Sitting in the middle of a ratty old rug in the middle of a ratty old house couldn't seem more wonderful to Fleur. Being stuck with the Weasleys for the holidays was fantastique. Everything in their house, as messy and hob-nob as it was, seemed shiny and beautiful to her. She stared in awe at the situational grandfather clock, the squishy armchairs, the claustrophobic but ... charming ... kitchen, the gnomes running amok in the garden, the twins, who were conducting "safe" experiments on the old piano in the corner of the living room. The piano had started to moan in pain, but to Fleur, it could only be a beautiful serenade.

It was supposed to be a sort of exchange for the Triwizard competitor: The French girl would have a chance to take in British culture first-hand as part of her year abroad and the Brit family would have its eyes opened by a foreigner. Ron was happy to the point of disappearing to his room frequently and mysteriously. Ginny was annoyed but concealing it half-decently, save for a grumbled Phlegm every now and again. Bill was still feigning disinterest, and, as a result, Mrs. Weasley was happy to have the girl at the moment because she was oblivious. Madame Maxime welcomed it, because Fleur was spending Christmas with Harry Potter, too, who surely had good tricks up his sleeve, based on that showing at the first challenge . Mmme. Maxine was a wonderful professor, Fleur thought to herself just then, but for the Triwizard Cup, she was as cutthroat as the Durmstrangs.

As for Fleur, she couldn't give two shits about the Cup right now. She was ecstatic about being there for another reason, and it sat across the living room from her with a book up like a suit of armour. "Goblin Wars," Fleur mouthed slowly to herself. A quick conversion to French, and her nose wrinkled in distaste before quickly smoothing out again with a smile. If ze bookworm liked it, Fleur thought to herself, then surely goblins were actually quite interesting.

Fleur knew deep down that she really shouldn't stare at that book or what lay behind it. She had heard the British were stuffy about her kind. Right now, though, she couldn't quite help it. Since the bouillabaise incident, she hadn't been able to resist watching those chestnut curls, those measuring eyes, the fierce manner of a girl so utterly Gryffindor. She had swept Fleur off her feet. Well, perhaps "knocked over" was more suitable, Fleur pondered, as she thought back to that wonderful, heart-stopping encounter in the library.

Eyes suddenly appeared above the book to glare at Fleur, but not before the French girl's gaze had admirably slid to focus on the gnomes in the garden, the window being just past Hermione. Brown eyes snapped back to the goblin text, followed by icy, laughing, blue ones, only for the process to repeat. Hermione was always too slow for a confrontation to occur, however. That was, until Fleur started to laugh about the whole thing, chuckling to herself. When she opened her eyes, the measuring gaze she adored was fixed intently on her. She froze, before attempting a casual switch to focus on Ronald for damage control. Ron eeped awkwardly and ran to his room again, causing Fleur to laugh, Ginny to groan, and Hermione to be distracted from her supposed successful catch. Fleur continued to smile. The red-headed friend of Hermione's was always a sure thing.