Harry Potter One Shots

Love You Best

All rights belong to the author, xoxcrescentmoonxox

Gabrielle Delacour makes her way haltingly up the stairs of her home, skimming one hand along the railing. Down the hall she can hear the sounds of closet doors whizzing open; of drawers Levitating their contents into her sister's open trunk. Tomorrow, Fleur is leaving France and going across the channel to live in Britain. She'll improve her English, work in the center of the magical world, and do everything that she's always dreamed of.

It's just, Gabrielle obviously wasn't included in that dream. Because she won't be going to England with her sister, learning their magic right along with Fleur. She'll still be here in France with their parents, waiting to start at Beauxbatons.

She's not angry at Fleur—never angry at Fleur. Not over something as huge as this. And, she's only selfishly reluctant for her sister to leave. There's no question in her mind that England is what Fleur's always wanted. So she should go, and Gabrielle knows that she can never give Fleur cause to stay. Because she will, if she believes her younger sister needs her.

"Gab, is that you out there?" Fleur sticks her silvery head out the door, then, smiling, beckons her sister inside. "I'm almost done, if you'll help me with the vanity."

Gabrielle nods and lets herself in, walking over to her sister's pale blue dressing table. Scattered across it are various bracelets and tubes of makeup, and pictures of her family and friends are taped into ribbon frames and stuck around the mirror. There's one from the year before last of the two of them where her own eight year old self is perched on Fleur's back, cheek to cheek with her sister, both of them grinning indistinguishably for the camera as their hair and loose blouses whip around in the wind. Gabrielle swallows a sudden lump in her throat and gathers up several caps for eyebrow pencils.

Both girls are silent for a little while until Gabrielle, biting her lip, at last turns to her sister. "Do you think you'll be homesick?" she asks in a higher than normal voice.

Fleur's back is still to Gabrielle, but her shoulders hunch in a little on themselves, and she draws in a shaky breath. "For France, some. They don't have much as good in Britain as it is here. And for you, Maman, and Papa—you know I will, Gabby."

"So why do you want to go so badly?" Gabrielle inquires, setting the makeup aside and sitting down on the little three legged stool. When Fleur turns to face her, her eyes are burning with a fire that's never been there before.

"Because I want to make things change. I want to learn English; be a part of the face of progression. I want to understand why our world works the way it does; I want to be within the power that is Britain." She pauses, and steps towards Gabrielle. "Promise you won't tell Maman and Papa something?"

Gabrielle nods earnestly.

"I want to fight the Dark Lord. I've seen firsthand what he can do—Gabby, you saw Cedric Diggory. He could be all of us one day. I want to be sure that that doesn't happen."

"Oh, Fleur . . ." Gabrielle doesn't know what to say. "There must be other people who can do that. Why does it have to be you?"

"Why?" Fleur asks simply, "Does it have to be any of them?" She steps beside Gabrielle at the mirror and leans down cheek to cheek with her, just like the picture of old.

"You're like me," Fleur continues, tweaking her sister's nose. "You need to find answers for everything; need to understand, to know."

"No." Gabrielle shakes her head sadly. "I don't care about those answers. I care about you, and I'm worried for you, not the thousands of people across the channel that I've never met and probably wouldn't like if I did." She pauses, then, "I'm not curious. I'm just scared."

Fleur smiles gently and, reaching up and tucking a stand of hair behind Gabrielle's ear, asks, "Of what, exactly?"

This is exactly the conversation Gabrielle knows she shouldn't have, because she feel selfish even thinking these worried thoughts, let alone saying them aloud. But there isn't another option, and anyway, by now she sort of wants to.

"That—" She pauses and meets her sister's gaze in the mirror. "That England will change you. That you won't always be the same older sister I've known for ten years."

Fleur nods, drawing an arm closer around Gabrielle's shoulder. "What else?"

"Um. That it'll break you. I know how silly it sounds, but Fleur, I remember how many night you've had nightmares since the Tournament; how you still wake up screaming sometimes because you can't forget the Grindylows, or the maze, or especially Cedric's face. And now with the war . . . you'll see so many people who've lost everything to the Dark Lord, who have no reason to hope anymore, and I'm worried . . . I'm worried that you'll stop hoping too."

"Oh, Gabby." Fleur traces one finger along the smooth line of her sister's cheek. "Any other things?"

"Yes." Gabrielle's voice breaks. "That in a few years it'll be Britain that you love, and you'll stop caring about France and this house and Beauxbatons and Maman and Papa and—" She turns to Fleur, unable to finish.

"You?"

Gabrielle nods, then buries her face in her sister's hair, digging her fingers into the silky material of Fleur's shirt and holding her like she'll never let go.

"As far as me changing, I'm not right now the sister you've known for ten years. I wasn't a year ago, or five, or eight. No one stays the same forever, but I think—" Fleur strokes the crown of Gabrielle's head gently. "I think you knew that already."

Fleur gently detaches the two now, and holds onto Gabrielle's two hands, looking her sister in the eye with a slightly haughty gaze as she tosses her hair. "And I know you know me, and you know that nothing will break me. Not while I'm still fighting." Here, Gabrielle opens her mouth, but Fleur shakes her head. "I will always be fighting."

A couple seconds pass as Gabrielle tries to memorize the lines of Fleur's face; the defiant, never give up look in her eyes.

"But, Gabrielle?" her sister asks, this time sounding as halting as Gabrielle herself has for most of this conversation. "Here's the words for you to carry with you when I'm gone.

"Gabrielle, I want to like England. I do, and I honestly believe I will. But no matter what, I loved France first.

"I loved France first, and I love you, Maman, and Papa best."

By now Gabrielle can't stop the tears from tumbling down her cheeks, and she launches herself at her sister, throwing her arms tight around Fleur and burying her face in the sleek mane that she can only hope she'll see again soon.

"I love you best too," she whispers into Fleur's neck, a ten year old's promise that will be kept because of its true sentiments. "And I know you'll come back one day. Because you loved France first, right?"

She can feel Fleur's shoulders begin to tremble, and when they pull apart her sister's face is tearstained too. "I'll always love France first," Fleur tells her. "So I'll always come back for you." Again their arms are around each other, crying because they can't explain how much the other means to them. But none of that matters, because For you is what Gabrielle needs to hear, and an endless embrace is what she needs to feel.

"Gab, you need to let go," Fleur says, hiccoughing a laugh.

Gabrielle's arms are pinned beneath her sister's. "You have to first, Fleur."