Disclaimer: All recognized characters and elements goes to J.K Rowling

So... it's been a while.

This is super short, I actually had more planned, but I didn't think it would go with this chapter. Plus, I liked how this ended.

She was…enchanted.

Which was incredibly uncomfortable and foreign, and just a little bit awkward. Because really, Fleur Delacour was always the enchanter, never the enchanted.

"Fascinating isn't he?"

The quarter-Veela inclined her head slightly as her sharp gold-blue eyes continued to track the trim figure draped in dark green robes.

A low chuckle came from the wizard lounging on the wall beside her and Fleur turned to glare half-heartedly at him.

"Don't tease." She said in French.

Weston Yaxley shrugged as he sipped from his champagne flute, "Don't drool." He shot back in perfect French.

Fleur made a face and glanced around to make sure that no one else had seen her expression. Morgana knows she already had to suffer through enough of her mother's scolding, potential Minister of Magic's daughter yada-yada-yada.

"Would you like to meet him?"

"No." the respond was immediate and instinctual.

Weston arched an amused eyebrow and Fleur was tempted to flick him on the nose, like she used to do when they were five, just to get that expression off his face. Really, she didn't remember her childhood friend being this… suave.

"He's your guest, let him enjoy France, it's certainly better than that little island you call home." Fleur's voice turned slightly bitter at the end.

The blue-grey eyed wizard sighed softly, "Oh Fleur, you know how –"

"-I know! But you promised Wes." She exclaimed, "We promised each other, right before you took that damned portkey to that school. Seven years, seven years in Britain and you'll come back to France. Back home."

Weston rolled his shoulder and studiously avoided her eyes. Fleur flared her allure to grab his attention and huffed in annoyance when all it accomplished was getting a few unwanted looks from other wizards (she glared at them until they hurriedly turned away), and an unimpressed look from her friend.

"Seriously?"

"Whatever."

"You know I don't like women."

Fleur snorted- she could picture her mother wincing now-, "I knew before you did Wes."

The Yaxley heir flicked her cheek and Fleur made to bite him.

"Fleur! You barbarian! The scandal." Weston gasped, eyes wide.

The quarter-Veela batted her eyelashes, "Why, good sir, I have no idea what you mean. Certainly, a barbarian, I am not! For I am French. In fact, I am the daughter of the leading candidate for French Minister of Magic."

The two blonds laughed and Fleur smiled when Weston grabbed her hand and squeezed it gently.

"You're still my oldest friend." He whispered as he leaned in to peck her on the cheek.

Fleur watched as Weston Yaxley went to join his parents- the British Ministry of Magic's ambassadors to France. She tapped her freshly manicured nails on her glass of wine as her eyes unconsciously drifted back to the dance floor, to the figure dressed in dark green robes.

She started when their eyes clashed.

The young lord inclined his head in greeting and his lips curled up in a slow smile.

Before the witch could respond, he was already turning away, smoothly leading his partner into the next dance step.

A shiver went down Fleur's spine. She didn't know if it was from anticipation or fear.

For the longest time Fleur had hated the faceless figure of Hadrian Potter-Black. How each summer since she was eleven, she had to watch her best friend being slowly lured away from her. But Weston was right, he was fascinating. And Fleur didn't know what to do with that.

"Brits." Fleur cursed under her breath as she took an un-ladylike swig of her wine, draining the glass.

It was by far the strangest month that he had ever experienced.

Draco stood alone under the willowy leafy tree and tried to organize the events of the last month. The Great Lake glittered as the golden sun slowly sank below the horizon.

The blond relaxed against the tree as the early June air lightly brushed past him. Since the Chamber, he had to reevaluate a bunch of things. It was shocking to learn that some of the values and opinions that he grew up with were so severely off base. Draco touched his arm, remembering the pain of the broken bone from nearly a month ago. Draco had always been clever, although no one had outright said it, he knew that he was slowly being brought into the fold of the Inner Circle. Draco doesn't know if he should be flattered or frightened. All he knew was that in time, he would be expected to choose, between his family and… what is right.

A branch snapped behind him but Draco remained relax, as the Malfoy Heir, he possessed family magic, one being the ability to sense unmasked auras.

"Malfoy."

"Potter."

The boy-who-lived stepped up beside him, eyes focused on the gentle ripples of the Great Lake.

Draco shifted a little, leaning up against a smaller portion of the tree trunk, leaving a larger space between the two.

Draco felt his eyebrows raise slightly in pleased surprise when Potter shifted to lean back against the tree trunk. Not many would have caught he subtle invitation, many would have assumed that by shifting away, Draco was asking to be left alone.

"How's your arm?" Potter asked, still staring ahead.

"You're fault."

The other boy turned to glare at him, multicolored eyes glinting in slight amusement, "No it's not."

"Yes it is." Draco turned to face.

Potter huffed, "You should've been more careful then."

"You shouldn't have kidnapped me." Draco shot back.

Potter made a face at him before shifting his gaze back to the lake.

"And yourself?"

"What?"

Draco rolled his eyes, "Your health Potter. As I recall, you were far more damaged."

"Not damaged." Potter muttered sulkily.

Draco hummed indulgently and nearly fell over when the other boy shoved him.

"Watch it barbarian." The Slytherin snapped as he steadied himself.

"Whatever." Potter said before pausing, "I-… I don't remember much."

"Understandable."

"Well?"

"Well?" Draco parroted.

The Gryffindor ran his hand through his hair, "Aren't you going to tell me what happened?-"

"-No."

"What do you mean no? How did we even get out of there? You can't just not tell-"

"-Just say thank you."

"…Thank you."

"You're welcome."

The boy-who-lived groaned and smacked his forehead, "You're so annoying Malfoy."

"You are too Potter."

"You always have a comeback for everything huh?"

"Of course."

"Well, see you around I guess."

"Likewise."

Draco stared intently at the water as Potter pushed off from the tree and began to walk back to the castle.

"Hey Malfoy!"

The blond looked up and, purely on reflex, caught the package Potter threw at him.

"Happy Birthday."

For once, Draco was at a loss for words as he watched Potter jog back to the castle.

He looked down at the asymmetrical package wrapped messily with string and parchment. He flipped it around in his hands until he found a message written in Potter's chicken scrawl.

This seems like your type of thing, even if it's Muggle.

-Potter

Curiosity piqued, Draco unwrapped the package and neatly folded the parchment and twirled the string.

The Malfoy Heir blinked in surprise as he held up the strangely shaped container in what he knew was a Muggle material called plastic.

He examined the colorful words printed onto the container.

"What in Salazar's name is Windex?" Draco murmured to himself.

Coming up next: a series of letters over the summer

Review!

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