Dressed immaculately in her lapis school robes, Fleur diverted her attention to the newspaper that Madame Maxime had abandoned a few minutes past. Smiling quietly, she scanned the headlines, amused at how much attention one Harry Potter was getting. He was, obviously, underage, slow to react and incompetent; and she still stood by her opinion of it being highly unfair to let the raven-haired child compete, but, and Fleur had to admit it, the boy had skill: he was definitely there to win.

Skimming over the main article, she was about to turn the page, when something caught her eye. Something that drove her up the wall, nailed her there, and left her to bask in her unparalleled rage.

And hell hath no fury like a Delacour scorned, now does it?

Morning had very quietly crept over Hogwarts; banishing the quiet hostility that came with the darkness of night; and replenishing the spark of hope in the air that came with the blossoming of a brand new day. The Great Hall was ablaze with vitality and mirth; encased by the silent aura of relief and buzzing with gossip. The first task in the Triwizard tournament had just passed the day before, and talk of the task was still fresh.

Stomping, Fleur made her way through the hall; encased in a bubble of fresh rage, and yet still managing to gracefully glide in between the rows, before coming to a halt at the end of the Gryffindor table. She was standing right behind where the Weasley twins were perched upon the benches, surrounded by a band of equally uninteresting companions: the Potter boy, that Granger girl with the extremely bad hair, and two other Weasley children – judging by their flaming red hair, and their gangly disposition.

'Excusez moi?' she began, struggling to keep her voice steady, and painfully aware of the fact that her hat was askew from her uncontrollable anger.

'Fleur!' Chanted Fred Weasley in response, plastering a million-Galleon smile upon his face, and sending the French girl's mind into spasms of unfiltered disgust.

'Meester Weezley -'

'Call me Fred.' The redhead interrupted, waving nonchalantly, and standing up to tower over the blonde.

Pausing for a second to fully absorb the incredibly agitating self-assurance that seemed to radiate from the boy, Fleur replied: 'Oh, how charming, oui? Meester Weezley, what is zis?'

Fuming, she slammed that morning's Daily Prophet onto the mahogany table that stood before them; causing George Weasley to leap forward to get a closer look.

'It's a newspaper, Fred.' He supplied, stating the rather obvious, and quickly scanning the page before recoiling in his seat; evidently trying to mask a grin. 'But, mate, I'd probably run if I were you.'

'He won't get ze chance.' Fleur threatened, staring at Fred through a strangely calm stance, while simultaneously pondering whether it would be more effective to castrate him with a spoon, or a pencil.

Rolling his eyes, and pushing a few stray red tendrils out of his eyes, Fred reached forward and gingerly picked up the newspaper, eyeing Fleur closely, and struggling to keep a smile off his face as he realised the absurdity of the entire situation.

'Hark hark, let's see what's so interesting.' He crowed, straightening the copy of the Daily Prophet in his hands and beginning to read aloud – much to the chagrin of his twin brother. 'Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, triumphed in the first Triwizard -'

'Not that...' Fleur interrupted scathingly, before snatching away the newspaper and jabbing it with her finger to indicate the right article. 'This. Don't read it aloud.'

'Okay.' Fred assented, offering a tiny bow, and then proceeding to recite very loudly: 'Fleur Delacour, Triwizard champion from the Beauxbatons Academy of Magic, was seen, on Tuesday night, wandering the castle grounds, but was, apparently, not alone. Rita Skeeter reports that Miss. Delacour, a vivacious, but shallow girl of 17, was seen with none other than Fred Weasley of Hogwarts School of Witchraft and...oh, fuck.'

The article, it seemed, proceeded to explain how Fleur was using Fred to manipulate and wheedle information on Harry, and was intending to cheat her way to victory. Fred finally got why she was so angry.

'Well, who did you tell?' Fleur fumed, enunciating each word through her teeth, and staring up at the redhead as if she was quite prepared to jab him in the eye with the first object she saw. 'Because zere was nobody zere with us, and I certainly 'ave not told anybody eizer.'

Fred listened intently; more focussed on her accent than anything else, and slowly felt his lips contort into the tiniest of smiles. 'You know, baby, I just had to let the world know how much in love we are!'

'What?' George spoke up instantaneously, his jaw dropping so low, it probably would have suffered dislocation.

'WHAT?' Fleur reiterated the question, her blue eyes alight.

'Wait, what?' One of the Weasleys - Ron Weasley, in fact, echoed her, his brow furrowed, and his eyes darting from one person to the other, obviously waiting for some sort of explosion to take place.

The Great Hall was quiet. Very quiet. And everyone was staring at one Fred Weasley waiting for, and in Fleur's case, demanding, a viable explanation.

'Well, love, I just thought...' Fred began in a sing-song voice, pulling Fleur close to him, and staring lovingly at her dangerously red visage, '...everyone should know...about...us.'

'Us?' Was the only response Fleur could muster, and it came out as a scared whisper, oozing the threat of an oncoming release of a rage-fuelled blast.

'Us. We shouldn't have to hide our...our feelings! The love that courses through my veins for your -'

Fleur had already fled the hall, her face as white as her hair, and her eyes clouded by madness. She needed to scream. Racing out of the Entrance Hall, she stumbled – well, what she would call stumbling, and what others would figure as just normal walking – out into the open, breathing in the fresh air, and praying that Fred Weasley would either die a painful death, or that she was still in bed, and that this was all just a twisted nightmare due to the fact that all the Hogwarts food was too heavy.

Cursing incoherently, Fleur sought refuge within the Beauxbatons carriage, hastily climbing into it, and slamming the door behind her magnificent self, before slumping to the floor. But then a resounding knocking began to sound from the other side of the vehicle's door, and it grew more insistent by the second.

'OI! Fleur! OPEN THIS DOOR!'

Fleur knew that voice. It was hoarse, and it was calm, and yet it held the constant presence of mirth, which, at that moment, was enough to drive her up the wall.

'YOU! You leetle -' She began, flinging the door open, and trying to mould her emotions into words.

'Shut up.' Fred interrupted, grabbing her by the shoulders and pushing her against the first wall he saw; effectively pinning her limbs, and quickly kicking the carriage door shut.

Fleur tried to move; and failed. Constantly. Contorting her face into an expression depicting intense loathing, she tried to stare the Englishman down. And when that didn't work, well...that just didn't work.

'Don't you think you're overreacting, just a little bit?' Fred asked quietly, talking as if he was talking to a small child who was incapable of comprehension.

'Overreacting?' Fleur screamed in response, incredulity etched across her countenance, and fury beginning to boil inside her veins. 'You just said -'

'I know what I said, but nobody will take it seriously. Everybody knows that Rita Skeeter's full of it, so what's your problem?'

'My problem is -'

'Your problem is that you take yourself too seriously.'

'No, it's not!'

'Prove it.'

'How?'

'What?'

'I asked, how?'

Fred's eyebrows shot upwards, his lips formulated into a mischievous grin, and his eyes misted with the possibilities of a million different ways in which he could make his victim suffer from intense embarrassment, and severe emotional scarring.

'You want to get back at Rita Skeeter, right?' He began, speaking in an offhand tone, and trying to lure his prey into its trap. Silently, he moved closer, breathing into her face.

'Oui?' Fleur deadpanned, feeling extremely uncomfortable, as the redhead's face floated centimetres away from her own.

'Then go out with me.'

A moment of pin-drop silence ensued; with Fred, evidently impressed with his own supposed brilliance, smiling like a clown drunk on Butterbeer, and Fleur staring at him as if he had lost his mind. And then – she burst out laughing.

'Oh, zat is a good one! No, seriously, what's ze plan?' She managed to spew between each laugh, desperate for air.

'No, I'm serious.' Fred insisted, letting her go, finally, and opening the carriage door. 'Let's go outside; it's bloody stuffy in here.'

Stepping outside, they began to make their way back up to the castle. Fred was obviously rather annoyed that he was being laughed at, and Fleur...well, she just continued to laugh at him.

'I'm serious too. We are not doing zat.'

'It's the perfect plan! Old Skeeter thinks she's getting at you by writing something like this. You prove her right, show her it doesn't bother you, and then she'll leave you alone. And then we can break up.'

It took the next minute and a half of complete silence to realise that he'd walked on; leaving his female counterpart behind. When she'd caught up, she looked suspicious.

'Zat is actually a good idea.' Fleur conceded slowly, speaking as if the admission burned her throat, and bruised her ego.

'I told you.' Fred smiled, flashing her a grin before climbing up the steps and into the Entrance Hall.

'But...we will need to plan zis carefully. So that everyone finds out publicly zat we are togezzur, and zat...yes, that we are...togezzur. This will need careful planning. And -'

Fred had heard just about enough. Pulling the French girl towards himself right before they entered the Great Hall, he gently pressed his lips to hers. He had intended it to be easy; simple. It was anything but that. Wrapping one arm around Fleur's minuscule waist, he eased her body against his own, quietly breathing in the warm scent of honey that seemed to emanate from her. Fleur had already secured both her arms around his neck, and was standing on tip-toe to indulge herself. Running her lips over Fred's, she pressed harder and harder; rather aware of the fact that it was beginning to hurt; but the pain was numb and the pounding blood that was searing through her veins was just another indication that this was no mere kiss. She felt his hand rake through her mane; dismantling the silken strands from their ponytail, and, throwing all caution to the wind, she slipped her tongue inside Fred's mouth; savouring every taste that attacked it.

But then she realised exactly what she was doing. And trying to suppress a scream, she broke away, running a weary hand through her hair, and gasping deeply to regain her breath. Looking up, she saw Fred in the same position; blushing a red so deep, that he matched the exact hue of his hair.

'Well...zat was unexpected.' Fleur huffed, trying to fight a smile.

'Not the word I'd use, but that's alright. Do you want to get breakfast before I go to class?' Fred answered in one breath, and, without waiting for a reply, began to walk inside.

'Yeah, zat sounds like a good idea.' Fleur agreed, walking in step. 'Wait, what was the word you would use?'

Fred simply smiled, and led her to the Gryffindor table, sure that, not only were they being stared at unashamedly by the entire hall, but that he was, finally, beginning to understand the charm that made Fleur Delacour who she was.

Hi, guys. I know, this is pretty much shit, but it'll get better...I hope! So please, leave a review? I will be eternally grateful, and maybe I'll even write another chapter? :) Thanks.