Fleur Delacour found Harry Potter intriguing. After their first encounter in the trophy room, they had bumped into each other in the castle halls and, unlike every other adolescent male in a ten mile radius, he did not morph into a foolish braggart. She was lost, and Harry led her back to the entrance hall along a twisting maze of passages that defied logic and reason. He kept up a steady commentary as he did so, and Fleur found that it was surprisingly easy to be around him. She enjoyed his company, and resolved to enjoy it more.
For months they became closer, and Fleur was astonished at his level of self control. He had never once taken a peek at her body, never once ogled her from behind, never once done any of the things that it should have been impossible for a boy his age to resist.
. Yet even as Harry displayed the discipline of a Monk, Fleur found herself growing careless. There was something about Harry that drew her in, that made her want to know him, that made her want him, and it drove her further and further towards foolishness. No matter what Fleur did it was as if her efforts were waves crashing on a cliff leaving the stone entirely unaffected, and she became bolder in her efforts.
Eventually, after a series of truly blatant attempts at seduction that not only hadn't worked but that hadn't even been noticed, Fleur finally worked up the nerve to confront Harry directly. And by confront, she meant ask him vaguely related questions in a hypothetical context about his preferences in romance. And that was when she finally learned the truth, learned why her efforts weren't working, why Harry had such saintly discipline of his sexual instincts. Because he didn't have any. Harry had only recently learned the term, and she had never heard of it, but Harry was aesexual, and had no interest whatsoever in sexual intimacy of any kind.
Fleur was stumped. She wanted him, desperately wanted him, probably to a slightly unhealthy degree if she were being honest, but for the first time in her life, the one thing that a Veela could always rely on was entirely useless to her. Here she was, desiring a man, and knowing that nothing could make him lust after her. That the full might of her people, gathered from ancient times, could not and would never be able to make him desire her in that way.
Realizing this, Fleur resolved to win his heart through other methods, then had a panic attack as she realized she had no idea what those methods were.
What the hell is emotional intimacy anyway?