Victoire. Was. Furious.

She sat behind her desk, hands clasped together covering a pouted, angry mouth. The first task, and Beauxbatons had come fourth. Fourth. It made her cringe. Merlin only knew the frustrated response she'd get from the Ministry and the Board of Governors - "you're too young to lead our school to victory." She could almost hear their criticism already, and if there was one thing Victoire would keep, it was her post as headmistress. And no collection of snot-nosed little French brats would threaten her position.

Madame Bisclavret had already with Medici and Olivier. Her stalwart Italian apprentice had received the harshest ear-bashing for not even completing the task: the only Champion not to return from the Acromantula Pit. They'd been selected for their finesse in all fields of school and personal life, and Medici just wasn't showing his full potential. Pah, succumbing to those beasts like a pansy - it was infuriating. With Séraphin she pulled the humiliation card: how would his parents, the famed, respected, political Mr and Mrs Olivier, feel about their 'golden child' receiving one of the lowest scores? It was pitiful. As expected, the boy shuddered and promised his most excellent headmistress that his performance would improve. The good thing about the youngest Olivier boy was that he did try his hardest, and Victoire didn't doubt his commitment to the Tetrawizard.

And now, Corey Gaubert. He was the best athlete in the first task, that was true enough, but he'd still let the side down. There was always room for improvement. And, as such, he'd be seen to like the rest of them.

Victoire had ordered one of her usual pink-clad, pink-wigged attendants to fetch Corey, and the headmistress rattled her perfect, shimmering gold nails on the mahogany of her desk. A knock sounded at the door.

"Enter."

Corey had had his fun the night before, celebrating the fact that he had finished the first task and with all of his limbs in tact. He had allowed himself to bask in the attention of his success, even if it had not been as great as some of the other champions. But he also knew that he had been far from the worst of performers. And he was fine with that.

Of course, how he saw things and how others saw things -- namely the headmistress -- were completely different. Corey was prepared for some backlash because their school delegation had collectively done the worst.

With a sigh, Corey glanced over his outfit again to make sure that he looked presentable and allowed one of the headmistresses assistants to escort him to her office. With a sympathetic look thrown his way, he was left in front of the door to fend for himself against the formidable woman.

He entered when told to do so and took up a position before her desk. Though he clasped his hands casually behind his back, Corey stood straight and found a focal point some place behind the blonde woman. "Madam," he began, his voice quiet but calm. "You wished to speak with me?"

"Yes, that's correct, Gaubert," Victoire muttered in her native French tongue. Her usually light and sycophantic accent was replaced with something a lot more serious, and a lot more aggressive. Arranging several leather-bound books and registers on her desk, Madame Bisclavret intentionally did little to make Corey feel welcome or comfortable. He could stand for now. "Needless to say, you probably already know why you were summoned."

Crossing one leg over the other, she finally fixed the boy with her glare, lips taut and tight, eyes narrowed and vicious. Her sizeable chest heaved up and down as the headmistress did everything to keep her terrible temper under control. "Both Medici and Olivier have felt my wrath, and fortunately for you as the highest scorer, you won't be subjected to any form of discipline." As tempting as it was to give Corey a detention for a lacklustre performance, she'd been advised otherwise; there was no need to demotivate her wards at this crucial point. After all, they were already coming last.

"But I am most disappointed, Gaubert. Most disappointed indeed." That flash of angry crimson began to seep back into her cheeks. "We are one of the oldest academies in the wizarding world, we've bred the very finest of magic users across the globe. So, imagine my sheer embarrassment coming last in the first task, imagine my embarrassment when Salem overtake us in points." Just saying their school name made Victoire quiver, and she spat her words like poison. "Have you any explanation as to your poor performance? I've been trying to reason it all day and still, no answer. This isn't how you were taught, and this isn't how you're expected to behave, do you understand me?"

She flicked her hand in the air theatrically, leaning back in her chair. Her long blonde locks could've transformed into snakes at any instance her glare was so petrifying. "So go on Gaubert, speak. Because I need answers, boy."

Corey's gaze darkened immediately at the Headmistress' tone and demeanor. To say that he was accustomed to being a disappointment to those around him at Beauxbatons and French wizarding society was an understatement. Their loathing was something he had known since his acceptance into the school and to some degree, he wore it as a shield of protection whenever he was in their company.

He could feel it descend over him now as he stood there in front of Bisclavret, a woman who epitomized the very group of people who had looked down on him for much of his life. Years ago, he would have cared about making an effort to appease them or even gain their approval in some way. Now, he did only what was needed to get him through this last year of school.

Without being offered a seat, Corey stood a little straighter, quite thankful that his height at least let him tower over her seated frame. He clasped his hands behind his back and tilted his chin upwards. He made the choice of fixing his gaze just above the woman's blonde head, refusing -- for the moment -- to meet her glare.

Since he could guess her cause for summoning him, Corey simply offered a polite, "Oui, Madame," when he was asked. He tried to keep his expression even as he listened to her continue.
 
But Corey's jaw twitched slightly as she mentioned wanting to punish him. And it twitched again as she reiterated her disappointment in the school's collective disappointment, even as they both knew that he had been their best performer. His blue eyes finally panned down to her face and registered her angry expression. That, coupled with her words regarding the school's reputation and the way she demanded that he explain himself, set off  his own annoyance.

He let her last words-- or command, rather -- hang in the air for a prolonged moment, defiantly refusing to let her intimidate him into a hasty reply. Headmistress or not, Corey was old enough now where she was the last person (or thing for that matter) to be feared. Loneliness....an Acromantula bite....a dragon's breath of flames....now those were worthy of his fear.

He finally dipped his head in acknowledgement of her words. "I apologize that you feel disappointed in my performance, Madame Headmistress. You, of all people, must know that my sole purpose in being here is to endeavor, in all things, to make you happy," he responded, his voice laced with an icy sarcasm that was a departure from the quiet, even tones he often used in conversation.

Corey released his clasped hands and held them out, fingers splayed in a helpless gesture. "I did my best, Headmistress. Apparently that was not good enough. But I am under no delusions about why it will never be good enough....for some people," he added pointedly.

He regarded her with a curious expression. Finally, with a brow raised, he tacked on, "Non?"