ard times along with ze good.”
Monsieur Delacour remained dejected, staring at the floor. “Eet ees just so ‘ard. Every day I go to Paris and see ze men I used to work with. Zey know just as well as I do zat ze only reason I am wizzout a job and zey still work ees zat none of them were courageous enough to say zat ze mistake was not only mine.”
“I know, mon cheri, zey are nozzing but cowards,” Apolline said proudly. This did not raise her husband’s spirits as she had hoped it had. Fleur watched a dozen emotions cross her mother’s face: despair, concern, and finally determination.
Apolline leant forward and tipped her husband’s chin up. She bent down and kissed him tenderly.
Fleur had never really watched her parents kiss before. She’d seen them do so, certainly, but had never actually watched. It was fascinating how her father seemed to draw strength from the contact with her mother’s lips, and how as he began to recover himself, he grew more active in the kiss.
“Oh, yes, that’s very lovely,” Moody growled.
As if on cue, Apolline drew away from her husband. “Can you not come wiz us and at least act ‘appy for a few ‘ours?”
Monsieur Delacour nodded. “Oui, I can do zat.” They kissed again, briefly, and then linked arms. They walked out the door, and Fleur heard the door lock with a click as one of them waved their wand.
“At ze time, I had no idea zis was ‘appening,” Fleur said. “Zey only told me a few months later.”
“Did your father find another job?” Moody asked.
Fleur nodded. “He advanced in ze new one far higher zan he would ‘ave in ze job he lost.”
“So I guess we can draw from this little scene that life goes on, and it’s important to appreciate what we have?” Moody suggested, smiling.
Fleur glared at him. “It is not zat simple.”
“Why not?” Moody asked. His voice, though gruff as always, was low, hardly louder than a murmur.
“Because,” Fleur exclaimed in exasperation. “My father only lost his job. Fred is dead! ‘Ow can you expect me to celebrate zat?”
“Do you know what it’s like for a man to be told he can’t do his job anymore?” Moody demanded. “When were you ever told that you can’t provide for your family, can’t give your wife and two baby girls the good things in life?”
“You ‘aven’t felt that either,” Fleur snapped. “You never married, you never ‘ad children, everyone knows zat.”
“But I have been told that I was no longer good enough to do my job. Do you know what that feels like, princess?” Moody demanded.
Fleur didn’t answer.
Moody studied her closely. “I think I know where we’re going next.”
“Where?” Fleur asked, dreading the answer. She could only think of one other Christmas that Moody might think she could “learn” from, and that was not one she wanted to revisit. It was only another failure in a year full of letting down her loved ones.
Moody seemed to sense the direction of her thoughts. In any case, he paused before stating, “We’re going back to the only Christmas you’ve spent at Hogwarts, when you were a Champion in the Triwizard Tournament.”
“No,” Fleur said, flat-out. “You cannot expect me to relive zat “ zat night. What do you zink I can learn from zat?”
“You can learn a great deal from that night,” Moody said evenly. “If I understand correctly, you’re ashamed of it.”
“And why on earthy do you zink I want to ever remember zat Christmas, if I am so ashamed of it?” Fleur demanded.
“Like I said, princess, it’s not about what you want. You need this, so I’m going to show it to you.” Moody shrugged. “Besides, we’re already here.”
Fleur looked around sharply. Merde, she thought. Sure enough, they were standing in the entrance hall of Hogwarts. Students of Hogwarts, Beauxbatons, and Durmstrang flocked around them, on occasion even walking straight through the ghostly pair.
“’Ow did we get ‘ere?” Fleur demanded. “We were just standing in my parents’ ‘ouse “ zere were no golden sparks or anyzing!”
Moody shrugged again “ that gesture was seriously beginning to make Fleur angry. “I guess we don’t need the golden sparks. I just had to think of this hall, and here we are,” he said patronizingly. Fleur was itching to hex him. She didn’t care if he was a hero and an Auror. He was dragging her around on this stupid midnight journey she didn’t even need, forcing her to relive nights she wanted to forget and never think of again, and treating her like a spoiled fairy princess who didn’t know a Killing Curse from a rain dance. She felt blood beginning to boil in her temples as Moody started swaying to the music pouring out of the Great Hall.
“Look, there’s Potter and Weasley,” Moody said innocuously, gesturing over at the marble staircase. He pretended not to notice Fleur's temper rising. “Don’t they look nice? Ah, they’re going with the Patil twins. The Ravenclaw Patil looks awfully reluctant to go with Weasley, doesn’t she? Though I can’t say I blame her….”
Fleur couldn’t blame Padma Patil for her reluctance either. Ron looked absolutely ridiculous in his butchered dress robes. However, Fleur wasn’t about to give Moody the satisfaction of knowing she agreed with him.
“And there’s you,” said Moody cheerfully, turning to face the doors. He wasn’t alone; about half the male population of the hall turned with him. Several jaws slackened as Fleur’s seventeen-year-old self glided in. She wore silver robes that fit like a glove. Somehow, Fleur hadn’t remembered the robes being that snug, or the neckline that low. She noticed wryly that instead of staring at her, Ron tried to hide behind Harry.
A tall, well-built boy dressed in robes that were several shades darker than Fleur’s “ Roger Davies “ walked forward from the crowd. Young Fleur beamed and, when Davies offered his arm, gracefully took it. Davies and young Fleur swept through the crowd toward the doors of the Great Hall. McGonagall intercepted them. Adult Fleur knew she was giving them specific instructions on their duties as a Champion and guest.
“Who was that boy?” Moody inquired.
“Roger Davies,” Fleur growled. “A Ravenclaw “ I ‘ad ‘oped for some intelligent conversation.”
“Well, he’s not bad-looking either,” said Moody fairly.
Fleur shot him a dirty look. “No, ‘e is not.”
They stood in silence until the students and Champions went into the Great Hall. “Well, we’d better go, hadn’t we?” Moody suggested.
“We do not need to watch ze dinner, do we?” Fleur asked.
Moody just gave her a half-beady, half wide-eyed look. They walked into the Great Hall and stood at the back of the room. At the head of the Hall, the Champions and their guests were seated at the high table along with their professors and important figures of the British Ministry. Young Fleur spoke to Davies with great intensity; never taking his eyes off her face, Davies slapped his hand on the table in agreement.
“What were you discussing?” Moody inquired.
“I was telling ‘im what I thought of ‘Ogwarts,” Fleur stated. She smiled halfheartedly. “I was so conceited zen. Arrogant, too.”
Moody made a not-so-subtle sound in the back of his throat, clearly indicating that he thought Fleur was still conceited and arrogant. She glared at him.
They stood in silence until the young Fleur left the high table on Davies’ arm. Davies swept her onto the dance floor as the orchestra struck up a waltz. The other Champions and their guests began dancing as well.
“We only danced for a few songs before ‘e took me away,” Fleur said.
Moody looked at her, then turned back to the dancers. His grip on his wand tightened as he saw his doppelganger sweep past Harry Potter. He jerked his head back, apparently in shock. “Did that “ scum “ really just compliment Potter on his socks?”
“I didn’t ‘ear,” Fleur said mildly.
After the fourth song or so, Davies stopped dancing. He backed off of the dance floor, young Fleur’s hands in his and a small smile on his face.
“Well, let’s go,” Moody said cheerfully, following Davies and young Fleur.
Fleur stared at him. “You can’t be serious.”
“I’m quite serious, princess,” Moody retorted.
“’Ow is watching myself kiss a boy going to teach me anyzing?” Fleur demanded.
Moody walked up to her so their faces were only inches apart. “You have to learn from it, princess. If you don’t “ but we’ll come to that later.”
“What do you mean?” Fleur demanded.
“Come on!” Moody snapped, stumping away after young Fleur and Davies. Fleur could do nothing but follow him, and her younger self, as Davies led young Fleur into the shrub garden outside. Even now, the adult Fleur could not help but admire the beautiful fairy lights twinkling in the bushes.
Davies led young Fleur to a rose bush in the depths of the shrub garden. “You look beautiful,” he murmured.
“Zank you, Roger,” young Fleur replied. Adult Fleur rolled her eyes “ her younger self was intentionally exaggerating her accent, as she always did when coming onto a boy. Young Fleur blinked a few times. Her eyes grew misty as she began to exude that inexorable charm of those with Veela blood.
Roger’s eyes widened; his head tipped slightly to one side, and he moved toward young Fleur. He cupped her face in his hands and leant in to her. He ki ssed the tip of her nose, her forehead, and her cheeks, before coming to hover over her mouth, inviting her to close the distance. After only a moment’s hesitation, young Fleur did so.
The adult Fleur watched this all with a horrible sense of déjà vu. She remembered all this vividly, but she had obviously not seen it from an outsider’s perspective. Now she cringed as young Fleur pressed her body into Davies’, angling her face so that she could more easily deepen the kiss.
For several minutes, Davies and young Fleur continued to kiss. They slowly backed further into the rose bush. Young Fleur came to rest with her back against the stem of the bush, surrounded by the lush scent of the roses. Adult Fleur winced in sympathy as the thorns dug into young Fleur’s back.
“Well, isn’t that just lovely,” Moody commented sarcastically.
Davies pulled away from young Fleur slightly, though his lips never left her skin. He kissed along her jawline to her ear, then down and across the side of her neck to the very center of her throat. Young Fleur’s head tipped back slightly in pleasure as her breath quickened. Davies began to work the buttons down the front of young Fleur’s robes, slowly revealing her black lace lingerie. His lips lingered in the hollow at the base of her throat.
Davies plucked the pins from Fleur’s long, silver-blonde hair. It tumbled town around her shoulders. He knotted one hand in the hair at the back of her skull, pulling her head further back as his lips returned to her throat.
With deliberate slowness, Davies kissed the hollow at the base of young Fleur’s throat once more. He moved further down, kissing her chest until his lips rested just between her breasts. Fleur watched her younger self melt.
Davies slid his free hand around from young Fleur’s back, where it had been resting, across her stomach and to her chest. Young Fleur stiffened at the touch. Her eyes opened, then widened as she saw how far Davies had reached. She let go of his back “ her fingernails had been digging into the skin along his ribs “ and reached up to take a handful of his hair.
Davies, taking this as a positive signal, continued his efforts with higher fervor. However, young Fleur used the handful of hair to pull his head away from her. “I am sorry, Roger,” she said. “I am just not comfortable doing zat.”
“You seemed pretty comfortable just a moment ago,” Roger objected. He leaned back in, but Fleur pressed against his shoulder.
“Don’t,” she said. She removed his hand from her breast.
Davies grabbed both of young Fleur’s shoulders and pressed her to him, kissing her hard. She squealed and fought against him, but he just grabbed her wrists. She bit his lip, hard.
Davies pulled back. “I thought you French bints liked that kind of thing.”
“Well, you zought wrong,” young Fleur snapped. She turned to stalk away, but Davies yanked on her arm, pulling her back toward him. Young Fleur slapped Davies hard in the face. For good measure, she stomped on his foot. Dignity forgotten, the young Fleur ran.
She didn’t stop running until she reached the Beauxbatons carriage. She rushed along the center aisle to her quarters “ the interior had been treated with an Indetectable Enlargement Charm “ and entered. Gabrielle was asleep on one side of the bed they shared. Fleur tore her robes off and hurled them into a corner, then threw herself down in the bed, wearing only her underclothes. She shook with the force of her sobs. Slowly, young Fleur grew still and fell asleep.
As her sister cried next to her, Gabrielle had begun to stir. She woke, sitting up and rubbing her eyes. She noticed her sister lying beside her, wearing only her underclothes. Concerned, Gabrielle crept around the bed. She looked at her sister’s face, covered with smeared makeup.
Gabrielle sneaked down the aisle of the carriage to the girls’ lavoratory. She didn’t need to sneak “ she was the only one in the carriage who was awake “ but she kept her steps quiet out of habit. She soaked a washcloth in the sink, went back to her and Fleur’s quarters, and gently wiped the makeup and caked tears from Fleur’s face. She buried the washcloth in their hamper, then picked Fleur’s robes from the night before. Her eyes widened as she saw the small spots of blood on the back from the rose thorns the previous night.
The adult Fleur blinked several times in surprise. She found herself standing once more in her bedroom at Shell Cottage. “I ‘ad no idea,” she said. “I was ze first one to wake up ze next morning. I never zought she knew anyzing.”
Moody stood a few feet away from her. “It seems I owe you an apology, princess. If I had known how that would turn out, I never would have ““
“I know,” Fleur said. “It is not your fault.”
“But you still got up the next morning,” Moody asserted. “You climbed out of bed and spent the day with your sister. If I’m not mistaken, you made snow angels with her. Through all your shame at the previous evening, you played with your sister.”
Fleur smiled at the memory. “Yes, I did, didn’t I?” The smile faded. “But it’s still not ze same. I was only sad at ze embarrassment of having failed in remaining a lady whom Madame Maxine would be proud of. No one ‘ad died, no one ‘ad sacrificed zemselves for ze greater good…” Despite this, Fleur found that she was crying.
Moody studied her intently. “Any dignity you may have lost was completely negated by the fact that you totally kicked his arse,” he told her, sounding a notch gentler than usual.
Fleur smiled slightly. “Yes, I suppose zat you are right.” She sniffled and held her chin up. “Where will we be going next?”
Moody cleared his throat and shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “Now is when our little job gets really painful. We will go and see what your family and friends are doing without you.”
Fleur shook her head. “My family? But I have not seen zem since ze wedding.”
“Well, them too,” Moody agreed. “But you have another family we’re going to see. The Weasleys.”
Fleur stared. “But zey do not zink of me as family. I am still an outsider to zem.”
“You might be surprised, princess,” Moody told her. He held out his arm. “Now grab on.”