Being Fleur Delacour

Who are you?

You're a French blonde. 

You laughed at Dumbledore's speech, and you called

the boy who lived "this little boy".

What are you?

You're a girl who goes to Beauxbatons, and you got 

picked as the school's champion, for the tournament.

Yet you still act like your school is better, even though Hogwarts

took you in. 

Where are you?

You are in a place where maybe, finally, they will see you as the strong, feminine 

warrior princess you think you are.

Where they will see not only your big blue eyes, but

your aching, warm heart. 

Who are you?

You are a brave, beautiful girl who wants to be loved, who wants to 

be in the Beauxbatons history books. 

You fell for the dashing Weasley boy with a ponytail.

What are you?

You are a talented witch who gets overlooked in favor of Hermione and Ginny, 

because you're "too stupid" or "too mean"; never mind that Ginny

spends half the series insulting people, including her own brothers.

You're a beautiful, unstoppable force that met an immovable object.

You are Fleur Delacour.

 

 

This poem is about: 
Our world
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