Chapter Text
“Fleur! Fleur wake up!”
Fleur groaned and curled up tighter into her warm bed, knowing full well that the thick wool blankets would do nothing to protect her against the incoming force that was her little sister.
“Go away, little monster! Let me sleep!” She shouted back, her voice thick with sleep and muffled by the layers of fabric.
It was Sunday, her one day for a good lie-in, and she had hoped to have a relaxing morning before starting her chores. Alas, it seemed that would not be the case today.
She reluctantly cracked an eye when she heard the pattering of bare feet growing louder, bracing herself for the inevitable.
Like clockwork, the door flung open seconds later, and the excited ten-year-old came bounding into their shared bedroom. In four large strides, Gabrielle crossed the small space and launched herself onto the lump of blankets on the bed - a routine perfected over the years for maximum impact.
“Oooft!” Fleur grunted as the tiny body collided with hers. How one so small could be so heavy was a mystery; a mystery that she would likely never solve.
“There are easier and less painful ways to get my attention, you know.” She grumbled moodily.
“Well I wouldn’t have had to wake you up like this if you had just gotten up when I called earlier!” Gabrielle giggled. Unperturbed by her sister’s temper, she attempted to snuggle in against the bigger girl.
As annoyed as she was, Fleur couldn’t deny her little sister. She emerged from her fortress and wrapped her arms around the little girl, pulling her close.
“Mm, this is much better without your bony knee in my stomach,” she grinned, nuzzling her chin against the top of the girl’s head. “So what has you all riled up today?”
“Papa sent a message! He finished at the market, and will be returning in two day’s time. And he found a new farmhand!”
“Oh, what happy news,” Fleur feigned enthusiasm, glad that Gabrielle was facing away and couldn’t see her rolling her eyes. Her sister was innocent and naive, and she didn’t want to dash her excitement. Being six years older, she had a much different view on meeting new people, especially males.
Ever since she had developed a woman’s body, boys and men started staring at her whenever she went into town for her weekly shopping trip; their lecherous eyes lingering in places they shouldn’t. She shuddered at the memories of hungry gazes roving over her body while they whispered lewd comments behind her back.
Fortunately for Fleur, their small plot of land was secluded far away from others so she had a buffer during the week.
A farmhand living with them meant that she would get no reprieve from the ogling. It wasn’t her vanity that had her jumping to this conclusion - although she knew she was exceptionally beautiful - it was just that experience had taught her that men were the same. They only had one thing on their mind when it came to women.
Despite her age, she had already received a few offers of courtship. Thankfully, her father put a stop to the unwelcome advances, but she knew that it wouldn’t last forever.
She was dreading the day she came of age and all of the expectations that came with it. She had no interest in marriage and even if she did, no one in town had caught her eye. While there were attributes she found attractive in men, more often than not she found her thoughts drifting to ladies rather than gents.
Sadly, she knew a woman’s role and that she would be expected to marry one day, regardless of her desires. That was just the society she lived in. She would just do her best to put on a brave face and be the best wife she could be to whomever her father married her off to. Since she would have no say in the matter of her future husband, she could only hope that they were kind and at least moderately handsome.
She knew she shouldn’t have such a bleak outlook; anyone her age should be happy to have prospects so soon. Marriage meant protection and stability, both for herself and her family by extension. Especially Gabrielle, should any ill befall their father before she became eligible for marriage. Fleur would do anything to protect her sister, even if that meant entering into a loveless union.
There was a time when she dreamed of finding true love, being swept off her feet, and riding off into the sunset toward her happily ever after. She grew out of that mindset long ago. She recognized that her parents were a rare exception to the norm, and the idea of marrying for love was just a dream for fools to cling to.
Fleur Delacour was no fool.
She sighed quietly. Fretting wouldn’t change the future or the fact that her haven was about to be invaded. It was bound to happen eventually.
She knew her father needed help; running a farm and small vineyard required a lot of work and he wasn’t getting any younger. She used to help out in the fields, but when her mother died unexpectedly the year prior, she assumed responsibility for maintaining the house and raising Gabrielle.
It was difficult at first, but she couldn’t complain. She had a good life, all things considered.
While they were poor - as was almost every other family in the area - her father always made sure that she and her sister were provided for. They had a solid roof over their heads, a couple of good quality dresses, and food in their bellies. It was enough, and they made the most of their situation.
It hadn’t always been this way. The Delacours were once a well-off family of repute. When the LeStranges usurped the throne, they were forced to flee to England, seeking political asylum. A testament to their resilience, Raphaël and Apolline Delacour carved out a new life for the family, establishing a small homestead just outside the town limits of Ottery St. Catchpole in Devon.
Fleur was only five at the time of their relocation, so she had only vague memories of her early years in France. As far as she was concerned, the farm was her life.
While she sometimes dreamt of what her life may have been like, she liked the routine simplicity on the homestead; there was comfort and safety in the monotony.
In the mornings she and Gabrielle would feed the chickens, geese, and pigs, then milk the cows. The midday meal was a small affair, usually wedge of bread, meat, and cheese. In the afternoon she cooked supper and cycled through various household chores while Gabrielle tended the garden or checked her snare line. In the evenings she would read by candlelight or teach Gabrielle her letters and numbers. Then it was time to sleep and prepare to repeat the cycle the next day.
Having a fourth person living with them would undoubtedly throw off her balance and carefully scheduled routine. Hopefully things would settle quickly and the new help stayed out of her way and kept his eyes to himself.
Gabrielle’s wiggling pulled her out of her thoughts. Cuddle time was over.
“Well, I guess we should get ready for their arrival, hmm? Would you like to help me make Papa's special dessert to celebrate his return? Strawberry-rhubarb cobbler?”
“Yes! I’ll go collect the berries! I know a secret patch by the river!” Gabrielle was out the door seconds later.
Fleur smiled after her and got out of bed, taking a moment to stretch her body before getting ready for the day. There was so much to do and not a lot of time to do it.
The air hung thick with the sweet perfume of flowering fruit trees as dusk began its slow advance over the land. Cheerful birdsong gave way to the rhythmic chirping of crickets, while the dark clouds building in the distance promised spring rains.
A flickering candle sitting in the open window of the small three-room cottage nestled against the treeline shone like a beacon in the night.
Fleur was setting the table when a loud cry pierced the silence, startling her from her task.
“PAPA!”
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a flash of platinum streak by the main window before disappearing just as quickly.
Fleur had to admit, the tiny blonde’s excitement was contagious and she found herself grinning broadly, despite her growing trepidation over meeting the stranger.
She spared a glance out the window. It was too dark to see anything, but she could hear the steady clip-clop of hooves in the distance, accompanied by the creaking of their sturdy wagon rattling down the dirt path toward the homestead.
She quickly glanced around the main room, making sure everything was in its place. There wasn’t much but she wanted it to be perfect. Despite their humble means, her mother had instilled a sense of pride in her daughters and always stressed the importance of keeping a good home. Fleur would be damned before she made a poor first impression.
The woodpile by the door was stocked, the flagstone floor swept, and the mantle dusted. The small desk in the corner of the room was cleared of its typical mess of loose papers. The bedroom doors - one on either side of the fireplace - were closed, but the beds had freshly laundered sheets.
The kitchen - little more than a long wooden counter along the wall opposite the fireplace - had received the same treatment. All of the dishes had been washed and put away on their shelves. Bunches of herbs and garlic braids hung from hooks in the rafters next to a brace of conies from Gabrielle’s traps. The larder - hidden behind a wooden divider - was organized as well.
With everything to her satisfaction, Fleur went through her mental checklist for supper. The vegetable and beef stew she had prepared was simmering over the fire, ready to serve. Thanks to Gabrielle, the water jugs had been filled that afternoon and were lined up in a neat row. A fresh loaf of bread was sliced and centered on the table that divided the main room. She had even dipped into their butter supply as a special treat, the jar sitting next to the bread.
Her breath hitched when she heard the wagon creak to a halt followed by the telltale thuds of boots hitting the dirt.
Pale fingers obsessively smoothed down the skirt of her favorite blue cotton dress; a nervous habit she hadn’t quite managed to grow out of.
“I’ll tend to the horse and will be in shortly.” An unfamiliar voice, as smooth as autumn honey, met her ears.
She hurried across the room, hastily wiping off her hands on her white apron and adjusting her thick platinum braid along the way. Despite her previous reservations, her curiosity got the better of her. She wanted to see the owner of the smoky alto that had her shivering involuntarily.
From her lookout in the doorway, Fleur could make out a dark silhouette leading the horse to the barn, guided by a handheld torch. Disappointment coursed through her veins. Patience had never been her strength of hers, she had just gotten better at masking it.
She didn’t have time to dwell before her father came striding into view, a broad grin on his face and her sister dangling from his arm. He was the polar opposite of his late wife in both appearance and attitude. His thick, curly dark hair was hidden under his broad-rimmed travel hat, but Fleur could see a leaf stuck in the side of his bushy salt-and-pepper beard. His eyes were tired and his cloak slightly askew from a long day of traveling, but otherwise he looked fit. Bright blue eyes - the only trait his daughters inherited from him - twinkled merrily.
“There’s my little flower! Did you miss me?” He swept her up in a big one-armed hug, his beard tickling her cheek. Fleur loved that he was so openly affectionate; most men were rigid and stoic toward their families.
“Oui, Papa! I’m glad you’re back. It was a good trip?”
“Very successful indeed, but I’m glad to be home! I sold all the wine and as my letter said, I found someone willing to work here in exchange for room and board and a modest commission from sales.”
For some reason, this information made Fleur uncomfortable. The wind of her previous excitement rushed out of her sails, leaving her visibly deflated. It sounded too good to be true. Why would someone undersell themselves? Were they that desperate for work? Admittedly, she wasn’t familiar with this aspect of business since they’d never had hired help before, so maybe it was standard practice? She resolved to keep an eye out for any suspicious behavior.
“Papa, Papa, Papa! We made your favorite dessert as a surprise! I collected the strawberries! And Fleur made stew for tonight!” Gabrielle dropped off his arm and rocked on her toes, vibrating with excitement.
“What did I do to deserve such amazing daughters?” He grinned and ruffled his youngest’s hair, directing an appreciative sniff toward the open door. “Smells good! I’ll just wash up real quick, then we can eat.”
“Me, too!” Gabrielle rushed around the house to the wash basin out back.
Fleur just shook her head at her sister’s antics and went back inside. Experience told her that the pair would likely be delayed due to her sister’s inability to focus and a seemingly unending reserve of energy. She knew she should work on wrangling her behavior but she didn’t have the heart to cage such a free spirit. She would let her sister cling to the last vestiges of youth as long as she could before teaching her how to be a proper lady.
She cringed at the thought, but it was for the best. She had the impression that Gabrielle would be perfectly happy living alone and eking a living off the land, but her strength wouldn’t last forever. Being an unwed spinster was essentially a social death sentence in their small-minded town.
She lit two more candles for the table as she waited. She was absentmindedly adjusting the spoons when a subtle cough caught her attention.
Fleur’s arctic blue eyes flicked over to the door and she froze as she got her first look at the new farmhand.
He was tall, about half a hand taller than her, but with shoulders narrower than what she would expect for a man his height. Despite his slight build, she could see defined muscles under his long-sleeved linen shirt and brown leather vest. A mess of curly brown hair was cropped short on the sides but left long on the top, pulled back by a cord. While he looked to be slightly older than her, his face was gentle and soft, boyish even, not even a hint of peach fuzz along his chin.
Intelligent amber eyes watched her - not in an unwelcome manner, more curious than anything else, but it left her breathless. That one look stripped away her hard exterior and pierced straight to her soul.
‘Oh, gods.’
Fleur’s heart thundered in her chest, though she did her best to remain calm and impassive. She proudly tilted her chin and fixed him with an appraising gaze; her haughtiness masking her rapidly growing interest in the boy.
“Ah, good, we’re all here! I believe introductions are in order!” Raphaël announced as he entered the cottage, breaking the mounting tension between the teenagers.
“Fleur, this is Monsieur Granger. He’ll be helping here for the foreseeable future.”