Ron pulled his cloak even tighter around himself. The bitingly cold February wind cutting through the hand-me-down garment as if it wasn't there. Beside him, Fleur shivered again, her own, much nicer, cloak not helping her withstand the Scottish winter.

It was the afternoon on the day before the second task and Ron and Fleur were walking around the edge of the lake. In the distance, on the far side of the lake, a crowd of adults could be seen erecting the spectator stands and tents for officials. If there was a champion who didn't know what the task entailed by now, they could probably make a good guess just from the activity happening.

"It is… very cold," Fleur said, while rubbing her arms. "Very, very cold? How would you say… zat it is so cold that I want to set everything on fire, just to warm up?"

"Fucking cold," Ron told her.

"Fucking cold," Fleur said with a thankful nod. "Wait, doesn't 'fuck' mean to… you know." She gave Ron a look.

"Uhh," Ron said intelligently. "It can mean… that. It can also mean 'drunk', I think, or… 'in a hopeless situation'?" Ron shrugged. "Don't ask me why it has so many meanings."

"Fucking English," Fleur said, which made Ron snort and Fleur grin.

They continued to walk alongside the edge of the lake. Moody could be seen inspecting everything and everyone at the second task location.

"How would you say it in French?" Ron asked.

"Hmm?"

"Fucking cold."

"Oh," Fleur considered it for a moment. " Il fait un froid de canard," she then said.

"Froid de canard," Ron repeated under his breath. "Wait, doesn't ' canard' mean 'duck'?"

"'Ow do you know zat?" Fleur asked in surprise. "'Ave you been 'iding some knowledge of French from me? I thought zat the only French you knew was en passant."

"No, no, no," Ron protested. "It's just… at the feast when you arrived, they served Canard à l'Orange and it was so good that I had to look it up."

"Ah, so it is true what they say…" Fleur said, her mouth twitching. "The way to an Englishman's heart is through 'is stomach."

Ron made a face and Fleur laughed properly. She squeezed his arm apologetically.

"But I should 'ave guessed zat you would remember a menu so easily."

"It's a compliment to French cuisine!" Ron argued.

"And on behalf of France, I accept the compliment," Fleur said.

The path they were following veered slightly away from the lakeside for a few minutes and led them among some trees. Fleur let Ron take advantage of the relative privacy to… enjoy a different French delicacy… for a few minutes. If their cheeks were red when they emerged from the woodland, no one would be able to tell that it wasn't just from the cold.

They kept walking, but Ron caught Fleur frequently glancing over at the lake.

"How worried are you about the task?" Ron asked seriously.

Fleur caught his eyes for a second.

"I'm not worried about the task itself or the magic I'll 'ave to perform…" her eyes drifted back to the lake itself. She shivered again.

"You'll do great," Ron assured her, when it didn't appear that she was going to finish her sentence.

Fleur straightened her back and nodded.

"Of course I will," she said. She grabbed his arm and marched on at a quick pace. Ron let himself be pulled, but quickened his pace to keep himself from falling over. They hadn't gone far, however, before an owl descended from the sky in front of them, carrying a large package and barking at them. No, barking at Fleur.

Ron let the owl grip onto his arm while Fleur untied the package. She examined it, while the bird flew away.

"From my parents," she said, full of curiosity. Whatever they had sent wasn't too large. It was as long and thin as Fleur's slender forearm. "Let's head back to the carriage."

Ron had been inside the carriage a dozen times by this point, but evidently, Fleur wasn't going to be satisfied by bringing him to the public areas. Before entering, she rapped her wand against his head and Ron felt a strange sensation travelling down his body. He looked at his hands, or rather, he tried to look at his hands, but they had disappeared. Only the barest distortion could be seen when he wiggled his fingers.

"'Old your breath when we enter," she said seriously. "The charms around the bedrooms won't trigger if you don't breathe."

"Bedrooms?!" Ron squeaked, but Fleur shushed him.

She opened the door and walked through, leaving the door open for an extra second as she did. Not stopping to think, Ron took as deep a breath as he could in the moment he had and slipped through the doorway just before the door closed behind him.

Fleur strode through the common areas of the Beauxbatons' carriage with purpose. She gave very pefunctionary replies to the few people who greeted her and wished her luck for the next day. She wore an expression which told people that she wasn't looking for conversation and it worked. Before half a minute had passed, she had opened the door to her bedroom and, after waiting a second for any invisible persons to walk through, entered.

She held up her hand when the door closed and spent a moment waving her wand through the air. The muffled sounds of the rest of the Beauxbatons' students faded away and only then did Fleur speak.

"Okay, you can breathe now."

Ron let out the enormous breath he had been holding, drawing in huge lungfuls of air.

Fleur ignored him and sat down at her desk, opening the letter attached to the top of the package.

Ron looked around the room while she read. It was small, but comfortable. There was just enough room for her bed, a desk and a chest of drawers.

"Do students not share rooms at Beauxbatons?" Ron asked.

"One of the perks of being the school champion," Fleur said, frowning at the letter and opening the package with a tap of her wand.

She gasped softly and Ron walked across to look over her shoulder.

The package had contained a box and when the box had been opened it revealed…

"My grandfather's knife," Fleur said, almost reverently.

"Cool," Ron said, looking at the long blade. Even to his untrained eye, it was clearly a fine piece of craftsmanship. It projected both strength and suppleness, much like Fleur herself, the edge looked wickedly sharp and both the handle and the blade had elaborate decorations adorning them.

"My grandfather 'ad this blade made for 'imself when 'e went to explore the rainforests of French Guyana," Fleur said, her face surprisingly soft for someone looking at a deadly weapon. "It went with 'im for another dozen adventures, including when 'e climbed the Pyrenees. 'E was the first wizard to reach the Veela enclave there. Zat is where 'e met my grandmother."

Ron watched Fleur's face carefully as she stared at the family heirloom.

"Are you going to take it tomorrow?" he asked.

Fleur started, then looked at Ron, as if just remembering that he was there.

"Oh… yes," she said. "Apparently Gabrielle wanted to come 'erself, but there wasn't a good enough reason for 'er to do so. Instead she begged father to send me this as a… good luck charm, I suppose."

Fleur touched her wand to the belt of her uniform, transfiguring a loop into it, and slipping the knife through. She struck a dramatic pose and whipped the knife out suddenly. Ron whistled in awe.

"Is it magical in some way?" he asked.

Fleur shook her head.

"It's made of Swiss Dwarf Iron, so it 'as a natural resistance to magic. It is both well made and well cared for though. As sharp now as it was when my grandpere first got it."

As if to leave nothing to uncertainty, she held up a piece of parchment with her left hand and, with a quick swipe, sliced through it.

Ron gave an enthusiastic cheer and Fleur smiled appreciatively as she returned the knife to its box.

"You spend a lot of time with your granddad?" Ron asked.

"I never met 'im," said Fleur. "'E died before I was born."

"Oh, I'm sorry."

But Fleur wasn't listening to Ron's sympathies.

"The Delacour family was already successful and famous, even when my grandfather was young, and he could have just taken that and lived a life of excess and popularity. Instead, he sought out the most wild and dangerous places in the world. Always seeking to challenge 'imself or to conquer something. When 'e died, to the Dragon Pox of all things, there wasn't an 'ousehold in all of magical France who didn't know the name Leon Delacour." Fleur paused, her gaze a thousand miles away. "It is difficult sometimes," she said softly. "Trying to make my own way, following after 'im."

Ron swallowed thickly.

"Yeah, I… know what you mean," he said.

Fleur shook herself back to reality again. Shutting the box before her, she turned to face Ron.

"What am I doing?" she said rhetorically. "'Ere I am, pouring my 'eart out when I 'ave a boy in my room." A small smirk was beginning to appear.

"Uhh," Ron said, he could hear his heart pounding in his ears.

"Why don't you 'elp me prepare for the task tomorrow?"

"Yes!" Ron said quickly. "I can do zat. I mean, that."

Fleur's grin grew wider.

"Good, because I 'ave to try on my swimsuit," Fleur said. Ron felt an incredible heat radiating from his face. He was suddenly aware that Fleur's allure was pressing down on him and had been for a while.

"Do you want me to step outside?" Ron asked, his voice weak.

"You're not supposed to be 'ere, remember? You naughty boy," Fleur admonished him, wagging her finger. "No, you will just 'ave to close your eyes while I change." Ron gulped. He was sure that Fleur could hear the sound of it from across the room. "No peeking now," she said, giving Ron a playfully stern look. Ron clamped his eyes shut and then, for good measure, turned to face the wall.

"Well," Fleur said. "Maybe you can peek a little."

Ron half-walked and half-stumbled into the castle. If someone had asked him where he was going or what time it was, he might not have been able to give an answer.

"Ron! There you are," a voice called.

Ron shook his head, his consciousness slowly returning to him. He looked around to see Katie Bell walking towards him, her perfect badge glinting in the torchlight.

"Katie?" Ron asked.

"McGonagall wants to see you right away," Katie said.

"McGonagall?" Ron said in panic. "But we didn't even do anything, really!"

Katie raised an eyebrow slowly at him.

"No," she said slowly. "You're not in trouble." She paused for a moment. " Should you be in trouble?"

"No," Ron said quickly, his wits coming back to him. "Because nothing happened, right?"

"Right," Katie said suspiciously. "Well, they're waiting in McGonagall's office."

Ron nodded at her.

"McGonagall's office, got it. Thanks, Katie," he said.

"No problem," she said, shaking her head.

Ron set off. If he wasn't in trouble, then what was the matter? Had something happened to Harry?

"Damn it!" He exclaimed, coming to a sudden half.

"What is it?!" Katie said, running up to him, her face filled with concern.

"I should have said 'ducking cold'."

"What?!"

"Come," came McGonagall's voice, after Ron had knocked on her door. Opening it he was surprised to see Hermione, Ginny and, of all people, Cho Chang.

"Ah, Mister Weasley," Dumbledore spoke up from beside McGonagall's desk. "We were hoping you could help us with the second Triwizard task tomorrow."

Harry kicked his flipper-like feet as he slipped through the murky water. As he closed in on the source of the ethereal singing, he once again promised himself to buy Dobby enough socks to fill up a wardrobe. He felt a little guilty to have ended up relying on the House Elf's help, but even with Hermione and Ginny's assistance, he hadn't found a way to travel to the bottom of the lake in the Hogwarts library. Dobby's Gillyweed had been the perfect solution and Harry was pretty sure that he had a lead on the other champions.

Finally, the Mer Village came into view. Swimming to the centre he saw four figures roped to the monument that was there. Coming closer he recognised who they were.

It was Ron, Hermione, Ginny and Cho.

A cloud of bubbles escaped from Harry's mouth as he swore angrily.

Ron gasped as his head broke free from the surface of the lake and he gulped down the sweet, sweet air. After how refreshing the clean air was, the second and third thing he noticed were how cold it was and how heavy his wet robes were.

"Ron?" said a voice, but it wasn't Fleur, it was Ginny. Ron suddenly noticed that the arm holding him didn't belong to Fleur, it belonged to…

"Harry?" Ron asked.

But Harry was too busy coughing and rubbing furiously at his neck to answer.

"Where's Fleur?" Ron asked, kicking his feet to keep his head above water.

"No idea," Harry said. His voice was hoarse and it was clear from his treading water that he was exhausted. "I waited by the hostages as long as I could. Krum and Cedric came, but Fleur never showed up."

"Can we head to shore?" asked Ginny. "I'm freezing."

Concern flooded Ron, but he didn't see any way to help. He could cast the Bubble-head Charm on himself and go looking for Fleur, but the lake was huge and he didn't know where to start looking.

As they neared shore and they heard the cheering of the crowd, Ron spotted her. She was standing by the lake edge, Madam Pomfrey fussing over her, but Fleur was trying to fend her off. As they got closer, Fleur threw off her towel and ran into the shallow water, grabbing Ron as he struggled to walk in his heavy, waterlogged robes.

"Ron! Ca va? Are you alright?" She asked frantically, her accent noticeably thicker in her distress.

"Fleur, I'm fine. Dumbledore wouldn't have let anything happen to us. Where were you?"

"I… I…" she flustered for a moment. "You're sure zat you are un'urt?"

"Yes, Fleur, I'm fine. Are you…" but Ron didn't have a chance to finish his question. A thousand emotions flickered across her face for a moment, before she spun around and hurried off to the medical tent. Ron made to follow her, but Percy, who had been worrying over Ginny, was now fussing over him.

"Gerroff, Percy," Ron snapped. "I'm fine."

It was a lie. He was full of concern and frustration and his teeth were starting to chatter from the cold. He managed to free himself from Percy, but then he was waylaid by Madam Pomfrey. Without a word, she forced a potion down his throat. Ron almost choked, but he recognised the spicy flavour and burning sensation of a Pepper-Up Potion and gulped it down until steam was shooting out of his ears.

"I'm just glad you're both alright," Ron heard Harry saying to Ginny.

"Honestly, Harry," she said, sighing theatrically. "I can't believe that you took that riddle seriously. Dumbledore would never put any of us in danger. I mean, can you imagine what our mother would do to him if we were hurt?"

"Huh, that's a good point, actually."

"Medical tent, all of you," Madam Pomfrey ordered. As that was exactly where he wanted to go, Ron set off as quickly as he could walk.

Upon entering the tent, he was directed to a curtained off bed with a towel and a change of clothes. He wanted to go straight to Fleur, but he couldn't deny the sense of drying off first. In record time, he was clean and dry.

He was a little worried at first, when he went looking for her that he might accidentally stumble upon somebody else changing, but he heard Krum and Hermione talking behind one curtain, Harry and Ginny behind another and Cedric, Cho and Madam Pomfrey behind a third, which left only one place for Fleur to be.

"Fleur?" Ron whispered, his fingers pulling the curtains open an inch.

"Oui," she said tiredly.

Ron slipped through the gap and looked at Fleur. She was still in her swimming costume, her hair plastered to one side of her face. She was holding her towel in her hands, twisting it so tightly that her knuckles had turned white.

Ron took all this in and then concentrated on her allure. It was as powerful as he had ever felt it, as much as it was on the night of the Yule Ball even, but rather than flowing out of her, it had settled into a tight ball of emotion, hardly reaching out beyond Fleur herself.

Ron sighed and sat on the bed next to her.

For a few minutes they just sat quietly, letting the noise of activity elsewhere in the tent wash over them. Slowly, Fleur's allure began to fade away.

"I'm sorry," she said.

"I'm fine," Ron said. "You don't need to apologise to me."

She still wasn't looking at him. Her fingers continued to twist at the towel in her hands. On an impulse, Ron reached out and grabbed her hands, forcing her to drop the towel. He rubbed his thumbs over her knuckles.

"What happened?" Ron asked. "Was it the cold?"

"It was cold," Fleur said. "And I even took a potion this morning to 'elp with zat. But I didn't think zat it would be so dark. By the time I realised zat it wasn't algae I was swimming through, it was too late."

"Algae?" Ron's mind conjured up memories of Professor Lupin's lessons the previous year, of diagrams of fingers emerging from the plant life in water. "Grindylows?"

Fleur nodded.

"Don't you know how to cast…" Ron started to say.

"Of course I know 'ow!" Fleur snapped. She grimaced and took a deep breath.

"They grabbed at my legs and my wand 'and. I 'ad to 'ack at them with my knife before I could get a spell off."

Ron looked around.

"Where is it? Your grandfather's knife."

Fleur turned her face away. Her fingers squeezed Ron's hands and her allure flared again.

"I lost it. I swam away from the grindylows and dropped it without noticing. I tried summoning it back, of course, but it's resistant to magic like zat."

Ron looked at her hands and legs. He just then noticed the marks along them. They looked like tiny puncture marks all along her skin. They were healed, but still obvious on her pale, white skin.

"Are these scars? Grindylow aren't dark creatures. I'm sure that Madam Pomfrey can remove the scars, too."

"I told 'er not to," Fleur said. "I deserve them, as a reminder of my failure."

Ron wasn't quite sure what to say to that. It seemed pretty melodramatic to him, but he knew better than to say that out loud. They sat in silence for a while, while Ron continued to rub at her hands. He also reached out to her allure. He hadn't tried to interact with it since the Yule Ball, but now seemed as good a time as then. He found it again and thrust his consciousness into contact with it. He wasn't sure where he would be pushing and where he should be pulling, but in his mind, he was trying to do something analogous to his stroking of her hand.

"Are you doing zat?" Fleur asked suddenly, breaking Ron's concentration. She blinked at him as he retreated from her allure. "It was you," she said. "'ow…?"

"I don't know," Ron said. "I was only trying to help."

Fleur looked at him, her brow creased in confusion.

"But 'ow? I've never even 'eard of anything like zat."

Ron shrugged apologetically. He didn't really have any idea of what he was doing, let alone how.

"Do it again," Fleur demanded. Ron stared at her for a moment. Her earlier frustration seemed to be gone, replaced by confusion and curiosity. Nonetheless, he resumed his interaction with her allure, all the while Fleur's confusion grew more pronounced.

"It's as if… I don't know," she said.

"I tried something similar at the Yule Ball," Ron supplied.

Fleur rubbed at her forehead. Ron was just glad that she was distracted from her performance in the task, but just as he thought that, of course, the champions were called forth to receive their scores.

Fleur kicked Ron out while she hurriedly changed, then left the tent with him.

"Fleur Delacour," rang out Ludo Bagman's magically enhanced voice across the grounds, "though she demonstrated excellent use of the Bubble-Head Charm, was attacked by grindylows as she approached her goal, and failed to retrieve her hostage. We award her twenty-five points."

"I deserved zero," Fleur said. Again, to Ron's ears she sounded melodramatic. Again, he decided not to mention this.

The other scores were read out. Harry was in the joint lead with Cedric, both with eighty-five points, though Krum wasn't far behind them with eighty. Fleur was seriously lagging behind with only sixty points.

Bagman gave out some more instructions for the champions, but Fleur wasn't paying attention.

The spectators began to leave and the champions, hostages and various adults associated with the event followed suit.

In the mass of moving bodies, Fleur tried to slip away, but Ron stuck to her like glue. "Fleur!" he called, speeding up to a jog to keep up with her.

"I'd like some time to myself," she said, as she moved away from the crowds.

"Fleur, wait," Ron said, reaching out to grab at her robes.

"Leave me alone!" she snapped, jerking away from his grasp. Ron stopped, surprised at the vitriol Fleur was exuding. "You don't need to follow me around like some lovesick puppy!" she told him, before turning and walking away.

Ron was momentarily shocked into inaction, but soon enough, he found his mouth speaking of its own accord.

"Fine!" he half-shouted at her retreating back. "See if I care."

He did care.

Fleur didn't respond, but Ron felt immediately guilty for having lost his temper. He almost started after her again, but he didn't trust himself not to raise his voice at her.

As he had followed her, they had moved away from the largest part of the press of bodies, but there were still a significant number of people around them. Ron heard the excited whispers of people revelling in the gossip happening in front of them. He heard the words 'puppy', 'lovesick' and 'desperate' repeated from all directions.

Stuck for options, Ron started back to the castle, but when he saw someone else moving through the grounds, he adjusted his trajectory to meet up with them.

"Professor Dumbledore, sir," Ron cried out, catching the venerable headmaster's attention.

"Ah, Mister Weasley," Dumbledore said. "Can I thank you again for agreeing to help us today? Although, of course, you have my commiserations that Miss Delacour was unsuccessful in her attempt to rescue you."

Ron stopped in front of the headmaster, but still saw the throngs of people within eavesdropping distance.

"Do you mind if we speak privately, sir?" Ron said. "You never know who may be listening, especially with certain journalists on the loose."

Dumbledore's face turned serious for a moment, and Ron was suddenly glad that he wasn't Rita Skeeter.

Dumbledore pulled Ron to one side. He pulled out his wand and waved it once. An irresistible pressure pushed down upon Ron for a moment.

"Rest assured that no one is listening in on us now," Dumbledore assured Ron.

Ron nodded, but he suddenly wasn't sure how he wanted to phrase his request.

"Is this about your older brothers?" the headmaster asked.

"Oh, no," Ron said. In truth, he hadn't given much thought to the twins lately. Likewise, they hadn't sought to interact with him at all. Maybe they had realised that they had overstepped the invisible line of what was permissible or not. Maybe they were just saving their next retribution for another date.

"It's…" Ron floundered for a moment. "Do you know about Fleur's grandfather?

"Which one?" Dumbledore asked immediately.

"The famous one," Ron clarified.

"Actually, both of Miss Delacour's grandfathers were quite well known. Her paternal grandfather was a well-known violinist. His performance of Mendelson's Violin Concerto was…" Dumbledore's voice faded away. He was obviously indulging in some memory, staring into nothingness.

"Er," Ron said, "the other one."

"Ah," Dumbledore jolted out of his memory. "Leon Delacour. Indeed, not only did I know of him, I did know him rather well."

"Right, of course. I should have guessed," Ron said. "Well, he had this knife…"

Dumbledore nodded.

"I know the one you're talking about. Oh! Is that what Miss Delacour was wearing today? It's been so long since I've seen it, that I didn't recognise it."

"Well, she dropped it," Ron said. "And I was wondering if you might ask the merpeople if they could… look for it." Ron's voice faded away. Dumbledore's expression had grown sad and apologetic as he had been talking.

"I'm afraid not, Mister Weasley. Though your concern for your friend's family mementos is touching. The merpeople in the lake are not our guests and certainly not our servants. The Board of Governors and the Ministry would disagree with me, but I've always considered the lake to be the merpeople's domain and property. They have already been so accommodating to us by allowing us to hold the task in the lake and even participating to keep everyone safe and reporting on the events that took place. It would be rather… undiplomatic to ask more of them now."

Ron nodded, his eyes downcast.

"Oh, alright. Thanks anyway," he said. "It was a silly…"

"If memory serves," Dumbledore interrupted Ron. "That particular knife is made of a special metal."

"I think Fleur said Swiss… Dwarf steel? I'm not sure."

"Ah, then a standard Summoning Charm probably wouldn't work, but perhaps if I…"

Then the headmaster drew his wand. For a few seconds, Ron wasn't aware of anything happening, then he noticed that the hairs on his arms were standing up. He heard a high-pitched buzzing sound in the air. The previously calm wind started to jostle the headmaster's robes. Ron took an instinctive step backwards.

Then Dumbledore said a word.

Ron didn't recognise the word. He couldn't even identify the sounds used. It seemed to enter his mind and leave it without leaving any imprint. When he tried to recall that moment later, all he could remember was the tone of Dumbledore's voice.

There was a terrible rushing noise and the surface of the lake roiled and bubbled. Ron's heart leapt into his throat, but as quickly as it started, the water stilled and calm returned to the world.

"Oh dear," Dumbledore said, disappointingly. "I'm afraid that if that doesn't do it, then it's unlikely that anything will. You have to understand that the lake has a magic of its own. The castle may be a thousand-years-old, but wizards and witches have inhabited this land for even longer than that. Not to mention all the magical creatures that make the water their home. It's normally the study of NEWT charms students, but places such as this have a strong dampening effect on foreign magics."

Ron listened to Dumbledore with half an ear. It was interesting, Ron thought, but mostly he was annoyed that his good idea to cheer Fleur up had failed.

"Well… thanks anyway," Ron said again.

Dumbledore opened his mouth, then froze comically. He let out a strange noise then closed his mouth slowly.

"Hmm, this would normally be the point where I give a piece of enigmatic, yet strangely wise advice, but I suddenly realised that, when it comes to matters of love and women, I have none."

Ron let out a bemused half-laugh. Dumbledore winked at him and sauntered away, leaving Ron staring out over the lake by himself.

When, the next day, Ron went to the Beauxbatons Carriage and was told that Fleur didn't want to see him, he accepted it gracefully. But when he received the same response when he visited the next two days, his gracefulness wore thin.

Instead of waiting for Fleur to be ready, Ron sought her out.

He found her in the castle, on the same balcony where she had told him that they had been dating and demanded that he ask her to the ball.

At first glance, nothing seemed to be wrong. She was as beautiful as ever, not a hair out of place, but her expression, which was often guarded and reserved, was now as blank and closed off as the stone walls surrounding them as she stared out over the Scottish mountains.

"Hey," Ron said softly, jolting her from her brooding.

She looked at him, the slightest hint of guilt and self-doubt showing.

"Did you search the whole school for me?" she asked.

"I told you about Harry's magical map didn't I?"

"Ah."

He perched on the wall next to her. He longed to reach out and touch her, hold her, but he wasn't sure if it was the right thing to do at that moment. He wasn't sure what to do at all, really, but he had a couple of ideas.

When he pulled out his old, battered chess set, she gave a wan smile and nodded appreciatively.

Their first few games, Ron won easily. It was clear that Fleur's heart wasn't in it. She wasn't talking either, only giving her chess pieces instructions and shushing them when they tried to argue with her.

But, Ron could be patient. Chess was a game of patience, after all. Sometimes you had to wait after you saw a good move, until you saw a better one. You had to resist the urge to rush through with the first plan you saw. Ron knew that better players than him had been defeated by their own impatience.

As the number of games increased, Fleur finally began to talk. She spoke of how she had really struggled to find an identity for herself, growing up. She had always preferred running through the fields, climbing trees and having imaginary adventures to anything that her parents had tried to force her into. As she had gotten older and became aware of the reputation that Veela and part-Veela had, she became determined to excel academically, but again, her teachers tried to push her into the more womanly arts, rather than the subjects of charms, transfiguration and defence spells that she wanted to study.

She came to realise that she was seen as something of a curiosity at her school, a part-Veela who wasn't just looking to marry someone rich and powerful? She had to receive the top marks in her year and hex three boys into the infirmary before anybody took her seriously.

She admitted to Ron that, even though she did love her mother, she began to resent her when Fleur realised that her mother had fallen heavily into the stereotype of part-Veela, beautiful, but unimpressive.

Fleur had seen the Triwizard Tournament as an opportunity. Finally, a chance to put all doubt out of everyone's mind. Fleur Delacour was a powerful witch who was going to achieve greatness. She had conceded to herself that she might struggle, but the idea that she would lose hadn't crossed her mind. Now she was in last place.

"I've been thinking that maybe they're right about me," she had said.

Not willing to let Fleur self-flagellate alone and to show her that he really did understand what she was saying, Ron had reciprocated by talking about some of his own insecurities.

By the age where he was aware of such things, he knew that his parents didn't care about him much. Oh, they did love him, naturally, but with the coveted, younger daughter on one side and the rambunctious twins on the other, his mother just didn't have the time to care much about Ron. For a while, he had thought that he'd get their attention by being successful when he got to school, but he quickly realised his own deficiencies when it came to academics. Not that he wasn't clever, just not interested in the amount of dull reading and writing required to do well at Hogwarts. He started pursuing other ways of standing out, but his older brothers already included great Quidditch players, powerful wizards and popular jokesters. He thought he had a good thing going with chess, but it turns out that his parents just didn't care much about the sport.

He, awkwardly and slowly, told Fleur what he had seen in the Mirror of Erised in his first year, having brushed over it in his previous accounts of his adventures. The image of the Head Boy and Quidditch captain, loved by everyone, and the most successful of his family, was an image that Ron could describe easily, but he still felt that the mirror Ron was mocking him.

"I still dream about that Ron Weasley sometimes," he had told her.

It wasn't a particularly pleasant conversation for either of them, neither to share their innermost troubles, nor to listen to the person they cared for bare their souls.

It changed the way they both thought about each other. They didn't think the other was quite as perfect as they had thought they were before, but they both felt as if they were a little more honest than they had been.

The sun set while they talked and didn't talk and played chess. Fleur didn't complain about the cold, but Ron could see that she was shivering. He could just about see the silhouette of Gryffindor Tower against the field of stars from where they were, so he performed a rather demanding Summoning Charm to have his winter cloak fly out of the fourth-year boys' window and over to him. He enlarged it with one charm and warmed it with another, before throwing it around both of them. She snuggled into his side and he wrapped his arm around her. Despite all the, ahem… fun things they had done together, Ron felt that it was probably the most intimate moment they had had.

"Thank you," Fleur said, after a particularly long stretch of comfortable silence. "For… well, everything."

"What are boyfriends for?" Ron asked rhetorically.

"Hmm, I can think of a few other things," Fleur said, but her gentle tease didn't have its normal fire. "Sorry for calling you a 'lovesick puppy'."

Ron grumbled and Fleur let out a half-laugh.

"Puppies are cute," she protested.

"I'm fifteen!" Ron objected. "I don't want to be compared to a puppy."

"Okay, okay," Fleur said. "I promise to not 'ave you begging at my feet unless you want me too."

Ron coughed and spluttered. Fleur gave a small smile before saying, "knight f3."

Ron fought to catch his breath, before looking at the board in front of them. They had both been ignoring the game for a while, so Ron had put it out of his mind, but he only needed to study the new position for a few seconds.

"You've trapped me," he said in both surprise and disappointment. Indeed, his queen was under attack and didn't have a safe square to escape to.

"I prefer to think zat you saw me inviting you in and didn't hesitate," Fleur said.

Ron sighed dramatically, before knocking his king over. They both ignored the piece crying out in indignation.

"Well, you've got me," Ron said in resignation.

"Yes, I do," Fleur replied.

AN: many thanks to the Redditor Sad_Mention_7338 for 'is 'elp with the French in this chapter.