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 anything but the veela, the object-not subject- of many a lustful daydream. She was resigned to her fate. Then she met Bill Weasley.
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