Harry and Fleur have been dating seriously for quite some time, going through various adventures and trouble together. They stood beside each other facing both friends and foes, shared joy and sadness, overcame adversity.
During all this they both learned much, about their partner and about themselves. Through word and deed, Fleur has proven her love, her steadfastness and brilliance, Harry his loyalty, his acceptance, his heart. They shared many moments of quiet, comfortable solitude together, Fleur has shown Harry the beauty of intimacy with a person who loves you. Harry has grown comfortable in his own skin, facing the shadows of his upbringing with the brilliant, fiery, loyal Fleur at his side. Both have grown to trust the other as they have never trusted anyone else in the world. They have also made strides in their physical intimacy, yet Fleur now seemed almost reticent, shy. They are in their bedroom, the usually so self-assured Fleur, the temptress who could give a succubus a run for her money in Harry’s eyes, seems nervous, as they each strip, caressing every inch of the other’s body. It is thanks to Fleur that Harry abandoned his shyness when it came to his body, Fleur indignant, passionate exclamation of how proud she was to have a man bearing so many scars igniting a fire in Harry’s heart. As he peppers Fleur with his hot kisses, caresses every curve of her delectable body, Fleur seems to abandon her doubts, toppling Harry and landing on him in their bed.
As their passion grows, Harry still has to reassure Fleur at various moments, it is him who drives her on, drives her ever wilder. Until finally, Fleur comes undone, abandoning all restraint. It could be said that on that night Harry learned what it means to truly love a Veela, an embodiment of passion and fire, as her now predatory eyes gazed into his, her talons gripped his shoulders, her splayed wings filling his vision. Yet in his heart of hearts no true change occurs. The transformation, for many a terrifying sight, meant only one thing in Harry’s eyes. While he is limited in expressing his feelings for his love to words and deeds, her silvery feathers now coating much of their bedroom, her inhuman screech, the sparks having left marks on the floor, all those were merely more expressions of Fleur’s feelings for him.
A more ordinary man would be intimidated, scared even, but Harry has long ago learned not to be merely ordinary. He loves his Fleur, with all that he is, he loves, adores and worships everything that she can bring to bear. To love a Veela is to love the embodiment of life and fire, go through flames every night. And he does.