Birds of a Feather, Chapter 10, First Impressions
Disclaimer: The Harry Potter Universe belongs to J. K. Rowling.
A/N: Constructive criticism cheerfully accepted. Praise greatly enjoyed. Flames haughtily ignored. And, as always, thanks to my betas, rosiekatriona and sassyfrass_kerr, who are as talented as they are beautiful.
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Of course, the first people to see Hogwarts were the ones seated in the front of the carriage--specifically those on the left side, as they were coming in from the north. Why, Harry didn't know, seeing as how Beauxbatons was definitely south of Hogwarts, but then he hadn't been consulted when they planned the flight path of the Abraxan-drawn conveyance.
Harry himself was seated towards the back, next to the two other people in his year who had qualified for the trip. Fleur was seated up towards the front with her friends, in one of the prime spots, but the voices he'd heard exclaiming over the sight didn't include hers. That was one of the things Harry liked best about his sister--she didn't act like a giggling, besotted girl very often. One of the other things was that she was never too busy to greet him in the halls, or take time out to chat with him about her love life, and his lack thereof.
"Can you see it yet?" Josette asked from beside Harry. Josette was a beautiful brunette, with a stunning smile and hazel eyes. She had been selected as first-string Chaser, and Harry had been over the moon with pride. Despite having come from a Muggle background, she had taken to the sport like a nargle to mistletoe, handily overcoming the perceived handicap, and was now being touted as one of the best players to come through Beauxbatons. She had set her sights on Harry when she'd first seen him at their Welcoming Feast, and it had taken awhile for her to concede defeat. Harry was unutterably grateful that she had--it had been rather uncomfortable to find himself squarely in the wandsights of the very determined girl. But they'd finally been able to overcome the twin obstacles of her desires and his utter lack of same, and become fast friends.
"No," he answered, "the great lummox here is blocking the view."
Harry's other friend turned and cast a rather hurt glare back, but it wasn't taken seriously by the other two. Michel had won a spot as a beater, which wasn't surprising to anyone who knew him. He was, to put it bluntly, huge. He looked as if he lifted small oxen for a light workout, and ate dragon steaks, rare, for a snack. In spite of his imposing figure, he was one of the nicest people Harry had ever met, and was widely regarded as being constitutionally unable to hurt so much as a flobberworm. On the Quidditch Pitch, however, all bets were off, as he swung a specially-modified bat (longer and wider than the regularly-sized ones, which looked like toothpicks in his hands) with all the abandon of a basilisk trying to kill roosters. There were only one or two other circumstances where he would get mad. The first was being called Michel. Having been exposed to classic American movies as a child, he had decided that Michel was not nearly manly enough for him--no, he demanded that everyone (except his mother) call him Tex. The second was if anyone dared say anything even slightly critical of Josette. He had loved her from afar since their first year, and done an admirable job of concealing it.
Tex turned back to the window and grunted. "They don't do half-bad at gothic foreboding, do they?" he commented.
Harry and Josette engaged in a furious, although friendly, battle to be the first to see past Tex out the window. Tex leaned back, and the other two caught their first glimpse of Hogwarts.
"It's so grey!" Josette exclaimed, and Harry snorted.
"Of course, silly! It was originally a fortress, built to withstand the Muggles of that time, and they didn't have time to make it into a palace."
"Well, they still could have done something, couldn't they?" Josette asked.
The carriage made a rather sharp turning descent at that moment, interrupting the conversation.
"Great Merlin," Tex breathed out, upon seeing the grounds in front of the castle. "They're all on the lawn outside. I guess they figure that black robes go with anything, don't they?"
Harry had to laugh; it certainly seemed that the color of choice was black for the entire student body. Here and there he caught a glimpse of yellow, or blue, but it seemed that the Hogwarts students weren't given a lot of clothing choices, which put a damper on their standing out individually. Harry was grateful that the Beaxubatons dress code allowed for more than just the blue they were wearing for this occasion.
The ground came up at them in a final rush, and they touched down with a loud Thump!, although that was more for effect than anything else, as the magical dampening springs took the impact quite nicely. They rolled to a stop, and all the inhabitants of the carriage broke into excited whispers. The Headmistress arose then, and everyone went quiet.
"As you may have noticed, my students, we have arrived. I hope you already understand the importance of first impressions, so I won't belabor the point. But please, remember who you are, and what you represent."
The students shuffled nervously, each hoping that they wouldn't be the one to trip during their walk through the massed ranks of Hogwarts students.
"Now, let us meet our hosts!" she called, and everyone rose to file out of the carriage.
As soon as Fleur stepped out onto the grass, she stepped to one side, waiting for her little brother. Fleur was a very self-confident woman, of age, and well aware of the impact she had on males who hadn't had an opportunity to acclimate themselves to her beauty. To that end, the Delacour siblings had worked out a method for giving themselves a little space.
Harry looked around as he stepped down onto the grass, and smiled as he saw his big sister. "Hi, Fleur! Thanks for waiting for me! Can you believe this place?"
"Hey, Harry. Hi, Tex. Where's Jos-- Oh, there you are. Are you all ready to go?"
The trio nodded their heads and fell into their normal positions around the 17-year-old beauty.
"And the weather. . ." Harry continued. "It's so drizzly. I mean, sure it's October and all that, but I don't know that I could live in a place that's so damp all the time."
Tex rumbled a laugh deep in his chest, and Harry looked up at him in question.
"Oh, nothing. I'm just thinking that we might have all been born over here, and this would be normal for us. For all we know, you would have grown up loving the rain and being homesick when you weren't here."
Josette nodded, having thought the same thing.
Harry thought for a bit, then conceded the point. "But," he pointed out, "I didn't, so I can complain all I want." He switched his attention to his big sister. "Well, Fleur, what are you going to tell all the boys here? You don't have a boyfriend right now, so are you going to play the field?"
Fleur had thought quite a bit about this very point. While she enjoyed the attention that came from being a Veela, at least most of the time, she had gotten to the point where it was rather tiring. "I don't know, Harry. I'm not sure I want to be the belle of the ball—I mean, I'll definitely keep my eyes open, but I think I might just be ready for a real man."
Harry gasped, then giggled (which he hated, because he always thought it made him sound like a child). "A real man? Well, aren't you--"
Fleur waited a bit, but when Harry didn't say anything more, she turned to see what was the matter. Harry hadn't stopped walking, but it was very clear that his attention was elsewhere. His gaze was fixed somewhere ahead of them and off to the right, and his eyes had taken on a light that Fleur had never seen before. He looked. . . captivated was the only word Fleur could think of to describe him. His face had taken on a slight reddish tint, but it was equally obvious that he hadn't noticed.
As Fleur watched, Harry turned away from the other three, and started walking towards some specific point in the crowd. Curious, she turned to see if she could figure out where he was headed. It was rather difficult to discern amongst the masses of students, but as she scanned the group, her eyes caught on a red-headed girl. She was staring back at Harry with the same intensity, and his path would take him straight to her.
Oh my, she thought. Harry's found his Mate! She couldn't suppress a little squeal of delight, and a burgeoning hope that she and the mysterious girl would be able to be friends.
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Harry couldn't think straight. He had been chatting with his sister, and his two friends, talking about. . . something he couldn't quite recollect, when he had seen her. She was standing in the crowd, or rather, she was standing out from the crowd. Her beautiful hair, the color of a summer sunset, called out to him to notice her. Below that was a face that, to him, defined beauty. Looked at objectively, she was cute rather than beautiful, but Harry found himself completely unable to look at her in such a dispassionate manner. She had stolen his heart already, and he couldn't imagine that anyone would ever be more perfect for him than she was.
He found himself walking directly towards her, without knowing how that had happened. It felt. . . vitally important, somehow, that he talk to her, touch her face, kiss her, as if he would stop breathing forever if he couldn't do those things with her. He blushed slightly as thoughts of doing even more than kissing crossed his mind, but somehow it didn't feel wrong, or dirty, or even too mature for him.
He was in front of her now, and any nervousness he might have felt was swallowed up in joy at being so close to her.
"Hi," he breathed. "I've been looking for you."
And then she was in his arms, seemingly without anything so mundane as having had to consciously move there. He wrapped his arms around her back as she put hers around his neck. Their lips moved together of their own accord, and they were kissing. Kissing seemed like such a minor, inadequate word to describe something that felt like a merging of. . . of souls, or minds, or hearts, or something equally deep. The moment their lips touched, Harry knew, beyond any shadow of a doubt, what his mother had meant by fireworks. His heart pounded, the blood rushed through his ears, and all he could think about was the softness of her lips, her arms, her body next to his. He pulled her even closer, amazed that she fit so perfectly in the space in front of him. It was more than that, though, she was filling up the spaces inside of him, too. It was as if they had been made for each other, from the same piece of human clay, so that they matched perfectly. Two halves of a whole that, when reunited, became one individual again.
The crowd around them ceased to exist for Harry. All his senses were wrapped up in kissing this beautiful girl, and if he could spend the rest of his life holding her, it still wouldn't be long enough. At that moment, she moaned, deep in her throat, and Harry realized that, as brilliant as it was to have been kissing her quietly, having her make small sounds like that was even better. He immediately set a new goal—to make her make that sound as often as possible.
It was at that point that the world came crashing back into their awareness in the form of a very loud, very angry voice.
"GET AWAY FROM MY SISTER, YOU BLOODY--"
"Ron!" came another voice, slightly deeper and less angry. "Shut up! You're making a fool of yourself!"
Harry reluctantly, oh so reluctantly, backed off from the kiss, although he didn't let the red-haired girl move from his embrace. He leaned back slightly, so as to be able to focus on his Mate, for he knew that this girl, this goddess, was his Mate, just as he knew that he would forever be hers.
She slowly opened her eyes, which were a deep, rich brown that put him in mind of his mother's favorite dark chocolate truffles. Peering up at him, they shone with a bright, clear light, and evident good humor.
Harry cleared his throat, but she beat him to the punch. "So, do you usually kiss random strangers as soon as you set foot on English soil?"
Coming from anyone else, that might have sounded critical, but her voice was devoid of any recriminations, and Harry found himself enchanted once again.
"No, not really. But when I finally find the most beautiful woman in the world, I can't be held responsible for my actions."
The red-head blushed, much to Harry's delight. Her blush started from her neckline (which Harry was trying hard not to notice too much, although the skin there fairly begged to be kissed) and slowly spread up through her cheeks, finally covering her forehead, and even extending to her ears.
"Why, thank you, kind sir, for your flattering words, although I'm not sure how much I should believe."
Harry opened his mouth to respond, when, once again, the rest of the world intruded.
"Mister Delacour! What is the meaning of this?" The Headmistresses of both Beauxbatons and Hogwarts, who had been making pleasant small talk, had made their way over to investigate the disturbance in what they had hoped would be an orderly, stately procession, but now was a mass of giggling, whispering students headed vaguely in the same direction.
Harry turned to look at Madame Maxime, still loath to let his Mate out of his arms, but before he could speak, Fleur opened her mouth.
"Madame Maxime, do you remember the discussion that you and I had at the beginning of my second year?"
The giant woman looked taken aback for a second, until comprehension blossomed on her face. She looked at the blond girl and raised one eyebrow in question. Fleur nodded firmly, and smiled.
"Well, then. That does change things, doesn't it? Mister Delacour? Would you be so kind as to bring Miss. . ."
"Weasley, Olympe," interjected the Hogwarts Headmistress, saving Harry the embarrassment of having to ask his Mate's name.
"Yes, Miss Weasley. Would you be willing to bring Miss Weasley with you into the Great Hall? We don't want to hold up the rest of the school, and I suspect that Professor Karkaroff will be arriving soon."
Harry, unable to believe his good fortune at not being soundly scolded in front of the students, looked questioningly at the small girl in his arms. She nodded, smile still firmly in place, and they turned to walk with the rest of the Beauxbatons students.
Unnoticed by any of the small group, three red-headed boys were engaged in a furious argument off to one side.
"But he was mauling her! Didn't you see? He just grabbed her and started kissing her! If Professor McGonagall hadn't stopped them, he probably would have dragged her off to that ridiculous carriage and shagged her right there!"
"RON!" interrupted one of the identical twins. "Just shut up, okay?"
The younger boy finally managed to calm down enough to listen, and the twins took turns explaining what they'd talked to their father about.
"So, you're just going to let him do whatever he wants to Ginny? That's. . . that's. . .!"
"Exactly right, little bro. We saw what happened, and didn't like it either. But I don't think you really saw what was going on."
"I saw enough! He was kissing her, right there in front of everyone!"
"Ah, you didn't pay enough attention--let us explain."
"First, did you see Ginny fighting him at all?"
Ron thought for a bit. "Um. . . I. . . but he just--"
"Shut up, Ron! We watched, and it looked to me like Ginny was as anxious to kiss him as he was to kiss her. She certainly didn't push him away, did she?"
"I guess not. But--"
"No, Ron. Listen! That was no one-sided kiss, okay? They both wanted it, and they were both holding each other."
"But--"
"--And!" one twin interrupted. "We've taught Ginny how to get rid of guys she doesn't want around. She asked us back when she was eleven, and she knows how to use her knee just fine. Did you see her knee him?"
". . . No. . ." came the sullen response.
"Okay, then. Obviously she didn't mind what was going on. And we promised Dad that we'd help protect her, but not interfere if it wasn't necessary. And that means that we're also going to stop you from butting in where it's not wanted, okay?"
Ron thought for a bit. "Are you sure?" he asked, hesitantly. "I just. . . I just want her to be okay."
"What have you done with Ron? Are you taking Polyjuice Potion? Oi, Fred, I think something's happened to Ron!" declared one of the twins.
"Shut it, you two," Ron growled. "I just. . . I know that I haven't been the best brother, but . . . but I really do want her to be happy, and safe. I mean, she is my sister, and even though I get mad at her, I love her."
The twins looked at each other, faces full of amazement. "George," Fred said. "I think Ron might just be growing up."
"Merlin! That just . . ." George turned to his youngest brother. "Ron, I hope you know that you just lost me three galleons. I had picked no earlier than next July. Why couldn't you have stayed stupid for just nine more months?"
"What? You were betting on me? You're just. . . I can't believe. . . Augh!" he finally yelled, and made to punch Fred on the arm.
Fred caught his fist, and threw it back at him. "Ron, you have to understand—you haven't given us a healthy appreciation of your ability to understand romantic-type situations before now, so we figured it was a sure thing. I'm out three galleons too, and that bloody plonker Neville Longbottom is richer. Not like he needs it."
The twin brothers moved off, discussing the bets they had placed, and Ron was left by himself to ponder what had just happened.
"They're right, you know," came a soft voice from beside him.
Ron jumped a little, startled, and turned to see who was talking. At seeing one of his Gryffindor school-mates, Lavender Brown, he started to turn red. "How much did you hear?" he asked, hoping that she hadn't been a witness to the whole humiliating affair.
"Oh, not much," the pretty blond replied. "Just enough to see that your brothers really do love Ginny." She smirked slightly and added, "and to be impressed at how much you love her too." She looked down shyly for a second, then quickly stretched up and kissed him on the cheek. "I liked seeing that, Ron." And with that, she turned and ran off into the crowd.
Ron just stood there, with a look on his face that wouldn't have been out of place on someone who'd just been told that Muggles had actually walked on the Moon. Slowly he raised his hand to his cheek, and touched the spot where Lavender had kissed him. He'd have to think about this new development, but didn't think it would be too strenuous. One thing was for sure—he had a lot to tell Dean and Seamus that evening.
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"Welcome to Hogwarts' Great Hall," Headmistress McGonagall said as the Beauxbatons students made themselves comfortable at the Ravenclaw table. "Here is where you'll be eating your meals. The table you're sitting at belongs to Ravenclaw House, and normally the students are encouraged to eat with their Housemates. This is not a hard and fast rule, though, so feel free to sit wherever you choose."
Harry looked down at the girl nestled into his side and smiled. "Where do you usually sit?" he asked, quietly.
She grinned back up at him and giggled quietly. "Well, you're in luck—I'm in Ravenclaw House, so we don't even need to worry about crossing the ever-important House boundaries."
Harry chuckled softly. "That's perfect! But then, I think you're perfect in every way, so I don't know why I'd be surprised. . ."
She blushed again, but held his eyes. Reaching out her hand, she stroked him gently on the cheek. He leaned toward her, almost unable to resist the pull of her lips, but then--
"Ahem!" came the voice of Headmistress McGonagall again. Harry jerked up in surprise, blushing bright red. Thankfully, it didn't look as if the couple were being singled out, as the whole contingent of Beauxbatons students had started whispering to each other.
When quiet reigned once again, the stern professor continued. "You are all welcome to visit any classes in the castle that you want to, as long as you have the permission of your faculty and the professor of the class you wish to visit." A very, very small grin showed on one corner of her mouth, more a slight lifting of the lips rather than anything obvious, as she continued. "And the Hogwarts students--" her eyes glanced quickly at the redhead seated by Harry, "--have my permission to visit classes with you. I'm sure there will be some very beneficial inter-school mingling. . ."
Fleur, who was sitting on Harry's other side, covered up a laugh with a quick cough, but not before Harry heard it. He poked her in the side, and hissed, "Shut up, sister dearest, or I'll leave you alone at meals."
Fleur subsided, but couldn't quite hide the grin on her face. Tex and Josette, who were seated across the table from Harry, just smiled at their friend and his new. . . girlfriend.
Professor McGonagall was speaking again, explaining the setup of the Quidditch tournament, but the Beauxbatons students had already heard, and memorized, all the information, so Harry took advantage of the opportunity to lean over to his Mate.
"I'm Harry Delacour," he whispered softly into the girl's ear.
For a moment the red-head was utterly still, and her eyelids drifted closed. But then she shook herself a bit, turned towards Harry slightly, and held out her hand. "Nice to meet you, Harry. My name is Ginevra Weasley."
Harry grinned back at her, and, affecting a very pompous tone and bearing, took her small, slender, warm hand in his. "Pleased to make your acquaintance, Ginevra."
Miss Weasley made a small moue of protest at hearing her name in that tone. Harry quickly noticed, and asked, "What's the matter, Gin--"
"That!" she interrupted. "Ginevra really is my name, but I've never liked it. I prefer to be called Ginny, if you don't mind." She seemed somewhat worried that he'd take that amiss, but he just smiled.
"Ginny. . . I like that too. Although, I think Ginevra is a beautiful name—it suits you perfectly." He thought for a bit. "Would you mind, terribly, if I occasionally called you Ginevra?"
If it had been anyone else, Ginny would have reached for her wand and taught him about impertinence and the suitable reward for such. But in Harry's mouth, with its light French accent, Ginevra sounded almost like music. She couldn't help the small sigh that came out as she thought of the idea of Harry having a special name for her.
"Um, if you, um, don't want me to, I won't," Harry said, obviously taking her lack of response for a refusal.
"Oh, no! That's fine. Just please don't call me that in front of my brothers, okay? I'd never hear the end of it."
"Thank you, Ginevra," he whispered, enjoying watching her shiver slightly at his voice.
Just then, loud applause broke into their private little world, and they started clapping too, anxious to not be caught out in their obliviousness.
It seemed as though the formal speeches were over, as the students started chattering away to each other and Headmistress McGonagall left the front of the room to, presumably, head out to await the students from Durmstrang.
Now that they had the opportunity, Harry wanted to get to know the beautiful red-head seated next to him. Granted, there were some things he already knew deeply. Like the fact that she tasted like a mixture of strawberries, chocolate, and cinnamon. And that she was the perfect height to tuck her head under his chin. And that her hand was the perfect size to fit inside his. And the fact that he never, ever, wanted to be parted from her again.
But then, something she had said struck him, and he blanched. He affected a would-be nonchalant pose, and turned to her. "So," he said, "you mentioned brothers. How many, exactly, do you have?"