The goal was to casually run into Bill again, only this time she would catch his attention. She'd talk to him, be charming, chat him up, see where things went from there. It was an exciting prospect that gave Fleur's work day a new purpose; something to look forward to upon her morning arrival. This was exactly what she'd needed now that the initial new job excitement had run its course.

After a little digging around, she discovered exactly what office Bill worked in, but it was located in a wing of the bank that she really had no business in on any normal day. Not to mention, even if she came up with some excuse to be there, she'd learned that he didn't even get into work until three o'clock in order to help with nightly security measures. When he was in the building, apparently he spent most of his time underground in the vaults. As Daphne put it, curse-breakers could be underground all night if the goblins were being particularly stringent. That meant her chances of running into him truly were slim.

Her only option left to exhaust was to simply revisit the tearoom she'd found him in on that first day and hope to run into him again. She started going every day around three, hoping that he was a creature of habit or that he happened to visit upon his arrival to work.

But he didn't turn up the following day. Nor the next. Nor the next after that. She even started staggering her arrivals—fifteen minutes earlier; then later—in the hopes that perhaps she was a little off, but still nothing. She'd gone from running into his twice in one day to…nothing. Absolutely nothing.

It was frustrating. She was spending extra time each morning getting ready and picking out perfect clothes combinations, only for it all to be wasted on nothing more than her filing cabinets; or goblins who didn't care; or the other, far pastier and not nearly as interesting men around the bank who, unlike Bill, did try to chat with her on her break...or at lunch, or as she walked the corridors. They were all the same; all with their tired and boring stories that made her yearn for her quiet corner of the filing room. None of them even came close to the one she was checking every room for with sweeping glances as she entered.

And then it happened. She finally did see him again, having just caught him walking the corridor with an important looking goblin; both heading in the opposite direction and talking rather tersely. She'd stopped in her tracks and watched him go, but he hadn't even seen her. She may as well have been a wall.

This kept happening in the afternoon—blink and she would miss them encounters. Him always walking the opposite direction; always accompanied by someone else. He always seemed to be with someone, which didn't make for getting the chance to distract him so she could introduce herself easy. Was he ever just alone?

Nearly a week passed before she finally found him in a stationary position for once, but while he wasn't on the go, he also wasn't alone. This time, he was seated in the tearoom at a table with two other people, a woman and a man who looked to also fit that curse breaker mold. There was something about the way they carried themselves—a cool, carefree sort of energy—that always made them stick out.

Thankfully, Bill had his back to her and hadn't noticed her enter. That gave her a moment to take a deep breath and silently run through a mental checklist. She had checked herself in the mirror earlier, so she knew her hair and makeup were good. There wasn't food in her teeth or anything of that nature; her outfit was cute—she's had two people compliment her on it earlier in the day. With all that accounted for, she stood up straighter and held her shoulders back, walking into that tearoom as if she owned it. Confidence was key; it was always key.

The group didn't acknowledge her other than the girl casually glancing at her, so Fleur set to work fixing herself a cup of tea while actively listening in on whatever it was the group was speaking about. Something about some kind of complex jinx and its ineffectiveness? It was hard to follow since she'd walked in right in the middle of it and they were talking quickly. If she had to guess they were having a casual sort of meeting; nothing important.

She let herself chance a glance in their direction on the pretense of killing time while waiting for the kettle water to boil.

Bill was sitting there quietly; absently fiddling with his wand and turning it over and over again in his hands. He had strong looking hands. She immediately wondered what exactly he was capable of doing with them.

"I just prefer not to use it if I can help it," said the woman. "I feel there are better alternatives."

"But it's not as if you can help it," said the other man, who had an incredibly deep voice. "Let's say for example you're looking to…"

The man had stopped speaking abruptly; his gaze drifted over to Fleur rather curiously. It wasn't just him who looked, both the woman and Bill did as well. Even a group of goblins sitting on the other end of the room turned to look at her, which all felt quite sudden and awkward. She wondered if she'd done something, however, she quickly realized her kettle was whistling loudly. She'd been lost in thought and completely ignoring it. How long had it been…?

"I think you're good to go," the woman said to her, now pointing at the kettle. While Fleur knew what she was insinuating, she hadn't quite followed the phrase, "good to go." She had no idea what that meant.

She turned on the spot to grab at the kettle, but in her haste she accidentally missed the handle and came straight in contact with the scalding hot metal surface. She immediately retracted her hand and swore in French; her hand now throbbing with pain as a bright red burn formed right across her left palm and several of her fingers.

"Oh, that didn't look good," said the woman.

"You alright, darling?" asked the deep voiced man, though she didn't turn to acknowledge it. She couldn't bring herself to. She stuck two fingers in her mouth and silently scolded herself for looking so foolish; all while processing the searing pain.

She knew how to deal with the burn, having learned all the proper burn protocol spells after having to face a dragon in the Tournament the previous year—back when her burn had been in worse shape than this. However, she'd dropped her wand in the shuffle and currently had no idea where it had landed. She glanced down at the floor, scanning it in a hurry.

"Hold on. I can help."

She froze, already feeling a jolt pulsing through her that had nothing to do with her now throbbing hand. She slowly looked up, only to find the start of many of her current daydream fantasies playing out right in front of her. Specifically the one where Bill Weasley walked directly up to her in this stupid tearoom and kissed her where she stood.

Except that last part didn't happen.

"Let me see your hand," he said, having stood up and approached her.

She did nothing more than stare at him, seeing as she still had two of her fingers in her mouth and was currently trying not to run away at the sheer embarrassment of what was happening. This was not how they were supposed to be having this first conversation. She was supposed to be far more composed—charming, witty, flirty. Not burned, swollen, and humiliated.

"I can help," he said, smiling rather boyishly then. "Look, I know this will sound mental, but I'm sort of good with burns."

She pulled her fingers out of her mouth then. "Good with burns?"

He nodded. "Yeah, I've healed enough of them. I've got a brother who has always been really into dragons—"

"Into dragons?" she repeated, not at all understanding what that meant. Did he go inside of them?

He seemed to pick up immediately that she hadn't followed. "What I mean is he's interested in them. He actually works with them..." He trailed off. "Anyway, even when we were younger, he had the bright idea to try and build a tolerance to fire, so..." He laughed a bit, "to make a long story short, I've learned how to take care of some burns in my life. If you want, I can help."

She stared at him. She easily could have told him that she was capable of taking care of this herself; that she'd also become 'good with burns' ever since her own personal dragon encounter, but she instead nodded and held out her hand. It was red, and a decent sized blister bubble had formed on her palm and a few of her fingers. Her fingertips were also still damp from her mouth, and had her hand not hurt so much she would have immediately wiped them off for fear of him thinking that was gross. He, however, didn't seem to care.

He took her hand in his, wet and all, and was giving it a quick once over before raising his wand. She knew what he was going to say before he said it—sure enough, it was the same incantation she'd been about to use—but she instead focused on just how close he was standing to her as he gently held onto her hand. She'd actually been staring at his face instead of bothering to pay attention to the fact the bubble and redness was slowly starting to vanish.

Suddenly, the deep voiced man that Bill had been sitting with laughed and said, "Healer Weasley at your service."

"Seriously," said the woman at the table. "Anything you can't do, Weasley?"

"I'm a really shit cook," Bill said with a lazy smile, though he never took his eyes off of her hand as he said it. When she looked down to see her blisters slowly shrinking away, she once again noticed his hands; the same ones she'd been staring at minutes before. They were as strong as she'd imagined.

"And speaking of this sexy brother who works with dragons," the woman added as she eyed Bill. "Are you ever going to introduce me to him? The way you've talked him up..."

Bill pulled a funny face, still never looking away from her hand. "Well, I don't have a sexy brother who works with dragons, but I do have a completely ordinary looking one…"

There was laughter among the three of them then, with the woman sounding as though she refused to accept this random brother wasn't all she'd imagined. This was all apparently funny, though Fleur was having a hard time keeping up. They were all speaking so fast that most of the words were lost on her; she couldn't tell who was being serious or who was joking.

She looked back at her hand, which was nearly healed now. The two at the table were still laughing at something, though Bill was once again intently focused on her palm. If only her face could capture his attention the way her blisters were.

"I'm Bill, by the way," he suddenly said, glancing up at her before returning his gaze to his handiwork. "Probably should have introduced myself before I decided to try my amateur Healing skills out."

He cracked a smile then at—what she assumed—was another joke. Even if she couldn't quite follow the finer details, it seemed charming. She loved being on the receiving end of that smile.

"I'm Fleur."

He slowly looked up at her again. She didn't know why, but he felt very close then, seeing as he was still holding her hand in his and all she could think of was how she wished this moment wouldn't end. "That means flower."

She couldn't help it, she looked at him funny—as if that was quite possibly the most obvious comment he could have possibly made. It was actually almost reassuring—as if this perfect, handsome man was capable of making silly comments like so many of the others.

She didn't drop her smile, but she did offer a rather pronounced, "Yes. I am aware."

Perhaps it had been her reaction, but he seemed to realize how he'd come off and added, "Yeah, you've probably heard that before."

"Once or twice," she offered, using her free hand to run her hand through her long hair while she watched his face. "Do you speak French?"

He shook his head, saying something about how he spoke a few languages, though French wasn't one of them. He apparently only knew a few words. He then let go of her hand—it had completely healed—and smiled at her then as if to say that was that. She could already sense they were done here; that he was going to turn away and go back to his friends and this would be over.

"Merci," she said quickly as she flexed her now pain free hand, though she quickly corrected herself. "Thank you."

He shrugged. "It's nothing. If you find yourself burned around here again, now you know who to look for."

Do not tempt me, she thought, though she instead continued to smile since she felt she had her wits about her again. "Perhaps you should have been a Healer instead of a curse breaker. You are clearly very gifted."

He laughed, though he just as quickly looked rather curiously at her. "How do you know I'm a curse breaker?"

Oh. Well…

"Have we met before?" he asked her suddenly, his gaze now studying her. "Because the first time I saw you, I could have sworn I knew you, but forgive me because I can't place where."

She found herself oddly split at the moment with that comment. A part of her was absolutely thrilled that he'd noticed her—remembered her!—another part was a bit crushed that she clearly hadn't made enough of an impression on him for him to recall her in an instant.

"You know who you look like," said the woman, who was apparently now back to paying attention to their conversation. "That girl from the papers. From that Hogwarts' Tournament. The champion one—from Beauxbatons."

"Oh yeah," said the other man, now pointing at her. "I see it." He seemed to be inspecting her face. "Wait, are you her? She was French, wasn't she?"

Bill had turned back to stare at her, and she could tell in an instant that the realization had hit him immediately. His eyes had grown wide with recognition. If she had to guess, he clearly felt foolish for not having picked it up immediately.

She stood up straighter and directed her attention toward the people seated at the table. "I am. Yes. That is me."

"You are," Bill said slowly. "I…I don't know how I didn't put that together straight away." He paused and rubbed the stubbly lower half of his face. "I feel like an idiot. I guess I just didn't expect to find you—" he gestured around, "here."

"Why are you here?" asked the man, who now seemed oddly interested in her. "I would think someone who was good enough to become a champion in something so high profile would be doing bigger things than clerking here at Gringotts."

"Well, she didn't win," the woman mumbled, and when Fleur narrowed her eyes on her, she quickly added, "No offense. Just...you did lose to a little boy."

"He is not little," Fleur said defensively, just as Bill cut in with, "You make it sound like he's a toddler. Potter's practically grown. And considering all the things he's been up against lately—and come out the other end of—he's clearly a very capable wizard."

The man from the table quickly averted his eyes, though the woman continued to stare at Bill carefully. They'd seemed so friendly before, but not the air seemed rife with tension.

"So, you actually believe he saw You-Know-Who that night?" she asked him. "Actually saw and fought him and lived to tell the tale?"

"Yes, I do," said Bill matter-of-factly. "Why wouldn't I? A kid was murdered, Clea. How else do you think that—?"

"Cedric," said Fleur immediately, correcting him with a purpose. "'His name was Cedric."

He looked at her, and his hard features from seconds earlier now softening entirely. "Right." He nodded. "Yes. Of course. Cedric. I actually knew him when he was smaller. We grew up not far from each other. He was always a really lovely kid."

At the table, the man was shooting rather silencing glances at the one called Clea, as if attempting to tell her to back off and not to continue this. Whether because she felt it better to heed his advice or whether she didn't feel like having this conversation any longer, she relented and shrugged her shoulders rather dismissively. "It's awful what happened to that boy, but I'm sorry that I just have questions. It's hard to take the word of a child as complete truth…"

"Stop saying Harry is a child," Fleur said.

"Why? He is one," she shot right back. "You'd see that if you weren't basically a child yourself." She rolled her eyes. "You've been out of school for five minutes."

Fleur glared at her, white hot anger now surging through her. Apparently, her feelings and opinions were worth being diminished because she was younger than them. That was something she didn't appreciate. She inhaled very slowly.

"I was there that night," she said. "I saw what happened. I saw Cedric's body and I have no doubt that Harry Potter means everything he says. And I will not stand here and listen to...idiots who have no idea—none—talk ill of him when he is more of a wizard than you will ever be!"

With that, she swung around and marched straight out of the room, anger still pulsing through her veins to the point where she felt she could curse someone. How dare she...How dare she.

It took her fifteen minutes of sitting and calming in the quiet of her file office to let her anger slowly dissipate into mild embarrassment. Not at her outburst to that foul woman—she deserved it; Fleur would tell her again to her face. No, more to the fact that nothing—absolutely nothing about that encounter had been how she'd imagined her first proper conversation with Bill. Between the burn, the angry exchange, the being called a child in front him...None of that screamed sexy or desirable; nothing about that said he should want to get to know her better.

None of that had been part of the plan.