For Butterfly… failed attempt at Ron/Fleur.
"Ron… Hellooooo? Ron?"
Ron jumped and turned to look at Harry who had sat down next to him at the Gryffindor table. Harry was smirking at him in a way that said it was very obvious that Ron had been staring at Fleur Delacour for the last ten minutes. But in a poor attempt at saving face, Ron shrugged his shoulders and feigned confusion. "What?"
Harry just shook his head. "Forget it, Ron."
"Forget what?"
"Never mind."
Ron went back to his toast and was thankful that Harry didn't want to push the subject. He continued to study the French beauty from a safe distance in peace until she suddenly perked up her head and turned to look him directly in the eye. He dropped his toast and immediately turned to engage Harry in conversation, but Harry only shook his head and laughed.
"I'm not great with girls, but you have the subtlety of Hagrid, mate."
"Bugger off," Ron grumbled. So Harry did, and not five minutes later, Ron found himself at the mercy of one Fleur Delacour.
She sat down in the seat Harry had vacated, and shoved a perfectly manicured finger into his chest. "When will you boys learn zat I am more zen a pretty face? Hmm?"
"I'm sorry. I mean, you are. I know you are," Ron squeaked.
"Then quit staring! It eez rude!"
Ron knew that she was only part Veela, but there was something inhuman about the look in her eye. He was honestly surprised he was still conscious. He swallowed hard, and smiled sheepishly at her. "Well, it is hard not to. Isn't it at least a little flattering?"
Fleur did not find this funny. Not at all. She jabbed him in the chest one last time before getting up and stomping away, cursing him in French.
Ron slumped down in his seat, unsure if he should be angry or just embarrassed. A few seats down, Hermione was shaking with laughter from behind her Daily Prophet, and he knew it was useless to ask her for advice. It looked like he was on his own.
He really ought to learn how to talk to girls.
