Chapter Text
The carriage hurtled down, coming to land at a tremendous speed. The Abraxans’ grooves hit the ground at last, and everyone inside sighed in relief.
Florian Delacour tapped his thumb against his pant leg while watching his fellow Beauxbatons schoolmates’ excited faces.
He felt none of their enthusiasm. Truth to be told, he had a bad feeling about this journey, and his Veela instincts never lied to him.
As if reading his thoughts, Madame Maxime approached him and laid a soothing hand on his shoulder. “Florian, smile,” her lips quirked mischievously when he grunted in a very un-gentlemanly manner his mother would most definitely disapprove of. “I don’t want you to scare the British ladies. I heard they are quite fragile.’’
Like he cared. The last thing he wanted was their attention. He had enough of that as it was.
The only reason he approved of this trip was to please his mentor and role model; Enchantment High Mistress Olympe Maxime. Beauxbatons’ Headmistress had supported him since he stepped into the school. He was a fledgling, inexperienced young Veela at the time. An exception, an anomaly even among his kind. He was the first male Veela born to the French Coven in five hundred years. Male Veelas were as rare as a Black Moon, it was no wonder that the Coven—and his family, were overprotective of him. He was their wonder prince.
However, that love and boundless affection didn’t turn him into an insufferable brat. It reinforced his resolution to prove to everyone that he were more than a spoiled prince with a pretty face.
Madame Maxime was among the few who glimpsed the fire burning behind his crystal clear eyes. She saw the single-minded young wizard and not the unfairly handsome male Veela.
It was the main reason why he agreed to represent his school at this farce of a Tournament and repay her kindness by doing his best to bring the Triwizard Cup to Beauxbatons.
“I heard that they consider my kind halfwits with barbarous tendencies. I’m a lowly creature, remember?” he exhaled a lungful of air as he stepped out onto what looked like the border of a gloomy forest. With the onset of fall, the tree leaves had already begun changing to a burnished copper.
Madame Maxime snorted before her face relaxed into a gracious expression as she walked toward Dumbledore.
Florian fought the need to roll his eyes at Hogwarts’ population. They gaped as Madame Maxime laughed at something Dumbledore said. His mentor was hard to miss, there was no denying the truth.
Anxiety amped up his heart rate the closer he came to the door. Everyone’s attention was solely focused upon him, and he abhorred every moment of it.
His hood unfortunately fell, baring his face for all to see. He tightened his grip on his Aura, but it was pointless. He was a seventeen-year old Veela at his prime. There was no hiding his heritage.
The thought that he was yet to find his Mate still turned his stomach, but not for the same reason it had before he reached his maturity.
He wanted her to accept him, man and Veela and all. He wanted to be perfect. For her. Just for her.
He tolerated the invasive looks, sighs and gasps, his expression as indifferent and aloof as ever. He had no intention of dropping his icy façade in front of these strangers.
Madame Maxime looked back over her shoulder, her magic reaching out to comfort him, and he gave her a stiff nod. She knew how much he loathed crowds and attention.
He followed after his schoolmates as they crossed the Great Hall before choosing seats at the third table.
“Welcome to Ravenclaw.” A small blonde offered airily. “You will enjoy your stay here, Florian Delacour.”
“How did you—‘’ He asked uneasily.
The girl ignored him, her attention turning back to the book she was reading. Upside down. “I’m Luna, Luna Lovegood.”
“Enchanté,” he frowned.
“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, ghosts and—most particularly—guests,” said Dumbledore, beaming around at the foreign students. “I have great pleasure in welcoming you all to Hogwarts. I hope and trust that your stay here will be both comfortable and enjoyable.”
Alex Moreau—his best friend, slumped on the seat next to him and groaned. “Doubtful considering how cold it is here. I miss Beauxbatons already.”
Florian scanned the crowd mostly filled with people he hardly knew yet who looked at him as if they had every right to invade his privacy. “Let’s win the blasted Cup and go back home. Don’t act like a spoiled brat.”
“Ha!” Alex scoffed. “Look who’s talking. I’m afraid, I’ll have to disappoint you, your highness.”
He shook head, then stilled when the plates in front of them filled with food.
“C’est formidable,” he whispered in awe. “This is an amazing display of…”
“Don’t start,” Alex scrunched his nose as he studied the dishes. “Just…. Enjoy your food or….what little of it is edible, that is.”
Florian looked at the pot of Bouillabaisse with longing. Sadly, his schoolmates pounced before he could make a go at it.
“This is unacceptable,” he gave his empty plate a solemn look. He chanced a look at the gold and red table and arched a brow. “They don’t seem fond of our cuisine. Let me handle this.”
Alex’s grin broadened. “Make good use of your charm. We are grown men, and we need sustenance, mon ami.”
Florian rose gracefully to his feet, keeping an ironclad grip on his Aura and slid between the tables until he reached his quest. He cleared his throat softly, garnering two girls' attention, and said in fluent English. “Excuse me, can I have the Bouillabaisse?”
The black-haired girl in the middle looked up and their gazed collided.
Florian tensed waiting for the inevitable and cursing his luck… But… Her eyes remained focused and clear. She didn’t look perturbed or incoherent as she blinked at the dish, then pushed it toward him. “Of course. Enjoy your meal.”
Florian paused. He was rarely addled by anyone.
How unusual….
He studied her face, which—he had to admit, was hard to miss even in a hall brimming with young, beautiful witches. High cheekbones, heart-shaped lips, long bangs hiding her forehead and emerald green eyes that looked at him with a steady gaze.
She caught him staring and glanced away, a faint blush flushing her cheeks.
What in Merlin’s Name was he doing? The last thing he needed was another girl chasing after him.
“Thank you, Mademoiselle,” he nodded politely and reached for the pot.
He heard her friend’s breathless gasp but chose to ignore it. Their fingers accidentally grazed, and he was struck utterly dumb. He drew his hand back as if she had scalded him, and indeed it felt as if she had. His entire body erupted into flames. He clenched then unclenched his fist as his blood ran like wildfire through his veins.
Veelafire burned within every one of his kind when they found their Mate. When they accepted them, the burn turned into a blessed elixir, binding their lives and syncing their heartbeats as one. Once bound, neither could live without the other. He swallowed as he felt the pull in his chest, his Veela yearning for his Mate. He placed a hand on his chest, his fingers splayed, and stilled as reality dawned slowly.
He found his Mate.
It was this green-eyed, dark-haired witch looking at him expectantly.
He smiled down at her tenderly and offered his hand. “I am Florian Delacour.” If the stories he heard were true, Veelafire burned hot and hard within a Veela from the moment they found their Mate. They could never deny the pull. It was simply not done.
She bit her lower lip and looked at his hand before taking it. “And I am Calanthe Potter.”
The name made little difference to him. Yes, she was the renowned Girl Who Lived; Wizarding Britain's Saviour and Heroine. To him, she would always be his Mate and that was more than enough. Fame was a fickle thing. He strongly believed that there was more, so much more to Calanthe Potter than her name.
But he was ready to wait until she trusted him with everything: her fears and dreams and hopes and heart.
Without another word, he lifted her hand to his lips and kissed her trembling knuckles. It felt as if lightning had split his chest open.
The small touch made his heart thump erratically. It was heaven and hell at once.
She lowered her head, her eyelashes fluttering, and he suppressed the pressing need to slide his fingers under her jaw and gently urge her to look up at him. Only him.
Florian Delacour didn’t know what the future had in store for them. All he knew was the fire deep within him calling for his Mate. A Mate he intended to court properly and protect with his life.