Fleur Delacour loved two things, traveling, and fashion. She graduated from Beauxbatons in 1994 and immediately moved to Italy to study under a master tailor. She sat out the war in Britain, though she had tried to do something, sending letters to Harry in worry for the young man, and occasionally sending him care packages when she had the time. Their correspondence had always been a bit stilted, but she felt guilty doing nothing so she did what she could.
When the war reached it's height Fleur decided to hide in the muggle world, and it was there that she truly fell in love with fashion. After the fighting ended and she could re-emerge, she dedicated herself to bringing the Wizarding world into the modern era. She'd been doing that for eight years when she met him again. Harry was no longer a little boy, he'd grown into manhood quite nicely, surprisingly so even, and his chosen career was adventurous enough to make her take a second look all it's own.
Harry Potter was a professional duelist. Internationally recognized and a rising star on the circuit, Harry represented everything about the new generation of wizards. He was devilishly creative, always moving and not above rushing his opponents while they tried to break through his shields. They always did of course, but not before he was able to punch them in the gut.
He was, eye-catching was the best word she supposed. He made her stop and take notice in a way she had never done before, the way men usually took notice of her. He was an old friend of course, and when she asked to catch up with him he agreed. Of course, all thoughts went out the window when she saw him out of his regulation dueling robes. Her mind came to a screeching halt when she took in the appalling state of his wardrobe. She was halfway through redesigning the entire thing before either of them knew what happening. At that point she froze in embarrassment, blushing to her toes.
Harry just chuckled and offered her a drink and dinner while they caught up. Fleur accepted immediately.