Fleur Delacour was never normal, set apart by her extraordinary beauty for years. Envied looks followed her everywhere, wistful sighs, jealous glares. They didn't know.
They didn't know that she was never seen as anything else, that she was never an...
Florence Dubois struggled to open her eyes. It was a long, long night shift for the young blonde healer.
She stirred her earl grey tea, trying to stay awake to the rhythmic clanking of the spoon against the teacup, but her eyes were closing, and she was falling, falling-
She jerked her head up just in time to stop from falling straight into her tea, taking a sip and longing for the rush of energy that adrenaline often gave her, when a life-threatening situation presented itself in the quiet wizarding hospital in a corner of Dijon. And she did not have to wait much longer.
***
It was all systems go for the urgent woman who rushed into the hospital, very pregnant and clearly struggling. Of course, some things had to be changed. No birth was the same, and it was very different with every woman that rushed in.
Especially when they found out she was half-veela.
Immediately, all men were withdrawn, and also a woman who shrunk away of her own accord, muttering something about "half-breeds". The urgent female healers who were left were few, but just enough to make the cut. Florence's eyes were wide open, her pulse racing as the whole group struggled to make the delivery a successful one. Having worked through the night and well through the day, an exhausted pack of healers managed to get the stubborn baby out of her panting mother.
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Not only was Florence's hand aching over the hand-written document, she was covered in dried blood and even more exhausted than she was before. But that was the life of a healer, she supposed.
***
Apolline Delacour peeks down at the little bundle of joy in her arms, tucked up and sleeping soundly. The little girl was sleeping soundly, making sweet purring noises as she snored.
Richard beams, puffing out his chest and announcing, "She snores like me! Oh, sweet life!"
A woman nearby glares at him irritably, her arms crusty golden baguettes, but Richard ignores her. Only when she turns her gaze on his sleepy and vulnerable wife does he nudge the curtain back around Apolline's bed defensively.
Fleur's eyes are open from the slight rustling of the curtain, and she begins to whimper as Apolline holds her close.
Apolline sighs. "Great job, Richard."
Richard smirks. "No one is allowed to look at my beautiful wife and tiny baguette other than me."
"Tiny baguette? Really?"
"Or baby croissant. Haven't decided yet."
"It's Fleur, Richard. Not baby croissant."
"Please, everyone else will be calling her that. I'm unique."
Apolline's lips tremble, all of a sudden. "You know that's not the only thing they will be calling her. She will be as subject to the name-calling as I was."
Richard bristles at this. "Olli, I won't let them. They wouldn't dare. Times are risky right now, but they won't always be."
"The prejudice of my kind runs deep, and it's not always wizards' faults. Veelas have a bad reputation. Name-calling does not stop, and that's from personal experience. I've had a bad experience with almost all muggles I meet, and half the magic-folk too. Ever since young."
The new parents look at their daughter, now sniffling as she snores again.
They don't know what awaits her, but Richard and Apolline silently promise to keep her safe anyway.
