Fleur's fingertips tingled with the familiar pull of the Portkey, a sudden whirl of colors and light, and in the blink of an eye, she was standing in the courtyard of her ancestral home—the Delacour mansion. The cool evening air brushed gently against her cheeks as she took in the comforting sight of the grand estate. The mansion's towering stone façade glowed softly in the last rays of twilight, the tall windows illuminated by the warm golden flicker of chandeliers still burning inside.
The scent of blooming roses and freshly cut grass filled the garden as she walked along the cobblestone path toward the great oak door. The door itself was an imposing sight—solid, weathered wood carved with ancient family crests that had seen centuries pass. As she neared, it swung open almost of its own accord, revealing two silent servants who bowed respectfully.
"Welcome back, young lady," one of them said in a soft, polished tone.
Fleur offered a slight nod, her expression unreadable, and stepped inside without a word. The familiar scent of polished mahogany and faint vanilla from the hearth was oddly soothing.
A servant followed her quietly as she ascended the grand staircase, the rich carpet muffling her footsteps. Pausing near the landing, Fleur turned to the attendant.
"Have my parents returned?" she asked, her voice a little lighter than before.
"Yes, my lady," the servant replied. "Both the lord and madame have returned. They retired to their chambers shortly after dinner."
Fleur nodded thoughtfully. "And Gabrielle? Has she gone to bed?"
"She has, my lady. The youngest lady fell asleep long ago."
Fleur gave a small sigh and continued upward, her mind still restless. The servant hesitated for a moment, then asked gently, "Is there anything you require, my lady?"
"Nothing," Fleur said quietly. "You may go."
The servant bowed and withdrew, leaving Fleur alone in the long, ornate hallway that led to her room on the third floor.
Her door opened smoothly at her touch, revealing a sanctuary that sparkled with enchantments and treasures collected over generations. The walls were lined with bookshelves, mirrors that reflected more than just appearances, and delicate vials of glowing potions. She moved swiftly to her wardrobe, a grand armoire carved with flowers and vines that seemed almost alive.
At her command, the wardrobe doors opened, and magically, her day's clothes lifted off her like whispered shadows, folding themselves neatly before being sent to a small box in the corner for cleaning. Then soft, violet pajamas floated forward and gently wrapped themselves around her frame, the fabric cool and comforting against her skin.
Fleur sighed deeply, the long breath escaping as if it carried the weight of a thousand unsaid thoughts.
She let herself fall back onto the soft duvet of her bed, staring at the ceiling as the room's magical lights dimmed to a gentle glow.
"Why the long sighs, my dear?" came a voice—warm, teasing, utterly familiar.
Fleur turned her head to see her mother, Apolline Delacour, seated gracefully on the edge of the bed, a mischievous smile playing on her lips.
"Why at such a young age are you sighing like you've known the deepest heartbreak?" her mother teased softly, eyes sparkling with curiosity. "Have you been rejected? Or is it something far worse?"
Fleur gave a half-hearted smile, then shook her head. "It's nothing like that, Maman."
Apolline's gaze softened as she sat down beside her daughter. "Come now, Fleur. What weighs so heavily on your heart? You can tell me."
Fleur hesitated, staring down at the quilt. "It's just… I saw Eira today."
Apolline raised an elegant brow. "Ah, Eira. And what of her?"
"She was with someone new," Fleur said quietly. "A British girl. Hermione Granger."
Her mother's smile widened knowingly. "I see. And does this new friend trouble you?"
Fleur bit her lip. "No, it's not that exactly… but…"
"But what?"
"She was so close to her, Maman. They walked through Paris together. Eira seemed… happy with her. Like they'd known each other forever."
Apolline nodded slowly. "So, you're jealous."
Fleur's eyes widened in surprise. "Jealous? No, I—"
Apolline chuckled softly. "Fleur, you are a Delacour, no stranger to honesty. Jealousy is a natural feeling. And it's okay to admit it."
Fleur looked away, cheeks warming. "Maybe a little."
"Maybe a little," her mother echoed, squeezing her hand gently. "Tell me, what is it that frightens you? Is it that this Hermione will take Eira's attention away from you?"
Fleur remained silent for a moment, then nodded slowly.
"It feels wrong," she admitted. "I don't want to share Eira with anyone else. She's always been so close to me, and now… I don't know."
Apolline's eyes softened further. "Fleur, you must understand: friendships evolve. Eira has her own path, her own choices. You cannot control who she welcomes into her life."
"But I don't want to lose her," Fleur whispered, voice trembling.
"No one will lose anyone they truly love," Apolline said firmly. "But you must trust her. Jealousy, if unchecked, can become a poison."
Fleur sighed again, a long, aching sound. "It's just hard. They laughed, Maman, the way they looked at each other—it stung inside me, like a thorn in my heart."
Her mother reached up, brushing a stray lock of hair from Fleur's face. "You feel this so strongly because you care deeply. But listen to me: do not let jealousy cloud your judgment or your heart."
Fleur swallowed hard. "I want to believe that. But sometimes I just want to make Hermione disappear."
Apolline's eyes widened slightly, then she pressed Fleur's hand firmly.
"Don't say that, mon cœur. That is a dangerous path."
Fleur shook her head, eyes glistening. "I don't want to be that person."
"Then don't. Instead, learn to accept this change. Eira's happiness will never diminish your own worth."
Fleur nodded slowly, wiping a tear that had escaped.
Her mother smiled gently. "Now, tell me—what does this Hermione look like? Is she as lovely as you imagine?"
Fleur grimaced, cheeks still flushed. "Ugly, actually. She has these big front teeth—when she smiles, she looks like a mouse. And her hair is… shaggy. She dresses so casually, nothing elegant at all."
Apolline laughed heartily, the sound bright and infectious.
"Oh, Fleur! You've only just met her, and you're already criticizing? That's hardly fair."
Fleur shrugged. "I don't know. She just doesn't seem to fit."
"Maybe that's because she's different. Sometimes the people who don't seem to fit at first are the ones who surprise us most."
Fleur considered this, then sighed again.
"I want to like her. I do. But it's hard."
"Then give yourself time," Apolline said, rising from the bed and stretching gracefully. "And give Hermione a chance. Who knows? Perhaps she will become a friend to you both."
Fleur smiled faintly. "Maybe."
Her mother reached down and ruffled Fleur's hair affectionately. "Come now, my little Delacour, tomorrow is a new day. Don't let shadows in your heart darken the beauty of your life."
Fleur nodded and lay back down, the violet pajamas soft against her skin. For the first time that evening, her sigh was lighter, less burdened.
"Goodnight, Maman."
"Goodnight, my darling."
As the room's magical lights dimmed to a soft glow, Fleur closed her eyes and dreamed of Eira. When she suddenly opened them back , she walked over to her table and pulled a large photo of Eira from a drawer. Seeing Eira's smiling face, Fleur kissed the photo gently on the lips and whispered, "I really love you, you silly. I really love you." Holding the picture close to her heart, she closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep.