"It looks like you will be going first, Miss Delacour," Said Ludo Bagman, as the little, animated dragon figure tried to burn Fleur's hand, the fire splashing harmlessly against her reddening skin.
She nodded, her lips as pursed as her brow was furrowed, her eyes locked on the small, green toy fighting furiously on her palm.
"When you hear the cannon it will be time to start. You have a few more minutes to get ready. Use them wisely." Barty Crouch said before turning and leaving the tent, completely ignoring everything around him.
Krum and Cedric went to the furthest parts of the tent they could, each focused on their own thoughts. Fleur, however, did not move from where she was. Harry looked at her, akin to a muggle portrait, frozen in an elegant pose, the background a blur of earthy colours against which she popped. Perfectly delineated and sharp.
"I'm sure you'll do great, Delacour. Do not worry."
Harry Potter had no idea what made him say such a thing at that moment. Maybe he was just trying to comfort himself through her, maybe he was affected by her in that moment as Ron usually was. It could be he was just that nervous, or maybe, just maybe, that he saw in her face the same apprehensiveness that he felt himself, an expression that had only eased when Hermione hugged him and told him to 'Make it in one fucking piece or she'd kill him herself. Again.'
He had never heard Hermione curse before.
He knew next to nothing about the Frenchwoman, but he knew that she did not have a Hermione to give her the push she may so desperately need, and so he'd be it. Or at least he intended to be.
He was unsure of the result when her cold eyes fixed on his, her lips pursing further.
"I know I will."
"That's the spirit." He said, his nervousness spiking at her plain expression.
Unexpectedly, She smiled.
The expression was short lived, as the cannon chose that moment to interrupt the light atmosphere, and at the sound she tensed again. She walked to the exit, back straight as could be, stable over the sway of her hips, and when she reached it, she turned back.
"Merci." The simple word accompanied by a small smile.
He smiled too, and she went out into the sun.
"Nice flying out there."
Harry turned towards the voice, his distrustful eyes locking onto the source of the sound quickly. Fleur stood leaning against one of the tent's supports, her clothes slightly charred, but otherwise looking as she had before.
"You did better than me, I see." He lifted his arm to show the cast Pomfrey had gifted him with. She thought it went quite well with his broken glasses.
"My solution was more elegant," She shrugged, "But you were pretty good yourself." She tapped a finger against her temple, "Creative."
"Thanks," He smiled. "I would have loved to see the others compete."
"Perks of being the first. That and not 'aving to wait overlong to get it over with."
"Yeah. That was not nice at all. I really thought Cedric had gotten eaten for a moment there."
She winced, "It was a close thing. Krum 'ad to run around quite a bit too. And let me tell you, it's a good thing quidditch uses brooms."
They laughed, harder than maybe it was appropriate, but the amusement of the mental image and the ridicule of the whole situation won out to the inhibitions of public embarrassment. It was a while before they managed to stop, their cheeks red and their lungs protesting. Their eyes met both wet from their exertions.
"Thank you, monsieur." Her hand rose to her arm. "For your words before the task." She added as he tilted his head, the crease of his brow making the small scar on the bridge of his nose pop out.
"Oh," he said, looking from one side to the other before shrugging. "It was nothing. I thought you needed to hear it."
"It did 'elp, so thank you. But… Why, though? We 'ave barely spoken before. I did not think you 'ad a very good image of me." Her mind conjured the picture of the wary boy that had opened the door to the selection room, scanning all the corners before stepping inside, his unruly hair matching the disorder of his uniform. He seemed to be remembering the same incident, for a bit of that same dodgy air settled over him.
He lifted a single shoulder, his lips pursing, "I didn't, I suppose. I do know that I was feeling very, very nervous. I may have frozen out there. But then I remembered what my friend said to me before and I didn't. It helped a bit. You looked like you could use that."
"Even though we are rivals?" she lifted an eyebrow.
"I think facing a dragon is enough, even for a rival. No need to make it worse than it has to be."
She looked at his face, full of small scars, that one on the nose, on the cheeks, on the chin, at his crooked, taped glasses, at his wild mass of hair, at those hard, haggard eyes. He was most definitely not the image of a kind and chivalrous man.
Who was she, of all people, to judge him for how he looked? She giggled at the thought.
She bent down to pick up her egg from where it rested on the grass, her hair brushing the floor. "Come on, Monsieur, I'll tell you about the other champions' attempts."
He adjusted his own egg, "Just call me Harry. No need for the monsieur thing."
He did not look too keen at the idea though, and so Fleur gave him the most buoyant smile she could.
"Alright then, 'Arry. Let's find somewhere to sit. I am very tired already."
He nodded, and they started to walk down the path. Two silhouettes, ambling side by side under the weight of fatigue and gold.
"I saw you talking with Delacour."
"So what, Ron." Harry focused on the chessboard in front of him, his brow furrowed severely, one of his hands scratching his nape with violence.
"Nothing," he said, his posture shifting into an affected state of relaxation.
"Spit." Harry half growled, not in the mood to pick his friend's brain after having been listening to the hellish egg scream for the last hour, and then having what was left of his brain fried trying to best his friend at chess.
"I was just curious. She seems… closed. Never seen her speak all that much with anyone else. And then Hermione's been speaking to Krum at the library-"
"She has?" He could not help but hear the bitter notes of Ron's voice.
"And I'm the blind one," he grumbled, "It seems suspicious, is all. What with both champions suddenly getting close to your sphere."
"You are reading too much into it, mate. I don't know about Krum, but I think Fleur is just lonely. None of her friends made the cut to come here. We spoke a bit, and she told me about the other champion's tasks, as she managed to see them all. Just some friendly chatter." He lifted his eyes to Ron and was surprised to find him looking at him with the same intensity he normally reserved for the board.
"Hmmm. Maybe." he moved a piece on the chess board. "There's something shifty though. I don't know."
Harry did not know either, nor what was amiss or where Ron was heading with all this, so he used the old and reliable trick of embarrassing your opponent into forgetfulness.
"You are worried about Hermione and Krum too, is what you were saying?"
Ron's hue became dramatically rufous, and Harry sighed. It seemed he was right in his assumptions.
His declaration that the so-called golden trio was broken when he had his fight with Ron had not been wrong. Even after they put aside their differences. It looked as if after this year it would be Ron and Hermione. And their friend, Harry.
"Of course I am! He is older! And foreign! And famous! And-"
Harry knew better than to try and argue with a worked over Weasley, so he just sat back with a slightly sad smirk and nodded from time to time, his mind flying away from him and onto brighter things. None of them, thankfully, egg shaped.
Fleur's short, enamelled heels clacked on the floor, marking the quick legato of her fleeing feet. She looked back, but her admiror was not in sight. She could hear the muffled and confident steps following though, and cursed alternatively the decision of Beauxbatons of such loud shoes for a uniform and Hogwarts' one of forgoing carpeting on most of its hard, stone floor.
She had not expected to find anyone so persistent and bold as to keep bugging her so long after she declined his 'generous offer,' yet here he was. Even after such a public and definitive rejection still he hounded her, quite literally, down the castle's halls, trying to convince her otherwise.
She was really not sure how she would react to even further prodding, especially with how blunt his approach was. She was not keen to find out either. Jail at seventeen did not sound quite that appealing; if the Englishmen school was so cold and unrefined she could not even imagine their prison. Well, she could, but she'd rather not.
Oh! How she lamented that Chloe was so academically uninclined. Had her friend not managed so absolutely to fail to get invited to the delegation she could have taken her to the ball and been done with it.
She would have a million times more fun with her than with anyone else too. The rumours about them would soar again, of course, but she was sure Chloe would not mind. She was too lighthearted for it to get to her, and in any case, neither planned to set foot on the palace after graduating. At least she would actively avoid it.
The footsteps of her pursuer grew louder and she doubled down, her own steps shifting to a livelier tempo. She turned a corner and there, shrouded in a golden spotlight of sun and frigid air, stood the answer to her dilemma.
Harry Potter.
She powered towards where he leaned on the open window, her body rebelling against the notion of standing in front of an open window in the middle of this tundra's accursed winter, the horror growing even further when she realised it was an open lancet, not even a proper window. Barbaric.
With nay but a few steps of her long and decided legs she reached him. His face was already turning in response to her bell-like heels, but even then she was faster, and before he had processed her approach her head was already nestled -if not comfortably- on his shoulder.
"Fleur?" he asked with a jolt, his eyes going from her face to where her hands had suddenly and efficiently embraced him and then to the corridor behind her. He had heard him.
"There's no time. Just play along, I'll explain later," She whispered, her warm breath causing a shiver to pass him from, the difference to his cool skin stealing a shiver from him.
With a strange sort of grace she let herself fall sideways against him, his reflex to catch her playing along with the sneaky way her arms wound themselves up to his shoulders. Where he expected her to pull herself upright, she clung to his neck and furrowed further into him, his overly large winter coat threatening to drape over her. The light from the window fell on her face as her bonnet fell, her hair unwinding in a cascade of lustrous, liquid silver.
If he was confused before he was positively flabbergasted now, and his flatfooted expression drew a laugh out of her.
They were friendly enough, sure. Friendlier than it maybe would be normal considering that they were competitors in an international tournament, and they were a Frenchwoman and an Englishman, if the tournament was not enough reason, but they were surely not that friendly. His discomfiture at the current predicament he found himself in was evidence enough of the novelty of the situation.
Harry was, however, nothing if not quick on his feet, and realising that the approaching steps had something to do with Fleur's sudden fit of fancy, he made himself look as amicable as he possibly could.
She laughed again, for his soft eyes and his goofy crooked smile gave him an adorably silly look. They looked specially out of place behind his wild, chopped off hair and broken glasses. He normally looked so… sharp, so cagey, that the expression was endearingly contradictory.
At the sound of her merriment the approaching steps halted.
It was time.
"Zo, mon petite, I think you should wear something dark to contrast with my dress." Her affected tone was one of the most vapid things Harry had had the pleasure of hearing, and that was said by someone who grew up with Petunia Dursley. Her fingers brushed around the shape of his eye, making his breath hitch. "Maybe some green accessories, to accent those somptueux eyes of yours."
Harry gulped under the weight of her eyes, "That's a tall compliment coming from you," he breathed. Adventurous, his hand took a reprieve from holding her waist to push a lock of hair out of her eyes. "I think I may have just the thing though."
"Magnifique."
As if pushed by the exhaust of her breathy voice, Fleur Delacour lifted herself from her comfortable lean, her arms exerting the most delicate and measured of pressures, until her lips were close enough to plant a gossamer kiss on the very edge of his lips.
For someone standing behind her, the small distinction would have been hidden behind the privacy of argentine, scintillant curtains.
Harry himself had been quite close to either dropping her or falling under his promptly weak knees as it was.
She giggled once more, not being able to help her amusement at seeing a Harry so different from the one she had gotten to know until now. The silent, frowny and distrustful boy from her memory, who kept looking around as if always coughing in the middle of some dastardly dealing, who shifted away from anyone that so much as brushed against him… It was difficult to reconcile that image with this sof boy in her arms.
His eyes lifted from hers, still wider than usual, but the near constant furrow of his brow returning to his face.
"Why was Cormac Maclaggen following you, and why did he look at me like he wanted to gore me with his beater bat?" He asked, his eyes affixed to the corridor where she had come from.
Fleur's mirth dissipated on par with the comfortable heat of him as she straightened herself and put a more acceptable distance between them.
Stepping back from the opening in the wall had not been so effective as hugging him had been to ward off the cold.
"That Macgallan-"
"MacLaggen."
She glared at him. "That pesky, arrogant boy 'as been a thorn in my side for weeks now. 'E's obsessed with taking me to the ball."
"Didn't you say no to him?" He scratched his head.
"That's adorable, 'Arry, but you don't seem to get what 'obsessed' means." Her lips turned up as her brows did the opposite. "'E decided to take my no as a 'try 'arder' instead. 'E's been insufferable."
"He's always insufferable."
"I believe you." she shivered and retrieved her dropped hat, affixing it on her head with unwarranted violence.
"You know," Harry started, "I even felt bad for the guy for a bit there. Not anymore thought, he's firmly back into the ponce category."
"Why in 'eavens did you feel bad for?" she looked at him incredulously.
He ruffled his hair, "Well, it was quite public, you know? I thought just a 'no thank you' would have been enough. No need to put salt in the wound, as they say. Felt a bit cruel to me."
She huffed and crossed her arms. "You are not entirely wrong," she conceded begrudgingly. "Everyone's got a limit though, and mine 'ad been reached a lot earlier than that. Still, if 'e is like this after that I can't imagine 'ow 'e would be if I 'ad been friendlier."
"Surprised, for one. You are hardly friendly most of the time," he smiled.
"Oh 'ush, I am friendly enough to you, am I not?" her own smile tugging at her lips.
"That you are," he said, his face taking the same goofy quality it had before.
After that, they stayed in silence, both lost to ruminations entirely too personal, and more than a little bit conflicted. Birds that had no right being so resistant to the cold chirped outside, their song floating on the waves of snow laden air, a symphony as comforting as silence.
Harry breathed in and let his body melt against the cold stone wall, hoping the heat of embarrassment and fluster would bleed into it, leaving him with enough room to think.
Fleur watched him, the silence less comforting to her, but the peace on his face doing enough for her nerves. She saw the light steal brown reflections of an otherwise absolutely dark hair, saw his posture slackening against a stone that she would not dare touch. She saw him unconcerned and the illusion of peace in her broke.
"I 'ave to apologise, 'Arry."
His eyes snapped open and fixed on hers, his cageyness apparent now even more so than normal because of the contrast with before, with that soft expression she had no place getting used to.
"What for?"
"What for?" She blinked, "For jumping at you? For involving you on a problem you 'ad nothing to do with?"
She had been guarded before, but after realising Harry had not surmised the problems she had caused him she turned apprehensive. For all she said boys were a nuisance, she had just done him the same wrong she bemoaned about all the time.
"Oh. That? Don't think about it. It's quite alright." Her wide eyes followed his dismissing hand waving before setting on his own eyes.
"Alrigh- No it's not! That idiot boy will talk about this, no doubt about it. By tomorrow everyone will know I'm taking you to the ball, your date won't believe any excuse you tell 'er, your friends will think you are a cochon and me a séductrice. This will be completely problematic for you. Ugh," she pinched her nose, stopping the pacing she had started to do as her tirade grew, "This is like fifth year all over again."
She started as Harry put his hands on her shoulders. "Hey, listen, it's fine. Really. No harm done."
She mouthed, wordless, and he gave her a crooked smile again. Her flush was unexpected and unwarranted, and so she spouted the first thing she could think of.
" I will speak to your date. I will make 'er understand that it's all a misunderstanding ."
Harry cackled at that, his hands dropping from her as the laughter devolved into a coughing fit.
"Zis is not funny, 'Arry!" She stomped her foot.
He only laughed louder.
"So-Sorry," he coughed, his face now even rosier than her's, his breath thin from the laughter, "It really is funny though. I don't even have a date, Fleur. I was thinking about skipping, no matter what threat professor McGonagall used." He scratched the back of his neck, "I think you may have done me a favour, even. I won't have to fend that weird third year anymore after this gets out. Or deal with my best mates' sister making eyes at me." His brow furrowed, "At least your admirers are not all third years, now that I think about it."
This brought forth a snort from her, but her hands dropped the grip they held on the edge of her sweater, and her face softened from the tension it held. "I assure you, I 'ave to fend more than a few third years too. It's less awkward for you to have third years after you than it is for me. I can't help but think of my little sister." she shivered.
"I can see how that would get old fast." He said as he grimaced.
"In any case," she held her head high, " I should 'ave come to you before doing anything. It was wrong of me to use you like that."
He looked at her, at her clear eyes, her shining hair, her pearly skin and prominent cheekbones, he saw her as she stood before him, and he felt rattled, flat footed.
He gulped.
"Well, it looks like it worked well for both of us as it is," he breathed. "No one will bother us, you get to ask someone you want, and I get to skip the whole thing in peace."
"The only person I'd ask is back 'ome," she breathed, her eyes dropping. "I think skipping it would be a nice option for me too, were it not for Madame Maxime. She'd murder me."
"Hey, it's not like MacGonaggal will not murder me too." He shrugged, his posture affecting calmness, his eyes belying it, "We could always go together. I mean, everyone will already think we will…" he added quickly.
She grimaced and at the sight of it he grimaced too. "I just wish this was not mandatory. Balls are really not my thing."
"Nor mine…" he sighed, dropping back against the stone wall, this time less gracefully, but certainly more naturally.
She looked at him, at his windblown hair, his bright eyes, his long lashes, his elegant chin, his nonplussed posture.
She breathed deep.
"It may not be such a bad idea." She bit her lip, his flush suffusing his face at an accelerated speed. "None of us wants to go, so we can go and be miserable together."
There was a strange inflection to her voice, to the way the last word rolled off her mouth. Like she was undecided on its use even as she said it.
The tip of her nose brightened to a rosy parlour, the scattering of freckles hidden suddenly revealed.
Harry mouthed once, then twice and then stood away from the wall once more, his fingers fidgety. "It would be quite convenient, yes."
"So, it's decided then? We'll go together?"
"Yes, yes. I think so. Yes." He dragged his foot across the edge of one of the stones on the floor.
"Bon. Bon. I meant good. Good!" She took her bonnet off and ran a hand through her hair, smoothing inexistent cowlicks.
They stood facing each other, each dealing with their ticks, and then they locked eyes. A tentative smile blossomed on one face, and quickly the other followed, like a pair of tulips in spring.
"I will see you then." he said.
"Oui. Oui, I will see you, 'Arry." She pushed her hair behind her ear. "And thank you. Again, I'm sorry, and I shouldn't have, but thank you."
"I am glad you did."
She smiled again, and he averted his gaze. She giggled and turned to leave.
"Good bye, then. And bonne chance."
"Same to you."
"Yeah, I think the cannons have as much a chance this year as they did last year."
"Didn't they crash horribly at the beginning of the season?" Harry asked.
"Exactly, my little honorary brother," said Fred.
His comment brought forth a twin huff of disgust, one coming from Ron as he sat besides him, his team pride wounded by the barbed tongue of his brother, the other from a bit further down the table, from a petite, freckled girl who sat trying to look at where he was through a curtain bright coppery hair. She clearly thought she was being stealthy, but discretion was not amongst the natural talents a Weasley could hope for.
"On a completely unrelated note, do you want a candy? George pushed a bright red bean towards him on the table.
"I'm not an Idiot, mate. You did not even change the shape of it. I'm not eating one of your hair altering botts again."
"Suit yourself," he shrugged, "I just thought a bit of the old Weasley red would help you get my little sis to barf at you instead of making those disgusting cow eyes."
He turned a shade of red that was very close to being worrying, his eyes shiftily moving sideways to see Ginny, who turned her head when she realised she had been caught.
"Give me that." he swapped at the candy in front of him and popped in his mouth, his hair exploding in an overly dramatic puff of purplish mist as the candy cracked between his teeth. When the mist cleared Harry Potter sat with a shaggy, unruly mass of hair that matched the colour of his cheeks.
Ginny's complexion rosened further, her tightened lips and her closed fists relaying a different emotion to the one that had made her blush before.
Harry quickly turned to his plate, his own face dropping, and the heat on his face becoming even hotter.
No matter how much he was off-putted, or how much it bothered him, he did not mean to mortify Ginny so. She had not done anything, really, to earn such scorn, but he supposed he could not always be the bigger man.
It was just a notion that he could not begin to fathom. Ginny was so shy, so young, and so close to him and his own friends already that he could not get in his head that she was a girl. Like an actual girl. She was cute, no doubt, but he could not help but see her shy, close lipped smile and see Ron in her.
He shuddered at the thought.
"I'm as happy about it as you are," Harry muttered.
"I don't know, man." Fred began.
"I'm really not happy about it at all." George finished.
"Come on, lay off. It's not like it's his fault." Ron huffed.
"It may not be, but the fact remains that he has our baby sister following him around like a hopeful puppy, and he is doing nothing about it."
"Which is lucky, because if he had been doing something we would not be having a civilised conversation."
"Really guys? Overprotective brothers?" Harry gritted.
"Come on, it's Harry! He and I have stayed with your family all the time. You know him."
"I know. He sleeps in the room next to my sister, Hermy dear." Hermione sputtered, fighting the embarrassment to try and speak, but Fred lifted a hand. "Don't get us wrong, we like Harry, and as you say, we know Harry, That's why we are giving him the benefit of the doubt."
"Look, I don't want to hurt Ginny, okay?" he gritted.
"That's the thing, Harry. You already did. She just doesn't know it yet. No matter what you do you will end up hurting her."
"And what am I supposed to do? Scream at her? That will only hurt her. And make her throw something at me."
The twins looked at each other for a moment. "At least she would be able to vent."
"Ah, come off it. I like her, I don't want her to hate me because I was a prat or because of a stupid ball I don't even want to go to."
They sighed and looked at each other again, then turned to Harry. "Just do it, mate. Rip it like a band aid. She is already headed there, and the sooner you stop leading her on the better."
"But I'm not leading her on!"
"That's what you see mate." Fred said.
"But not what she does." George continued.
"But-"
"No." Hermione interrupted. "They are right." Her voice was slightly guilty, and she worried her lip. "She thinks you are gonna ask her at the last minute."
"What the- Where does she even get that idea?" Now even Ron was looking suspiciously between him and Ginny. Harry punched him in the side.
"She's very fond of you, Harry. And you two are friendly enough. And you don't have a date."
"But I do! I already told you."
"Yes, the mysterious girl that you don't want to speak about who decided to ask you to the ball herself four days ago." It was clear by her expression that she though the very idea far fetched at best
Harry threw a betrayed look at her.
"My point is, some people even think that your mystery girl is Ginny already."
"What!"
"It does make sense, to be fair." Ron said, already moving, preparing to take another cuff on the ribs.
"Fucking hell." he whispered.
"Language!" was one of the answers.
"It's not her, is she?" was the other.
Harry's glare was answer enough for the twins. "I thought you two were pestering me because you did not want me near Ginny."
"Well, no. We don't want you leading her on. If you were genuinely interested that would change things." One of them said while the other nodded. "Between you and say, Ernie, or Cormac you are the obvious best choice."
Harry laughed at that, the humour not lost on him. He was almost sure he heard an answering snort behind him.
Harry closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. "It's not Ginny, alright? I just don't want to tell because we would prefer to avoid the rumour mill. I thought people would leave me alone after they heard I had a date."
"Yeah, that is not how that works, mate. No one has seen you with anybody, no one has come forward saying they are dating you. No proof at all."
"Since when do rumours need proof?" He asked exasperatedly.
"Eh. It's a nebulous concept, that. But even rumours need a base or they are meaningless."
Harry turned towards where Maclaggen sat. He was looking at some specific point somewhere behind Harry, his face very unfriendly. As he felt eyes on him he turned to look at Hatty, and his face became even more hostile.
No one seemed to be acting as if he was gossip material, no hushed talk or shifting eyes.
Harry sighed. He clearly had not spoken.
He looked around until he found Fleur, who was sitting almost directly behind him on the next table, daintily eating some sort of pastry and summarily ignoring the world around her.
He sighed again.
"Well?" Brown eyes looked at him, examining.
"Well what?"
"What are your intentions towards our sister?"
"Oh, fuck off, Fred."
Wood scraped against stone as he lifted from his chair, taking a piece of toast with marmalade and heading towards the exit of the hall.
Just as he got under the threshold a strong hand grabbed his arm, turning him back with a decided pull.
Pale blonde hair blocked his view as soft lips pecked him, yet again very near his lips.
His hands went to Fleur's shoulders in an almost instinctual movement. He needed a bit more support than his legs could give him at that moment.
The hall quieted for a moment, just enough that her voice had a chance to echo all over the tall rafters as it ascended from its earthly perch.
"Already done, mon chou? I can't wait to stroll around the lake."
A second, then another one, and the hall started in a furious beehive whisper that was as loud as a scream. He winced, and grabbing her hand walked out of there as fast as his legs would allow.
He stopped only when they had cleared the main door of the castle and had already walked a good length into the grounds, the cold air cooling his momentum.
"What the bloody hell was that for?"
"Well", she said as her voice wavered from the cold, "Those friends of yours wanted proof, did they not? And it looked as if my 'admirer' did not talk."
"No," he sighed, "he did not. I suppose his ego couldn't take it."
She giggled. "Bested by a little boy. Poor big macho man."
He chuckled in response. "If they were not talking before, they sure will now. Bloody hell."
"Is that not what you wanted?" Her head cocked sideways.
"Yes. Maybe." He said, his gaze fixed on the trees beyond.
"What's wrong?" her voice lowered, comforting.
Harry sighed, ruffling his hair. "It looks as if one of my own admirers will be very disappointed."
"And what's the matter? All the better, if you ask me." She frowned.
"Well, the matter is that I actually like her." He grumbled.
"Oh."
They stood in silence again, one of those strange, awkward silences that are even more so because they are unusual with such company.
"We could still call it off and you could go with-"
"God no!" He jumped.
She was taken aback by his response, her lips pursing.
"Not like that. I like her, she is like a little sister. Only, she aims for something else."
"And you didn't want to hurt her."
He shrugged.
She crossed her arms, her eyes roaming over his face. Fleur shook her head, silver tresses dancing in response.
"No one that looked at you would guess you are such a compassionate soul." She smiled.
"What is that supposed to mean?"
She only smiled further.
"Come on, you doux coquin," she tittered, "I'm going to freeze out here."
He shook off his outer robe and wrapped her in it before she had time to protest. In the end, she kept the warm cloak -only slightly shorter than it should be for her- and they walked side by side back to the safety of the castle.
He did not manage to extricate from her the meaning of doux coquin, no matter how much he tried.
Harry stood atop the staircase on the foyer of the castle, his oversensitive nerves shooting sparks, demanding his attention.
The roar of the crowd waiting outside the great hall, packed to the point where he could almost smell it before he saw it -even if the smell was not, as of yet, displeasing- the bright lights bouncing and frolicking between the colourful dalliance of fabrics.
He gulped.
Everything pulled at his attention, demanding he turn, he be alert. He was almost sweating, despite his slow and calm -if not relaxed- movements.
Thankfully, he did not have to wait in the middle of the pit of bodies, for there amongst the mass, close to the front, stood a shining statue of silver and blue.
It was almost blinding in his radiance, and he would be lying if he said that he was unaffected by it.
By her, he chastised himself.
She was not a divine statue, she was a woman. Somehow, the realisation did not help his already frayed nerves.
"'Arry!" She waved. He gulped. He got closer.
She wasted no time when he got near enough and kissed him twice on each cheek, her hands on his shoulders, before pulling herself away.
She smiled when her eyes fell on his bow tie. "I see you remembered." She said before kissing his cheeks again.
"Of course I did. I told you I had just the thing," he fiddled with it, crooking it, and she slapped his hand away.
"Oui. That you did." She straightened it.
He looked at her, but not at her eyes. At least not for long. His thoughts trying to coalesce into a proper working order, but not managing.
What was he doing? What were they doing?
Fleur's eyes shifted from the ornament of twisted silk on his neck to the skin just millimetres from her fingertips. Her eyes were fixed, her fingers inching forward. His eyes half closed, his mind fogged.
"Champions!"
They jumped appart, cognisance returning to them. It was a deep chagrin that assaulted them both, for time and place had gone away from them, and the shame deepened as they realised that it was only the time and place that had stopped them.
It was nothing but a commitment, he told himself. Not but an arrangement of convenience.
They lined up with the rest of the champions at McGonagall's command, Ron throwing him a shy smile from Krum's arm.
Wait.
What?
He did a double take, and this time he was sure. It was not Ginny, no, it was Ron. He was hanging from Krum's arm, smiling like a goof, and Krum hugging him around the waist. Krum's eyes fell on him for nothing more than a second, but it was enough to sour his expression into it's normal state.
Fleur, however, chose that moment to put a dainty hand on his waist, the warmth of it scorching, and pull him to her.
In a moment reminiscent of that one almost a month ago, her head laid on the crook of his shoulder, this time her hair leaning against his face from where it stood atop her ornate bun instead of draping around his shape as it did before.
He found himself distracted, barely listening to professor MacGonnaggal, and longing for that sense of int-
'Fucking stop,' he thought, 'It's nothing but a convenient pact between friends. Barely friends at that.'
They walked forwards as one, the door getting closer and the music louder, yet he was not nervous about it anymore. That's not to say he was not nervous anymore, just not about the dancing.
He looked at her, or at least at what he could see of her with her hair on his face, a hair that smelled of cinnamon and a cosy mug of chocolate by the fireplace. He would very much like to run his fingers through it, and see how it fell down from it's trappings...
Stop.
She shivered and pressed closer, and he could not help but think she was an incredible actor, even as his mind fragmented. He sighed.
It would be a miracle if he did not make a fool of himself today.
He closed his eyes but for a moment, tight eyelids shut against what he felt was a transgression, a broken trust, whispered words of hope asking for help of any deity that came to mind, some of which would despise the thoughts that ran amok on his head.
The answer was as unclear as his pleads.
A chord struck and Fleur Delacour moved as she knew how. Her hands resting on her partner, delicate contacts telling her what was expected of him, comforting when he failed, rewarding him when he accomplished it, her eyes closed the whole time.
She did not trust herself otherwise.
To look at him, at his clumsy limbs valiantly keeping up with her, at his normally hard eyes open wide. Vulnerable. She was sure few had seen him like that.
Her knees buckled at the thought, their dance hiccuping in time with her heart.
She was scared. She was scared about what her feelings had become. About how important a small, scruffy English boy had become to her. About how she had to hold back even when she barely could think to keep the sense of normalcy between them.
She was nothing if not afraid.
Never had another held such sway on her. Her eyes opened for a fraction of a second only to see his focused face, furrowed brow above crooked glasses, lip bit and eyes sharpened into complete concentration. All of it fixed on her.
She felt terrible. She felt like she was flying. She recriminated herself.
He is only trying to garner enough from you to be able to dance, you idiote girl.
Her downcast face made her forehead rest against his, his hitched breath brushing every facet of her face.
It was only lucky the music ended at that moment, so that she was able to disentangle from him, her body hot enough that she was sure that if her dress were not weaved by her Grannie Elena herself, she would have burnt it.
She was disgusted at herself.
Harry stood as away from her as he could, his hand resting on hers as she courtsied, but his body far away enough that she felt her fire radiate instead of grow with him.
She was glad.
She was sad.
They started to walk towards the head table, still hand in hand, his grip tightening when she tried to let him go.
"Harry, mate!"
They turned to the voice, Ron for all intents and purposes skipping towards them, pulling a strangely happy Krum with him.
"You seem happy." Harry said. "And you were so worried before."
"It was not so bad as all that, now, was it?"
Fleur leaned against him, her arm wrapping around his waist, his own responding in the same manner.
"Non. It was magnifique." She purred, making Harry's face burn, same as Ron's ears, and making Krum's lips tighten. She noticed, however, and sent an apologetic smile to him.
Krum merely stepped closer to Ron.
And then it got awkward.
Ron coughed, his sensibilities not very used to the situation. "How about we get something to drink, Victor?"
"That would be lovely. Gaspodin Potter. Mis Delacour."
They left, this time Krum being the hurried one.
"What a strange fellow. I wonder how that came to be," said Harry, looking at their backs.
"I would have thought you knew. You are close to the redhead, aren't you?"
"Yes. Yes I am. I didn't even know he was… into blokes. And I have never even seen Krum and him talk-" he snapped his fingers. "Hermione!"
"Pardon?"
"Ron told me he had seen Krum and Hermione, our other friend, talking in the library the other day. I thought Krum was trying to woo her and Ron was jealous."
Fleur's head turned towards the unlikely couple, strands of her complicated hairdo swinging in front of her exposed neck.
" 'e was jealous, allright."
Harry scoffed. "He could have told me, the dense prat."
She cuffed his shoulder. "It's likely 'e didn't know 'ow you would react."
"What does that even mean? He's my friend."
"And 'e likes other men romantically. Tell me, 'Arry, how much time have you spent with him? How many things 'ave you shared?"
He looked at Ron as he laughed in the distance, a tankard of butterbeer in his hand, while Krum spoke, his arms moving expressively."
"Well. I suppose I can see how that could be awkward. But I would not have minded, really."
She lifted a brow.
"And then there was the… falling out earlier… yeah." He shrugged. "I'm happy for him, in any case."
Fleur grabbed his hand, giving him a comforting squeeze to which he smiled.
"Come on, I like this song. Let's 'ave another dance."
It took but a look at her face for his protest to die in his lips. Ron was right, for once. Dancing was not so bad after all.
At least in the right company.
They swayed, fingers that dared only for the slightest of touches growing bolder from song to song until they forgot about them and just let themselves enjoy the music.
Fleeting glances from behind locks of hair, shy smiles accompanied by unexpected shivers, embarrassed laughs at clumsy feet.
They moved together, together unto a space where they were alone with the music.
"You are a lot better at this than I thought. You did not give me much 'ope."
"Oh, come on. I'm terrible."
"You are capable. I was expecting less."
"I took classes." He shrugged. "It was the least I could do."
She smiled at him and shook her head, knowing any attempt to make him take the compliment would be in vain.
"It was sweet of you, nevertheless." She decided.
Her hand ran over his head, trying to smooth the wild mass of curls, only for them to stubbornly pop back into the shape they had been in.
"That has no solution, however." He apologised.
"That's okay. They suit you."
The song ended then, the short silence meaningless to them. Their eyes locked.
A bump on his shoulder, a fleeting sorry, and the spell was broken.
A new song had started while they stood idle.
'What the hell are you doing,' He thought as his eyes looked at anything that would distract him from her. His heart racing as much as his thoughts. This was only convenience, nothing more. Just two friends helping each other.
What else could he expect?
Fleur could have laughed if a single drop of humour still existed within her. How cruel were the fates. To meet someone like him.
She shook her head.
Of all the men, all the men, and her heart beat for a boy. A boy that did not even look at her. And even if he did, younger, famous, rival to her. Worst of all, English.
That word meant little more than distance to her now.
All the slurs she had heard resonated in her ears over the music, and the many new ones that she was sure would join.
'Sure.' She shook her head. Even now she thought as so. No slurs would haunt her, cause nothing would happen, nothing could-
They had begun moving to the rhythm of the music again, not dancing, not really, but swaying close to each other, completely out of place with the energetic song that blasted over the room, She looked at him and the most delicate, vulnerable eyes looked back into hers, open and thoughtful, slightly angled up to be able to look into hers.
They were halfway unfocused, seeing her, but not only here. She understood, because she was sure her eyes looked the same.
At that moment, she could only see him, standing in front of her, but not only there…
She saw so much more.
Neither was sure who moved first, but when their lips met, fire burst. Around them. Within them.
A new dawn sprung from a single kiss.