Fleur stood in the kitchen of her apartment, frying pan in hand, trying to remember how to turn on the stove. Her brows were furrowed in a mix of confusion and deep concentration. She contemplated whether it had been a good idea to buy a muggle apartment. Her sarcoline features were scrunched, eyes closed as she tried to remember the steps Hermione had explained to Arthur last Christmas.
A chuckle brought her out of her thoughts, head snapping to the doorway. Bill stood in the doorway. Her eyes traced the lines of his scars as she looked at him; they were softer than they had been, though still quite a contrast to his sarcoline features. Crimson crept up Fleur's neck as she gestured to the stove with the frying pan.
"I can't figure out 'ow to turn it on," she mumbled as Bill walked towards her. Her accent had faded slightly over the years, no longer as strong as it had been before the war. He laughed as he wrapped his arms around her, kissing the top of her head before moving to a different spot on the counter and making himself a cup of coffee.
"You'll figure it out. You're smart like that," he replied with laughter in his tone. Fleur couldn't help but smile at his words. She was both glad and disappointed he hadn't offered to help. After all, they both knew she was too stubborn to have accepted the offer if it was presented. Her smile grew larger. It was in moments like these that she was glad she had met Bill Weasley. He was kind and loyal, loving and funny. Ever the optimist, he believed in her more than anyone else had. But above everything else, he never once doubted her intelligence.
All her life Fleur had always been too pretty to be smart. Her mother always cooed over her, dressing her up in elegant gowns like a doll. Adorning her in luxurious jewelry like a mannequin. She was supposed to stand still and smile, to bring honor to her family name by being a silent beauty. As a child - no older than five or six - she had loved the constant attention, people constantly fretting over her and giving her beautiful gifts.
But then she began preparing herself for Beauxbatons, and that was when her pursuit for more started. At age seven she tried showing her parents how good she was at casting spells, how advanced she was at magic at such a young age. How she was brilliant at math, able to do most simple equations in her head. That didn't matter, because her perfect sarcoline features took priority over her sharp mind, her sapphire eyes over her caring heart. Her delicate hands over her fierce determination. Since then she was determined to find someone who saw more than just her looks. She would pursue that goal till she finally found what she was looking for.
At the mere age of eight she confessed, though hesitantly, to her first friend that she felt people didn't wait to get to know her before dismissing her as an airhead. Just another dumb blonde. But the girl just laughed scornfully, bitterness evident.
"What a shame it must be to have been born so beautiful," she'd said, malice in her tone.
Fleur had thought her pursuit was over that day, when she'd worked up the courage to tell her friend.
She was surprised at how wrong she was. From that moment on she kept her struggles to herself.
She started Beauxbatons at eleven, amidst blatant stares, people wide eyed as she passed them in the halls. They whispered to each other, stinging words that they made sure Fleur heard. She heard the hushed voices of her dormmates as they spoke about her when they thought she was sleeping.
"Look at her," was something that was said often, they were the words that filled most of the hushed murmuring. "All beauty and no brains."
She knew within the first day of starting school that she wouldn't find someone here, someone who would be able to look past her beauty and see her brains. Her pursuit changed slightly, changed from pursuing someone, to pursuing something. She figured that the result of her pursuits would be - if everything went as she had planned - recognition for her scholarly achievements.
