Harry winced as Madam Pomfrey dabbed more ointment on the angry red burn on his shoulder. Facing a Hungarian Horntail dragon in the first task of the Triwizard Tournament had proven to be even more difficult and dangerous than he had imagined. Though at least he had come out mostly unscathed, with just some minor burns and bruises. Others, like Fleur Delacour, had not been so lucky. Harry glanced over at the Beauxbatons champion lying motionless in the next bed. Her usually flawless silvery blonde hair was singed at the ends and her sleeves were burnt from when the dragon had caught her with its fiery breath.

Harry felt a pang of sympathy for the French witch. She put on a regal and haughty air, but he knew there was more to her beneath the surface. They had talked quite a bit since her arrival at Hogwarts, having been drawn together by their unwanted roles in the tournament, and Harry found he rather enjoyed her biting sense of humor.

"There, all set Mr. Potter," Madam Pomfrey said, drawing him from his thoughts. "You'll need to keep applying that ointment twice a day, but you should be all healed up in a few days."

"Thanks," Harry muttered. He slowly swung his legs over the side of the bed but made no move to stand up yet, his eyes straying back to Fleur's still form. "How is she doing?"

Madam Pomfrey followed his gaze with a sympathetic look. "She'll recover, but she inhaled quite a bit of smoke and needs rest. I'd like to keep her here overnight just to be safe."

Harry nodded, feeling relieved that her injuries weren't more serious. An uncomfortable knot formed in his stomach as he thought about her being stuck in this sterile hospital wing all alone. Surely she would rather wake up to a friendly face than the stern matron.

"Would it be alright if I stayed with her for a bit?" Harry asked tentatively. "At least until she wakes up?"

Madam Pomfrey studied him appraisingly for a long moment before giving a brusque nod. "Very well. But mind that you let her rest."

"I will. Thank you."

Harry settled back against his pillows as Madam Pomfrey retreated to her office, already pulling out a stack of parchments to review. His own bed was starting to feel stifling but he couldn't bring himself to leave Fleur alone, not when he knew firsthand how jarring it could be to wake up in an unfamiliar infirmary with no recollection of how you got there.

Hopefully his presence would provide her some comfort when she awoke.

Harry must have dozed off at some point, for the next thing he knew dusky orange light was streaming through the windows signaling sunset. He sat up, rubbing blearily at his eyes and wondering what had awoken him. A soft moan drew his attention. Fleur was shifting restlessly, her brows furrowed as if caught in a nightmare. Harry swung out of bed and crossed over to her, wincing as the cold floor greeted his socked feet.

"Fleur," he said gently, hovering over her bedside. "Fleur, can you hear me?"

Her long silvery lashes fluttered and then opened, revealing dazed blue eyes. They roamed around the room in confusion before settling on him.

"Arry?" she murmured, her voice scratchy. "Where am I?"

"The hospital wing," Harry supplied helpfully. "You got a little singed by the dragon so Madam Pomfrey wanted to keep an eye on you."

Comprehension lit Fleur's eyes and she struggled to push herself up on her elbows. Harry quickly grabbed an extra pillow and slipped it behind her back to prop her up. Her blonde hair fell in tangles around her face and she impatiently swept it out of her eyes.

"I remember now," she admitted ruefully. "Ze dragon was not pleased when I tried to sneak by it."

Her melodic French accent made Harry smile. "Dragons rarely are. At least you figured that out quicker than I did."

He gestured to his bandaged shoulder and Fleur's eyes widened in concern.

"You are hurt too?"

"Just some minor burns," Harry said dismissively. "I'll be right as rain in a day or two. You're the one we were worried about."

A crease formed between Fleur's brows. "We?"

Heat crept up Harry's neck. "Er, just me actually. I wanted to make sure you were okay so I stuck around until you woke up. Hope that's alright."

Fleur regarded him curiously for a long moment and Harry resisted the urge to fidget under her penetrating gaze. There was an almost unsettling intelligence in those crystal blue eyes, like she could see right through him if she tried hard enough.

Just when the scrutiny was becoming unbearable, her expression softened into a small smile.

"I appreciate ze company," she said sincerely. "Zis infirmary can be quite lonely, non?"

The breath Harry had been holding escaped his lungs in relief. "Too right. I've woken up here enough times on my own, it's not fun."

Sympathy and perhaps a hint of commiseration flickered across Fleur's face. "Somehow I am not surprised, considering your reputation. Ze Boy Who Lived indeed."

Harry grimaced at the moniker he hated so much but there was no malice in Fleur's eyes, only gentle teasing.

"I wish being accident prone wasn't what I was known for," Harry grumbled goodnaturedly. "Kind of takes all the glory out of it, doesn't it? The boy who can't stop landing himself in hospital."

Fleur let out a surprised laugh, the sound rich and melodic like chiming bells. The corners of Harry's lips tipped up almost involuntarily. Making her laugh felt like an accomplishment well earned.

They chatted amicably as the enchanted ceiling above transitioned to a dusky lavender twilight. Fleur was witty with a sly sort of humor and Harry found himself captivated as she described her classes and friends back in France. Her love for her younger sister Gabrielle was especially touching.

In turn he told her a bit about growing up with the Dursleys, skimming quickly over the neglectful parts, and she listened with nonjudgmental interest. Her occasional commentary or outraged exclamations at his guardians' more abhorrent treatment made warmth blossom in his chest. It was nice sharing parts of his life with someone who wasn't expecting him to simply get over it. Their conversation flowed easily from quidditch to spellwork to magical creatures. Fleur proved to be fiercely intelligent, even giving Hermione a run for her money when she described the advanced charms and transfiguration work her classmates were undertaking back at Beauxbatons.

Harry found himself leaning towards her almost unconsciously as she explained the intricacies between conjuring and transfiguration. The faint smell of jasmine and cinnamon tickled his nose whenever she gestured excitedly with her hands. It was heady and almost intoxicating and did nothing to curb his fascination with this enigma of a witch. By the time Madam Pomfrey emerged from her office to inform them that visiting hours were long over, Harry had completely lost track of time. He bid Fleur a hasty goodnight before the matron could shoo him out herself, but lingered in the doorway for a moment.

"Thanks for keeping me company," Fleur said, nestling back against her pillows. The beginnings of dark smudges bruised the delicate skin under her eyes. "I appreciate it."

"Don't mention it," Harry said easily. "Get some rest, feel better."

With a cheeky salute that made Fleur roll her eyes, Harry slipped out the door. He made the long lonely trek back to Gryffindor Tower, ruminating over everything he had learned about the standoffish French witch that evening. She had defied every one of his preconceived notions and he found that he rather liked this glimpse behind her frosty exterior.

One thing was for sure—he definitely owed Ron an apology for the callous assumptions they had made about her character when she first arrived.

Over the next few days Harry found his thoughts straying frequently back to his unexpected hospital wing companion. He wondered if Fleur had been discharged yet or if her injuries required a longer stay under Madam Pomfrey's strict care. The opportunity to find out presented itself late one night as Harry was wandering the halls beneath his Invisibility Cloak, unable to sleep. He had taken to meandering the castle after hours when visions of long dark corridors and looming threats plagued his dreams. The secret passages and moving staircases provided ample entertainment for his restless mind.

On that particular night his feet subconsciously carried him to the corridor housing the infirmary. He lingered outside the closed double doors, curiosity sparking through his veins. Perhaps he could poke his head in and check on Fleur under the pretense of needing a headache potion.

Mind made up, Harry carefully pried open one of the heavy doors just enough to slip through before easing it shut behind him. The hospital wing was darkened save for two lit torches flanking the entrance and a soft golden light emanating from Madam Pomfrey's office at the far end. Long shadows cloaked the rows of empty beds. Well, almost empty. Harry could just make out the silhouette of a slumbering figure in the furthest bed, recognizable by her cascade of silver hair across the pillow.

His heart gave an odd stutter-step in his chest. What was Fleur still doing here?

Harry stole across the room as stealthily as possible, ears attuned for any sounds of the matron returning. When he reached Fleur's bedside he had to swallow down an oath. Even deeply asleep she was breathtaking, her porcelain skin almost glowing in the dim light. Dark purple shadows haunted the delicate skin under her eyes though, attesting to her lingering exhaustion. Harry's fingers twitched with the sudden mad desire to smooth back a lock of hair that had fallen across her cheek.

Get a grip, Potter, he chided himself.

Clearing his throat softly, he leaned down to whisper, "Fleur? You awake?"

Long blonde lashes fluttered before slowly opening. Fleur's gaze was bleary and unfocused for a long moment until landing on his face hovering above hers. Surprise flitted across her tired features.

"Arry? What are you doing here?"

"I was taking a walk to clear my head and saw you were still here," Harry explained in a hushed voice. "Why haven't they released you yet?"

Even half-asleep, Fleur's melodious accent was unmistakable. "Madam Pomfrey says ze smoke did some damage to my lungs. She wants to keep me a few more days for observation."

"Blimey, sorry to hear that." Harry frowned, not liking the way her normally glowing complexion had taken on an almost grayish pallor.

Fleur gave a graceful one-shouldered shrug, though the effect was marred by her ensuing yawn. "Eet is what it is." She stifled another yawn behind her hand. "Now, why are you really wandering ze halls at night?"

"Couldn't sleep," Harry admitted. At her knowing look he amended, "Alright, more like avoiding it."

Sympathy softened Fleur's gaze. "Bad dreams again?"

Something warm unfurled in Harry's chest at the realization she had remembered their late night conversation from her first night in the infirmary. Touched by this observant witch more than he could comprehend, Harry found himself opening up again under the gentle concern in her cerulean eyes.

"Yeah, ever since the first task they've gotten worse. Falling asleep just to relive being chased by that dragon..." He trailed off with an involuntary shudder.

Fleur gave a solemn nod. He could see the echoes of her own unpleasant dragonesque dreams lingering in the tense line of her jaw.

Before Harry even knew what he was doing, his next words were tumbling out.

"Would it—I mean, do you mind if I join you for a bit? I reckon we're both unlikely to get back to sleep anytime soon." He fidgeted with the edge of his invisibility cloak, suddenly feeling self-conscious about the bizarre request. What had even possessed him to suggest such a thing?

But Fleur merely shifted sideways in her narrow bed and patted the empty space.

"Of course, cher."

Heart in his throat, Harry draped his cloak over a nearby chair and carefully settled on the very edge of her mattress. He stayed ramrod straight, hyper aware of Fleur's shoulder just barely brushing his and how he could feel her body heat radiating beneath the thin infirmary blankets.

They sat in surprisingly comfortable silence for several long minutes, the distant torches casting dancing shadows across their faces. Fleur's eyelids soon began to droop again. She slumped further into her pillow with a tired sigh that Harry felt sweep across his arm.

"Get some rest," he murmured, a foreign fondness welling up inside him at her sleepy nuzzling against his shoulder.

"'Kay," Fleur mumbled, eyes already shuttering closed.

Harry listened as her breathing gradually evened out once more. His own eyelids were growing heavy but he resisted the pull of sleep, irrationally afraid that he might disturb Fleur's much-needed rest.

So he simply watched the gentle rise and fall of her chest and admired the way the torchlight gilded individual strands of silver-gold hair fanned out across her pillow. She really was breathtaking. How had he never properly noticed before?

Eventually his own chin dropped against his chest as he unwillingly succumbed to his body's need for rest. When Harry next blinked awake, early dawn light was peeking through the infirmary windows. At some point he had slumped sideways so that his head rested atop Fleur's on the shared pillow. One arm had also wound up draped loosely over her waist. Harry tensed, face flaming beet red as he quickly extracted his offending limb. Thankfully Fleur remained sound asleep, her lips slightly parted as she burrowed further into his shoulder with a contented sigh. Harry's blush deepened but he couldn't quite bring himself to move away. Not when she looked so peaceful curled up against him.

So he simply laid there drinking in her lovely features—the elegant swoop of her nose, sculpted cheekbones, silvery eyelashes fanned out across creamy skin. His heart gave a strange fluttering sensation in his chest. Bloody hell, was he actually developing feelings for the breathtaking witch slumbering beside him? But that was mad, he barely knew her! And yet...the more he turned the possibility over in his mind, the more right it felt.

Fleur began to stir some time later just as soft footsteps signaled Madam Pomfrey emerging to start her morning rounds. Harry hastily threw his invisibility cloak back on and tucked himself into the far corner of the bed right before the matron swept aside the privacy curtain.

"Good morning Miss Delacour. How are you feeling today?"

There was a brief pause and Harry pictured Fleur blinking in confusion at the empty space beside her. But she smoothly covered it up.

"Much better, thank you."

While Fleur endured a quick examination Harry berated himself for not leaving sooner. Now he was stuck there, invisible yet intrusive all the same as Madam Pomfrey checked the Beauxbatons champion over.

Finally she removed the magical stethoscope from Fleur's chest with a pleased nod.

"Excellent. Your lungs sound nearly back to normal. I believe you are well enough to be discharged this evening."

Fleur's responding smile was radiant. "Oh thank you, Madam! I shall be glad to sleep in my own bed again. No offense to your infirmary of course."

The healer chuckled fondly. "None taken, dear. I know it can be stifling. I'll have the house elves bring up some breakfast shortly. Do try to eat most of it, you need your strength back."

With an approving pat to Fleur's hand Madam Pomfrey swept away, drawing the privacy curtain closed once more behind her.

The very instant she disappeared Harry yanked off his cloak, inhaling deeply as he felt the sticking charm dissipate.

"Sorry about that," he said sheepishly, raking a hand through his perpetually messy locks. "Meant to sneak out earlier but we both fell back asleep."

"Don't worry about it." An amused smile played at Fleur's lips. "I'd zought I dreamt you were 'ere."

"Er, nope. In the flesh." Harry patted his chest awkwardly. "So, guess I'll be off and let you get ready to leave this place behind, yeah?"

Disappointment flickered in Fleur's eyes so quickly Harry thought he imagined it.

"Yes, zat's probably for ze best," she said, a tad too politely. Was it wishful thinking or did she sound almost reluctant to part ways? "Zank you again for keeping me company, 'arry."

The warmth in her smile made his stomach perform funny little somersaults.

"Anytime," Harry said honestly. "I mean it—if you ever need someone to talk to or anything, I'm around."

Merlin, why was he suddenly so flustered? Get it together!

But as Harry retrieved his invisibility cloak and crept back out the infirmary doors, his thoughts were consumed by visions of moonlight on silver hair and long slender limbs tucked so perfectly against his body.

Over the next several weeks Harry felt his eyes unconsciously seeking out that beloved blonde hair in the corridors and across the Great Hall. More often than not he would find Fleur already gazing back at him, an enigmatic little smile curving her lips.

He began leaving the library at the same time he knew Fleur had free period, which led to them walking together and chatting about their days. Harry loved making her laugh with silly anecdotes about his friends or outlandish school stories. The mere sound of her silvery laughter sent his heart soaring. In turn Fleur told him more about growing up as part Veela and how she learned to embrace her duality instead of fighting her magical creature blood. Her insights were so honest and raw. Harry found himself opening up in kind, sharing fears he had never voiced to anyone about the tremendous burden placed upon him as the Boy Who Lived.

With Fleur he didn't feel like a freak or a hero worshipped for something he couldn't even remember. She simply accepted him as Harry. And so an unlikely but profound friendship blossomed between the two champions. They took to meeting in unused classrooms or secluded corners of the library, sharing secrets and dreams late into the night. Harry felt himself falling a little more with each whispered conversation or brush of silvery hair against his cheek.

Soon lively debates gave way to gentle teasing and playful nudges. Lingering looks heated with possibility replaced casual glances. An invisible cord seemed to draw them together whenever they passed in the corridors now, hands coming within a hairsbreadth of touching before one of them chickened out.

The mounting tension came to a head one snowy December evening. Harry was walking Fleur back to the Beauxbatons carriage after a cozy chat over hot cocoa in the kitchens, reluctant to part ways. He kept sneaking sideways glances at the way the white flakes clung to her long silvery lashes and dotted her pale blonde hair. She looked like a fairy queen drifting through the frosted grounds.

When Fleur paused at the bottom of the carriage steps, cheeks and nose endearingly pink from the cold, Harry blurted out the question he had been burning to ask for weeks.

"Want to go to the Yule Ball with me?"

Fleur blinked once in surprise before a dazzling smile spread across her face.

"I was wondering when you would ask," she said coyly, taking a step closer. Harry's heart stuttered at her sudden proximity. "Of course I will go wiz you, 'arry."

Then she leaned in and pressed the sweetest, gentlest kiss to his lips. It lasted only a heartbeat but left Harry's entire world spinning dizzily. As Fleur ascended the carriage steps with a wink and cheeky wave over her shoulder, Harry remained frozen in place with a ridiculous grin plastered across his face.

He couldn't wait for the Yule Ball and the chance to hold this incredible witch in his arms. Who would have thought he would find love when they both landed themselves in the infirmary of all places? But Harry knew now with unwavering certainty that he was utterly smitten by the beautiful, compassionate, whip-smart Fleur Delacour. And somehow, miraculously, she seemed rather fond of him too.