Not my best work, I struggled with how I wanted to portray Veela as a whole and Fleur specifically. I still don't know if I did a good enough job with it. You'll have to tell me as this arc progresses. Leave your advice, as long as it's in line with the general vibe I'm going for. If I ever do a rewrite (Not very likely, tbh, I'm more likely to just write something else.) I'll take it into account.
(Word Count: 1,862)
The day after was the last day of the first round. When Harry arrived, the stadium already buzzed with anticipation long before the first duel of the morning. Fleur Delacour would be facing her first opponent today, so her name was on nearly everyone's lips. Looking around the stands, most of the contestants of the tournament had shown up to watch.
Harry, Sirius, and Flitwick claimed their usual seats near the front. Harry was going over who would be fighting in the next few matches in his mind when he felt a subtle touch on his mind. A ripple passed through the crowd as everyone unconsciously felt the same. Heads turned toward the entrance, whispers rising.
The Delacours had arrived.
Jean-Claude Delacour walked tall and broad-shouldered. He amiably greeted people he recognized with a clap on the back. Appoline glided at his side, her presence was impossible to miss. Gabrielle skipped alongside, waving a little flag stitched with blue fleur-de-lis. Fleur herself walked gracefully alongside Gabrielle. She didn't have quite the same practiced elegance of her mother, but she glided all the same. She had long silver hair, and large, deep blue eyes.
From the two women, Harry felt subtle pulls at his attention. The famous Veela allure. It was his first time feeling it. There was a lighter, subtler touch from Appoline, like a finger under the chin to gently guide him to look at her. Then there was a more blunt and forceful touch from Fleur, this one was more akin to her grabbing his face to force him to look at her. Fleur apparently didn't have as much training to handle it. Gabrielle didn't seem to be old enough to have her own allure. Harry steeled his mind and the effects slid off of him.
The reaction from the crowd was immediate. Some spectators sighed dreamily, others stiffened, visibly struggling to keep focus. The French audience didn't seem to mind it so much, but the rest of the crowd sneered. Harry overheard some comments calling them whores.
Slowly but surely, more and more wrackspurts and other types of these emotional-spirit like creatures began appearing as the allure took hold of most of the crowd. The most prevalent was a new type of creature. This one seemed to twinkle like little stars around those most infatuated, looking at the veela with star-struck eyes.
Flitwick, hearing the nasty comments, frowned at the remarks.
The Delacours settled into their seats, sitting nearly straight across from Harry's group on the other side of the dueling tables.
Fleur's match was the last one of the day. Many people showed up just to watch her match, so the hosts kept it for last so they would watch the rest as well.
The other matches weren't anything special. No surprises like in Cagliostro's match.
Eventually, the time arrived for Fleur's fight.
Her opponent was Luc Morel, a tall, broad-shouldered young man. The untrained veil of Fleur's allure washed over him more strongly than most, and he seemed to be able to keep his mind somewhat, seeing as he didn't have any of the star-like creatures around him. However, he had a swarm of wrackspurts around his head, and his eyes tracked her with open hunger. His lips curled into a leer.
"Well, well," he drawled as they met at center stage. "The Veela whore returns. Perhaps today I'll take that wand from your pretty hand and teach you what a real wizard can do." His eyes roamed over her figure.
The comment drew a sharp hiss from the French supporters. Jean-Claude half-rose from his seat, looking like he was about to hex the kid, before Appoline laid a calming hand on his arm. Gabrielle, oblivious to the nuance, shouted in support of her sister. "Fleur is the best! You'll lose!"
From the rest of the crowd came darker mutters. A few British spectators snickered crudely. Someone shook his head, whispering sadly about "Veela temptations" taking another poor young man. Several of the Asian wizards muttered disapprovingly, though more at Fleur's bloodline than at Morel's crudeness.
Harry's hands clenched in anger at the crowd's reactions.
Flitwick sighed sadly. He had faced a lifetime of prejudice against his own heritage, so he sympathized with the young Delacour's struggle.
Fleur, for her part, did not flinch. Her chin rose higher, coldly staring down her opponent, saying nothing.
The referee cleared her throat uneasily. "Contestants, bow."
They did, though Morel's was a mocking half-gesture. They returned to their marks.
"Let the match begin!"
Morel's wand snapped up at once. "Stupefy! Incarcerous!"
Fleur slashed her wand in front of her and a shield shimmered into existence just in time as the spell slammed into it, the ropes landing harmlessly onto the ground.
Neither Morel or Fleur needed to do any wand motions. They were able to point-cast without issue. Moreover, Harry noted, it seemed that Fleur could at least cast the shield charm non-verbally.
With a flick of her wrist, Fleur riposted: "Ventis!"
A surge of conjured wind burst across the stage. Morel stumbled, nearly pitching off the side of the table before righting himself. He landed awkwardly on one knee, scowling as the crowd erupted in cheers.
"Point to Delacour!" the referee called. The Ventis charm was a bit hard to draw a clear line on what counted as a "hit" for a point, seeing as it was just wind, so the tournament rules state that it only counted if it caused the opponent to lose their footing, as Morel just did.
"Elegant and efficient!" Canards declared into his microphone. "The reigning champion wastes no time! One point on the board already!"
From the stands, the Delacours roared approval. Gabrielle jumped up and down, waving her flag.
Flitwick nodded approvingly. "Take note, Harry. She'll be your biggest challenge here."
Sirius grinned. "I'd like to see her knock that smug look off Morel's face a few more times."
The duel reset.
Morel snarled, slashing his wand forward. "Depulso!"
"Protego!"
The blast of force slammed into her shield, creating a loud rippling crash. Fleur pivoted smoothly, her wand carved an arc through the air. "Lumos Tria!"
Brilliant multi-coloured lights burst across the stage, dazzling Morel. He threw up an arm to shield his eyes, and Fleur followed it up with a Tarantallegra, the dancing feet charm. Morel started dancing a jig. His face red with embarrassment.
"Point to Delacour! That makes two to zero!" the announcer declared.
"Two points in clean succession!" Canards cried. "And note this, ladies and gentlemen, Delacour had the chance to end it by using Expelliarmus, but it seems like she chose not to!"
"Yes," Madam Fahmy said wryly, "It seems she wants some payback for that crude comment before."
Jean-Claude cheered again, Gabrielle shrieking her sister's name. The French section of the crowd roared, but scattered jeers rose from other corners. A British witch shouted, "She's using her Veela blood, that's all!"
Harry folded his arms. She's not winning because of allure. Morel seemed to be able to resist just fine, regardless of his apparent view of Veela. She's winning because she's better, pure and simple.
The referee reset them for the third round.
Morel's face was beet-red, his pride burning hotter than ever. He sneered, "You'll pay for that."
Fleur did not dignify him with an answer, merely raising her wand.
"Begin!" the referee called.
Morel angrily spat out a string of spells. "Flipendo! Glacius! Depulso!"
Fleur danced through them, waiting for an opportunity. She glided backwards. Morel eagerly advanced, taking it as a sign that his attacks were pressuring her. She took advantage of the moment and snapped her wand out. "Immobulus!"
The freezing charm caught Morel mid-stride. His body locked stiff, arms thrown wide, and he toppled forward like a statue, face-first onto the dueling table.
"Point to Delacour! That makes 3-0! The match goes to Fleur Delacour!"
"Three clean points!" Canards cried. "A masterful display from last year's champion! Fleur Delacour has silenced the doubters! There you have it, folks! The first round of the tournament is over! Tomorrow, we begin the next round!"
Morel was released from the spell. He snatched his wand from the referee, muttered something foul under his breath, and stormed off without a bow. Fleur gave him a contemptuous look, before turning smoothly to walk off the stage.
Harry's eyes followed her down to her family. In canon, Fleur was selected out of all the seventh year Beauxbaton's students, so he had expected her to be an incredibly skilled witch. This match was proof of that.
"I think I'll go say hello," Harry said to Sirius and Flitwick.
Sirius looked back and forth between Harry and Fleur in the distance, then shrugged. "Just don't get yourself hexed."
Harry rolled his eyes. "Don't worry, I'm not you. I'm just going to say hi… and that I'll be looking forward to beating her in the finals."
"Careful there, pup, if her match was anything to go by, that girl can hold a grudge," Sirius warned.
"I'm sure Harry will be polite about it," Flitwick said. "Besides, with all of the prejudice she faces, I can imagine a friendly rivalry would be welcome."
Harry nodded and made his way over.
Fleur was now back with her family. They were congratulating her, both for winning the match and keeping her cool. Gabrielle was too young, only around 4 or 5 years old, to truly understand what they were dealing with, but she knew it wasn't good. So either way, she was proud of her sister. Fleur was smiling happily at her family.
They were just about to leave when they noticed Harry approaching them. Fleur's face took on a cold guarded look. Jean-Claude and Appoline were still casual and friendly in their demeanor, but Harry could feel their emotions were guarded as well, though they didn't show it like Fleur did. In fact, he could hear the voice of the father's thoughts, thinking, 'Oh boy, here's another one.'
'They think I'm here to confess my love or something,' Harry thought.
He gave her a slight bow and greeted Fleur in French, "Hello, Miss Delacour, my name is Harry Potter," their eyes unconsciously flicked up to his lightningbolt scar, "I just wanted to say that was a great match out there. He really had it coming with the garbage he was saying."
Fleur blinked at him in surprise. It was immediately obvious that he wasn't being affected by her allure. Those that were always had a dreamy look about them. "Harry Potter? Yes, I did hear you had joined this year."
"Yes, I look forward to beating you in the finals," Harry grinned at her.
Her temper flared and she scoffed at him. "As if I would lose against a little boy. I don't care what title those British fops gave you, I'll be the one winning in the end!" With that, she turned her nose up at him and walked away with a huff.
The rest of the family followed after her, with Appoline giving him a curious look before following.
"Well, that went about as I expected," Harry grinned to himself.