Hi Everyone!
So, here's the next chapter. Let me know what you thought of it; reviews are, as always, greatly appreciated and PMs are open if you have a question you'd like answering.
A massive thanks goes to the people of the Flowerpot Discord for their help in beta-ing this chapter, and for being great in general. If you're a fan of this pairing, or just want a nice place to hang out and get great fic recs, I urge you all to check it out.
A specific thanks to Lib too; if you know you know.
I'd also like to say that I really appreciate the response to the update of The Life He Leads. It's been a while since I did anything with it, but I'm really glad that so many people still enjoy it and want to read more.
In any case, I hope you enjoy.
By virtue of Harry and Fleur being Harry Potter and Fleur Delacour, there did not exist a single place in the whole of the castle of Hogwarts where they would be free of the listening ears of other people. After their prior conversation, Harry had begun to see that fact as a gift, as it prevented any further meetings in the immediate future.
However, Fleur Delacour was nothing if not tenacious. And so, on the following weekend, the last Hogsmeade weekend before Christmas, when every one of his friends enjoyed themselves exploring the village and enjoying their freedom, Harry found himself walking around the Great Lake.
Fleur was there before he'd arrived, and he imagined she was likely to be there before he ever thought of arriving, too. She appeared to be wearing every coat that she owned all at once, and yet Harry could see that she was still shivering, surrounded by Scotland's snows. There wasn't a great deal of reaction to his arrival save for a frown, though most of her face was obscured by a beanie hat and three scarves.
"Nice day, isn't it?" asked Harry, cordially, and he meant it too. He wasn't warm by any means, and he wouldn't be warm for another four months or so, but there were few things as beautiful as the wilds of Scotland under the blanket of winter.
She sighed and set about walking, already too cold to remain still for even as briefly as they had then. Harry rushed to match her step.
"What?" Harry asked further. "Are you not a fan of snow?"
Fleur glowered at him, not breaking her stride to do so. "Whether or not I like the weather is of no concern to you."
"What, I can't ask you about the weather without somehow manipulating you?" Harry asked, smiling as he watched her. She stared straight ahead, he assumed in a vain effort to pretend he didn't exist.
"It is…a gateway," she told him, her words holding great conviction. "If we exchange opinions on the weather now, later you will ask me what my favourite food is, and then what my hopes and dreams are and then, suddenly, you're charming me into doing your bidding. I know your game, monsieur."
"How charming do you think I am?" Harry asked, bemused. "Because quite honestly, if I could wrap you around my finger with your opinions on snow and your favourite food alone, I'd like to think my aims would be slightly higher. Like taking over the world."
Fleur sighed, the sound floating through the still air. "You are always so quick to play the fool," she said. "You are Dumbledore's prodigy, are you not?"
"What has that got to do with anything?" Harry asked, his eyes wide behind his glasses.
"That man is the greatest politician this world has ever known," Fleur began, with a touch of awe colouring her voice. "He runs the IWC; every law passed is his and his alone." She stilled her stride to look at him. "You cannot tell me that he would not teach his apprentice how to follow in his footsteps."
"I can tell you that," Harry said. "And I'm not an 'apprentice'. I hardly see the Headmaster."
"Yet everyone I speak to says that you and he are like Grandfather and grandson."
"And so you're just taking what they all say as the truth?" Harry asked, exhaling a heavy breath. "Because these people, who are neither me or the Headmaster, know us perfectly."
"So what is your relationship, then?" Fleur inquired.
"Why on Earth would I tell you?" Harry returned. "You wouldn't believe me no-matter what I say, and even if you did, you'd only manufacture some way of using it against me."
She sighed once more.
"It seems we are at an impasse, does it not?" Fleur asked, rhetorically. "Yet, I propose a solution." She reached beneath one of her coats to retrieve her wand. "It is a spell; the Veracity charm."
Harry nodded to her to continue.
"It is a truth spell, of sorts," Fleur explained. "It does not compel you to speak truths, but each time that you lie, a jolt of pain will spark through you."
"Let's do it," Harry agreed immediately. "One condition. We both cast the spell at each other, so I know whatever happens to me, happens to you too."
"That is the beauty of the spell, 'Arry Potter," she said in reply. "It was devised by the magical advisor of Louis VII, to be used by his full council. Each member would lay their hands in the centre of a table, in contact with each other, and when one lied, the others would feel their hand tense."
"And there's no way to get around it?" Harry asked.
"Looking for an escape, canaille ?"
"Dream on," Harry shot back. "Just making sure you're not sneaking out of it yourself."
"What do I have to hide?" Fleur asked.
Harry folded his arms. "You're pointing the finger at me a lot," he remarked. "Makes you sound guilty."
Her lips quirked upward. "No escape, non. The body's reaction is involuntary," she said. She pulled off her glove with a wince as more of her was at once exposed to the elements. "Let's begin."
Harry extended his palm to meet hers. She laced her hand into his, their palms resting against one another.
Harry tilted his head at her.
"The spell will not work otherwise," she was quick to tell him, with a frown. Her hand was pleasantly warm in his; Harry did not dwell on it.
Fleur did not wait or ask if he was ready, and with a deliberate, semi-circular sweep of her wand, spoke. " Verita Veru ."
Harry did not feel anything at first. Then, suddenly, a lance of electricity ran through him, shooting through his spine, just as did Fleur, too. Then for a brief moment, sparks shot from the pair of them, in a colour halfway between blue and green.
"It has worked," Fleur said, a hint of surprise in her words. "Now, tell a lie, and you shall feel the effects."
Harry looked directly into her eyes. "I'm Fleur Isabelle Delacour."
For one single instant, there was an explosion of pain along his arm; he felt like he was on fire, his hand clinging on to Fleur's involuntarily. Then, it left, just as quickly as it arrived.
The experience was unpleasant enough to stop him from ever thinking of lying ever again.
"Your turn," Harry said, behind a gasp.
Fleur nodded, her eyes closing for a moment to collect herself, having watched her own spell-work act upon Harry. Then, her eyes flashed open, burning a hole into Harry's. "I'm Harry James Potter."
As Harry watched on, Fleur shook where she stood, her grip threatening to tear the skin of his hand. It disappeared just as quickly as it came, yet Harry knew that it felt as though it lasted too long by far.
"Nice to know that it's working," Harry said, watching as Fleur as she recovered.
"Oui," Fleur replied, too distracted to utter much more. "Let us begin to walk again. I'm cold."
Harry nodded, though she did not see it, and they walked with hands interlocked around the Great Lake, with snow piling at their feet. In the distance, the Christmas lights that adorned the castle walls twinkled brightly and he could see that the younger years had began to build snowmen with their bare hands, and some had forewent that to throw snowballs at one another.
Harry didn't dwell on it.
"I didn't put my name in the Goblet of Fire," Harry began, taking great delight in the absence of pain upon his body as he did so. Fleur drew breath to argue, though Harry spoke again before she could. "And, I didn't get anyone to do it for me. I also didn't orchestrate any situation in which I could be in any way held responsible for my name being called either, before you start."
Fleur's face seemed to paralyse in shock then, her eyes wide and her mouth parted. "That means-"
"-That I faced a dragon, and I never got a say in it," Harry interrupted. "That you were wrong."
"Oh, get over yourself," Fleur told him quickly. "You lived, did you not?"
Harry could not hold back his grin. "Did better than you, too."
"That is because the judges are idiots," Fleur was quick to tell him. "Do you have an idea of how difficult it is to charm a dragon?" She sniffed, though regretted it as soon as the cold air hit her nose. "Meanwhile, any fool on a broom could do what you did."
"Wanna bet?" Harry asked. "Because I'll summon my broom right now."
"I am not a fool, 'Arry."
He rolled his eyes. "The fact still remains that you were wrong."
"Are you expecting an apology?" Fleur asked. "Because it'll be a cold day in hell, or in this case Scotland, before you get one."
"Not expecting, specifically," he said. "But it wouldn't go amiss."
Fleur sighed, and in their brief interactions, it was a sound Harry had heard so often that he had began to associate the action of sighing to her and only her. She was rather good at it too, as she produced a sound that seemed to perfectly capture her utter exhaustion. A wonderful piece of practised ennui.
" Fine ," she agreed finally. "I was wrong. Happy?"
Harry swayed his head from side to side. "Happier than I was ten minutes ago," he replied. "Does this mean that we can talk about the weather now?"
Fleur paused for a moment.
"Sure," she said then.
"So," Harry began again, with a grin. "Nice day, isn't it?"
" Magnifique ," she replied sarcastically. "I do so love being cold."
"Being cold is temporary though," Harry said. "Because when all is said and done, you can go inside and get warm again."
In their walk, the pair had rounded the Great Lake, falling fully out of view of the Beauxbatons carriages and the Durmstrang ship. Harry had never before been where they were then or even knew that it existed.
Despite themselves, Harry and Fleur had managed to find their way into a grove hidden away from the world. The grove was not large, and so it held only a carved, wooden bench and little else. The bench, it seemed, held a charm of its own too, for even as all of the clearing and the trees that surrounded it were covered in snow, the bench remained entirely unblemished.
Without words, the pair entered into the grove and took a seat upon the bench, their shared curiosity rendered them speechless for a moment. In-front of their eyes, the lake stretched out endlessly, its expanse interrupted only by the mountains in the distance, and then only the horizon after that.
A little part of Elysium, just for the two of them.
There was silence, for a cluster of moments, as they took in the sight of the world before them, their conversation forgotten. The world stilled for them, its only motion the gentle rocking of the water of the lake, its rhythm perfect.
"I suppose the day is nice, then," Fleur said, finding her voice after a moment; Harry found he enjoyed the sound, too.
"Am I allowed to know what your favourite food is now?" Harry asked lightly. "Or is that too far?"
Her lips quirked upward. "Whatever Papa bakes when I am home," Fleur said. "He and Maman own a Patisserie-boulangerie in Nice."
There was a softness to her eyes as she spoke; her gentle gaze one Harry had not seen before upon her.
Fleur met his eyes, with that same, gentle gaze. Harry fought the urge to shiver. "I won't tell you of my hopes and dreams yet."
Harry grinned. "Why not?"
"Because I've given you too much already," Fleur was quick to tell him. "Especially when I know so little of you."
"Little?" Harry asked. "After our last conversation, I think you know more about me than I do."
Fleur's fair skin reddened, the elegant arc of her cheekbone turning pink. "I only know what everyone else does."
"I do as well though, don't I?" Harry asked. "Surely after seven years, almost everyone knows what your parents do for a living."
Fleur shook her head. "People do not know much about me."
A little part of him was warmed then, that despite everything, he'd been trusted with what he had. He wasn't quite sure why, but he was.
"So what would you like to know?" Harry inquired.
Fleur allowed silence to take the air for a moment. "Something that no-one else knows," she said. "And after that, what Dumbledore is to you."
"So two something's that no-one else knows," Harry remarked. "How is that fair?"
"Because you know two things about me, too."
"Your opinion on the weather hardly counts."
Fleur smiled then. She had one dimple, upon her right cheek, but not her left, and Harry found himself briefly transfixed. "You should probably have begun our conversation in a more interesting manner then if you wanted to learn something interesting about me."
"Fine," Harry replied, resisting the urge to huff about the unfairness of it all. "Dumbledore and I talk sometimes."
"You talk?" Fleur asked, leaning in toward Harry so that their knees almost touched. "What about?"
"Life, magic. That sort of thing." Harry replied. Fleur sighed. "If you wanted a better answer, you should've been more forthcoming with yours."
"Well then," Fleur replied. "If you insist on being vague, I have no choice but to assume you are every bit what they all say." A smile came to her lips for a moment, and Harry found himself delighting in watching her dimple return. "You are his apprentice and he has already taught you wandless magic, alchemy, and duelling."
"Is that really what people say?" Harry asked, unable to stop himself.
"That is only the beginning," Fleur told him. "According to your school, he has you poised to run the Wizengamot by twenty, and Minister by thirty."
Harry laughed loudly, the sound at odds with the peace of his surroundings. "If he's as great as you claim as he is, would he really leave all of it to me?"
"Still, you do not answer me directly," Fleur said, and Harry realised dimly that she was teasing him. "You could be Merlin once more, and simply talented enough to hide it." She tilted her head, so as to weigh her words. "Or he could be senile."
Harry wasn't entirely sure which one was less accurate.
"In the spirit of being friendly, I'll tell you this for free. No bargains needed," Harry began. Fleur, against her own consciousness, leaned in once more. "The last thing Dumbledore needs to do with his time is teach me how to play politician. He likes me, I think, though not enough to divulge his life's work in alchemy." He gave her a smirk. "And I'm good enough at duelling without needing him to teach me."
Fleur looked ready to contest his words, though chose not to. "So, I ask again, what do you talk about?"
"What do you talk with Madame Maxime about?" Harry asked, instead of answering.
"Charms mostly," Fleur told him quickly, though her face pinched as she did so, as though the very act of uttering truths ached. "She is the greatest reason I am as good as I am."
"And beyond that?"
Fleur paused. "Not much," she said, and Harry found himself impressed, as she towed the line of her charm brilliantly. "She is a driven woman."
"So, if you're having a problem," Harry postulated. "You wouldn't ask her opinion?"
"Of course," Fleur answered. "But I have known her for as long as I have known of magic; she is a family friend, not my country's leader."
Harry wondered briefly as to how the Minister would feel about such a title. "He is still a person though," Harry said. "And, if you think he isn't the sort of person who would help you like that, then you really don't know him."
"So you are like family, then," Fleur announced triumphantly.
"I don't have a great deal of that, so I wouldn't know," Harry told her. "I don't really talk to him often enough for that, I think."
"But if something serious were to happen, it would be him you turn to," Fleur said, in statement rather than question.
"Like a basilisk roaming the school?" Harry prompted. "Sure." Fleur's eyes flitted down to his hand, still intertwined in hers, as if willing him to react to the lie he'd undoubtedly told. Yet, there was nothing. "You really thought I made that up?"
Fleur stared at him incredulously. "Obviously," she replied, and did so in French, rather than English. Her voice became so much more expressive as she did too; her exasperation like a painting, rather than a sketch. "Do you know how ridiculous your school is?" Her free hand stretched out, and she counted out. "You have had an evil teacher, a basilisk, a horde of dementors and an escaped convict in the space of three years, and it is you that has solved these problems. Not your headmaster, or champion Flitwick, but you?"
"That's about the gist of it, yeah," Harry agreed, seamlessly transitioning into French himself. The language felt strange upon his tongue, though pleasantly familiar. What was all the more pleasant though, for Harry, was the confusion on Fleur's face as he did so; evidently, she'd assumed he'd used a translation charm for his letter. "It was less interesting than it sounds."
"It sounds stupid, not interesting," Fleur said dismissively. "Do you know what would happen if Beauxbatons had a basilisk roaming its halls?" Harry shook his head. "No, and neither do I. Because it never happens."
Upon the waterfront, two swans appeared from the water, carrying their lunch. Harry found the sight odd, given swans were not native to this region of Scotland. One of Hagrid's ideas, no doubt.
"I bet that's pretty dull," Harry stated, bluntly. "So what, you just have lessons and actually learn things?"
"At our school ?" Fleur clarified, beginning to near irate. "Yes, obviously."
"So, how often would you say your life's been in danger there?" Harry asked, finding himself curious.
"Never," she told him, and so irate was Fleur that she divulged it without issue. "Even as a veela, the palace bears an enchantment that nullifies my passive magicks, so I have never had an issue."
"Huh. Must be nice," Harry said, though he didn't truly believe it. Luckily, the charm found his statement non-committal enough so as to pass without issue. He offered his free arm to her. "Feel my forearm."
She offered him a strange look.
"Just, please," Harry started. "Just trust me. I promise it's not awful." His eyes flicked to his hand. "See, even the charm agrees with me."
Fleur's expression did not alter, though she did slowly place her hand upon his arm. And, even through her gloves and his coat, she could still feel the odd construction of his bones. They were harder than they ought to be; they felt like steel, even obscured by his clothes.
"My defence teacher in second year vanished all of my bones," Harry explained, wincing just slightly as her finger slid against his funny bone. "Skele-gro-ed my full arm."
Skele-gro was never intended for full bones, though, but rather to replace sections and strengthen what already existed.
"Doesn't that hurt a lot?" Fleur asked, her eyes searching his face.
"A bit," Harry told her. "I didn't enjoy it."
"Why did he vanish your bones?"
"I broke my arm playing Quidditch," Harry said. "He tried to fix it and, er, failed."
"What?" Fleur asked, though without clarity over what she was asking 'what' for. Yet, there did not seem a statement that summed her feelings better than that sole word. "How could a professor not know how to cast 'episkey'. It is the simplest healing charm there is."
"I never said he was a good Professor," Harry replied. Lockhart was the worst of all of them, and that list included the vessel of Voldemort. "Besides, I'm fine now, aren't I?"
"But you could not have been," Fleur argued.
"But I am ," Harry said. He found himself confused too, as it almost sounded as though Fleur was worried. "Really, we have magic. You can't expect our lives to be normal."
"Of course I can," Fleur insisted. "The whole world is full enough of worries without our school being so too."
"The world isn't that full of worries," Harry told her. "I mean, after facing a basilisk, how bad can the rest of the world be?"
Laughter fell from her lips; Harry took delight in hearing it.
"So, that's why you chose such a stupid way to bypass the dragon then; a lack of fear," she said, with humour still lingering upon her, her mouth finding itself smiling as she uttered the words. "This is really all your world, isn't it?" Fleur's knee met his gently. "We're all just living in it."
For the first time, Harry took notice of just how closely they sat together. Their hands remained holding one-another, the long length of her shining hair resting against his shoulder. And, her hand still held on to his arm, her thumb absently passing over his coat.
The most peculiar aspect of it was that, even after taking notice of it all, Harry made no move to alter their arrangement either. And, as Harry lifted his gaze to meet her arrestingly blue eyes, and found her drawing the same conclusions that he himself did, Fleur did not move to change a thing, either.
"Seems I'm just living in it, too," Harry said, his eyes not leaving hers. "As I don't have a clue what's going on."
Fleur laughed again; the sound was tirelessly delightful. "You claim to be a lost soul, just as the rest of us are?" she pondered. "I do doubt that very much."
"Lost?" he asked, pondering it. "Maybe."
Harry thought then though, in that secret grove, with the view of the Gods before them, that he was the furthest thing from lost.
"I do doubt you're quite as lost as you claim, though," Harry whispered. "Perhaps this is all your world, instead."
Fleur released a soft gasp. "My world would not have you suffer as you have."
"And my world would not have you as isolated as you are."
Space grew between them in the wake of 'isolated'. "What do you mean, isolated?" Fleur asked, mostly in shock.
"Most people, after seven years, are known well enough so that their parent's jobs aren't a secret."
"And what would you know about most people?" Fleur asked, her back forcing itself against the bench. "You've been special all of your life."
"No I haven't," Harry asserted, his voice clear. "Before I got to Hogwarts, I was the furthest thing from special."
Fleur took a moment. "You're saying that you did not know of magic before you were eleven?" she asked eventually. "You're telling me that you did not know of our world until then?"
"You tell me," Harry said, his head tilting toward their joined hands, an inkling of irritation in his voice. Their closeness disappeared fully then, and so their hands were their only connection too. "Don't talk to me like you know about my life, especially when yours is as sheltered as it clearly is."
"Sheltered?" Fleur queried, the word sound altogether foreign to her voice.
"Safe. Without risk," Harry furthered, his jaw setting itself firmly. "This tournament is the biggest thing that's ever happened to you, isn't it?"
"Don't presume to know me," Fleur said. "You don't know anything of me."
"But it is, isn't it?"
"Not everyone is blessed with a life as interesting as yours," Fleur told Harry.
"But you could be Fleur, you could," Harry said earnestly, his gaze unerring. "The world has wonders in it; you need only look for them."
"Well then, 'Arry , what wonders am I missing out on here?" Fleur asked, her arm sweeping outward to encapsulate the fullness of the world that surrounded them.
"Exactly here," Harry said. "Would you have ever known of a place like this had today not have happened?"
"Would you?"
"Yes," Harry answered immediately. "I've seen almost everything else there is to see Hogwarts. Can you say the same of Beauxbatons?" He grinned at her. "Perhaps there is chaos at Beauxbatons, Fleur. Perhaps your school is just as mine is, except you never look to find out. You spend your hours memorising ancient charms and esoteric magic and the world passes you by."
Silence hung in the air then, and Harry knew immediately that he'd said far too much. His mind turned over itself, its only soundtrack the lake's surface sweeping from one direction to another, and the laboured breaths of Fleur beside him.
"You presume a lot," Fleur said, finally. "You've taken one detail of my life and spun it until you have decided to know my entire life story."
"I'm sorry," Harry said at once, and before his mind could think better of it, added. "In my defence, you didn't give me a great else to go on."
"I barely gave you what you gathered," Fleur replied idly. "And what if I gave you more, what then?" She pressed her lips together. "You would no doubt use that until I am suddenly a small-minded coward once more."
Harry heaved a heavy sigh. "Fleur, I'm sorry," he said. "I-I did not mean it in that way." He passed his hand through his hair. "I just wanted to say-"
"-I know what you wanted to say," interrupted Fleur. "You wanted to say how I am boring, and that you are so interesting, didn't you?"
"No, no I didn't mean that and you know it," Harry argued. A wind passed through the grove, and Fleur bristled in the cold. "You're obviously none of those things."
"But."
Harry sighed; his was not the masterpiece Fleur's was. "Nothing," he said, for even he did not know why he said what he did then. "I misspoke."
"No, you didn't," Fleur pressed, rising up from the bench in her fervour. "Go on. Say what you meant."
"Clearly I already have, otherwise I would be in agony right now."
"That is not how the charm works, and you know it."
"I did misspeak," Harry asserted, as his intention was very clearly not to invoke his current situation. "Look, can we just…try again?" Fleur offered him a questioning look. "Third time's the charm and all that."
A tense silence fell. Harry had no idea why he'd said what he had, though such confusion seemed to occur constantly in Fleur's company.
"Okay," Fleur said, her voice holding the very faint confusion that filled him.
"I'll not ask you about the weather this time," he said quickly, lightly. "Seems to set us off on the wrong foot."
Fleur's expression did not shift immediately, and for a moment Harry fretted that she'd grown beyond exhausted with him. Yet, just a moment after, she gave him a small, private sort of smile.
A smile as private as their grove.
"It is a dull way of beginning a conversation," Fleur added, in repetition. She stood up, the action bringing Harry up with her too. "Can this effort be conducted on our way back?"
Harry nodded in agreement. Lovely though it may be, the wind had shifted in the air, and what was once a bearable chill was suddenly not so. There was great beauty to see still, as there would be forever, but the pair sought after warmer air than the winter winds.
"Then you begin, instead," Harry said, simply. "Demonstrate the excellence you clearly possess that offers you the ability to criticise me so easily."
"I'm glad that you recognise my brilliance, at the very least," Fleur replied. She settled herself then, to begin anew. "How are you not cold?"
Harry looked down at his own clothing. He wore the only coat that he owned, and was without a scarf, it having disappeared in one of the Twins' many harebrained schemes. "And I thought my question was dull."
"The weather happens everyday," Fleur said. "To go unbothered by this cold is a marvel that I do not often see."
"I've just gotten used to it, I suppose."
"I do doubt anyone could grow used to this cold," Fleur insisted. "Your hands are hardly warmer than mine."
"I'm fine, I promise," Harry told her, though his voice came quietly. "We'll be inside soon anyway."
"Not soon enough," Fleur muttered. She flexed her hand within his. "May I?" before rushing to clarify. "I think we have both proven ourselves trustworthy."
Harry nodded and, ever-so-slowly, their touch left one-another. With each inch of skin that lost its connection, he could swear he felt the magic bleed from him, and her warmth bleed from him, too.
Harry missed it immediately.
Fleur's hands were quick to act, though. They passed over her top-most scarf, unwinding it from her neck and folding it in her arms. Its material was not thick, and it looked incredibly soft to touch, its colour the sort of light-blue that only the purest of summer skies held.
Or so he thought. As Harry met Fleur's eyes, he saw the colour once more.
She offered the scarf to him, with an outstretched arm. "Here," she said, her voice nearing dismissive. Yet, in a far quieter voice, she added. "It suits you, anyway."
"Are you sure?" Harry asked, searching her eyes.
"Of course," Fleur said, her eyes drifting away from his and down to her still-outstretched hand. "I would not offer it otherwise."
Slowly, Harry reached out to take the scarf from her, his motion careful and even he did not know why. The tips of his fingers brushed against hers, and for a moment he could feel her touch once more, the sensation sparking a jolt of energy through him.
The scarf was silk, and softer than anything Harry had ever felt, though it did not feel half as wonderful as Fleur's hand did.
That energy did not leave him quickly, either. Instead, it seemed to settle entirely in his hands, making their every motion jittery. Coupled with the cold air settling upon his hands, he struggled greatly to wrap the scarf around him.
Fleur gave a cough, bringing him away from his apparently-arduous task. The very fact that she was there made Harry feel stupid, his cheeks tinting redder than even the icy morning could force through him. "May I?" she asked, softly.
Harry nodded, swallowing a breath. Fleur took the scarf from his open hands, and took a step toward him until only the barest slip of air separated them. Despite the day, Fleur felt entirely too close as she was then. She was utterly impossible to ignore; his eyes could not leave her if he wished to.
With quick motions, she folded the scarf and wrapped it around the back of Harry's neck, careful to not trap any of his messy hair beneath it. She threaded the silk into a perfect knot upon his chest, before her hands swept over the scarf for one final time, to smooth its creases. There was an odd, enthralling grace to the motion of her hands and the care of her action.
Harry's lungs felt tight, and so he forced his breathing quiet, near-overwhelmed by Fleur.
"Better?" Fleur asked, still so incredibly close. Her eyes were much too observant then, Harry thought. As she watched his face, Harry thought she could see him entirely.
"Much," Harry found himself able to gasp out.
For an instant, Fleur gave him a tiny smile. "Keep it," she said. "It does suit you."
Harry began to walk once more, as his legs seemed to be the only part of his body that worked properly in that moment. His chest felt as though it would rumble out of him at any moment, his hands nervous and fretful, his mouth useless and falling over itself, his stomach bouncing around. And even then, as he set about the path he'd once walked before with total ease, his legs too began to abandon him, his feet stepping over themselves and his knees weakening with every stride.
Yet, in some distant part of his mind, he found himself agreeing with Fleur. Her question was far more interesting than his.
Fleur quickly regained her place beside him and the pair walked together, just as they had before, though this time in silence as neither held any particular willingness to speak. There was peace and serenity to the world that surrounded them too, the lake ever rhythmic and the snow and the sky everclear, yet Harry was the furthest from serene he'd been in as long as he could remember.
The path narrowed as they rounded the furthest side of the Great Lake until there was little room for anything except two people, their sides brought together by the arcs of nature. With each step, their forearms touched and the edges of their hands brushed together. Unfailingly, each touch brought forth electricity onto Harry's skin and jolting energy through his form.
After one such touch, Harry lifted his eyes to meet Fleur's. Only to find her doing the same.
She offered him a tiny, private smile as they locked eyes.
Harry found himself dwelling on it.
Or, he dwelled on it for as long as he was allowed to. In what felt like an instant, a noise broke their peace, and from the corner of his eye, Harry could see an assembly of four Hogwarts students, two boys and two girls. They were all older than he was, and none were in Gryffindor, so he did not recognise any of them.
They had, Harry noted, a glazed, distracted look upon their face as they stared at the pair of them. And, for a brief moment, Harry had a perfectly clear idea of what being a veela was like. The experience, he found, was not all too different from being him.
Beside him, Fleur's demeanour changed instantly. Her eyes were not as soft as they had been, her jaw glass-cuttingly-sharp and her arms folded across herself.
"Well?" she asked, in English, by then having gleaned that they were not her compatriots, addressing the most forward of the four. A boy with long, flowing hair that fell in waves and framed the sharp edges of his face. Despite the winter's lack of light, his face still held a tan that warmed his dark eyes.
"I'm here for him," the boy said, nodding his head toward Harry, the action bringing his hair to cascade along his cheek. Fleur breathed out a laugh, despite herself. "Wanna go to the ball?"
Harry shook his head. "No, unfortunately."
"Are you sure?" Fleur asked Harry, her voice light, her words returning to French.
Harry turned to offer her a withering look, his body finally returned to him as his life returned to normal, or this new normal he found himself in. Yet, even as his legs regained assuredness and his hands stilled, his stomach still felt alight with something . "Fairly sure," Harry replied, with a shrug.
In the interim, the boy who asked had disappeared away, already making tracks back toward the castle. Harry met the eyes of the next admirer, a tall girl who towered over the pair of them, though he found she stared at Fleur blankly.
"Wangabame?" she asked, the only indication that it was a question being the slightest of inflections in her voice.
Harry was treated then, as he got to watch Fleur offer the girl a withering glare, its power so apparent that the girl walked away without a single other word spoken. Her expression didn't change as she cast her eyes to the final two.
"Which one of us do you intend to ask?" Fleur asked them, her voice sound sharp to Harry's ears.
"Both," the pair answered in unison, managing to do so without even a glance at each other. Harry found himself absently impressed.
Fleur leaned toward him. "They really know how to make you feel special, don't they?" she asked rhetorically, her words in French once more and so her voice all the more expressive.
Harry smothered the laugh her words brought from him behind a hand, before looking to the other two.
"May I ask why?" he asked, returning to the familiar process he'd begun before. Harry could feel Fleur's eyes staring at the side of his face, curious, though he ignored her.
They flicked a glance at each-other. "You're both hot," the boy said. The girl nodded beside him.
"Is that the only reason?" Harry queried.
"Yeah," they once more announced in unison.
Harry sighed.
"Forgive them, mon beau ," Fleur whispered, to Harry and Harry alone. "We are simply much too pretty."
Harry closed his eyes, his skin reddened by her words, despite how inconsequentially Fleur no doubt meant them. "Please, I'm trying to do some good here," he said, in French, before returning to his task. "So you're just looking for someone attractive?"
"What else is there?" the girl asked, peering up at him. The boy looked on too, equally guilelessly.
"Nothing, I suppose," Harry muttered. He ran a hand through his hair. "Look, do you find each-other attractive?"
They spared one-another the briefest of glances. "Yeah," they both said.
Harry threw his hands in the air, his head looking into the heavens too. "Then why not ask each other?"
"Good idea," they said, and then walked away without another word.
Harry heaved a sigh.
"My method is far simpler," Fleur said, beside him.
"My method is kinder, though," Harry said.
They started walking again, their destination the Beauxbatons carriages. It was not far, for it sat upon the edge of the Great Lake, though their pace was slow and so it did not grow near very quickly.
"So kindness is your cause?" Fleur asked, before humming. "Perhaps you have some merit. Who knows, perhaps one day those two vain fools could marry and you might find yourself invited."
Harry laughed. The sound brought Fleur to laugh too.
"So," Harry said. "Shall we try again?"
Fleur brought her hand to touch his scarf. "I thought we already had."
Harry's brain struggled to find words then.
"If you insist," she continued, despite her own words. "You never did tell me something that no-one else knows."
"I told you about Dumbledore and I."
"But we agreed on two things," Fleur corrected, her eyes warming as she heard him groan in dissatisfaction. "So tell me."
Harry thought for a moment, desperately willing the carriages to come closer so that he did not have to answer.
"How about how I learned French?" Harry offered.
Fleur shook her head immediately. "No, I already know that," she said. "A Québécois taught you, because you sound ridiculous."
Harry gasped as though he'd been hit by a bludger. "I do not !"
She raised her eyebrows at him. "You sound like a farmer who has never even seen a city before," Fleur told him. "You sound like you're going to lecture me on how to rear sheep or herd cattle."
"We can't all be as cultured as you," Harry mumbled.
"You sound like you know what crop rotations are."
"I get it."
"You sound like you wake up every morning at six and drive a tractor to work."
" I get it ."
Fleur giggled, like a child. "Because you sound like a farmer."
"Fine," Harry called out. "That's the secret you're getting. I was going to think of something profound, but not any more."
By then, they had arrived at her carriage. They were mostly deserted, too, with even the Beauxbatons students exploring Hogsmeade.
"Please?" Fleur asked, her voice brought sweet, her eyes wide as she looked at him.
"No," Harry said bluntly. "Now it's fair. We're both disappointed."
Harry was glad that he was no longer under the charm, as he would've no doubt felt it there.
"I suppose we need to see each other again then," Fleur replied. "So that I can finally hear the secret you owe me."
Harry grinned, forgetting himself. "Sure," he agreed. "If you insist."
Fleur glanced at her door, before she met Harry's eyes, her gaze as transfixing as ever. "I do," she whispered. "There's so many things you haven't told me."
"And there's even more you haven't told me," Harry replied, smiling still. "I recall hearing about hopes and dreams."
"Hopes maybe," Fleur gave, her hand resting on the doorknob. "Dreams may take a while yet."
"We have a while," Harry replied, his eyes watching the snow fall. "Goodbye Fleur."
To Harry's shock, Fleur reached out to him, to take his hand into hers for a moment.
"Goodbye 'Arry," she said, before letting go and turning to walk into the warmth of her carriage.
Harry ought to have been jealous, as he had a while to wait until he was warm again, but he wasn't. He was far too preoccupied on the electricity that Fleur's touch had left him. His stomach offered him no favours either, for it was entirely filled with butterflies.
It took until he was already back in his dorm before he realised they'd not once spoke of getting Hagrid and Maxime together. He found he didn't mind though, as it offered yet another chance to speak to Fleur again.
And that made him smile stupidly.
'Canaille' = villain (affectionate)
'Mon beau' = my handsome
Translations courtesy of the excellent, and oddly nameless, Raph.
There we go!
Let me know what you thought; I thoroughly enjoyed writing it.
Until next time!
