She noted every little twitch he made as he stared, actually open-mouthed, at her. It wasn't the jaw-open expression she had expected of the idiom, but his lips were indeed parted while he took in her application of his wonderful, thoughtful gift that made her so frighteningly vulnerable.
How the ribbon wasn't a shifting rainbow of anxious colors to match the turmoil inside her she'd never know.
Well…that wasn't entirely true.
She knew exactly why it wasn't shifting even a single shade.
The question was, could she take the step if he didn't put it together?
She saw him jerk as he realized he'd been staring, and his piercing green gaze fell to his lap.
She stifled a sigh. It wasn't fair to expect him to make a leap like that.
But it would've been nice.
Still, she had known he'd need direct, clear communication. That's just how he was. She could do that. It couldn't be too hard.
"You-It looks incredible," he muttered, a vibrant red suffusing his cheeks and neck.
She could only stare in return.
A year ago, he'd been unreadable and closed off, save for a sliver of a moment during their dance. She had spent months just learning which pauses in his speech meant he was upset or embarrassed.
Then she had been able to sense him and it all began to change.
Now he blushed in front of her? All the way to the tips of his ears?
Nevermind that her own face felt warm from his diverted compliment, a chorus to the acrobatic routine happening in her stomach.
This was going to be difficult.
"Complimenting your own gift?" she heard herself say, the teasing that she tried so hard to keep in check slipping out in the absence of proper thought. "I am not sure if that is praise for me or for you."
His chaotic sense was punctuated by another tremulous wave of embarrassment, one of the only clear reads she could get on him. Everything else was so…vibrant and new. Things she had never felt from him before in such oppressive quantities.
"I…er-" he tried, his face looking as though it might combust.
"I am only teasing," she forced herself to say.
Of its own accord, her hand reached to lay a reassuring hand on his elbow before she snatched it away, lacing her fingers in her lap. Too much touching was a way to guarantee he'd close off from her and there was no way she was going to ruin this so-far perfect evening with her impulses to touch. No matter how badly she wanted to just scoot closer and lean her head against his or to hug him until, for once, she was satiated.
Despite her teasing, he smiled but didn't say anything further. She smiled back, like an idiot, until the lengthening silence became unbearable.
"Do you want a tour?" she asked, regretting it almost immediately.
It would take all of a minute to walk through the tiny apartment, then they'd be right back to where they started.
"Sure."
"It's not much," she said, leading him from the living room and into a hall.
A strange spike of embarrassment flowed through his sense, then disappeared almost as quickly. Maybe he was comparing it to his godfather's home?
She stopped in the middle of the hall between two doors, one closed, and one ajar.
"This is my bedroom," she said, gesturing to the open door.
Which gave him a perfect view of her absolute wreck of a room. She pulled the door closed, hoping he couldn't see her flush in the dim light.
"The other door is the bathroom if you need it."
He nodded, then followed her through the hall and into the small kitchen. She had tried to decorate the space for the season but hadn't been able to make much of her short countertops and a small table. She'd had to resort to stealing an idea from Hogwarts, and levitated a handful of colorful candles into the air. The effect was nice, but not quite as festive as she had hoped.
She was glad she had sprung for the no-drip candles.
Rather than be rebuffed by the diminutive kitchen or tacky floor, he grinned at her.
"It must be brilliant to have your own kitchen like this," he said. "I know you said your mum was a bit…much. Is it better when you're on your own?"
"I am not even sure I know where all my utensils are," she admitted.
It was rather easy to get takeaway delivered; a luxury she had never enjoyed before.
"Oh," he said, frowning.
"I am sorry. I know that you enjoy cooking, it has just never been a particular skill of mine."
"It's okay. I could…show you. If you want. I didn't want to mess dinner up, so I picked something pretty easy."
He fidgeted in place, the high vibration of nervousness completely overwhelming her sense of him. It was true she didn't like cooking, but it was also true that her mother had been an absolute nightmare of forceful, exacting instruction when she had been young. Maybe with someone more gentle…
"I will most likely hinder, rather than help," she said after some thought. "But if you are willing to have me, I am willing to try."
Teach.
The word she had been looking for was 'teach'.
This was going to be very difficult.
But her simple, if somewhat duplicitous words made him come alive, a shining excitement dancing behind his eyes. He grinned that timid grin of his and started towards the refrigerator.
"We had better get started if we don't want to starve while we're waiting," he said.
"Good idea," she said, leaving out that she had been unable to eat earlier due to an overwhelming bout of nerves for the coming evening. "How can I help?"
"If you could preheat the oven and grab a skillet, we need to make the stuffing first."
From his bag, he pulled out a knife and a cutting board along with an onion. He demonstrated his incredible speed at dicing, offering to let her do the second half. She declined, instead agreeing to tend to the butter in the skillet to ensure it didn't begin to brown. It wouldn't be dignified to start her cooking lesson by sobbing because of some vegetable.
He had her stir the onions once they were in the skillet, pointing out when they had become translucent, and how you could tell when they were just about ready. He dumped a handful of chopped herbs into a bowl he had prepared with breadcrumbs, an egg, and a shredded lemon peel of all things. She dumped the onion and butter mixture in, frowning as a few drops of the warm oil splattered onto her skin.
It wasn't until they had prepped the birds that she realized she was enjoying herself. His easy-to-follow instructions were an incredible shift away from her tyrant of a mother, and she found that she had begun to hum as she dropped the potatoes into a pot for a parboil. Not only did he make everything seem effortless, but made her feel as if she had been cooking alongside him for years.
The lack of adequate workspace in her tiny kitchen had them regularly reaching over each other in their close proximity. Over even the lingering smells of onion and garlic, she would still catch the occasional scent of his shampoo as he reached across her, his messy mop of hair brushing close to her face.
She could…she could do this.
"Have you always liked to cook?" she asked, drying her hands on a towel while he tended to the gravy.
She took a seat at the small table that shared the space, though it was almost so close that she could reach out and touch him. Two unlit candles sat on the table, though these were a more standard white, compared to the festive ones floating overhead. She pressed the wick between thumb and forefinger and set them alight.
"I think so," he answered, the steady scrape of a wooden spoon against the bottom of the pan rolling through the small room.
How could something still unfinished smell so good?
He shrugged, glancing over a shoulder at her before refocusing on the stovetop.
"It was pretty much the only thing at the Dursleys that I liked to do."
Familiar blazing anger burst to life inside her, a feeling she had become adept at wrangling during their limited time together over the summer. It wouldn't do to be enraged during what could be an incredibly important Christmas Eve with him.
Or more important, anyway.
But if the candles next to her were burning a little taller and a little brighter, well…he probably wouldn't notice.
"We do not have to talk about those horrible people," she said instead of the litany of curses that always came to mind. "It is Christmas Eve. We are meant to be happy while we spend time together."
He nodded slowly while adjusting the heat of his burner.
"I am," he said simply, the spoon slowing in its revolutions.
He turned to offer her a quick smile, one that seemed oddly dim compared to the vibrant sense of contentment she felt from him that put the understatement to his words.
"It's different with you. Sirius might be vague about it, and Ron and Hermione haven't said more than three words about it since I told them, which suits me fine."
He pulled the gravy off the heat and turned to her.
"But if it's you…you've seen the worst of it already. I don't mind talking about it."
Whether it was the content or the matter-of-fact delivery of words that could make him so very vulnerable, she didn't know, but either way, she found she couldn't respond. She could barely breathe.
Even with how sharp and intense the anxiety that leaked into his sense, he didn't take any of it back. He just stood and smiled the small, now-unguarded smile that had gotten her into this in the first place.
It called to something in her.
It was the idea and fancies of a little girl reading fairy-tale books with her mother. The sort of idea that was tied so deeply and imperceptibly to her being that it stole her breath when she realized it and wondered how she had not thought of it all along.
The sort of idea that could, at its whim, consume her and everything she was.
While she struggled with her revelation, he put the birds in the oven and set a timer.
"'Arry," she said, beckoning him closer with a jerky wave of her hand.
He frowned at the odd motion but joined her nonetheless.
Why were the candles burning so high?
Focus.
He stared at her. So patient.
She swallowed.
"Do you remember when I-" she trailed off, her throat closing over the words.
Too much. Too soon. She couldn't.
But…there was a smaller step she could take.
"Do you remember the Sphinx?" she tried again, her voice far steadier than it had any right to be.
"Of course," he answered, his confused frown growing deeper. "It's a bit of a once in a lifetime thing, after all."
She tugged her braid over her shoulder, making a conscious effort to let go of the end. Flickering candlelight danced across the silken surface of her lavender ribbon.
"Do you remember my riddle?" she asked.
There was the tremor she had expected.
"I…I think so," he said, brow creased in thought.
The words sat ready on her lips; words that she had pored over across her recent sleepless nights, putting form to her nebulous feelings.
She took a deep breath and threw herself over the edge.
Nature's keepers, bribery the fee
A king and queen herald folklore to be
Or not to be my questions three
But answer one you may go free
She drew in a breath, trying not to falter in front of the intensity behind his bright green eyes. She had to do this.
A gift to hang, tied roundabout
Can curry favor for any lout.
Colors vary, hues may shine.
As lavender sings, "Please be mine."
She fell silent, her voice giving out before she could recite the final lines. Her hands trembled in her lap and she could do nothing more than watch.
Could she be direct if he didn't understand?
For the first time, she was unsure. She had opened up to him in a way she would have thought impossible when they first met, but to invite him in and share herself was something else entirely.
And yet…for all the pain he'd endured, he was still so gentle in his words and his actions.
As gentle as a careful hand upon her head as she fought against unconsciousness in a ruined graveyard.
Her wandering panicked thoughts faded as his sense spiked, the simmering confusion switching abruptly to pointed focused interest. He pinned her to her seat with inquisitive eyes, searching her face.
She'd been teased for how much of an open book she was. Perhaps it would finally be of some use.
She searched him right back, waiting for any indication she had been understood. She saw only confusion and felt…
She felt a spark.
It flickered in him, doused by a renewed sense of sharp focus as his face drew into a concentrated frown. And yet it was there. It was in the softening of his eyes and the slow fade of his frown.
A thrill rose in her, pushing a fresh mix of warmth and fear through her being.
The answer to her unasked question?
It flared in him again and she could see the denial that began to creep in to quell the burst.
"I think you have figured it out," she whispered, her voice incapable of producing anything of more substance. "I felt it."
He spluttered, the control he held over himself shattered by her quiet admission.
"Y-you…you," he tried before slumping back in his chair. He stared at her, wide-eyed, shaking his head in disbelief.
"Is it so impossible to believe?" she asked sharply, then took care to soften her expression.
She should have expected something like this. No matter. He would understand how she saw him, no matter how long it took.
"You? Feel that way about me?" he asked.
She simply nodded.
He blinked at her but she could feel that spark grow with each affirmation.
"It's just…hard to believe."
"Is it?" she asked, her lips tilting up into a playful smile. "Why?"
She felt some of the tension bleed from her. He hadn't outright rejected her, and his rising sense told her he was unlikely to do so. He just needed a little push to get there.
"What do you mean, 'why?'" he finally burst out. "I've told you before. You're incredible. In pretty much every way."
Warmth bubbled up inside her at the earnest compliment.
"You could stand to mention it more often," she said with a smile before letting it fade. "But if I am…all you say I am," she continued. "Why do you think that I would not be interested in…in dating you?"
She had to push away the guilt at addressing the issue so plainly. All she really wanted was to be close to him, not to have such challenging conversations right away.
"Do you trust me, 'Arry?" she asked when he didn't say anything further.
"More than anyone."
The surety of his answer made her heart flutter.
"Then trust me to know what I want."
She leaned forward and captured his gaze with hers. The candles next to her blazed, though she couldn't feel the heat of a product of her own inner flame. He leaned back in his chair, eyes wide.
"You, 'Arry," she said, pushing past the embarrassment of being so direct. "I want you. To be with you and to go on dates with you. To be a normal girlfriend and experience the things I was afraid I never could."
She paused, allowing a petulant pout to accent her vehemence.
"And I want to do it with you, damn it."
He didn't move, didn't even blink. Even his sense was slow as he reeled from her impassioned speech. He drew his mouth into a line as his sense welled with warm fond admiration.
"I…I never thought anybody would want-" he trailed off, the unspoken word breaking her heart. "It's hard to believe I could be..."
She rose without a word and took a single step to his side of the table. She grabbed his hand from his lap and pulled him up to her, resting her chin on his shoulder, while he wrapped his arms around her middle.
The contact relaxed her, letting the lingering tension fall away. He was cool, as he always was when she hugged him, and so solid. For all the turmoil she had seen him work through, whenever he held her, he was the Harry that stood and faced Voldemort with defiance in the set of his shoulders.
She was safe in his arms, just as she knew her heart would be safe in his hands.
XxX
He held onto her, a pillar in the upending of his world. It didn't seem possible that his fondest dreams could be unfolding in front of his eyes.
She wanted him?
Not to mention the unbelievable fact that he could stay in her embrace forever. The desire to be free of the contact was mercifully silent, replaced by a tiny twinge of guilt for being so selfish.
Who wouldn't want something so comforting to continue?
With a sudden intake of breath, Fleur stiffened, then pulled away.
"Is…something wrong?" he asked.
She fidgeted in place for a moment before wincing and wrapping her arms around her middle.
"There will be…difficulties that will come with…dating me."
Dating her…
"I said I want to go on dates with you," she began, her accent growing thick as she began to ramble. "And I do, but it will be challenging for us to go anywhere because of my allure. Maman and Papa almost never go out and rely on the formal balls held for government officials. If you are with me, it is unlikely we will be able to go out normally at all. I do not know if-"
She jumped as his hand reached her elbow and he snatched it back.
"Sorry," he muttered, his fingertips warm with the lingering heat of her skin.
"Do not be sorry," she said. "I was simply surprised. I did not mind."
He tried not to linger too long on the reassuring smile she offered him and instead focused on her worries.
"Even so," he said. "If you didn't have your allure, I doubt we'd be left alone."
She stared at him blankly in return.
"What do you mean?"
"People have been writing stuff about me for years," he explained.
He never liked talking about the whole Boy-Who-Lived business but it was no doubt important to someone he'd be dating.
Dating?
"'Arry?" she prompted when he didn't continue.
She sat back down on her side of the table and he followed suit.
"Do you remember the article that came after the Weighing of the Wands?" he asked.
She nodded.
"I do. It was rather full of speculation about me. You too, as I recall."
"It's pretty much always been like that," he said with a sigh. "They'd go mental if they saw me out on a date with anyone. Especially someone like you."
She let a playful smile slide across her lips.
"Someone like me, hmm?"
"You…you know what I mean," he said helplessly.
"I do," she said. "I am sorry for teasing you. I cannot help it."
She flushed and smiled shyly at him.
"You are the only person I do not mind mentioning my Veela traits. They affect you now, as well."
He opened his mouth to reply but was stopped by the buzzer on the stove. He rose and grabbed two hand towels before removing the aromatic hens from the oven and placing them on a third towel set on the counter. He grabbed a thermometer from his bag and stuck it into one of the birds.
She rose to her feet and joined him, peering over his shoulder at the diminutive birds.
He pulled the thermometer out, satisfied.
"I notice you do not use any magic while cooking," she said, breathing deep of the garlic and herb scent wafting from the pan. Her stomach made its empty complaints well known.
"I don't know how," he answered. "I learned to cook in a muggle home, and I'm underage. Even if I knew any, I couldn't use them."
He pulled out a roll of foil and covered the hens in their roasting pan. Once he set it aside, he pulled a large head of broccoli from the fridge.
"You could ask Maman," she said, watching with interest as he broke the head apart and tossed it in a bowl with some oil. "She would be thrilled to teach them to you."
"Between her and Mrs. Weasley, I could probably make a career of it. She tried to show me five different ones the evening before the World Cup."
Fleur lifted a corner of the foil on the birds to smell but kept an eye on him.
"And what do you want to do? After Hogwarts?"
"I…haven't thought about it," he admitted.
She let the foil drop and caught his eye.
"You should."
He only nodded and put the broccoli onto a pan and into the oven. He tidied up, washing his utensils and sliding leftover spices back into his bag. Fleur, stood to the side, out of the way. Every now and again, he stole the occasional glance at…his girlfriend?
He paused in his cleaning spree, the realization cresting over him in a wave. He looked again and found her staring right back, her head tilted.
"That is new," she said gently with that wonderful new smile of hers.
A smile of nothing but promises. It made the world around him thump in time with his heart.
"It's a new…situation."
She frowned at him, though he could still see a twinkle of mirth in her sky-blue eyes.
"I am not sure that I enjoy when dating me is referred to as a 'situation'."
"Er…sorry."
Her frown broke into a smile and she wrapped her arms around her middle.
"Is it almost ready?" she said, breaking them free of the pleasant but strangely tense mood. "I am starving."
"Just about."
"I will grab the plates," she said, reaching around him into an upper cabinet.
If she was a little closer than need be, he would never have noticed. She suffused the air around him with a heady cinnamon scent that cut through even the hens resting behind him. Her radiant body heat brushed at his skin, reminding him of his arms that hung so cold and empty at his sides.
"Silverware is in that drawer over there," she said, mistaking his twitch forward as an attempt to help.
A few short minutes later, the kitchen rang with the sounds of silverware on plates, save for frequent and plentiful compliments from Fleur. He was confident enough in his skills to know the meal would turn out okay. What he hadn't expected was the sudden knot in his throat that kept him from eating while he recovered. It had been a challenge to remain stoic when Sirius had tried his tests as well.
No matter how he tried to fight the feelings down to a manageable level, they rose in him anyway, pulled free by Fleur's comfortable company.
"What is it?" she asked when she noticed he had slowed his eating.
He tried to smile at her but was afraid it came out as more of a grimace. Her beautiful features fell slightly and she set her fork down.
"It's nothing…bad," he said quickly. "It just…hits me at times. That things are completely different now."
"And which things are those?" she asked, her smile drawing warmth to his cheeks.
"Well…u-us, of course."
The brilliant grin he received in return conjured butterflies in his stomach.
"But also…this," he continued, gesturing to his plate with his fork.
"Your dinner?"
"Sort of," he said with a quiet laugh.
Her simple joke helped relieve some of the tension he hadn't realized had seized his shoulders.
"I know I don't have to ever see my relatives again but certain things drive it home. Like cooking for someone who appreciates it. Like…my girlfriend."
She started when she heard the word spoken aloud, then flushed prettily.
"I liked hearing that more than I thought I would," she murmured, then focused on him. "I am glad it is sinking in. If having dinner dates helps you with that, I will gladly let you cook for me as often as you would like."
He laughed, the Dursleys fading from his thoughts like the dust in a sunbeam struggling against a warm breeze.
Once the last bite had been taken and the candles on the table burned much lower, Fleur shivered, rubbing her hands vigorously across her upper arms.
"I am fond of this dress, but it does little to keep me warm," she said.
He hoped she didn't notice his momentary blank stare.
"Could we move back to the living room? A fire would be welcome."
Another shiver accented her request.
"I don't mind," he said, rising and grabbing the plates from the table to place in the sink.
When he turned, Fleur was standing at the entrance to the hallway, her wand held tight in her left hand. Her right, however, was held out towards him, her delicate fingers squeezing together in an invitation.
As he stepped closer, he could see the excitement shining behind her eyes and the nervous bite of her lip. She laced her fingers through his, her warm hand soft against his calloused one. She tugged him gently down the hall, flicking her wand towards the fireplace as they passed. The dying embers roared to life in a burst of heat and flickering orange light.
"Much better," she breathed, pulling him down to sit on the couch next to her. "I am fond of this dress, especially since it matches the season." She gestured towards the window. "But it lacks the warmth I prefer."
Harry nodded, trying and failing to follow her prompt to look out the window. Even the most beautiful of moonlit snowfalls would be nothing more than wet white slush against the radiant firelight that curled around her body, hugging and shadowing curves. Her hair glowed, its silvery sheen almost a mirror, split through by the lavender ribbon.
She shifted, bringing her gaze from the window to rest on him. She tilted her head and smiled the easy comfortable smile that he hadn't realized he had fallen for so long ago. It was all he could see in the dancing light. Her lips, turned up and parted, invoked both a sense of ease and longing inside his chest.
XxX
She could see him staring, though…not where she had expected if she were being honest. His sense was oddly sedate, also something she had not been expecting.
Which hardly seemed fair, since she was an absolute mess on the inside.
Whatever she had tried to prepare for while getting dressed had been a mere shadow of what the evening had become. She hadn't even hoped…but his gift…
A spike of embarrassment from Harry drew her back to the present and she suppressed a smile. She scooted closer to him, hoping he wouldn't mind such prolonged contact. She felt him stiffen in surprise, then relax when she squeezed his hand. Her heart hammered in her chest as she laid her head on his shoulder.
He wasn't warm against her, nobody was. But he was so solid and reassuring. Somehow more tangible than the couch they sat on, he exuded a sense of familiar calm in her that she wanted to latch onto and never let go.
She felt him relax further in increments, his shoulder falling slightly, and his fingers loosening their grip on her hand. Eventually, she got him to reciprocate the small circles she drew on his thumb with hers, and she couldn't help but grin at the simple pleasure.
"This was not quite what I had in mind for this evening," she said into the comfortable silence. A log popped and she jumped, then re-nestled against him, face warm.
His side shifted against hers as he let out a quick laughing breath.
"Me neither."
The fears she thought she had stuffed much too deep down to affect their wonderful evening together bubbled to the surface. They were bitter and horrible…and so very necessary.
But did she need to ask? He'd been so accepting of who she was and she was positive he'd be nothing but gentle and kind when he learned of the things she'd been through.
Those thoughts drew the air from her lungs as cold panic doused the warmth from her body. Her shame that only her family knew, a secret somehow deeper than the one that danced at the edge of her tongue, begging to grace his thoughts.
But…he already knew some of it and nothing had changed between them.
Another wash of cold rolled across her body. How could she get so caught up in the simple pleasure of being wanted for her and forget that it was anything but?
He deserved —needed— to understand what it would be like to be with her.
"Have you ever thought," she asked, keeping her head on his shoulder to hide her face, "what it would be like to date a Veela?"
His answering silence was enough to drive her mad. Even his sense offered no answer, just the simmering of confusion just below the surface. She could only guess that was due to the suddenness of her question.
His short answer belied the amount of time it took to formulate and was all the more impactful for its simple honesty.
"Often."
She sat up straight, searching those piercing, steady eyes of his. She ignored her sense of his emotions, searching instead for the small twitch away that often meant he was sparing her feelings.
"Truly?" she asked, her heart dancing a tentative waltz. "It will be difficult, at times. Because of what I am."
He shrugged. Not the most eloquent of responses, but it would do.
Then he spoke anyway.
"It doesn't really matter how hard it'll be, does it?" he asked, eyes distant as he searched for his words. "Since it's you."
She wanted to laugh, and she very much wanted to cry. More than that, she wanted to embrace him and never let go. The world would continue to spin without them, huddled together for comfort and warmth at the twilight of an eternal Christmas Eve.
Instead, she loosed the secret so personal that it should have frightened her. She should have shrunk back for the immensity of the word; magic as ancient as the very trees in which her people used to live.
It should have frightened her.
She whispered it with a smile.
"Isabelle."
He blinked at her, and her smile grew. He was not crushed beneath the enormity of what she had done, as little Fleur had imagined after her mother's first explanations of their song.
And he did not laugh or belittle the importance of what she'd done, as older Fleur feared.
He just stared.
His expression was open, honest, and it was very clear that he didn't understand.
It somehow made her more fond of him.
"My name," she clarified, her voice far from as strong as she had hoped, "is Fleur Isabelle Delacour."
He jolted in synchronistic surprise with his sense, eyes going wide.
"I'm…er…I'm Harry James Potter," he said after a moment, embarrassment piercing through his shock.
She suppressed the grin that threatened her lips by pressing them to his.
XxX
The touch of her lips put to shame the ignorant imaginations of his dreams.
How could they encompass the flutter of eyelashes as she drew in close, the rush of cinnamon-laced air, and the warmth of her skin on his?
Thoughts were burned away by the heat of it, leaving nothing but her in his mind.
It was over far too soon.
She pulled back, her shy intimate smile lifting rosy cheeks. His own mouth worked uselessly as he stared at the smile; at lips that quirked even higher into a grin.
"I am flattered that our first kiss is enough to leave you speechless," she teased, tucking a stray hair back behind her ear. She took a distractingly deep breath. "I am sorry for surprising you with it though."
"I-it's fine," he forced himself to say through the haze.
How were you supposed to ask for more kisses? Was that allowed?
"Only fine?" she echoed, the mischievous spark alighting behind her blue eyes. "Give it another try, perhaps it will grow on you."
Their second kiss was blessedly longer than the first. She let out a surprised squeak when he closed the gap between them, then reciprocated, a warm hand reaching up to brush his cheek.
It was a tenderness that opposed the need behind her kiss.
Her lips moved against his and he struggled to keep up, struggled to think of anything at all. Each breath she exhaled against his skin trailed fire across his nerves, igniting a passion in his chest, a wanton need to hold her, to press her close, and revel in the warmth that rolled from her in waves.
Instead, he clung to the couch while he lost himself in the kiss.
The moon had passed its zenith by the time frantic kisses had slowed to affectionate pecks, then finally back into warm cuddles beneath a magically warmed blanket. Drowsy conversation peppered the silence of the early morning, carrying their private, wonderful evening to a reluctant close.
Fleur hummed quietly to herself, the same lilting tune he had heard while they had been cooking together. Even quiet as it was, it captivated him, drawing him into comfort and trying to soothe him to sleep.
An unwelcome thought lanced through the peace her gentle song had instilled in him.
"I…think I have to go soon," he said, frowning against the top of her head where he rested his cheek.
In truth, he could have stayed forever, but the nagging thought of returning to an angry Sirius slowly drained the bliss from his body.
"What time are you supposed to be home?" she asked, not moving from where she was pressed against his side.
"Two," he said, searching the room for a clock. There was one attached to the chimney of her fireplace, a simple one that he had missed in his cursory examination of the room, though there had been something far more compelling to draw his attention at the time.
The hands of the clock betrayed him utterly, confirming his sense that they were nearing the end of their time.
" Merde ," she muttered, looking up as well. "I suppose it is rather late."
She lifted her head and offered him a wan smile.
"It is not as though I will not see you tomorrow." She paused.
"Later today," she amended.
She squeezed his hand and let go, wrangling loose wisps of hair that had stuck to his shirt.
"It will be fun at my parents' house," she promised, stifling a yawn, "but not as…private. I doubt my family will give us much time to ourselves. They are quite fond of you, after all."
She grinned at him.
"Though I cannot blame them."
The heat in his face turned her smile into a giggle that faded a little too quickly.
"We should gather your things," she said, standing. "Before I try to convince you to stay longer."
He stood and followed her to the kitchen, the side she had been so comfortably pressed against feeling cold and empty.
He wasn't allowed to linger on the thought as Fleur's arm moved, her wand in hand. In the doorway to the kitchen, a sprig of green leaves with red berries popped into existence, and she rounded on him.
He wasn't sure if it was the way she grabbed his collar to pull him close, the slight whisper of a moan as she pressed her lips to his, or the barest touch of her tongue that kept him up deep into Christmas morning, but as he touched the edge of sleep in his lonesome room at Grimmauld Place, he decided it was the glowing passion behind ocean-blue eyes.