Doesn't Mean a Thing

Elise walked through the noisy field, enjoying the sounds and smells of the Quidditch World Cup. Being high up at the Ministry, her father had secured two tickets in the Minister’s box. They were staying in a luxury tent pitched next to the rest of the Ministry people.

However, she chose to walk through the fields today. Everyone there was so stiff; they didn’t know how to have fun. Plus, there was only one boy around her age there. His name was Draco. He had white blonde hair and piercing eyes, but his good looks were shadowed by his haughty attitude. He was about two years younger than her and very flirtatious with her.

Elise pulled the straps of her blue sundress higher; the gold slippers she was wearing were squishing into the grass. Her hair, curled and natural, blew in the wind.

She smiled at the children, who were playing with toy broomsticks. She waved to a couple girls from Beauxbatons; however, they weren’t exactly her friends so she avoided them.

American witches gazed at her, and she smiled back. It seemed every teen boy in the vicinity had their eyes on her, which she didn’t mind. She knew she was attractive, and she nevertheless flaunted it.

It was because of her mother she had these looks. Her mother had been pure veela. The only thing that wasn’t so veela about her was that she had brown hair, which most of them had bleach blonde, unlike their parent’s white. However, she had the same piercing eyes, glowing skin, enticing smile, and whatever else veela had. But it hurt too much to think about her mother, so she stopped.

She was walking when two tall, red haired boys bumped into her. They were donning Irish wear. “Oh, sorry.” They said at the same time.

“Excusez-vous, des garçons.” She said in French. She loved it when people thought she only spoke French. It usually got very entertaining.

“Oh, she must be from Beauxbatons.” One whispered loudly.

“Enchante.” One said, winking at her. He kissed her hand.

Elise giggled. “Vous deux êtes de tels crétins.” She said. You two are such nits.

One smiled at her haughtily. “French, that’s sexy.” He purred.

She rolled her eyes, but revealed her dazzling smile. They seemed taken aback. Her skin started to radiate a faint glow, and she could tell her eyes were piercing their souls.

“Holy hell, she’s part veela.” One whispered.

“I didn’t know they could have brown hair.” The other muttered.

“Au revoir, merdes de trempette.” She said, waggling her fingers. They stared after her, their mouths wide open. She giggled, shaking her head. Sometimes, boys were so stupid.

*~*~*~*

Fred and George ran back into the tent where Hermione, Ginny, Harry, and Ron were.

“We just talked to a veela.” George announced proudly.

“And she was hot as hell, mates.” Fred winked.

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Yeah, we heard a rumor the Bulgarians brought veela.” She said nonchalantly.

“No, this girl was a half, and she was the most gorgeous thing I’d ever seen.” Fred announced.

Ron rolled his eyes. “Fat chance she’d ever fall for one of you nits.”

George ignored this. “Au revoir, merdes de trempette, she said. Ah, she had the voice of an angel.”

Hermione burst out laughing. “You have no idea what she just said.”

Fred crossed his arms. “What did she say then?”

Hermione snickered. “Farewell, shits of dip. Basically, she said goodbye, you dipshits.”

Harry, Ginny, and Ron burst into laughter as the twins recoiled.

“Shut up, you lot.” Fred muttered.

Later that night, they were walking up to the seats at the match.

“Dad, I’m so tired.” Ginny whined.

“Don’t worry, these seats are worth it.” He said back.

“Christ, Dad, our seats are so high up.” Fred said.

“I suppose that’s all you could afford.” said a voice.

They all looked down to see Lucius Malfoy, Draco, a dark haired man, and the French girl from earlier that day by Draco’s side.

“Arthur, I’d like you to meet Anton Seymour, the new Head of the Department of National Relations at the Ministry, formerly the French Ambassador.” Lucius said, bragging.

Mr. Weasley smiled humbly. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Seymour. I do believe you moved into the cottage over the hill by my own home.”

Ginny poked her brothers. “That’s him, the people who moved in!”

Mr. Seymour smiled. “Wonderful; it’s nice to know someone in the area then.” He said with a French tinged accent.

“Good lord, Anton, what are you doing in that area? You should’ve moved into one of the estates I suggested to you before.” Lucius said.

It took all of them to hold Fred back from leaping over and punching the Malfoys.

Mr. Seymour shook his head. “Ah, those were all too cold. You see, my late wife, Adrienne, has quite the longing to move to the countryside. However, due to work we never were quite able to. Besides, I like the homey aspect, as does my daughter.”

Lucius shook his head as Mr. Seymour smiled at the Weasleys. “Your town is quite delightful.”

“Father got us seats next to the Minister.” Draco bragged. His father pushed him with his cane.

“It’s not polite to brag, Draco. Let’s go.”

Mr. Seymour smiled apologetically to them and followed Mr. Malfoy. Draco sneered at them and grabbed at the girl’s hand. She pulled away and he walked away.

“I am sorry for their behavior. My father and I are not in their company; but they insist so. Enjoy the match.” She said apologetically, turning and walking away. She was almost walking in slow motion.

“Damn, they don’t make them like that here.” Ron sighed.