Fleur looked in the full-length mirror fixed on her wardrobe door and smiled. She looked good. Her robes of silver-grey satin shimmered over her body, clinging to her curves in a subtle yet seductive way. Looking at herself in profile, she pondered what to do with her hair. Sweeping it through her fingers, she piled it high on her head and pinned it in place. A few stray tendrils curled around her cheeks and neck. She looked beautiful.

She looked perfect.

All wasted on that stupid Ravenclaw boy ... Robert? ... Roger? Merde! What was his name? She grinned suddenly at her reflection and saw a wicked smile mar her perfect features. She pulled another face, liking the difference she saw and giggled.

“Something amuses you, Fleur?� called Chantelle, her roommate.

“Imperfection,� replied Fleur enigmatically. She saw Chantelle scowl, and realised instantly that the other girl thought Fleur was laughing at her as she struggled into robes that were too tight. Fleur bit her lip. She thought about explaining that it was her own reflection she was laughing at but knew Chantelle would not listen.

Fleur sighed to herself. Boys adored her and believed everything she said, but girls never did. Suddenly angry, she pulled out the silver spider’s web clip from her hair and let her tresses fall loose about her shoulders.

Not quite perfect, Fleur left her bedroom and waited for Robert (or Roger or whatever his name was) to escort her to the ball.

***

Roger, she thought, irritably is annoying. Good looking, true, but did he have to agree with everything she said all the time? Fleur smiled to herself, wondering how far she could go in insulting his school before he actually dared to disagree.

“Zis is nothing,� ** she heard herself say dismissively as she gestured to the decorations in the Dining Hall. She carried on her diatribe, talking enthusiastically about Beauxbatons. Roger nodded his agreement, still in a daze, and she yawned. I wish I were at home, she thought, a lump forming in her throat. I miss Gabrielle, and Christmas with my family is always better than being at school.

Fleur glanced down the table, and spied Cedric murmuring in Cho Chang’s ear. She narrowed her eyes slightly. If that stupid, gangling boy with the freckles had not interrupted her when she’d been charming him, would Cedric have been sitting by her side? She studied Cho carefully and then turned her attention back to Cedric, all the while keeping up her conversation with Roger, who was now missing his mouth when he tried to eat. Cedric looked up and caught her eye. She smiled charmingly at him. He smiled back, a friendly smile. He turned away, to Cho, and, with infinite tenderness, smoothed a strand of her raven black hair behind her ear. He smiled at her – the smile of a lover.

Fleur looked at Cho curiously. She looked so happy. Would I look like that if I were with Cedric? she thought, and tried to imagine Cedric running his fingers through her hair. Cedric whispering words for her ears only and her leaning in eager to capture every single one. She frowned. It could have happened like that – if she’d got her way and he’d asked her to the Ball, but something was wrong. She looked at Cho again, her smile lighting up her face. Cho wanted to be with Cedric, really wanted to spend time with him, and Fleur knew that she ... well, didn’t. Cedric was handsome, but that was all. She turned back to Roger.

“Eet is time for us to dance, I theenk, Roger,� she said sweetly.

Shaking his head, as if to clear his thoughts, Roger grinned broadly and led her to the floor.

He is a good dancer, she conceded as he spun her around. Perhaps he is worth a chance.
***

It was Roger’s idea to take a stroll in the grounds. Fleur had acquiesced because the music was too loud and she was sick of trying to make herself heard. It was a beautiful night, and a glowing sliver of a moon shone brightly in the sky. The air was crisp, the stars like diamonds flaunting their worth. Fleur shivered slightly, wishing she’d brought a thicker robe with her. In response Roger put his arm about her and then flicking his wand, cast a Warming Charm around them both.

“Merci,� she whispered, touched that he’d spotted she was feeling the cold. They were by a rose bush now, and as Roger leant forward, Fleur realised he was about to kiss her. Why not? she thought, and closed her eyes. His lips were not unpleasant, and she began to respond in the way she always did. Her arms entwined around his neck, pulling him close, moulding her body to his. Her mouth parted slightly; Roger began to move his hands up and down her back. She heard him groan, felt the thrill of sexual attraction and took pleasure in his capitulation. This is so easy, she thought. So perfect.

Perfect. That word again.

Fleur opened her eyes and pulled back. Roger bent his head down but she twisted her head slightly and his mouth missed hers.

“What’s the matter?� he muttered and began kissing her neck.

What was wrong? she pondered as she wriggled away from him. It was a beautiful night, Roger was handsome and so attentive, but...

“I do not know,� she whispered. “Per’aps I am just cold.�

He pulled her closer to him. “We could always go back inside, Fleur... to the Ball, or perhaps...�

He left the words unsaid but his head jerked in the direction of the Beauxbatons carriage. By deliberately misunderstanding his English, Fleur smiled warmly, took his arm and led him firmly back into the Dining Hall. “I would love anozzer dance, Roger,� she said softly.

He had the grace not to look too disappointed and soon he was spinning her around.

Fleur sighed. If only we could live on the dance floor forever.

***

“Did you have a good time last night, Chantelle?� Fleur asked the next morning as they ran across the grounds for a late breakfast.

“Yes, I did,� replied Chantelle, sounding slightly surprised. “Thierry may not be as handsome as Roger, but we had fun. How about you?�

Fleur frowned slightly. Had she had fun? She’d enjoyed the dancing, being the centre of attention, but Roger had been rather persistent in his attentions and it had been a relief to get to bed. Chantelle, she realised, had returned a lot later than she.

“It was good,� she said at last. “But Roger is rather dull, I think. Perhaps, I would have had more fun with a Beauxbatons boy.�

Chantelle snorted. “Well, you could have taken any of them, Fleur. It is not difficult for you to get exactly what you want.�

Fleur stood at the Entrance Hall door. “What do you mean?�

Pulling a face, Chantelle carried on walking, but Fleur pulled on her arm. “Tell me,� she ordered.

Chantelle shook herself free and, hands on hips, faced Fleur. “You are part- Veela. You can get anyone, can’t you? Not like the rest of us.�

“You had a date,� stated Fleur, wondering why Chantelle sounded so cold. “And you said you had fun.�

Chantelle started walking again, but then as she reached the centre of the hall she looked over her shoulder. “Yes, I did.�

“So, why are you upset?�demanded Fleur.

“I like Roger,� Chantelle replied bluntly. “Or at least I did, until he fell for you.� She smiled, not pleasantly. “At least I know Thierry asked me because he liked me, and not because I Charmed him.�

Fleur walked towards Chantelle, a look of cold fury on her face. “Perhaps Roger asked me because he liked me, also, Chantelle,� she said forcefully. “I am the Triwizard Champion for Beauxbatons, you know. Maybe Roger likes that about me.�

“Pfft!� huffed Chantelle, raising one eyebrow archly. “The rest of us still wonder about that, Fleur. How do we know you didn’t manage to Charm the Goblet of Fire?�

Stung by the accusation, Fleur turned on her heel and strode out of the Entrance Hall. When she was quite sure she could not be seen, she broke into a run and fled to her room. Picking up the photograph of her family, which was propped up against the lamp on her bedside table, she stared down at her father. He was not a handsome man. Rather short and plump, he had a black moustache and small beard. She loved her father very much, but was still uncertain why her mother had decided to marry him when there had been others far better looking begging for her hand.

“He loved me,� her mother had replied enigmatically when Fleur had broached the subject. “One day, Fleur, you will see how important that is.�

Fleur traced their faces with her finger as they laughed up at her, and then - with no warning – she burst into tears.

***

She was not a girl to show weakness, especially in front of other girls. After her tears, which were brief, Fleur washed her face in ice-cold water, and sauntered over to the Great Hall. Ignoring Chantelle, she smiled across at Roger and then leant forward to ask the boy next to her to pass some toast. It was Thierry. Chantelle narrowed her eyes and moved closer to him. Fleur smirked at her.

Turning her deep blue eyes on Thierry, she smiled, murmuring throatily, “Merci.�

Thierry pulled away from Chantelle and smiled goofily at her. Beside him, Fleur saw Chantelle stiffen. She was about to laugh, but then she looked across at Roger who was also gazing at her with a glazed expression on his face.

Is this really what I want? she thought. They are both idiots!

She lowered her gaze; Thierry shook his head slightly and then turned away to talk to Chantelle. Shortly afterwards, he suggested they stroll back to the carriage, taking the scenic route around the lake.

Fleur watched them leave, noted the smile wreathed across Chantelle’s face and felt a small ache of envy rip through her body.

***

Is this what the Confundus Curse is like? Fleur shook herself, as if to clear the strange sensations coursing through her. She glanced across the room again, unable to take her eyes off the red-haired young man standing with the plump woman.

“Fleur, Papa asked you a question,� her mother gently reprimanded her.

Fleur turned back to her parents. Her mother was watching her with an all-too knowing look in her eyes. “Sorry, Papa, what were you saying?�

“I was asking if that boy you talked about – Harry Potter – was here. I would like to thank him for rescuing my little princess.�

Fleur looked around. Harry entered through the side door, looking very confused. Gabrielle jumped up and down excitedly and waved to him. Harry grinned as he waved back. Then Fleur saw the plump woman call out to him, and Harry joined her – and the extremely good-looking man – by the fireplace.

"That is Harry,� she told her father softly.

“Well, my dear, will you introduce us?�

She felt suddenly flustered, unsure what to say. She wondered what she looked like and cast her eyes about the room to find a mirror. Her hands felt sweaty, her mouth dry.

“Fleur,� murmured her mother. “What is the matter?�

“Nothing,� she replied shakily, but she would not look her mother in the eye. Instead, she looked again at the man, noting that he wore a single earring and stylish dragon skin boots. He caught her eye and smiled lazily at her. She felt as if a bolt of light had shot through her.

“Tomorrow, Papa,� she said finally, her voice trembling slightly. “I shall introduce you to Harry after the task.�

When her parents retired to their room before the Feast (Professor Dumbledore had provided them with a sumptuous room for the duration of their stay), Fleur walked to the Beauxbatons carriage with her sister. Gabrielle had pleaded to be allowed to spend the night with her big sister, and Madam Maxime – probably thinking it would help Fleur relax before the big day – had agreed readily. Happily, they held hands, as they tripped across the grounds. Meandering slightly off the track, Fleur suddenly picked up her sister and swung her around. Gabrielle giggled loudly and Fleur joined in, spinning her around faster and faster until they fell to the ground.

“Am I disturbing you?� said a man’s voice.

Fleur saw the man with red-hair towering over them both. She started to get up but still giddy she sank back down on the grass. Grinning, he crouched down by them both.

“I’m Bill Weasley,� he said, holding out his hand. His eyes glinted with amusement as he surveyed them both. “You looked as if you were having a lot of fun there.�

“Fleur Delacour,� she replied and held out her own. Instead of shaking it, Bill lifted her hand and touched it briefly to his lips.

“Everyone knows you, Miss Delacour.� He reached out his hand and plucked at a leaf stuck in her hair. “Although the photographs in The Prophet usually show you in a more soignée light,� he murmured.

Instinctively, Fleur began to smile at him, raising her eyes to his. She shook out her hair, and smoothed down her dress and waited for his expression to change to one of devotion. But did she want to see that from him? She lowered her gaze, unsure.

“Good,� Bill murmured, as he twirled the leaf between his thumb and forefinger. “It is reassuring, Miss Delacour, to know that you don’t always look quite so perfect.�