Fleur Delacour Growled in annoyance as she glanced up from the poor English imitation of French food. Her plan should have worked. She had been selected as one of the three Champions, showing that she truly was the best of the best.
Her parents and sister were planning on arriving in the next month or two in order to watch her compete.
The few classes she had actually bothered attending at Hogwarts had been pathetically easy, revealing that Beauxbatons had a far higher standard than at least one of her competitors.
No less than twenty boys had asked her for a date since arriving.
Yes, she should have been happy, elated really, but she wasn't. The reasoning why was very simple, Harry bloody Potter. Said teen, and quite frankly the only one at this godforsaken school she gave a shit about, hadn't said five words to her since the ceremony, and it wasn't that she hadn't given him the opportunity to do so either!
Every day she sat down in her new seat… at the Slytherin table. She often found a reason to be in the same corridor as him after class, or before class, or in his free time, or literally anytime . But he had yet to even notice her presence.
Didn't he understand who she was!? Didn't he understand what he was doing to her!?
The French Witch stealthily rubbed her thighs together, but still found nothing but pent up fire coursing through her blood. Her damned Magic and instincts had marked the boy and now she was stuck with the only option being him to find release with.
Not that she minded, of course. When she had first spied him during their arrival she had dismissed his appearance and personality, but the more she pursued him the more her opinion had changed. Not only was the boy mind numbingly intelligent, but far more charismatic than most politicians she had ever met. Add into this the fact that he was very beautiful and… well even if the Veela inside of her hadn't demanded it she would be pursuing him.
He was perfect, she was perfect, why shouldn't they be perfect together .
"Anyone else…" she quietly seethed, "any other boy, or even girl would have given in by now. Would have felt honored to even receive my attention… but not you ."
Secretly her gaze fell upon the teen, who was halfway down the table.
"Uhm excuse me, I er… well I was just thinking that uhm… maybe you would like to… you know…"
Her eyes shifted to the stuttering Durmstrang boy standing next to her, clearly trying to work up the courage to ask her out. Normally she might humor the boy for a few moments before replying in the negative, maybe even toy with her food for a bit.
But not now.
" Piss off ."
"Uh yeah okay sure."
He quickly scampered away, and her gaze returned to her true prey… only to notice something was different. He was still nodding along with whatever meaningless conversation the other Slytherins were having but there was a change to him, a slight smirk on his face.
Then, for half a moment, such a short amount of time that she wasn't even sure it was real, his gaze fell upon her… and his smirk rose just a little more. Before she could even call out or reply his attention was refocused elsewhere.
He knew, the bastard knew what he was doing to her… he was making her suffer!
Fleur grit her teeth, resisting the urge to walk over to him and either punch him in his smug face… or drag him off to the nearest room and rape him.
...
'You have FAILED me!' a voice roared in Bartemius Crouch Junior's mind, dropping the man to his knees in agony.
"P-please my Lord…"
'Please what!? Forgive your failure ? Forgive your incompetence ? You had but one task and you have failed !'
Another whimper of agony escaped the man's lips, "B-but my Lord the Goblet… the boy was entered, he should have been selected."
Hundreds of miles away the homunculus that contained Voldemort's spirit paused for a moment, this was the second time that the boy had somehow done the unexpected when it concerned his plans. Memories resurfaced of years prior in which he had been forcibly removed from Quirrell's body before fleeing. Back then he had been sure that Dumbledore had been there, had set a trap and made it appear as though the child had somehow been responsible for his defeat.
It was a rather brilliant plan for the elderly Wizard, to have his nemesis assume that the boy would be untouchable and thus grant him some semblance of immunity. Still there was doubt, what if the Headmaster hadn't been involved, what if the same Magic that had protected the boy a decade prior had somehow risen up against him once more?
Tom Riddle's inner musings were interrupted by his cowardly servant's attempt at bargaining for his miserable life, "M-my Lord I can still succeed, Potter will be at the graveyard I swear on my life!"
'Yessss' the voice hissed, earning another wince from his servant, 'on your life .'
....
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