Fragments

Harry was dreading his return to the common room if the rumours about Ron and Hermione screaming at each other were to be believed. He was also not ready to confront Parvati and had yet to decide if seeing her in the common room tonight would be better or worse than not seeing her. And on top, he was pondering Cedric's bizarre comment, and while he was almost certain that it hadn't been an invitation of any kind, he wasn't sure what he would do if it was to be a proposition.

Boiled down, he was distracted, and as he exited the purposefully-taken-wrong shortcut, he bumped into an incensed woman in a silver dress.

"Connard!"

"I'm sorry." He managed to stabilise himself and the woman before they went tumbling to the floor, releasing her as soon as he identified her as Fleur Delacour. "Sorry. Wasn't looking."

"Non, non. Desolée," she said in response, proceeding to take a deep breath. "Anger is no excuse for me being…" she trailed off before adopting a puzzled expression. Harry was sure he heard something similar to "Merde, malpoli", before she asked him. "What is the opposite of "Polite"?"

Harry stood with a dumb expression, puzzled before answering. "Rude?"

The Frenchwoman looked at him before muttering angrily. "And they say French makes no sense. Maudit pays et maudite langue" She seemed to catch herself before starting a rant. "Yes. Anger is no excuse for me being rude." He was certain the last word was said with her utmost disdain.

"Yeah, well… I'm sorry too. I should have been looking where I was going," Harry concluded awkwardly.

They stood in front of each other for a couple of awkward seconds before he asked shyly. "Can I help you with something? Why are you so angry?"

The young veela seemed to recover her incensed look. "Les garçons sont imbéciles! I let this idiot touch my thigh and he seemed to think he could touch whatever he wanted! Connard!"

"Well," he trailed off awkwardly. "I'm sorry?"

The French witch looked at him before nodding. "I thank you. I should go to the carriage. Bonne nuit!"

"Good night?"

Harry thought that the interaction was the last one he would have with the weird French champion. As with so many things in his life, he was wrong. Barely a couple of weeks later, the golden trio was in the library searching desperately for a way to keep the younger champion alive under water when a dictionary was slammed over the book he was reading, opened in near the "P" section. Raising his startled eyes, he looked at an annoyed French witch.

"You told me that impolite was not the opposite of polite. Look. You lied to me."

She didn't look angry, exactly, and there was some smugness in her factions. Harry's brain finally caught up with the situation, and he forced himself to remember the last time they talked. Frowning, he answered her. "I never told you impolite didn't exist. You asked for the opposite of polite, and I told you one opposite of polite."

The smugness disappeared as the witch reviewed her memories, a frown appearing on her pale forehead as she recalled, in horror, that he was right, and that she was making herself a fool in front of a rival and his friends.

Some of that horror must have shown, because the raven-haired boy smiled shyly. "If it makes you feel better, I have never used impolite in a sentence, so there is that."

Fleur frowned again. "If… If it makes me. Feel. Better" The veela glared at him as she left with a huff, saving some dignity. Or attempting to.

Harry turned to his friends, the trio sharing expressions of utter confusion. Hermione decided that she had no time for uncultured Triwizard champions and returned her attention to the book. Ron shrugged with his normal "Girls, am I right?" before trying to decipher Aquatic Wonders of Yorkshire. A Wizard's Field Guide. Harry looked at the abandoned dictionary before deciding that living took priority over philology.

A second task later and a very alive Harry Potter found himself with a trembling veela grasping his arms, her lips in his cheek as she alternated between French and English thanking for saving her smaller version out of the lake. Sister. He must check if he could add "smaller self" to the sibling definition.

The group of champions and hostages stood as the judges delivered their notes, Fleur's comment about the zero she thought she deserved causing good natured sniggers amidst the group. Sighing, she returned her attention to a Gabrielle-shaped-burrito, frowning at the teasing her sister was delivering. She was fine then.

"I may have failed, but at least I wasn't rescued by an unrefined, ill-mannered and churlish Englishman. What kind of knightly story is that?"

Her teasing, direct to both Harry and Gabrielle reached both, and a confused expression gave pace to a soft smile, as he said in a low tone. "Did you really look up synonyms for rude?"

Despite her pink-tinted-cheeks, both laughed softly.

And so, a fragmented story began.

My dear friend,

I took the liberty to start what I hope to become a long and fruitful epistolary exchange. Given some of our conversations, you could as well use some practice to improve your English nearly as much as me. [...]

Dear Fleur,

Given that I had to verify what epistolary meant, I have to give you a point. As of now, I would accept any distraction you can provide. […]

[…] I have been considering taking a small job at Gringotts. I could really improve my English and, while I prefer enchanting over curse-breaking, it is still in the same interest line. Despite being champion, last place in the Triwizard tournament doesn't exactly look good on a resume. […]

[…] Despite the envie to see you, I must recommend against coming to England any time soon. I don't know how much you know about our troubles, but it may be turning dangerous for everybody. […]

My friend,

Don't you think you can distract me with your plainly-obviously-researched-French. (Well used by the way). I ask around (I do have some friends from school, working in our ministry) and it seems that your government is trying so hard to pretend that everything is fine, that it has become almost a certainty that something is wrong. I must confess myself concerned for your well-being. […]

My dear,

I truly hope to be a light in your shadowy year. As a token of good news, I have been accepted into a master program with Aurélie Dumont. Despite lacking the thrill of dealing with curses, enchanting has always been a secret passion of mine, and more so with such a talented and young witch. Her studies in the relation between Alchemy and Enchanting are incroyables! She has friends in Britain, so mayhap, when everything settles down, I could use them as an excuse to visit you. […]

[…] I see our epistolary exchange has been fruitful. I must confess my guilt of continuously using a dictionary in an effort to surprise you. I have never seen Madam Pince (our librarian) so suspicious than when I asked for an English-French dictionary. […]

[…] I remember your librarian. I dislike her heavily. She hoards knowledge in a school. As for your guilt, rest assured, dearest, that I resort to a similar tome. When you ask for it again, check the connotations of coucher. […]

[…] You are an evil witch, despite your flowery name. […]

Harry,

I'm truly sorry. I just wish I could be there for you.

Fleur,

Thank you. You are in a way. I hurt, but I couldn't bear to put you in danger by you coming here.

My dearest. I never said anything about me going there.

Place Cachée was quite French, if Harry was to define it somehow. As he and Remus made their way through the scarce population of a Tuesday morning, he decided to ask. "So, how did we manage this again?"

The elder man raised an eyebrow. "Would you have preferred we had not?"

"Not exactly." Answered Harry. "But with how overprotective and secretive all of you were last summer, I was waiting for something similar."

Remus grimaced as he thought of his answer. "Yes. Well, that is one of the reasons why we are here. Dumbledore is feeling a bit guilty about last year."

Harry motioned for him to continue. "Well. It's that for one, it seems your outburst in his office left a big impact on him, as he is trying to discreetly compensate you somehow. And well, I'm certain that Sirius' murder weighs heavily on him. It doesn't matter how much has Albus lived, what makes him such a good leader is that he still cares deeply about his friends and allies."

Harry blushed. "I didn't know you knew about that."

"Armando Dippet is quite the chatterer, and I had a reunion with Albus recently," Remus answered. "It also helps that France is probably the least fertile ground for him to find sympathisers." At Harry's inquisitive expression he explained further. "The wounds of the war with Grindelwald are still fresh for a lot of people here. Paris was one of the first places where he showed his true intentions, and the release of Fiendfyre near a city, muggle or not, turned a massive chunk of population against anti-muggle political postures, at least after his defeat. Had she been from Durmstrang, Albus would have been considerably more cautious."

Harry nodded. "That makes sense I guess," he mused for a bit before asking. "And you?"

Remus caught his meaning. "Well, I know how hard you took what happened to Sirius. You deserve a distraction. And in all fairness, he would probably return to haunt me if I didn't help you get a date with a veela."

Harry blushed immediately. "It's not…"

Remus asked amusedly. "Yes?"

"I-I…"

The man snorted. "I don't know if it's a date or coffee with a friend. I would recommend you to clarify it as soon as possible, though."

They had arrived at Café Abringer, where they caught a glimpse of silver hair near the back. "I will wait outside" Remus said. "To give you kids some privacy. Just, Harry, please, don't do anything James or Sirius would do."

Harry smirked, intentionally doing nothing to appease Remus' concerns and stepped inside. Fleur raised from her seat, welcoming him in a fairly deserted coffee shop.

She looked stunning, dressed in a simple light-blue sweater with a white shirt underneath. A longish skirt in the same tone of blue complimented the outfit, the colours playing with both the sweater and the shirt. It was an outfit thought for cold and hot weather, and it complimented Fleur's figure without looking too overproduced. She looked older, professional.

"Hi," she said shyly, a light smile on her face. "May I hug you?"

Harry nodded, enjoying the contact and how nice Fleur smelled. He immediately decided that telling her scent was flowery was probably not the best idea. His French was bad, but it was not that bad.

With slight blushes both took a seat as Fleur handed him a menu. She was partial to the delightful sweetness of macarons, but she knew that his poor uncultured British palate could only take so much French sugar, so she also pointed to the mille-feuille. Harry was kind enough to suggest a share, and Fleur ordered two macarons to let him taste them.

"I can pay."

"I'm sure you can," Fleur said calmly. "But you are my guest here, and I'm sure that the international portkey wasn't cheap."

"We are in a public café," Harry pointed out.

"And yet, we are in my country," she counterargued, putting a purposefully snotty expression.

Harry yielded with a short laugh before taking a leap of faith. "Fine. I just thought, you know. I thought I was supposed to pay."

Fleur looked confused for one second before her face lightened, a bright smile erupting. "As in a date?"

He nodded shyly. "I would very much like it to be a date!" she said cheerily. "I still can pay my dearest. I insist."

He nodded again as their desserts arrived; he wasn't all that surprised when she put two full spoons of sugar in her coffee. She had vaguely mentioned her sweet tooth, so he had deduced it was more intense that what she told.

"I must confess myself conflicted," she said, focusing his attention once again. "I feel like we can benefit if I take the lead on our interactions, but I don't want to push your limits in any way. It would be bad enough with our age difference and distance, but me being a veela will only make it look worse."

"Is it that bad? Being a veela I mean?"

"Being is not. I'm really proud of my heritage and the sisterly bonds my people have. However, our particularities are severely frowned upon, particularly among weak-willed men who fear losing control over a woman, and women who don't understand who the real culprits of their wandering eyes are."

"That sounds awful."

She shrugged delicately, of course. "If you give an ability to a group of people you will most likely see the worst dangers and the biggest potentials. Some veelas do enjoy the power our allure gives us over certain men."

"And you?"

Fleur stopped, looking at him. His face showed genuine curiosity and she decided to continue trusting her gut when he was involved and be truthful. "It's interesting when it starts. It gets old really quickly." She smirked. "It is fun, however, to turn prideful men into pools of drool."

Harry shuddered "Remind me to not cross you?"

"Consider yourself reminded."

Both laughed before Fleur insisted on the original question. "So, don't you mind if I act a bit forward?"

Harry looked at her, considering his answer. "No."

She blinked. "Just, no?"

He avoided her look and answered sheepishly. "I know it sounds weird, but I trust you."

She relaxed. "I trust you too. I know it's bizarre, but in a way, our letters made me feel really close to you, despite the sea between us."

He didn't answer so Fleur dragged her chair a bit, moving closer to him and grabbed his hand, resting both on top of the table. They both remained in silence that only grew in awkwardness by the second, before Fleur let a short and uncomfortable laugh. "Too much?"

"No," Harry said quickly. "It's just that I don't know what to say."

"It seems our ease to communicate by letter doesn't translate to face to face," Fleur concluded, a slight blush in her cheeks.

Harry thought for a bit before arguing. "Well, I mean, to be fair, I have time to think about what to say when I write you a letter."

"So do I, my dearest," she pronounced the last word tentatively, finding easier to write it than to say it. "I have time to measure myself to avoid diminishing your efforts." She blushed a little more. "I have been called…" she blanched, forgetting a word as if they hadn't been exchanging letters for more than a year "Oh, merde. Blunt!" she piped up, before reminding herself that it was not a compliment. "I have been called blunt before and I don't want to make you uncomfortable."

Both smiled at each other shily, before Harry had his obligatory idea of the month. "Hey, I have an idea"

Fleur looked at him inquisitively. "Do you now?"

"Well, when I joined the quidditch team, Wood, my captain that is, made us play a game of questions."

"I have heard of those games," Fleur answered easily. "But those are designed to either embarrass others or learn private information. I don't think we are quite there yet, when we can barely hold hands."

"No, that's the point," Harry answered. "There are meant to be silly questions, ridiculous scenarios and the like." He was looking more excited by the second.

Fleur thought for a moment before nodding. "All right. Ask first, so I may see if I understood the game."

Harry had already the question in mind, so he asked immediately. "Would you prefer wearing only the colour that you are wearing, or the type of clothing you are wearing?"

Fleur stopped "For how long?"

"Forever."

She blinked. "Oh wow. Silly questions indeed." She pondered for a little bit. "I will choose colour. It's a really pretty blue."

"Oh, I forgot," he said hurriedly. "Since they are really dumb question you have to explain yourself. So, it can get a bit funnier."

"Oh," Fleur pouted, causing a curious reaction on her interlocutor. "Well, this kind of blue is my favourite colour, and I have already a lot of clothes in similar tones." She smiled. "Gabby says that sometimes it looks like I don't wear any other colour. And as comfortable as sweaters are, I do enjoy light clothing and dresses when the sun raises in the south of France."

He smiled. "That's good, your turn then."

She thought for a while before her eyes lightened up. "Does it have to be between two options?" At his negative she smirked. "Choose a magical creature for it to make a nest in your hair."

After his splutter, the rest of the game flowed smoothly, its light-hearted nature making them feel at ease with each other, neither minding their words. Like everything, the date ended when Remus entered, ashamed of himself. "Harry, I'm truly sorry, but we have to get going."

Both sobered as Harry attempted to pay again, Fleur rejecting him for the third time in the afternoon. Remus retired to give them a bit of privacy to say goodbye, and Fleur stepped, shily in his personal space. "Remember what I asked before?"

Having a beautiful woman so close to him, deep blue eyes looking between his own eyes and his lips made his brain shut down. "Wh-what?"

"About me taking charge," the young witch said. "Do you still want it?"

Harry nodded.

"Good." Her smile could have lightened up the Great Hall without effort. "Because I truly want to kiss you now."

He could only feel, not think as their lips joined, and he was barely thinking again when she spoke, softly. Voldemort never stood a chance after her words. "You better work on your little issues," she said sardonically. "Leaving your French girlfriend for too long would be incredibly impolite."

AN1: Many thanks to Brock, D, HonorverseFan, x102reddragon and Toasty Gentleman for taking a look over the fic, as well as anybody I forgot. Beta reader channel is great. No, I didn't take too long to edit the comments what do you mean?

AN2: Fleur's is basically Mrs Amren's fanart for the First anniversary collection, at least the top part. It also includes both a jab at the Fleur fanartists and their obsession with light blue outfits, and a recognition that silver hair does look good with light blue clothing.

AN3: This is a self-aware fragmented story. It comes from the idea of Fleur forgetting words in English (the bane of all multilinguals), my want of writing a letter centred fic, the idea of Remus and Harry bonding over Sirius death, and the first date prompt from the Flowerpot Discord. Somehow, I managed to articulate those ideas into a decently structured story. Fragments, told in fragments based on fragments.

AN4: This will be part of the First date collection from said server. Some stories are already published, and I'm certain some other will come later. I still don't know how discord works, so if you want to join, check the other stories in the Flowerpot Garden.