"Sit down, Mr. Potter ," Professor McGonagall said as Harry entered her classroom.
After speaking at length with Ron and Hermione about what he'd missed while unconscious, he sought out his head of house as instructed. Her usually stern visage was more tired than anything, as she shuffled stacks of essays around on her desk to make a small space in front of her. She clasped her hands together over the empty space, and motioned to the seat in front of her desk.
"I am very happy to see you well," she said as Harry sat down, her tone far kinder than he had ever heard before.
"Thank you Professor," he replied earnestly.
"How are you feeling?" she asked, her green eyes focused on Harry's own.
He turned away from her intent gaze, and stared down at his left hand resting on the desk.
"Pretty good actually," Harry replied truthfully, flexing his left hand slowly. "Though still a little stiff."
"Poppy explained the extent of your injuries?"
Harry nodded in reply.
"I asked you here for a number of reasons Mr. Potter. Foremost of which, I wanted to apologize for stunning you, and to let you know that I would not have done it were it not in your best interest."
"That's what Madam Pomfrey said," Harry replied sincerely, "I understand, Professor."
Professor McGonagall simply nodded before quickly shifting subjects.
"As much as I'd prefer to allow you some time to recuperate, time marches onward, and you still must participate in the second and third tasks."
Harry suppressed a groan. Somehow, in all the madness surrounding the first task and the following events, he'd managed to forget that he had to do it two more times.
"Regarding the second task," she began, slipping away from her more gentle tone back into her brisk lecturing one. "I had the golden egg you secured delivered to your dormitory. It will be your clue as to the nature of the second task. The other champions have had three weeks to examine their clues, so I suggest you get to work as quickly as you are able. The second task will take place on the twenty-fourth of February."
Harry once again nodded mutely, the weight of the tournament settling on him once again.
"We must also discuss the Yule Ball."
"Ron and Hermione mentioned it," Harry said, recalling Ron's awful, frilly dress robes that he'd received at the Burrow. "They said we need dates."
"That is correct," answered Professor McGonagall.
"I would prefer to just skip it, Professor," Harry said, hoping that, for once, his head of house would be lenient.
"You, out of everyone, must go," she replied. "The champions are the ones who traditionally open the ball with a dance."
"But I'm not even a real champion, Professor," Harry said desperately, "and I don't even know how to dance."
"Then I would suggest that you practice," she said, blatantly ignoring his protest. "The ball is restricted to students of fourth year and above, but you may invite someone from the younger years if you wish. I trust you purchased dress robes as you were instructed?"
"Yes Professor," Harry answered defeatedly, realizing that he hadn't actually opened the package Mrs. Weasley had picked up for him. He hoped it wasn't a matching set to Ron's robes.
"The ball is on Christmas night from eight until midnight. You and your date will arrive outside the great hall at seven thirty to prepare for the opening dance."
Harry fought the urge to let his head hit the desk. He desperately wished he didn't have to ask someone to be his date, and was mortified at the idea of dancing in front of all three schools.
"It is a part of the tournament," she continued, "and as such, you must attend, or I assure you that I would excuse you from the event."
"Thank you, Professor," replied Harry.
"I must finish grading these essays before the end of the night," she said, casting a tired glance over the mounds of parchment in front of her, "so I must ask that you return to your dormitory. Get some rest, and work on that clue."
"Yes, Professor," he said automatically as he stood, and walked from the room, his mind mind whirling with thoughts of dates and the large golden egg.
XxXxXxXxXxX
The next morning saw little improvement for Harry. A few people expressed their relief that he was doing better, but most of the school seemed to have been driven further down the 'Support Cedric Diggory' path, led by Malfoy. Harry mostly agreed with the sentiment, thinking that Cedric was the only true champion Hogwarts had, but he could do without the anti-Harry sentiment that went along with it.
One thing he did appreciate, however, was Ron's mood. His friend was acting as though nothing had been amiss between them the past few weeks, and Harry found it rather easy to play along. At times he almost forgot what had happened, but not long after he would catch himself worrying about how Ron would react to something he said, or the words he chose, and the illusion was shattered. He hoped someday to return to the level of amiability he had previously enjoyed with Ron, but until then, he couldn't help but to be a little extra cautious.
The three of them had spent the whole morning after breakfast trying to figure out the egg. They had been thrown out of the common room after opening it for the first time. The loud shriek that issued from the open egg caused most people nearby to wince in pain before throwing their hands up to their ears. They had spent the rest of the day out on the grounds, trying to stay warm as they examined the strange egg.
Harry's day took a strange turn after they disbanded after lunch. Harry had asked for some time alone after the frustrating morning. Between a standard, irritating encounter with Malfoy, his still too-tight skin on his left side, and the ringing that hadn't yet faded from his ears from the egg, Harry was eager for some peace and quiet, away from everybody. He had settled on a stone bench in an empty courtyard, when a plain brown owl landed next to him, a small piece of parchment attached to it's leg. Harry accepted the small letter, which was adorned with two thin curvy letters, 'HP'. He opened it, and read the unfamiliar handwriting inside.
Harry,
I apologize for using an owl to contact you, but I could not think of another way to reach you without wandering through Hogwarts hoping to bump into you. I was hoping you'd be able to meet with me this evening. I have some things I would like to discuss with you, and I'd prefer it be done away from listening ears.
If you're interested, please meet me by the stairs to the second floor at eight. I know it sounds strange, but as I mentioned before, I prefer to walk the castle at night.
I hope you're able to meet me, though I would certainly understand if not. This is a rather sudden request.
-Fleur
Harry had to read the letter twice to be sure he'd understood what it said. Fleur wanted to meet with him? His golden egg spent the rest of the afternoon ignored, as Harry tried to figure out what she could possibly want. He dropped his egg off in his dorm just before dinner, and made his way alone to the great hall.
He was surprised to find neither Hermione nor Ron at the Gryffindor table. Ginny told him, through a few giggles, that Ron was in the hospital wing having apparently been tricked into eating an enlarging candy that caused his nose to grow ten times it's normal size. No one had heard from Hermione, and Harry suspected she had either opted to skip dinner to keep researching, or forgotten about it completely.
Harry's nerves rose as eight o'clock grew closer. He'd run through a multitude of possible reasons why Fleur would want to talk to him, but none of them seemed likely. He made sure to head towards the second floor staircase a little early, and was surprised to find her already waiting for him.
Exchanging nothing more than a quiet 'hello', Fleur led him to an unused classroom just down the hall from where they'd met.
"Thank you for agreeing to meet me tonight," Fleur said once they'd closed the classroom door behind them.
"Er, no problem," said Harry, standing awkwardly next to the door. His eyes darted around the room as a traitorous part of his brain reminded him of the things he'd heard couples doing in abandoned classrooms during his late night walks. He hid his burning face by moving towards a desk and taking a seat.
"I asked you here for a few reasons," she began, walking closer to where he was sitting. "Firstly was to see how you were doing."
"I'm fine," Harry answered automatically, before a memory of Madam Pomfrey made him pause. She had been one of the few people to see how badly he had been burned by the Horntail. He looked up a her from his seat, and saw a surprisingly concerned look upon her face.
"I'm glad to hear it," she said quietly. "Your injuries were severe."
"So I was told," he replied, shifting his gaze away from her pale face.
"I will admit," Fleur said eventually, breaking a small silence that had settled between them, "that seeing the extent of your injuries served to illustrate the true dangers we face in this competition."
Harry merely nodded, though he felt as though he had taken the tournament seriously from the start. He had been almost sure he was going to be killed when he had heard that the first task was going to be dragons, and he fully recognized that it was a miracle that he had survived at all.
"When you were brought into the tent," continued Fleur, her soft voice quiet, "I didn't recognize you at first."
Harry watched her as she spoke, unsure of the direction of the conversation. He had been told the extent of his injuries, and was intensely grateful that he couldn't remember them as he was keen to avoid giving his nightmares any more fuel than they already had. He watched her as she stood up from where she had been leaning, and began to slowly pace the front of the room while gently pulling on a handful of her silvery-blonde hair.
"I must admit something to you," she said, her back to him.
"Okay," Harry said, unsure of what else he might say. He was surprised she wanted to speak with him at all, let alone feel the need to confide anything in him.
"It is a terrible thing to say," she said, still not facing him, "but the first thing I felt when I saw you in that tent was regret."
Harry remained silent, unsure of what to say. He hadn't expected her to feel any sort of way about his injuries, and didn't understand why her regret would be so terrible.
"I…" she began, finally turning back towards him, anxiety written plainly on her features. "I suppose I should be honest," she finished, turning her eyes away from him and down to the floor.
Harry sat, completely flabbergasted by the conversation that was taking place. Truthfully, he had hoped for the opportunity to talk to Fleur again after their meeting in the owlery, but he certainly hadn't expected her to come seek him out. He also hadn't expected a serious discussion, this strange confession of regret, or her apparent nervousness.
"Do you recall," she began, her eyes moving from the floor to a nearby window, "when we met in the owlery, and I told you that I had enjoyed our conversation?"
"Yes," Harry replied simply. He recalled the whole conversation in vivid detail. She had been the first person to tell him that they believed he hadn't put his name in the goblet.
"Would it surprise you to know," she said slowly, her hand unconsciously twirling her hair through her fingers, "that I enjoyed our conversation because it was the first I've had with someone outside my family since I was a small girl?"
Harry was unsure how to reply to the question, but when he looked at her, he saw her waiting for his response.
"Well," he said finally, "yeah, it would."
Fleur smiled at him, though he thought it seemed a little sad. "I expect many would feel the same," she said, her sad smile falling as she sighed. "What do you know of Veela?"
"Not much," Harry admitted, hastily thinking back to the things Hermione had said. "My friend said they have an allure or something, and I saw the ones at the world cup transform into big birds."
"That is usually the extent of people's knowledge of us," said Fleur, her gaze still locked on the window. "It is the 'allure', that I wish to speak of first."
Harry waited while Fleur appeared to gather her thoughts. He had been curious about it ever since he'd heard Hermione mention it, but hadn't remembered to look into it.
"What do you know of the allure," she asked finally.
"Not much," Harry admitted again. "Ron said it made his mind all fuzzy, and Hermione said it wouldn't work on her because she's a girl. She also said it's rare to resist the allure of a Veela."
"I see," Fleur said, "again, that is the common knowledge about us. It's what is usually found when Veela are mentioned in textbooks and literature. It is not wholly inaccurate, just incomplete."
Harry sat in rapt attention. He had wanted to get to know her better, but hadn't dared hoped that she'd sit down and tell him about herself.
"Firstly, the 'allure' is not so simple as making a man's mind go fuzzy with attraction." She paused, absentmindedly chewing her lip as she thought.
To Harry's surprise, he found her even more attractive when she did so. He wondered if he was indeed immune to her 'allure', or whatever it was.
"Many people believe the allure is simply magical attraction, captivating the attention of men with lust," explained Fleur, her hesitant tone gradually shifting to one of a classroom lecturer as she sat down on one of the desks, and crossed her legs. "The word 'allure' is actually a misnomer, as it is less related to say, a Siren's song, than it is to passive legilimency."
"Legilimency?"
"The magical art of mind reading," answered Fleur, shocking Harry. He had no idea it was possible for people to read thoughts. The idea of it made him shudder.
"My ability is not so direct," Fleur said, apparently noticing his disquiet, "but your friend was right about one thing, it is a rarity to be wholly immune to it's touch."
"I'm immune?" Harry asked, silently grateful that she was unable to probe his thoughts, or whatever is was she could do.
"It would seem so," she replied, flashing him a genuine smile. "But we will get to that. I don't want you to think I walk around being able to read people's thoughts and secrets just by being near them."
Harry started guiltily, not so sure she was telling the truth, as she seemed to have the strange ability to voice his thoughts.
"Rather than read thoughts as a Legilimens can, my ability probes people's general emotions, and turns them favorably towards myself. The word 'allure' is a misnomer only because the method of it is more complex than a simple lust potion, as many seem to believe it is.
"My ability reaches out to those nearby, senses their current emotional state, and shifts it so that I become the focus of their attention. If it is unable to shift their attentions, then they are immune to it."
"So why is it limited to men, if it's just about emotion?" Harry asked, recalling Hermione's explanation in the great hall.
Fleur sighed, letting go of the strands of hair she had been playing with. "Because it is true that there is an element of lust inherent in the allure. It does not work on your friend, not because she is a girl, but because she is not homosexual. If she were, her attention would be drawn the same as anyone else. Homosexual men are similarly unaffected."
"I'm not-" Harry began, but was cut off by Fleur raising her hand to forestall him.
"I know," she said simply. "I can feel the allure attempt, and fail, to change their feelings towards me. With you, it simply cannot grab onto you. I cannot feel your emotions the way I feel others. It is not so dissimilar from the way my ability reacts to occlumens, though I doubt you are an accomplished occlumens. Every occlumens I've met are far older than we are."
"You can feel their emotions?" Harry asked. "And what's an occlumens?" He felt as though he might prefer having his emotions read to his mind, but he still didn't like the idea.
"Occlumency is the counter to legilimency, which I mentioned earlier. It is the magical art of locking your mind away from intrusion. As for your other question, it's not as though I can feel exactly what they're feeling," she said, shrugging. "It's not so much that I get a sense that they're happy, or sad, but I can tell how their feelings are changed by the allure in order to draw them to me. An angry person's emotions must be altered differently to those of a happy person's to achieve the same result. Over the years I have learned to discern the feelings of others based upon the way the allure must affect them."
"Seems…a little overwhelming," Harry said, trying to imagine what it'd be like to feel someone's mood all the time.
"It can be," she said, again offering him a smile, "but it's more like hearing a constant noise all the time. You learn to tune it out."
"But you can't feel my feelings at all?" asked Harry.
"No," Fleur said, still smiling, "and that's why I brought it up. To go back to what I was saying before, I felt regret when I saw you enter that tent, because you are the only person I've spoken to in years that is unaffected by my abilities. I had hoped to spend more time speaking with you, and I thought I had missed that chance."
Harry was unsure how to reply. A rambunxious part of his mind wanted to whoop out loud. The most beautiful person he had ever seen just said she had wanted to spend more time with him. Him!
Before he could think of a suitable reply, she broke the silence in a quiet voice.
"I know," she said suddenly somber, her eyes down on her shoes, "it's a terrible and selfish thing to say, but I thought you might…" she trailed off, letting out a small sigh. "I thought you might still let me talk to you...sometimes."
Harry goggled at her. He couldn't fathom why she might think it a 'terrible' or 'selfish' thing to say, but he certainly didn't think it was. He was surprised to see such a tentative side to the woman he'd watched be so aloof and graceful. He heard a small voice in his head remind him that he regularly put up a happy front for the world to see. She must be just as lonely as he was sometimes, though she didn't even have the benefit of his two best friends.
He realized the silence was dragging on, and looked over at Fleur, who was picking at the sleeves of her heavy winter cloak.
"It's fine," he said quickly, hoping he could cheer her up. "I don't mind."
"That is a kind thing to say," she said as she finally looked up at him, "but even asking you here today was a selfish thing to do. I told you those things hoping that you would say something like that, just so I could have someone to talk to. Even seeing if you were okay was self serving. I wanted to see you healed so maybe I can stop seeing….the other you...as I fall asleep." She swallowed thickly as she looked down again. "I had hoped we could maybe become friends someday, but I thought it was fair you know what kind of person I am."
"It's really fine," Harry repeated, feeling far out of his depth. He wanted her to feel better, but he had no idea what to say. He couldn't even make Hermione feel better when she was upset, and he'd known her for years now.
"I don't think you're all that bad," he continued, "not that I think you're bad at all. Or that I know you better than you know you. Or…" he trailed off, desperately wishing he were better at this sort of thing.
Rather than be upset at him like he had expected, she laughed lightly before smiling broadly at him.
"You are very earnest," she said, her blue eyes captivating him. "Thank you Harry."
He couldn't control the small smile that pulled at his mouth as well. Her minor French accent made it sound as though his name was missing it's first letter. It felt unaccountably personal, like a nickname. He'd never had a nickname before, or at least not one worthwhile. He shook the thoughts of his family and his unwanted magical moniker from his mind and looked back up at Fleur, who seemed much more relaxed.
"I did say there were a few reasons I wanted to talk to you today," she said after a moment. "I also wanted to give you a hint about the second task and the egg."
"You did?" Harry asked, his eyes widening. He had tried to figure out the egg ever since Professor McGonagall had told him he was behind the other champions, but had so far had no luck.
"I also felt terrible that I didn't warn you of the dragons when I found out they were to be our challenge," she explained.
"I mean, I didn't tell you either," Harry mumbled, his face suddenly hot with shame.
"That is true," she replied, "so I suppose we are even."
"I told Cedric though," Harry said miserably. He was sure he was going to lose this new friend of his before he had gotten a chance to know her.
"Which was noble. You were not required to tell anyone, and the fact that you told one person instead of everyone does not diminish that." She waited until he finally looked up at her before continuing. "I want to be a good friend," she said bluntly, catching Harry by surprise, "and a good friend would help you through this ordeal which you did not ask for."
"Thank you," Harry said thickly.
"Next time you are able, put your egg underwater," Fleur said in reply. "It'll make that dreadful noise useful."
Harry nodded. Hopefully the tournament would be a little less dangerous with an actual champion helping him out.
"So how are your injuries feeling?" Fleur asked conversationally.
"Just fine actually," Harry replied, looking down at his left hand. As the days went on, it was beginning to look more and more like his regular hand. "Even just after waking up it didn't hurt, it only felt a little strange."
"I'm glad," Fleur said. "Though I don't expect you'll need to worry about fire much during the second task," she added with a grimace.
"You know what it is?" Harry asked in surprise. He'd assumed she was still working it out if the only clue she gave him was to put the egg underwater.
"I believe so," Fleur answered with a nod, "but it is against the rules for me to tell you exactly what the task is, even though hints are acceptable."
"How does the magic even know?" Harry asked frustratedly. The tournament rules felt like shackles on him, but he couldn't fathom how this 'binding contract' with the goblet was so all-knowing.
"I wish I knew," replied Fleur. "It is fascinating though, is it not? Such ancient enchantments that are so meticulous and well placed that they continue to work centuries later, and have such far reaching detective capabilities. The goblet is an impressive magical artifact, don't you think?"
"I suppose so," Harry agreed, more keen on avoiding a conflict of opinion with his new friend, than voicing his true thoughts on the goblet. "You might talk with my friend Hermione though, she's probably been trying to figure out how it works for fun."
He watched as Fleur went from her excited interest about the magic surrounding the Goblet of Fire to almost noticeably withdrawing into herself.
"I don't usually get along well with other women," Fleur said quietly. "they find me threatening, or become jealous of my appearance." She waved her hand irritably around in the air, gesturing to her face.
"Sorry," Harry replied immediately. "It just seemed like something she'd be interested in. I don't think she dislikes you or anything," he added after a moment, "the most she's said about you is telling Ron that it's unlikely that you're Veela."
"I suppose," Fleur said after a moment, "that I could try meeting her eventually." She gave Harry a shy smile that made his heart race. "I'm not very good at meeting people," she admitted, "for real, that is."
"For real?" Harry echoed, confused.
"Sometimes it's easier for me to smile, nod, and 'be pretty' like people expect me to, rather than to try and be genuine with them." She laughed a humorless laugh before continuing. "But I already grow tired of acting, though I will need to do more of it now that my Father works within Britain's Ministry." She looked up at Harry again. "Again, I think you understand this as well."
Harry nodded, thinking back to the world cup where he saw Fleur put on a smile for the Minister, the same way he had to for those who wanted to meet the Boy-Who-Lived, instead of Harry Potter.
"Regarding that, er, somewhat," Fleur continued, her fluent speech stuttering for the first time since he'd met her. He looked at her, and saw that she was again feeling extremely apprehensive. He felt like he was pretty good at judging people's moods from their faces, he had to be in order to survive his Aunt and Uncle, but most people tended to try and hide their feelings while they were talking, whereas Fleur seemed to be an open book to him. He found the change refreshing, especially after Ron's recent two-facedness.
"One of the other things I asked you here for was about…" she trailed off, again beginning to run the end of her long silver hair through her fingers. He watched as she purposefully put her hands down on her knees, and took a deep breath. "I wished to ask you to come with me to the Ball."
Harry was certain he was dreaming. He had thought himself lucky to survive the dragon's fire, to have Ron back, and to have been asked to talk with Fleur. Maybe that was just it. Maybe he'd died in the first task, and the afterlife was some sort of place where your wishes were granted. He shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts to give a proper answer.
"You won't?" she asked, surprise mixing with a trace of hurt in her voice.
"What? No!" Harry stammered out, watching as her beautiful face fell.
"I mean yes," he explained quickly, hating that he continually had trouble voicing his thoughts properly. "Of course I'll go with you, if you really want to."
She smiled again, relief painting her features.
"Thank you," she said, her eyes moving from him down to the floor in apparent embarrassment. "I've never been rejected before. It was surprising to hear, even if it wasn't what you'd meant." She paused, and Harry watched as the fair skin of her face turned pink. "That sounded egotistic," she said quickly, "but I didn't mean it like that. It's my ability, men usually can't say no to me."
She grabbed a handful of her hair as her blush deepened.
"That didn't sound any better," her usually clear voice becoming more of a mumble.
"Why me?" Harry asked quickly, hoping to distract her from her worries. Surely he wasn't her first choice.
His question seemed to have the effect he'd hoped, and she seemed to calm a little before answering.
"It's as I said before, I haven't had a proper conversation with someone close to my age since I was young, and I don't want to have to play the part of 'serene date' to someone who is ensnared by my abilities all night."
Harry nodded, feeling oddly disappointed by her answer. He was surprised to find that he had hoped that she had wanted to take him because she was interested in him, rather than just because she was someone she could talk to for the night. He did his best to repress the feeling. It wasn't as though he didn't understand being lonely, and he did enjoy talking to her, though he still didn't feel as though he was contributing much. Besides, he couldn't think of a single reason someone like her would be interested in a short, skinny, useless fourteen year old. He quelled his feelings of disappointment, and tried to think practically. Now he didn't have to go through the mortifying process of asking someone to the ball.
"I'm sorry for ambushing you will all this," Fleur said after a moment, waving her hand vaguely in the air. "I was so excited to have someone to talk to, and was so afraid that you wouldn't want to speak with me again." Her face turned rosey again as she finished. "I'm also not very good at moderating what I say...apparently," she added, a bit of irritation in her voice.
"It's….refreshing," Harry heard himself say. He had been thinking it since he realized he could easily tell what she was feeling from her expressions, but was surprised to hear himself say the words. Between Ron, who, even though they'd reconciled, he still felt some distrust towards, and everyone else in the school flipping their opinions of him from one year to the next, it was nice to know someone beside Hermione who was honest with him.
"I expect you run into people wearing polite masks quite often, don't you?" Fleur asked.
Harry almost started with surprise as she put words to his thoughts yet again.
"Are you sure you can't read my mind, or feelings?" he asked suspiciously.
"Yes," she said, a small frown appearing on her lips. "Why do you ask?"
"You keep saying what I'm thinking," he answered, feeling a little foolish.
"I think it's because we have a lot in common when it comes to how people view us," she said, after considering his reply for a moment. "It's easy for me to understand how you feel being put in the spotlight for something that was out of your control."
"I promise I cannot tell what you are feeling. Not being able to do so is a little scary, almost like I've lost my hearing, but as you said," she paused, brushing wayward strands of hair behind her ear, and giving him another small smile, "it is also refreshing."
Harry was struck by a sudden intense feeling of fondness for Fleur. Despite feeling like he hadn't contributed much to their conversations, he almost felt more comfortable with her than he did with Hermione. He felt almost constantly on guard with his extremely intelligent friend, trying to make sure that he didn't slip up in some way to reveal the hidden depths of his life that he was afraid she was already suspecting. He felt a great sense of relief to have someone who hadn't the faintest inkling of his secrets, and the feeling was freeing. It was as free as he was sure he'd ever feel from the spectre of his relatives, and he resolved to keep it that way. Desperate to keep the newfound lightheartedness alive, he felt the desire to be uncharacteristically conversational. Maybe if he tried it out, it'd become easier to talk to her in the future.
"So what's Beauxbatons like?" Harry asked, his voice cracking slightly from nerves. He winced inwardly, and hoped Fleur didn't notice.
If she did, she didn't show it, and her face lit up at his question.
"It is beautiful," she said, her eyes unfocused in reminiscence. "It is not that Hogwarts is not beautiful in it's own way, but Beauxbatons has a warmth that Hogwarts does not." She smiled as she spoke, "and I'm not only speaking of the weather. It is difficult to describe the difference, as they're both large castles in the middle of beautiful fields, though Beauxbatons has more open fields where Hogwarts has it's forest. Perhaps you'll get the opportunity to visit it one day."
Harry listened as Fleur described the interior of castle, including, to Harry's surprise, as fountain named after Nicolas Flamel and his wife. He considered mentioning his adventure with the stone in his first year, but figured they'd get to it eventually if they remained friends, and he was enjoying just listening to her speak.
The evening deepend into night as they spoke, with Harry asking primarily about her time at school, while attempting to avoid asking of her family, lest she reciprocate the questions. Harry was surprised to find out how much time had passed when Fleur finally brought their conversation to a close.
"We will have to continue some other time," Fleur said, glancing out the window where the moonlight shone bright onto the grounds.
Harry reluctantly agreed, though he could feel the tiredness settling in once she had pointed out how late it had become.
Fleur turned to him when they had returned to the deserted hallway outside the classroom, about to go their separate ways for the evening.
"I will talk to you later?" Fleur said, though her tone was more a tentative question than a statement.
"Yeah," Harry replied, silently wishing they had begun their conversation earlier so they wouldn't have to stop just then.
Fleur flashed him another nearly luminescent smile at his answer, and nodded. "At least once more before the ball?"
"Just let me know," Harry replied, offering her a small smile in return.
Fleur waved goodbye as she set off down the hall, back towards the entrance to the castle. Harry pulled out the Marauder's Map once she turned the corner, and headed back towards Gryffindor tower.
XxXxXxXxXxX
"Where have you been?" Hermione asked from her seat by a dying fire, when he slipped through the portrait hole into the Gryffindor common room.
"Ron went up to bed an hour ago," she continued, not pausing for an answer to her initial question. "I would have gone too, but ever since the dragon," she paused to smile apologetically up at him as he approached the large chairs by the fire. "I'm sorry Harry, I can't help but worry."
"It's okay Hermione," Harry replied, lowering himself into one of the chairs. He was glad that Hermione was alone. He had spent the trip back to Gryffindor tower trying to figure out how to explain his new friendship to Fleur without eliciting any jealous comments from Ron, or teasing from Hermione. He figured he could handle the small, light spirited jabs that Hermione liked to poke him with, rather than any comments from Ron. He was glad to be speaking to his friend again, but although he had been trying over the last few days, he had been unable to shake the distrust that had settled in him regarding Ron.
"I was out talking to Fleur," Harry said quickly, resigning himself to whatever Hermione would say.
"Oh?" she replied simply, her eyebrows disappearing behind her bushy fringe in surprise. "About the tournament? This late?"
"A little, yeah," Harry answered. "She gave me a hint about how to figure out the clue for the second task."
"You're competitors though," said Hermione, "Why would she want to help you?"
"She wants to help me get through the tournament," he explained, "she thinks it's unfair that I got entered, and am being forced to compete."
"Well she's right, obviously, but why did it take hours for her to give you a hint?"
"That wasn't all we talked about," Harry answered, "she wants to be friends."
"With you? Why?" Hermione asked, shocked.
Harry frowned, and was about to retort, when she spoke again.
"I'm sorry Harry, that was a dreadful thing to say," she said apologetically. "It's just surprising that an older student, from another country, and one who is an opposing champion no less, would simply approach you and ask to be friends. It seems a little suspicious to me."
Harry desperately wanted to disagree, but couldn't really find fault in her logic, despite the fact the he still felt that Fleur was being genuine during their time together.
"She said it's because she doesn't really have anyone else to talk to, since she's Veela," Harry explained, trying not to feel too guilty for divulging the personal information.
"So she is Veela," Hermione all but whispered. "That does explain Ron's behaviour around her." She suddenly looked chagrined. "I suppose I owe him an apology." She seemed to remember something, and turned back to Harry. "But that means that you are immune to the Veela allure."
"Seems so," replied Harry with a shrug.
"I wonder..." Hermione began, but was interrupted by a large yawn. "I had better get to bed," she said instead, rising from her seat. "Oh!" she said just before reaching the stairs to the girls dormitory. "What was the hint she gave you?"
"To put the egg underwater. She said it'll get rid of that awful screeching sound."
"Try it tomorrow and let me know what happens," she said, before ascending the stairs out of sight.
Harry followed suit, tiredly making his way up the boy's stairs. He tried to sort the jumbled feelings he had about the night. His newfound warmth toward Fleur was warring with Hermione's logical points. Why would someone as beautiful and talented as Fleur want him as a friend. No sooner did he have the thought, than he remembered her open expressions and smiles throughout their conversation. He had always been good about telling when people were putting on a show for him, and he didn't think Fleur was doing anything of the sort.
He climbed quietly into bed, taking care not to wake the others. He fell into a restless sleep, and dreamt of strangers wearing masks.
