written for the golden snitch forum

challenge: 12 days of Christmas

prompt: 3. Three French hens: Write a story featuring Madame Maxime, Fleur or Gabrielle.

points: 5

characters: gabrielle delacour

pairings: gabrielle/harry (implied)

word count: 2815

| jolie |

(pretty)

[word count: 2815]

Gabrielle Delacour is a doll.

She looks just like her sister, doesn't she? Speaks just like her. So sweet and obedient and beautiful.

(She's everyone's puppet, that's what she is.)

Gabrielle is born perfect, her life set, and her smile in place. She's the prettiest little baby in town, because, oh she looks so much like Fleur doesn't she? She's so blessed, with her jovial father, beautiful mother and doting sister. She's going to shine one day, they promise. Shine bright and beautiful.

(Oh, but not as bright as Fleur, oui? Because nobody is as good as their chere belle Fleur.)

There are little things. Unnoticeable things that speak of her inferiority in their eyes. "Fleur, tu ressembles à une déesse ce soir! Gabrielle, ma chérie, tu as l'air jolie aussi!" Her Aunt Delacour always says when they attended her Christmas soiree every year. Gabrielle bites back tears, gives a charming smile and curtseys in gratitude.

Of course, Fleur is a goddess. Gabrielle is just… pretty.

Gabrielle laughs and smiles and dances her way through life but she always feels like she's being eclipsed. Like how the sun blots out the stars in the morning time, so that they only show there beauty at night, Fleur is a constant dot of brightness in her dark world, always so cheerful and beautiful and sweet. Fleur is just more of Gabrielle. And that makes her the bitter shadow.

(Ah, chérie, what did you expect? That you would shine, that you would break free from your miserable life? I think not, darling, I think not.)

When Gabrielle pads behind Fleur towards the enthralling Beauxbatons chalet for the first time, all she can hear is, Another Delacour! So much like you, Fleur! Trés jolie! Une petite Fleur!

A small Fleur…

Like… Like she's a doll. A miniature of a girl she doesn't even want to be. Gabrielle bites back tears and sits down at the opulent tables, staring at the chandeliers, pointedly avoiding the simpering girls around her.

And so a year passes, and it is still a sunny day in Gabrielle's world. Sunny, but a bitterness hanging in the air. It's Fleur who's the sun, you see. What chance does Gabrielle's tiny star stand against her luminous beauty?

(Night will come, she assures herself. Night will come, and my star will glow.)

There's a new announcement in school, then. "Ze Triwizard Tournament? Ça veut dire quoi? Est-ce que tu en sais? " Gabrielle whispers to her sister when Madame Maxime makes the announcement in the Dining Hall.

"Shh, Gabrielle! I am trying to listen here," responds Fleur and Gabrielle murmurs a tiny Sorry, before slipping out of her seat.

She doesn't feel like eating anymore.

(The sun hurts her, sometimes. Too bright in her eyes. Too much light for her to bear.)

A few months later, she's shivering as she steps out into the cold Scottish air, her figure tiny as she nestles against Madame Maxime. At least the Mam'zelles and Monsieurs liked her. She is better at her studies than Fleur is. Of course, Fleur Delacour is wonderful at her academics, but Gabrielle is a prodige. At least she has her brains to rival her sister's beauty.

Her first few weeks of stay in the Ravenclaw tower is quiet and uneventful. She attends a handful of classes, but spends half her time teaching the Hogwarts students basic French, out of her first copy of Langue Français. She enjoys it. She feels useful and admired – a novel feeling, Gabrielle thinks to herself.

And then, the Second Task finds her at the bottom of the Black Lake. She is not aware of being there, of course, but she felt scared at the idea, when Monsieur Dumbledore explained the Task to her. She vows to be brave (after all, Fleur is brave. Why shouldn't she be courageous?) and drinks the potion offered to her in one swallow.

It's not her sister who pulls her out, but Harry Potter, the legendary boy with the scar. He pulled her out. He could have left her there. She wouldn't have died, but he could have left her there. But instead, he took the trouble to drag her weight along with him to the surface, damn the consequences. She feels a flutter in her heart.

(Non, Gabrielle. That is not wise. He will not fall for a little girl like you… what is the point of falling for someone who is sure to break your heart?)

She doesn't stay any longer. She's sick of all the people fawning over Fleur – and Fleur enjoying the attention. She just wants to be home, back in Beauxbatons' beautiful gardens, the graceful chalet overlooking the sapphire-blue sea. She feels homesick for it.

She bumps into Harry and his friends when she is heading to Dumbledore's office – to take a portkey back to the French Riviera. Gabrielle feels intimidated, looking at them – the Ravenclaw girls called them The Golden Trio. Hermione offers a smile and she relaxes, offering a shy one in return.

"Are you heading back to Beauxbatons, Gabrielle?" She asks, bending a little to reach Gabrielle's eye level. Gabrielle hates it when people do that. She feels so… inferior.

"Oui," she answers, straightening up a bit. "Monsieur Dumbledore arranged for a Portkey to be sent back to ze chalet. Eet will leave in a few minutes. Eet was nice to meet you," she says, using the little English that the Ravenclaws taught her. Hermione and Harry bid her goodbye (the latter's smile sending her heart into a frenzy) while Ron just waves at her.

(Perhaps he is bitter, Gabrielle thinks, because I resemble Fleur so. The sour taste of being lesser to her sister returns.)

A couple of years pass. Fleur gets married to Ron Weasley's eldest brother on a wonderful summer morning, the sun shining ever so brightly on the bride. Everyone is captivated by her simple beauty, in a glowing white gown. She's looking so magnificent that everyone just… fades into the background.

But that's normal for me, Gabrielle thinks, almost nonchalantly.

(Almost.)

She doesn't see Harry around. Perhaps it is foolish of Gabrielle to pine after someone who barely talks to her, but Harry is like a storybook hero to her – handsome, noble and with a sweet smile. But what sets him apart is that he is human.

Just like the rest of them.

A few boys approach her. They all have that awestruck expressions on their faces that is usually associated with seeing someone of Veela blood. As an eager little twelve-year-old, she used to be flattered.

Now… now, she's just tired.

But who's to say that she won't take advantage of the situation? With a flirty smile and a little Oui, Monsieur she dances the night away in the arms of strangers, with a heavy heart and teary eyes.

(This is what happens when you grow up too fast, dear. You do not know yourself anymore. Perhaps you do not want to…)

The War starts shortly after the wedding, when the Death Eaters enter the wedding tent with threats of death and danger. Gabrielle watches with wide eyes as all the guests scream and gasp in fear. She's still frozen when her Maman grabs her arm roughly and says, "Allons, Gabrielle!" as they run towards her father, who's struggling to hold a Shield against a cackling, black-haired witch. The world dissolves into nothingness, and an instant later, she is home.

The war passes in silence and worry – she returns to Beauxbatons shortly after Fleur's wedding and it seems as if everyone is talking about Voldemort, the deathless one. The Riviera is relatively unaffected except for one Dementor attack on the village adjacent to Beauxbatons – Lavaudieu, but the Professors banish them quickly.

And then, when the year is closing, she receives an owl from home – The war is over. Fleur is alive, and so is Bill. Fred Weasley died but the Weasleys are recovering, ever so slowly.

Gabrielle breathes a sigh of relief. She might envy her sister, but Gabrielle still loves her.

(Traitorous little things, aren't they? Our hearts, that is. So dark, yet so hopeful. So dead, yet beating frantically to be alive.)

When Gabrielle finally returns to England, it is three years after the war. She is eighteen, graduated from Beauxbatons with honours and a promising job at a Potions Research Centre based in London. Fleur seems accepting of the job, but Gabrielle knows that she didn't exactly like it. Fleur was never one to get her hands dirty.

Oh, but of course. Pretty princesses don't like such things, do they? Remnants of the old resentment returns. She quells it. It's too childish. And Gabrielle is above such things.

Her first stop is Shell Cottage. Offering a smile and a quick handshake to Bill (she genuinely likes him – he is a rational influence on her sister), a warm hug to Fleur (pleasure courses through her when Fleur returns it with equal love) and a slobbering kiss to a laughing and squealing Victoire, who's toddling about on her little legs, she turns to the sitting room, exhausted from her Floo journey to England.

She is rather shocked to see the person awkwardly standing in the middle of the room – Harry Potter. Her cheeks go red: her schoolgirl crush on him might have disappeared long ago, and she might have dated several other boys, but he was her first crush.

"Bonjour, 'Arry." She cringes at the usage of French. This is England. Not France, Gabrielle.

"Hi… Gabrielle Delacour, right?" He asks, offering a hand to her.

"Oui – Zat ees to say, of course! 'Ow 'ave you been?" She sits down on a comfortable armchair, keeping her handbag to the side. Her hands fidget. She did not expect him to be there.

"Ah, good. Everything's good," he says, with a smile. (It is a little sad, if I am not wrong. I wonder why, thinks Gabrielle.) There is a lull in conversation, while Fleur goes to the kitchen to make some tea and Bill, to the nursery, as Victoire is drooping with sleep on his shoulder. Gabrielle smiles affectionately at her niece – she had not seen her properly for quite a while.

Fleur returns and exclaims, "Oh! Gabrielle, Maman told me zat you graduated with ze 'onours! Je suis fier de toi, ma petite sœur." Gabrielle smiles with good grace but she is overjoyed at her sister's exclamation.

(It is time to move past their differences.)

"Honours? Congratulations, Gabrielle!" Harry says, warmly and Gabrielle glows even more.

They chat for a few more minutes, before Harry announces that he has to go.

"Teddy will be waiting for me. And he's pretty scary when he's annoyed." Harry chuckles. "It was nice to see you again, Gabrielle." He's gone with a swish of his hand dropping the Floo powder into the fireplace, and a yell of 'The Tonks' Residence!'

Gabrielle's eyes stare at the fireplace for a while before she draws her eyes back to Fleur, who's asking her, in rapid French, about all the things that happened, back at home, since her departure.

(There is hope, for everyone. It is only that it's hidden between thorns and daggers. How can we live on, when we don't even know if the hope is for us?)

It's quite easy to adjust to England, she discovers. Her job is amazing and keeps her occupied for most of the day, but she finds herself wandering in the streets of Muggle London in her spare time.

It's on one such ramble that she suddenly bumps into someone she certainly did not want to see.

"Gabrielle!" Harry exclaims, grinning. "What are you doing here, in the heart of Mu- London?"

"I like to wander sometimes, eet calms me. What are you doing 'ere, 'Arry?" He looks nice, his cheeks a little pink from the autumn cold and his pale skin striking against his dark blue coat.

"Oh, just meeting a few friends in the… pub. Would you like to join us?"

"I would not want to intrude, 'Arry…"

"It's no problem. I'm sure they'd love to see you," he assures her and pulls her along to the Leaky Cauldron, which is just a few roads away.

She feels her cheeks burn, but she steadfastly ignores it. Because, obviously, it's not worth commenting on.

(But there's this little voice in your head. Telling you to stop it. To stop dreaming and hoping of things that can never be. Because you can't be that lucky can you?)

She spends a few hours with him and his friends – which include the Weasleys, Hermione Granger, Neville Longbottom and Luna Lovegood. She feels like a little twelve-year-old again, amongst these legendary people who saved their world from the clutches of destruction, who experienced things that can't even be described.

Mostly, she feels like a twelve year old because of the stupid little crush that's showing its cheeky face again.

They all leave a few hours later, minus Harry and Hermione. Gabrielle wants to leave, but they insist she sit down. Gabrielle is pleasantly surprised that she actually enjoys talking to them. They are witty and pleasant and not at all disdainful of Gabrielle's French accent, and Gabrielle feels comfortable in her skin after a long, long time.

Hermione too, gets up to leave after a while and Gabrielle feels nervous. She doesn't like the knowing glint in Hermione's eyes.

"How do you like England?" Harry asks and she starts from her reverie.

"Eet ees nice, I guess, but it's not home, see." She folds her hands in her lap to keep them from fidgeting.

"I can understand that." Harry has a faraway look in his eyes as he surveys his glass of Butterbeer. "But at least there's Fleur and Victoire here, yeah? And we're here for you too," he says, smiling and Gabrielle feels gratified.

"Merci, 'Arry." Gabrielle offers him a hint of a smile and stares into his emerald eyes. For one breathtaking moment, he looks at her, and Gabrielle feels flustered. Averting her eyes, Gabrielle checks her watch and hurriedly gathers her coat and bag before standing up. "Eet really ees late. I 'ave to go. Thank you for ze invitation, 'Arry." She offers him a clumsy, one-armed hug (friends do that, oui?) and slips out of their lounge room, feeling breathless and dizzy.

(Love is dangerous, affection is dangerous. But that's what keeps us coming back – the risk, the absolute high of being cherished, no matter if your heart will be in pieces on the floor and you will be broken beyond repair. Love is what makes us and breaks us. Isn't that puzzling, honey?)

They meet again, several times - a chance meeting in the Ministry, at the Burrow Christmas Dinner, when the whole Weasley family meet again for her birthday (Of course, she was a Weasley, Molly had assured her. And Weasleys pulled out all the stops for birthdays) and once again, at the Leaky Cauldron.

"Bonjour, Harry," she greets him again. She's smiling, nervousness almost invisible under her smile, because she's gotten used to being around him.

"Hello," he greets her, a bit forlornly.

"Ees everything alright?" she questions, eying him shrewdly.

"No, no. I'm okay. It's just that… Ron and Hermione are going to have their wedding in a few weeks and…"

"You feel lonely," she finishes for him. Gabrielle speaks a lot, she knows, but she also observes everyone she interacts with. Ron, Hermione and Harry were friends for a long time. But with Ron and Hermione drifting away from him, Harry is flailing.

"Yeah. Something like that," Harry says, draining the last of his Butterbeer. He looks at her curious green eyes and she averts her own.

"I observe people, Harry," Gabrielle says quietly. "I 'ave been overlooked for so long that eet ees instinct for me."

He does not comment. There is an uncomfortable silence for a while, before Harry suddenly says, "Your English is improving. I mean, I'm almost Harry now."

She grins. "Thank you, 'Arry."

"It's just that, we've been friends for so long that I cannot imagine that we're drifting apart. It was bound to happen, I guess." He shrugs.

"Perhaps… But look on the bright side, Harry. You made so many new friends."

He raises his eyebrows. "Like you?"

Gabrielle smiles. "Like me."

"Well then, Gabrielle, my new friend, what do you say for lunch tomorrow afternoon? I'm sure you can find the time, yeah?" He asks teasingly and Gabrielle blushes.

"I can fit you in, maybe." She likes talking to him. He doesn't have too many airs and graces, he's funny and easy to converse with.

"Great. I'll see you, then." He smiles brilliantly and disappears into the crowd, leaving Gabrielle alone at the table with a stupid smile on her face.

(Ah, but love is our nectar and hope, our ambrosia. It is difficult to find, hard to believe and almost impossible to keep… but guess what? At the end, it's all worth it.)

if i've epically failed at writing the fluff at the end, forgive me. i like harry/gabrielle and this prompt just called for it. i would've written out their whole relationship, but the story was getting long and i'm shit at fluff. forgive me if the french accents and the french itself is overdone and incorrect, but it seemed fitting to include it in the story. i've been learning french for about two years, but i'm not completely proficient at it. also this is my longest one-shot yet.