Apparently, I can't keep track of time or keep a schedule, but fortunately one of my New Year's resolutions was to do better about that. Finally started my blog, which you can find at:

type-00. blogspot. com

It's already got the next chapter of Harry Potter and Childish Things on it (I'll load it here next week,) and I'm planning on putting the next chapter of the Application Process up during the weekend (uploaded her next week as well.) Also have a little bit of original fiction there, if you're interested in checking it out. Even if you don't liek it, tell your friends, the more interest I can drum up about my work, the more likely it is I can dedicate mroe time and effort, and maybe (eventually, if I'm lucky,) I might be able to start doing writign as a full time thing. I think it's still a long, long, LONG way away from that, but the blog is a good first step for that sort of thing, so any support would be appreciated.

Anyways, enjoy the chapter, and Happy New Year!

The Application Process

Behind Every Great Man...

Fleur stalked through the halls of Hogwarts, furious at her schoolmates. None of them had been willing to join her team, cattily saying that if she was really qualified to be champion, she wouldn't need their help. She should have expected this. Her veela blood set her apart from the rest of them, and being named as the champion only exacerbated the problem. She had her own cadre of friends, people who looked beneath appearances, but none of them had been selected to join them at Hogwarts, which meant that she was on her own for the moment.

That wasn't a problem for the majority of the year. After all, the Triwizard tournament was meant to be a competition for individuals, but those blasted Twins had turned it into something else. Fleur repressed the urge to blow something up, it wouldn't be proper for a lady of her standing, and vowed to never give a member of their extended family the time of day.

She heard a sigh, and suppressed a groan of irritation. Ever since she reached her teens, and her allure had begun to manifest, she heard such love struck sighs on a regular basis. She whirled around, and just as she had expected, there was a boy standing there, a slightly glazed expression in his eyes.

She almost lashed out at him, an angry tirade already prepared to shame him enough that he would hide away for at least a week, but then she stopped. If her schoolmates wouldn't help her, than she was going to have to get creative about this.

As the love struck young lad gazed at her in adoration, Fleur considered her options. She could lead the boy on, letting his imagination and desire drive him. She had no intention of fulfilling his fantasies, but they could be a powerful motivation. Countless women in history had managed to control men in such a way, and that was without the power of the allure, so who knows what she could accomplish with the same approach?

She could also approach him as a delicate maiden, one who was in over her head, and needed his help. It was completely untrue, but boys so loved to play the knight in shining armor. She could already envision the lengths he would be willing to go to just to ensure that she was safe and happy. It was probably one of the easier ploys she could use against him, but that left a bad taste in her mouth. She was a champion, and Fleur would be damned if she played the part of a weakling after being selected for the most prestigious tournament in wizarding Europe.

No, the best way for her to take advantage of him was just to be herself. Her usual, demanding, commanding self. Perhaps there would be a bit of kindness thrown in there, if he proved to be more useful than she expected, but Fleur always preferred to use the stick instead of the carrot when dealing with the idiocy of young men.

Better to establish who was in charge from the start, and never give him a chance to protest it. By the time he regained his balance, he would already be in her thrall.

"You, follow me!" she commanded. The young boy stared at her with an absent smile, his mind not quite all there thanks to her allure. "Now!"

Nodding frantically, Neville Longbottom fell into step behind the french champion. He wasn't quite sure what was happening, but the allure still had him in its grip, and more importantly, he was well conditioned to follow the orders of demanding women.

Fleur stalked down the hallways, constantly shouting at the hapless Gryffindor, never giving him a chance to do anything besides simply follow after her. Once she was certain that they were alone, and that there was no one around to spy on them, she looked at him. Taking a few minutes to see what she had to work with.

"Not particularly impressive, are you?" She said, more to herself than to Neville, as she circled around him, taking him in from all angles. "Too short for my tastes, but you're still young. Perhaps you'll grow a bit, lose that baby fat, and gain a bit of muscle."

She spoke like she was studying a show dog, completely unconcerned with Neville's response. She was fortunate that the young Gryffindor was far too embarrassed to say anything, not that she would have listened to anything he had to say in the first place.

"You're not impressive, but you came from the same house as that little boy." Fleur said with distaste, still wondering how the blasted boy managed to outwit an artifact like the Goblet of Fire. "Perhaps you have some hidden depths to you. Best if you show me now."

Neville looked at her, uncomprehending of her meaning, before Fleur allowed herself an irritated sigh.

"Show me what you can do. Now." She order him, as if talking to a child.

"What I can do?' Neville squeaked, his face turning red. Fleur gave him a puzzled look, before she remembered how the mind of adolescent boys worked. Her eyes narrowed, as her look quickly morphed into a glare.

"With your wand, you fool." She hissed, wand in hand, ready to use if he got any other improper ideas.

Neville gulped, before cautiously pulling out his wand. For several long seconds, he stood there, just holding it, before another glare from the striking young woman pushed him into action.

He cast the first spell that came to mind, a full body bind. While it splashed harmlessly on an unoccupied chair, Fleur did not look happy with his choice.

"Is that all you can do? Something that any second year child could manage? Again, and try to put some real effort into it this time." She ordered.

Neville groaned, a mental image of his grandmother appearing, scolding him in almost exactly the same manner. Not wanting to disappoint the french girl in front of him, he tried again, managing a decent attempt at the blasting curse.

Fleur sniffed, clearly not impressed, and the unfortunate young man tried again, trying to meet her still unvoiced expectations. Again and again, the unfortunate Gryffindor used spell after spell, in hopes of impressing the young lady with his prowess.

Hours later, Fleur was far from happy with her initial choice. His power was paltry, and his selection of spells more limited than she would have expected from an average third year. However, she refused to admit defeat to anyone, especially her unfortunate victim. At this point she was invested, and she was far too stubborn and prideful to allow him to wallow in mediocrity.

Instead she had dragged him to the library, before loading the poor boy down with a number of books, ordering him to study them. The hapless boy had no other choice, finding himself staying up late practicing the spells, motivated by a strange combination of desire to impress the french champion, and fear what she would do if he failed.

Neville spent endless hours practicing, begging tips from Hermione and his other housemates when he had the chance. His schoolwork might have suffered a bit, but Snape never gave him a chance in the first place, and a small part of him felt a sense of vindication when he simply ignored the blasted old bat.

The week passed faster than he would have liked. While he could see he had improved, Neville worried that it wouldn't be enough. Fleur had made it very clear that she expected nothing but the best, and while he was sure he was good, the best he knew was probably Harry. Neville did his best to put the pressure out of his mind, and tried to focus on something else instead.

Maybe this was how Harry felt all the time, with all the craziness in his life, it was a wonder he hadn't gone mad somewhere along the way. He would have to buy Harry a drink next Hogsmeade weekend. It was the least that Neville could do, and Harry was sure to appreciate it.

Finally, he arrived. No one else was around, but that didn't make the disdainful expression on Fleur's face any less worrying.

"Well?" She asked, giving him a harsh look.

Neville resisted the urge to shake when he saw Fleur, before taking a deep breath. He focused on his studies over the last week, trying to calm himself despite the pressure and began to cast.

While his performance was far form exceptional, it was a notable improvement from before. Fleur continued to glare at him silently, until he finished demonstrating his improved arsenal of spell, before giving him a grudging nod. "I suppose, that your efforts are adequate, for the moment at least."

Neville's face lit up, but before his excitement could find a way to express itself, the young champion cut him down to size.

"Do not think this means I am happy with your skills!" Fleur said, "You are only barely capable at this point, nowhere near where you should be at your point in your education. You will continue to practice every night until I deem your skills to be appropriate for assisting a champion such as myself."

"Assisting?" Neville asked. A small part of him noted that he had never been told exactly what it was that Fleur wanted him for.

"That is correct, those boys" she emphasized that last word in particular. "decided to make my life more trying than it already is. I suppose that's something of a quality in you English folk. That Potter boy is exactly the same."

"You mean Harry?"

"Honestly, this country is nothing but irritating. Why the tournament couldn't have been held in France, I'll never know. Now follow me."

Neville still wasn't quite sure what was happening, but he had been listening to her already, and following her commands was starting to become second nature. He had already given her a week, what was a few minutes more?

They walked through the halls, and when he saw the Twins behind their desk, he realized exactly what she had in mind. He opened his mouth to say something, but a scathing look from the young champion made him hold his tongue.

"Ah, Ms. Delacour, how can we help you on this fine day?" Fred asked with a grin.

"Anything at all, you just name it, and the Weasley Twins will do their utmost to ensure that your needs are met." George confirmed, his expression mirroring his brothers.

"Need more styling gel? We've got it. Dance lessons? A trivial thing. Enemies slain? Easy as pie."

"Only thing we can't do is... well, there's nothing we can't do, really."

"As long as we have a reasonable amount of time to prepare," Fred amended.

"Or a time turner," George interjected.

"Then even the impossible should be a breeze!" Fred finished with a flourish, offering Fleur a slight bow.

Fleur merely sniffed at them, not wanting to encourage their antics, and realizing that complaints would only drive them to greater heights of idiocy. She waited until they finished their little game, before she spoke up.

"This boy shall be mine."

Fred and George shared a glance between themselves, before deciding to pass on the odd turn of phrase she had used. "You sure about that?"

"Are you questioning me?" she asked with an acidic tone in her voice.

"How about you Nev? You sure you want to participate in this? It's not going be as tough as the real tournament, but we're not going to pull any punches either."

"I'm not sure I have much choice..." Neville muttered to himself, before a scathing look from Fleur stopped his complaint, "O-of course I'm sure!"

"Well, alright, if you're really sure, we can put him in as your brawn for the moment, unless you had another position in mind?"

"That will do just fine." Fleur said with a condescending smile, before seizing Neville by the arm and dragging him out.

Neville found himself dragged helplessly down the corridors of Hogwarts, realizing that this would most likely be a standard part of his life now that Fleur had all but drafted him onto her team. He still wasn't entirely sure what was going on, but after years living with Harry, his friends, and the weirdness that seemed to follow them, he was more than willing to just go with the flow and let things sort themselves out.

"We will need at least two more members for our team, a brain, and a beauty." Fleur stated, heedless of Neville's fruitless efforts to keep track of what was happening.

"We do?" Neville said. Immediately, worry began to creep its way up his spine. If he was meant to be the brawn for Fleur's team, he wondered who she had in mind for the other two positions.

"Yes, now do you have any suggestions?" Fleur demanded, completely ignoring his concerned expression.

"Well..." Neville trailed off. The smartest witch he knew was Hermione, but she was doubtlessly going to be on Harry's side. As for beauty, an image of Ginny Weasley flashed in his mind, causing the young boy to flush red.

"Do you have any suggestion or not?" Fleur asked again, her voice carrying the edge of a threat in it.

"I'm not too sure on brains right now, but Ginny Weasley is quite pretty." Neville blurted out, not wanting to see what Fleur did when she was angry.

"Weasley? Is she related to those blasted Twins?" Fleur growled.

"Yes, she's their younger sister."

Fleur let out an irate sigh. She had planned to have as little to do with that family as she could, but she didn't know the rest of the school as well as Neville. Waiting for him to decide on another suitable candidate would probably be an exercise in futility. Without her constant direction, she was certain that he would lapse back into his previous methods, sinking into the background and being utterly average. Waiting for him to be anything else would be a waste of time. It would be better to simply take what she could and shape her to her purpose. A small part of her, some would call it her vindictive side, thought that this Ginny would be the perfect way to get some small measure of revenge on the accursed twins. If she could get some use out of her, so much the better.

"Hm... you will point her out to me." she finally decided.

"How can I do that? The only time I'm really around her is in the Tower or during meals, and then I'll be sitting at the Gryffindor table." Neville asked.

"Don't be silly. You are part of my team now, and you will sit with me for the duration of this competition." Neville moved to protest, but another glare silenced him. With a weary sigh, Neville nodded in defeat, already aware of exactly how his year was going to turn out.