A/N: Hello people and welcome to a fun, light-hearted fic with Harry, Fleur and friends!
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The walk back to the carriage was as scenic as Madame Maxime had said it'd be. Such was the first thought Fleur had as she walked hand-in-hand with Gabby down a winding, nature-filled path. There were plenty of flowers and plantlife, the lake near enough to the pair also seemed abuzz with activity if the surface-level bubbles were anything to go by. There was even birdsong and the noise of many an insect, some of which grew angry as Gabby and she trampled weeds that served as houses.
Hogwarts' paths were a bit overgrown, if she did say so herself, but that did not detract from their beauty in the slightest. If anything, it was far better than the hundreds of prying eyes that passed her and Gabrielle over whensoever they walked the busier areas of Hogwarts. She couldn't place the blame on those who watched her with lustful eyes, not entirely. It was not their fault they were normal anymore than it was hers for having an allure or being Veela.
"Fleur, look! It is incredible!"
Gabby's animated voice speaking in French, — their mother tongue — reached her ears just as the smaller girl tugged on her sleeve, willing her to turn and look back whence they'd come. Fleur couldn't deny her sister. Gabrielle had always been her best friend, her best confidant, and her greatest weakness, and so she turned.
"Oh," Such was the first word to come from her as she saw what Gabrielle was pointing at with such an awe-filled expression.
Hogwarts. The Castle was magnificent, she had said as much when first they had approached it in the carriage, when the two had their faces flush against a window to catch any glimpse they might be able to.
Now?
Now it was as a painting. There was no overcast, a rare thing here if her maman and papa were right, of which she had no doubt they were. Instead, the sun was setting in such a way that the orange sky contrasted beautifully with the scenery of the ancient castle. An almost orangish hue that tapered into a blue sky, the backdrop of a gorgeously designed and well-kept place of historic significance.
Those that went here were very lucky, but the place was not for her kind. Veela had it best in France.
"Do you think mama and papa will let us join them for the meeting?"
Fleur turned away from the vision before them and looked down at Gabrielle, her sister meeting her gaze with all the sweetness she'd come to expect of her. "Papa won't try to intimidate him as he would with other wizards. If not for him, what happened could have been different, no?" she pulled Gabrielle flush against her side, turning their bodies to go back to the carriage as they'd been doing before the younger girl had gotten distracted. "Besides, I think mama will be interested to meet a boy that is not affected by us, no?"
Gabrielle gave her a knowing look, her little dimples showing a split-second before her pearly-whites. "A boy not affected by your ice, you mean. Mama will declare him yours on the spot."
Fleur felt her cheeks colour even if her younger sister was just teasing her. She forced that flush down and pulled Gabrielle closer, tickling her side. The younger girl squirmed and giggled and tried to fight her bigger sister off, but eventually, she begged for mercy, and Fleur being the kind, loving big sister she was, stopped… after another few seconds.
By then, Gabrielle's face was as bright red as Fleur's had been. There was even a little tear that went rolling down her otherwise porcelain, glowing skin. Fleur giggled then, and then offered up an apology when Gabby stuck out her bottom lip.
Shortly thereafter the pair finished their stroll back to the carriage, and a further minute saw them settling down in their adjoining rooms. Madame Maxime was not supposed to play favourites, but she had made exceptions for her Veela students time and time again, and with Fleur's unique condition, an extra one had been made; her room would have a door that connected it directly to Gabby's.
It allowed moments such as the current one, that being Fleur and Gabby laying in bed with one another, the younger sister cuddling up to the older as the fire near them roared to life. It gave off a splendid, comforting heat the likes of which Hogwarts sorely lacked, as did most of the rest of the carriage when they strolled through the halls.
"Do you like him?"
Unlike Gabrielle's early teasing, this question from the tired-sounding girl sounded genuinely curious.
Such was the reason Fleur answered as her fingers combed through her sister's matching hair, peering into her eyes as she spoke. "I'm interested in him. How couldn't I be?"
Gabrielle made a noise of understanding, or perhaps it was a noise of contentment that Fleur misunderstood. All the same, the result was the same; Fleur spoke again.
"He is one I could finally picture a future with, even if it is just a glimpse at the present, no? And if not him, that would mean there are others. Finally, I can see a chance to have a future like maman."
"He's cute and he saved us. He seems like he's from a tale papa or mama would read. If you don't want him, I would gladly take him from you."
Fleur blinked at her sister's words. The topic of boys was seldom brought up by her. Her eyes narrowed, and then she raised her hands in the air as if they were talons. Rather than ensnaring any sort of prey, instead, her hands shot forth and began to viciously… tickle Gabby. The squeals from her little sister were music to her ears, and when Gabby began to fight back, tickling Fleur in the spots that'd get her to cry from laughter, Fleur fell to those same giggle-fits.
Her little sister was growing up, and she knew exactly what Fleur did; Harry was the type of boy any Veela would be lucky to land… and the more Fleur thought of it, she was a Veela, and she felt more than lucky.
"Well come on then, mate, get a move on," Ron said, urging him from behind. "Reckon 'Mione won't be finished doing whatever it is she's doing for another minute or what have you, yeah?"
Harry shrugged. He supposed Hermione would remain busy for a fair bit longer helping Lavender understand… well, whatever it was she needed understanding with. The two witches had been quite quiet, and they'd ushered the blokes away right quick, before they could get out so much as a sentence between them.
Lavender had seemed sad to see Ron go, but Hermione's help had seemed important enough for her to let the two boys be banished. Besides, they were only a few halls away. That was a tiny distance by Hogwarts' scale and Ron would get to send a plate off before Hermione arrived too, meaning he'd get to pack it up as unhealthy as possible without any sort of Muggle dentistry threat hanging in the air. Merlin, the thought alone seemed to terrify Ron — you'd almost think the Dentist was slang for a torturer or hangman, at least until you realised Magicals used but a charm to achieve what Muggles needed a minute or more to do. As for why Hermione didn't, well, he reckoned it had something to do with her parents' pride. They were dentists, after all, and they likely thought that was one such way they could help their daughter in a world of magic.
That always made Harry snicker and Hermione exasperated whenever Ron would retort, rare as that was.
"Pie?" Ron sounded as if he were in awe when he saw the sweet on the table, and right before his spot, no less. "Blimey, Harry. I must be dreaming."
Harry discreetly cast an underpowered, very underpowered, pinch-type charm. It was a modification of the stinging hex that was usually considered juvenile, but in circumstances such as that, when somebody was all but asking to be pinched, it shined.
"Tosser," Ron said with a huff, but even that didn't slow him. If anything, as more people filed in behind them, loud and animated as many seemed to be with their new guests present, his pace only grew in speed.
At least until he'd reached that favoured spot of his, whereupon doing so, he served himself half of the entire pie… and even then he added more to his plate. Harry nearly felt sick just watching his mate pile his plate into the form of a mountain, the whipped cream and syrup atop it all only serving as a cavity-inducing river. It was a wonder how Ron was so fit with all that he took in, but the evidence was there when the other boy ran all about with nary a sweat broken or issue rising whensoever he needed to physically exert himself. There was also the 'fact' as he'd call it, that he used extra calories during wizarding chess. Harry doubted that very much, and Hermione found it absurd.
Well, she'd said it was 'completely and utterly ridiculous', only to pause a few seconds later, horrified since it was theoretically possible. She and Harry both knew magical biology differs from Muggles. The only difference was he didn't much care if it were true, he just wished his mate would eat a bit less… messy.
He shook his head. Hermione wasn't here, but Merlin, did a few of her terms bleed into the forefront of his mind. It was scary, he reckoned as he slid into the seat opposite of Ron. He wondered how many… how many… Merlin, why was she staring at him?
Harry lost his focus and looked away, angling his head so as to avoid the awkwardness that'd been building.
Fleur was seated near enough to where she'd been the night prior, with Gabrielle still by her side and a good bit of space between them and the rest of the table. That was to be expected, he supposed. What wasn't, however, was her staring. They'd shared a look after she'd brushed his hand; fair enough, that, when the pair thought he might turn to ice or go frost-bitten.
But he hadn't, now, had he? No, Harry still possessed all of his fingers and limbs, and she'd thanked him after they'd had words in the hall. Her father clearly wasn't here yet either, else she'd have sought him out again… so why was she looking at him with such an intense gaze?
Harry chanced a glance her way again, as Ron continued putting away bite after bite lest Hermione arrive with so much still left to eat.
Fleur had served something to Gabrielle, a beautiful smile only serving to enhance the image she already made for. There seemed a touch of chatter betwixt the two, but when she was finished, her visage turned his way, and her eyes soon ensnared his own. He managed a courteous, polite smile and a small nod thereafter, something that Fleur returned immediately; the soft expressions she could pull were like that of the most gorgeous woman he'd ever seen, only better and more natural.
He willed her to look away, but failed, Fleur's piercing blue eyes keen to captivate him. So he tore his gaze from her, quick and abrupt, and with a feeling of heat or nervousness rising in his belly. He failed to see how her smile grew, or the fond quality her eyes took on.
That was about the time Hermione made her appearance, with Lavender trailing after her as the pair made for their respective seats… or, well, didn't, in the case of Lavender. Rather than her usual seat, she'd sought out the space on Ron's left whilst Hermione had sought out the spot to his right.
Harry raised a brow Hermione's way, and the simple shrug and half-smile she shot back at him indicated there'd be more to discuss later. If there hadn't been, she'd have raised a brow or said something.
A touch more confident with Hermione by his side and an extra person across from him, Harry's eyes danced from one platter, to the next, to the next… to the Ravenclaw table, to the two Veela seated there, and finally, to Fleur. Harry reckoned he'd been real inconspicuous in moving his gaze, keeping it natural-looking and stealthy-like.
That was, until he saw the amused expression Fleur wore as her eyes once again met his own. As soon as he saw that she was still watching him with nary a sign of discomfort in her doing so, he did what he'd done earlier and looked away.
On and on their little game of cat and mouse, or bloke and beautiful bird, went on. Every time, Harry would be the one to feel nervous first, and as such, he'd look away; that didn't stop her from staring at him whensoever the fancy to do so struck.
"See you down at the pitch in a few?"
Ron nodded, waving at Harry as the other bloke made to leave. "Yeah, mate, be down in a few, yeah?" he nodded at the plate before him, the final one he'd have before he joined Harry down on the pitch. "Gotta tuck into this first. Reckon I'll ne— ow, 'Mione, have you gone barking mad?"
The indignant tone of voice Ron had came as a result of her slapping his upper arm in the midst of his sentence, and as he'd been speaking to Harry, no less.
"You always talk with your mouthful, Ronald," Hermione huffed, her arms folded before her as she glared at him. "Honestly, it's a wonder Fred, George and Ginny don't eat like you."
"Hey," Ginny proper piped up from a dozen seats or so down, raising a hand and all.
Hermione rolled her eyes, but when she spoke next, her tone was far quieter. "Finish up quickly," she looked at the Ravenclaw table, huffing when she saw two figures made to stand, even if one in particular began to befuddle her mind.
She didn't like it one bit… even if it did make her feel incredibly good at the present.
Thankfully, the duo soon withdrew, and not ten minutes later, so too did she and Ron. It was then the pair finally had the chance to speak in private, before they'd go and do so with Harry; his case was far more peculiar, and far less problematic, in her opinion.
"What, 'Mione?" Ron finally got out, shaking her from her thoughts at the same moment the cold, brisk air of the outdoors struck her. "Merlin, I thought you'd just about rip my hand off — was I talking with food in my mouth again?"
"What?" Hermione parroted back at him, her eyes taking in the surrounding land for all of a split-second before she shook her head. "No, of co— well, yes, you did speak with food in your mouth but no, no, that's not the problem."
"Right." Ron said with a resolute nod… before he blinked at her. "What's the problem, then?"
"Fleur and Gabrielle Delacour," Hermione stopped then, furrowing her brow on account of how her words sounded. "Not them specifically. I'm sure they're not horrible people, though I suppose anybody could be — no, what I'm trying to say is their magic, their allure, rather. It shouldn't be so easy for us to be distracted."
"Oh." Ron scratched his head, and the next words he spoke weren't those which Hermione wanted to hear. "Not much you can do to change it, is there? Mum's said the only thing that makes a bloke stop liking Veela is if they like other blokes instead."
Hermione straightened herself up, pulling Ron alongside her and away from those a good twenty or so metres away, as they made their way down the path the two were on. "It's not only 'blokes' that get attracted to Veela, Ron, and not everybody is affected the same way. Some people, rare as it is, are rarely affected at all. Enough so that people assume they're unaffected in the first place. But that's not the problem."
She took a breath.
"I'm just worried about you being so susceptible to it. What if we face mind magic down the road?" Hermione wasn't sure if she was making sense to him, but her worries were, in her mind, completely justified. If Ron or just about any other boy at Hogwarts fell so head-over-heels for Veela, then how could any of them be relied on in the future?
Ron especially. He was always right there alongside her and Harry, and yet, Fleur only had to be within a dozen or so metres, perhaps even just within his vision, and he'd turn stupid.
That was something she'd have to work on… someho—
"You'll think of something, 'Mione, you always do, dont'ya?" He grinned at her and gestured to the pitch that was now a good deal closer than it'd been at the start of their walk. "Reckon Harry's gonna wonder where we went off to."
"I suppose he will," Hermione agreed. She caught Ron's arm a half-second later, when he made to turn and continue down the little woodland path. "We'll talk to Harry after Quidditch about it too. Okay?"
Ron shrugged. "If you wanna, sure," he didn't seem convinced it was something vital as she seemed to be. "... think there'll be snacks after we finish up here?"
Hermione looked away with a smirk on her face, her long hair covering it as she shook her head from side to side. Some things would always be the same.
Sometime later, perhaps a few hours, the Quidditch pitch fun was over, leaving a very sweaty Harry and Ron to walk with Hermione back to Hogwarts proper. The two boys would go and have a wash in Gryffindor Tower since their little meet wasn't exactly condoned, but until they got there, Hermione had decided now was an apt time for conversation.
Not of a general sort either. There was one very specific thing she wished to mention, something she'd noticed when Harry's hand had brushed Fleur's; to her, it'd been just as apparent as the incredibly noticeable cold whensoever the other witch was near.
"So Harry…" she started.
He glanced at her as they continued on, his hair sticking to his face. "So 'Mione?"
She took a glance around, and once more ascertaining that the trio were alone, spoke. "I wanted to talk about the two Veela."
"Fleur and Gabrielle?" Harry blinked at her. "What about them?"
"Nothing bad," Hermione found herself saying quite quickly, a hand raised to make sure Harry didn't misunderstand her. "I just wanted to talk about… I'm horrible at this — you remember when Fleur's hand brushed yours, don't you?"
He nodded. He still couldn't believe… oh right, Hermione had seen it. Maybe he'd just hoped she'd forgotten.
"I remember, yeah. Nothing happened," he held up his hand and wiggled his fingers. "See?"
"That's my point." Hermione's eyes remained on his hand as the next words came from her. "When she was over a dozen feet away, I was cold. According to what I read about Veela after the World Cup, I found out, however rare it is, that some Veela are born with a sort of duality in them. Some people think it's an evolution, others called it a curse that echoes throughout all Veela heritage. Whatever it is, it's supposed to be dreadful enough that others can't stand to be around her sans magic, and touching, apparently it could lead to limb loss. You're immune to them in more ways than one."
Harry shrugged. "I guess," and after a few seconds more, his pace slowed, and the look on his face changed. It was almost fearful. "Another thing that's different about me. Wicked." The words were all but acidic, and trying to laugh it off as he might, Harry couldn't mask the feelings he felt.
He wasn't normal. He'd never be normal. All his life, stuff had worked differently for him; why should he have thought that'd change? Magic or some higher power really had it out for him.
"Ha—"
Before Hermione could finish, he cut her off, not so much as hearing her first syllable as he spoke aloud. "Well, at least we know what this year's freakish happening is going to be, yeah? This makes it easy."
At that, Ron and Hermione shared a look. Harry seldom used the word freak or any variant thereof. Rarer still was it for him to seem so downtrodden or fearful; usually, he was the person that'd inspire the pair and spur them into action. That final, bitter-sounding sentence didn't exactly sit well with Hermione either, nor Ron, for that matter.
Ultimately, it was the former of the two that spoke first, after the bit of silence that'd lingered as their pace grew to a near-halt. "Don't use that word, Harry," Hermione practically implored, a hand coming up to settle on his shoulder; she knew something was off about his family, his homelife, but she'd never pried. It wasn't her place to bring such a topic up unless Harry did so first. "Ron and I are here for you. Always. We're family, we love you, and we'll figure this out like we've done everything else, and exactly the same way — together."
At that, Hermione closed the remaining distance between her and Harry, her arms encircling him so that she could pull him into a great big hug.
Ron nodded then as he came to stand on Harry's other side, and not a second past Hermione initiating that hug of hers.
"She's right, y'know," Ron agreed. "We'll get to the bottom of things just like we always do. 'Mione's mind, your Potter luck and my… Well, me."
If Ron had any other words or what have you, they weren't said aloud. Instead, the other bloke simply did as Hermione had, and hugged him.
When the trio finally separated some half-a-minute or so later, Hermione cocked her head at Harry. "This doesn't necessarily have to be a problem either, Harry. In fact, I'm sure that if we spoke with Fleur, she'd offer us some insight. Perhaps it'd be something we could use down the road too. Veela are said to know their way around a person's mind easier than most others — it's natural to them, like fire magic… though I suppose the degree or gift as it'd be called differs based on who's discussing them."
Harry managed a small smile. Hermione could always find something educational in their problems, however large or small they were. It was something he appreciated, even if that wasn't shown all that much by him.
"It's not bad either."
Ron's words made both Harry and Hermione turn towards him, and upon seeing as much, the formermost of the trio shrugged. "It feels kinda nice. Believe me, mate. Reckon bird watching is rather fun, and if I get kidnapped by Veela, that's my sin to bear, innit?"
That was that. Harry had expected it to be something even stranger, more problematic or indicative of some other, underlying issue… but nothing of the sort happened. Instead, his friends had reaffirmed their will to help him, and they'd finally begun working on something else together; the art of Occlumency.
If there was even a chance it'd be able to block out the allure for Ron, it was worthwhile, and whilst his mates worked on that, in the meantime, he'd see what he could learn from the Delacours. It sounded good to him, and Merlin, was he grateful for Ron and Hermione; without the pair, he half-reckoned he'd go mad.
After the previous conversation with Ron and Hermione, Harry had found the resolve to seek out Fleur rather than waiting for her to do much the same. She was supposedly in the Great Hall, and so it was there he'd gone. As he did so, he was lost in his thoughts regarding the girl which he was seeking. The Veela nature of her wasn't something of significant importance, not to him — to Harry, she was an especially pretty witch with a similar situation as to the one he himself possessed. If anything, they had more in common than just about anybody else.
He saw how often she was stared at, he saw how her own schoolmates treated her. She was isolated. Her only companion was that of her sister, a girl that seemed just as alone as Fleur seemed to be. Harry's heart went out for the pair. Many treated them poorly, others pitied them, but few if any would treat the two witches as if they were only that.
Witches.
That wasn't to mention the elephant in the room, so-to-say. The one Hermione had brought up and the pair had noticed as soon as it'd happened; contact. From what little Hermione had managed to find through whatever means she used, to find a person that could withstand the rare evolutionary trait that was the ice that surrounded Fleur was next to impossible.
He cou—
"I 'eard you were looking at me, no?" The voice was Fleur's, and the teasing tone therein indicated he'd been caught doing exactly what she often did.
That being staring. Only he hadn't really been, had he? No, Harry had been thinking about what to say to her, how to approach her, but it seemed that job was no longer his, nor the worries that came right along with it. "I wanted to talk to you again."
"Oh?" Fleur cocked her head to the side, ignoring the stammering of a particularly brave Gryffindor that tried, and failed to form a coherent sentence. "I am 'ere now, and I too would like to 'ave a talk. Come."
The little word at the end wasn't so much a question as it was an invitation, Fleur going so far as to hold out a gloved hand for him to take. On her face, composed as it typically was, seemed a strange abundance of eagerness. He imagined the fact that she could finally touch somebody else sans family was still something she'd not gotten used to but wished to explore.
And unaffected as he was by her allure or chill, he was still a bloke at the end of the day. A bloke presented with the opportunity to hold a pretty girl's hand. There wasn't a chance in the world he'd decline the invitation, and so he took hold of it, gentle as could be, and allowed her to lead him wherever it was she wanted to go.
As it turned out, that would be straight out of the Great Hall in its entirety, through the maze-like halls of Hogwarts, out through the nearest courtyard, and well down a path before Fleur finally opened her mouth to speak again. Throughout the silence beforehand, she'd simply been content to test the grip she had of his hand, flexing her own, wiggling her fingers around his, and staring at his face upon every change of position — it was like she was testing how best to hold his hand.
It was strangely sweet, and he was more than happy to enjoy the little impromptu massage she was giving him.
"I 'ad zought eet would be better eef we 'ad such a conversation alone, no?" Fleur gestured to the carriage in the distance, her and the rest of Beauxbatons' temporary home.
Harry swallowed. The prospect of being in that tight a space and alone no less made the bloke in him feel winded, and his heart, by Merlin, was pounding something fierce.
"Gabrielle?" He didn't want her sister to have to be alone just so they could manage a conversation.
Fleur shook her head, long hair whipping back and forth. Her hand tightened around his at that same time, as if she was afraid he'd leave; he hadn't meant to use her sister as an excuse either, if that was what she'd been thinking.
"My leetle Gabby ees asleep. Eet is common for 'er to take naps," Fleur picked up the pace when they heard others behind them, her words continuing with nary a pause. "For a young Veela, to be so alone ees difficult — we are not meant to be away from ozzers. I would say zat is just anozzer reason to speak togezzer, no?"
Harry looked at her a touch differently then. He'd reckoned she was treated poorly by others, isolated and excluded… but he hadn't thought about just how horrible that'd be. He had Ron and Hermione, his Quidditch mates, Professor Dumbledore, there were so many people that cared for him.
Hard as his life was, hers seemed crueller still.
"Oh?" Fleur waved her free hand before his eyes. "I 'ad not zought I could captivate you."
He blinked, and then he realised how it must have seemed, his silence. It was a misinterpretation that he instantly made to correct.
"I wasn't," he blurted out, much to Fleur's amusement as her beautiful smile widened and the grip she had of his hand tightened further; it was like she wanted to keep him as close as possible. "Captivated, I mean. Just thinking."
Fleur blinked at him, curiosity evident in her blue, beautiful, wondrous eyes. Harry shook his head then, willing himself to rid such thoughts. They were meant to be having a serious conversation, soon enough. The last thing she needed him doing was getting lost in her beauty; that was what all the other blokes were for.
"About?"
"You and your sister."
For the first time, he witnessed the narrowing of her eyes. There was almost something dangerous therein, but the same kindness still radiated from her features, and her grip had yet to lesson. "About ze night you saved us, 'Arry?"
"No," he shook his head. "I was… well, it's probably better to wait until we're inside. Seems like a few of your classmates are watching us."
It wasn't those that'd been behind them that he was referencing either, but a flock of girls, all adorned in the baby-blue of Beauxbatons, that'd exited the carriage. As soon as they'd seen Harry and Fleur together, they'd broken off the path and began giggling and speaking in hushed tones. Harry didn't have to guess what the topic at-hand was. That was abundantly clear the nearer they drew.
Fleur raised her nose. Unlike Harry, she didn't seem bothered in the slightest by those that watched them, and so she simply walked on past them, switching the conversation at hand seamlessly.
"Eet ees as I said, we are zankful for what you did, 'Arry," She dipped her head, polite and demure. "Zat reminds me. My parents gave to me a letter meant for you, so if you would, please, come so you may 'ave eet. Eet would be unpolite eef I kept 'old of eet much longer."
Harry opened the door of the carriage as they reached it, pulling it open as he thought of the word she'd just said; unpolite. Impolite was the right sort of way to say it, but the seriousness which she'd said was adorable. "Lead the way," he told her, ignoring the girls he'd put to his back, the heat rolling out from the carriage hitting him with all the cosiness of a fireplace.
Fleur gave him another breathtakingly beautiful smile by way of thanks for opening the door for her, and then, with her hand still holding his, she daintily climbed in. As was the case whensoever she moved, the action was fluid-like, and without so much as an ounce of wasted exertion. He reckoned she could make getting up out of bed look like ballet.
Such was the last thought he had out in the brisk air of the day as he climbed in after her, using their still connected hand for a small bit of leverage; he had to admit after doing so, Fleur had a surprising amount of strength hidden away under the guise of a beautiful, curvy witch.
Harry shook his head again. The bloke in him was starting to rise to the forefront of his mind again.
"Well?" Fleur gestured around the incredibly large space they now found themselves in. There were busts fixed to the walls, a myriad of fireplaces — a surprise considering there wasn't so much as a chimney to give them away — couches, coffee tables, little trinkets floating about to serve tea or muffins… Merlin, there seemed just about everything one could wish for.
"It's wicked," Was all that he managed in response. Truth be told too, that was high praise from him. He'd never been a man of many words, after all.
Just about the only issue he had with the place was how expensive everything looked. Every piece of furniture looked to be made from scratch, with rich, soft-looking fabrics atop softer cushions, stone-tiled coffee tables framed with metal. It was a wonder the thing even flew, and he'd yet to see into any of the dozens upon dozens of other rooms down various halls.
The magic herein had to be strong beyond belief. Maybe even Nicholas Flamel had worked on the place. It was from France, after all.
"Come, come," Fleur pulled on his hand, urging him down the hall after her, and with one more soft pull forward, he was walking in-step beside her. "Gabby and I 'ave our rooms at the furzest end, near Madame Maxime. Eet was somezing our 'eadmistress eensisted upon, eef we were to come."
Harry wasn't quite sure what to say to that. It sucked. Of course it sucked. But that wasn't exactly something she probably wanted to hear. "Nice rooms?" his mind could only conjure that simple little question.
Fleur didn't seem to mind as that same smile he'd seen so often — more in this one day with her than all the time she'd spent at the Ravenclaw table alongside her shy-seeming little sister — returned in full force, with dimples and all. She took a glance around, ensuring once more the pair were alone, and then she leaned in.
For a split-second, Harry reckoned he'd just about suffered from heart failure upon her doing so. Those lips of hers, big, pouty, red, had been so, so close to touching his… until she'd turned and whispered in his ear. "Zey are ze nicest in the carriage aside from 'ers," he felt the heat of her breath splash against his neck, goosebumps forming immediately, and even as she withdrew to speak from a more 'appropriate' distance once more. "You will see mine soon enough, and Gabby's too, if my leetle love is awake."
The way she spoke about Gabrielle, the smaller version of herself in appearance really, was beyond loving. It reminded him of the affection Molly felt towards all of her children, only fiercer, like when he'd brought her up earlier. There almost seemed an innate defence whensoever the younger girl was brought up.
He wondered if there was a story there, and then he shook his head; he knew there was a story there.
Soon enough, he was shaken from his silent walk with Fleur when she stopped at the end of the hall, a large set of double doors, carved and with moving figurines therein now before them. She leaned in and whispered a word, something French by the sounds of it, and then the many figures moved from the centre, to the left or right, opening the doors for them in the process.
Harry was still looking at the things in wonder when he felt Fleur's hand withdraw from his own… only to find purchase in his shirt so that she could pull him in. Still, there was no skin on skin contact. That'd only happened once thus far.
"We are 'ome."
And the doors closed behind the pair.
He glanced over his shoulder to look at them, but he wasn't given all that much time before Fleur gently tugged on his hand once more, connected as they were… only it was different. In an instant, he realised why that was. In the second's time that he'd looked back at the entryway, Fleur had slipped off her gloves and the overcoat she'd worn, and now, like before, they were skin to skin.
The action wasn't without meaning for Harry, of course, but it could hardly mean the same to him as it did to her, and that was reflected on the faces of the two teens as they stared where they touched one another, silence the only sound save for the crackling of fire.
Harry's expression was that of curiosity… and awkwardness. This was the first time he was holding a witches hand — Hermione didn't count, she was like a sister to him — and this was the first time he was in a witches room. Fleur wasn't your typical witch either. She was deadly gorgeous, perfection personified, and it wasn't just him that knew that. Enough so that he reckoned it was the closest he'd ever see to an angel.
As for Fleur, her expression was something else entirely. There was joy of the purest sort on her face, prominent as could be. Wonder, happiness, and even a similar look of curiosity to that which Harry possessed. A few minutes more, and something else entirely overtook the lot of what was visible; watery eyes.
For a moment, scant and fleeting as it was, Fleur almost seemed as if she'd break out into tears. Thankfully, that wasn't to happen. She straightened her posture and took a half-step closer to him, her eyes now back to being filled with a sense of eagerness as she rubbed the back of his hand with her thumb.
"Zank you," her voice was small, soft, and most assuredly the most vulnerable he'd ever heard it before. It went entirely at odds with the confident witch he'd seen thus far, especially after the World Cup, when he saw just how powerful she was. "Eet ees nice to be able to touch anozzer. I 'alf zought I would need to be out of Beauxbatons before I could find one who could be in ze same room as me, one zat could 'andle all zat comes with me."
It was as he'd thought then.
"It must have been hard."
"Very," Fleur continued rubbing the back of his hand with her thumb, only as time continued to pass them by, her other hand joined in the fun. "Most do not weesh to speak to me, zey stay as far as zey can. Eet ees 'ard to be different zan zose we are always around, no?"
"It is," Harry would always be different regardless of what he did or didn't do. Ever since his first day in the wizarding world, he'd been looked at as a beacon of hope by some and the greatest threat in the world to others; whatever side people were on, they'd treat him so very differently.
He could never just be Harry… not unless he was with somebody else that knew what it felt like. Somebody like Fleur.
At some point whilst he'd been thinking, she'd slipped closer still. "You 'ave seen what eet ees like for zose like me," Fleur said, the warm splash of air sending a chill down his spine. "But I 'ave seen 'ow eet ees being you as well. You spend your time een ze company of so few. We are not so unalike."
"We're not," Harry agreed. "It's always been this way for me. Not since birth, mind you, but not too long after. You probably know the story."
Fleur nodded. In her eyes there seemed no small amount of empathy, but not pity.
"My scar's the first thing people always look for when they meet me. It's like a sort of attraction or fascination for them. Everybody wants to see the boy-who-lived, yeah?" He scoffed. The moniker was one he'd never liked, for it reminded him of those who hadn't lived that very same night. "My second year didn't help me either — I…" he paused.
Suddenly, and for whatever reason, his confidence seemed to waver. Here the two were, alone and in Fleur's quarters having a heart-to-heart, but why? Why was he so quick to trust her? It didn't make a lick of sense. He'd always been so cl—
"You can tell me," Fleur's voice was as soft as a gentle breeze. "Eet ees not good to keep all zat you feel bottled up. Zat is 'ow zose that despise you get what zey want."
She raised a fair point, and a half-second later, so too did his mind. If Fleur wanted to find out about him, anything at all that was, all she had to do was take a stroll around Hogwarts and ask the first bloke she captivated all there was to know about him. Why bother keeping secrets? Even if she didn't do just that — he doubted it was her style from the kindness he'd experienced thus far from her — what was to stop others from blurting out things about him that might detract from his person?
His mind was made up, and so he put to words another quirk that seemed to make so many distrustful of him. "I'm a parseltongue."
"Ees zat so bad?" Fleur cocked her head at him, no judgement or anything that could so much as resemble disgust present on her face. In fact, it seemed as if it barely mattered at all to her.
"To some people."
"Cretins," Fleur said, waving a hand so as to dismiss such people. "Eef zey cannot see you for who you are, zey do not deserve to 'ave you een ze first place."
It was such a small sentence, and yet, he reckoned he kinda liked it; she wasn't wrong either. Why should he bend over backwards for people that liked him one moment, and hated him the next? It was like the majority of Hogwarts flipped on a Galleon, doing whatsoever the gossip dictated year after year.
Merlin. After those words of hers, he wasn't much sure what to say… and then she followed it up with something even more profound.
With a smile on her face, kind and happy and carefree, she spoke. "We are different zan zem… but eef we are so deefferent, we can be deefferent togezzer, no?"
Harry reckoned that worked just fine for him, and he said as much not more than a half-second later. Different together it'd be… now he'd just have to figure out how he could have Fleur and Gabrielle join him, Ron and 'Mione without her allure affecting them. It was a dau—
"Oh my," Fleur said, arching a perfectly kept eyebrow as she spoke in a voice that was heavy with amusement. "Eet would seem we 'ave a spy, 'Arry."
He followed Fleur's eyes to the door, taking a step back when he realised, again, just how close they were standing to one another; it sort of came with the territory of hand-holding, he supposed. Sure enough, as his eyes found the middle-right door to Fleur's room, one he'd assumed was a closet or loo, he saw Fleur's shorter copy staring at him. The girl was even an inch or so shorter than Harry; he'd be right bummed if both were taller than him. Now that she'd been caught, there was a dusting of red that'd come to her face, but she remained there, her curiosity winning out as she slowly edged into the room.
Harry snorted then. Gabrielle was just like him. Curious and nosy.
Fleur said something then, in French and speaking quickly, not that he'd be able to understand her words had she spoken slowly. In an instant, Gabby dipped her head a time or two, and then she darted into the room, coming to a stop partially behind Fleur's larger frame. From behind her sister, she peeked out at him, her long hair mingling with Fleur's own to mask much of her face.
He waved, all the while Fleur watched, a mixture of amusement and happiness all but radiating from her.
When Gabrielle waved back, he couldn't help but grin… and then the younger girl began speaking rapidly.
In French.
It was a bloody good thing he had Fleur the translator with him, for his recounting of his first three years at Hogwarts that he gave the pair would've been far harder if neither spoke English.
Harry looked down at the letter in his hands and then he tucked it away. When he'd later read it, well… let's just say he'd made two firm friends that felt just as great a debt towards him that Fleur did.
Sometime later, Hermione had decided on doing something alone. She'd been wanting to have a conversation with Fleur, and in that same conversation, she desired dearly to see just how badly the allure could affect her.
As she entered the Great Hall, brushing past no small amount of her peers or those from other schools, her eyes wandered to the Ravenclaw table seemingly of their own volition. Sure enough, as was the norm thereon, Fleur was sat alone, eating daintily and with her seated posture as immaculate as the rest of her.
In an instant, Hermione scanned her mind for any rules that disallowed the foreign students from picking other tables, and came up empty. So far as she could tell, it was a choice made by Madame Maxime from Beauxbatons. Perhaps for the sake of neutrality or because Ravenclaw was regarded as the house with the smartest amongst Hogwarts. Either fact wasn't always true.
The worst-case scenario would see Hermione join Fleur at her table. There wasn't a rule regarding where one could sit, after all… it was just seldom done, people switching their seats.
Thankfully, Hermione wouldn't have to buck up her courage and seek the French witch out. Fleur had spotted her, and now, with her plate trailing after her, she was making for Hermione. In response to her doing so, Hermione nodded to the Gryffindor table, meeting the other girl there in a few seconds time.
With every step she took, her mind seemed to grow lighter and foggier, and decidedly more peaceful. Even the little aches Hermione had seemed to dissipate the closer Fleur drew to her — the cold, meanwhile, wasn't felt in the slightest. Before she'd even left Gryffindor Tower, Hermione had made sure to perpetuate a heating charm multiple times over on her clothing. That'd see her remain as snug as a bug in a rug no matter how much time her little unofficial interview with Fleur took.
She'd even gone so far as to pack little snacks in her satchel in the event their meet-up took longer than expected. Hermione always thought it very important to remain prepared for just about anything happening. Her parents had stressed as much and she'd agreed as she developed into her own person — it was better to have something and not need it, than to need something and not have it.
"Good morning, 'ermione," Fleur's angelic-sounding voice greeted, the two girls now a few feet from one another. "I 'ave been meaning to speak to you."
That tickled Hermione's curiosity. "You have?" she thought she'd been the only one interested in sharing a conversation.
Fleur dipped her head as she came closer still, one hand hovering near Hermione's lower back so as to guide the smaller girl to the Gryffindor table. Fleur stood taller than Hermione, the French girl's age granting her extra years of growth. The action didn't last long, a couple seconds really, and yet, Hermione could have sworn time had slowed down as her senses faced an assault the likes of which seemed impossible to defend against.
Oh yes, in those two seconds, if even that, Hermione felt how she imagined others oft did in Fleur's presence. That wasn't to say she was equally as affected, no, she still maintained control over herself, only everything felt distinctly… tilted, foggier, more pleasant.
"You are well, no?" Fleur's voice sounded heavenly and faraway, and yet, Hermione couldn't help but hear amusement therein as well.
It was abundantly clear she knew Hermione was affected. The only saving grace was that those near them were just as under Fleur's spell, and as such, didn't seem to notice just how affected Hermione seemed to be. Truly, it wasn't half as obvious as it was with most — Hermione didn't drool, her face didn't go slack, the only outward appearance was that of flushed cheeks and partially-dilated pupils.
"I'm fine," Hermione said, swallowing as she slid into the space Fleur had gestured.
Fleur smiled upon hearing such words as she joined Hermione, sitting with all the grace of a ballerina.
"I wan—"
"No," Fleur tutted, her voice decidedly quieter than it'd been seconds earlier. "Later, when we are not 'ere. Zere are many who pry. "
Hermione supposed she raised a fair enough point. Hogwarts' rumour mill was infamous, and besides, it wasn't like it'd be a boring meal. She'd get to make small talk with and examine Fleur as the girl sat beside her — perhaps it sounded a bit strange when she thought of it, but the opportunity was simply too good to pass up. The passive Allure the other girl radiated was one of the strongest instances of mind-affecting magic.
And she knew now just how much the allure seemed to affect her.
After an agonisingly slow meal shared with Fleur, the two had taken their leave of the Great Hall for greener — wilting — pastures. Hogwarts' grounds, at least those farther out, weren't half as busy as one would expect. No, most of their peers seemed content to spend their time in Hogwarts proper, and those that didn't wish to do so were nearly always part of one of two clubs. Sometimes both.
There were those that wished to follow after Krum, the star seeker from the World Cup they'd spectated earlier. Most of them were witches, but there were boys as well, many of whom were intent on getting whatever knowledge they could from the other boy.
And then there were those like Harry and Ron, who were content to fly around the pitch to 'practice' even if Quidditch wasn't to happen this year.
Thus, Hermione and Fleur were one of perhaps a half-dozen that were moving about the many paths Hogwarts had on her grounds, and with a privacy charm placed upon a bench as they stopped, they were finally free to converse. Morgana, had it felt like it'd taken an hour to reach a spot the two were satisfied with.
"Wha—"
"You 'a—"
At nearly the exact same moment, both Hermione and Fleur made to speak, each interrupting the other. They exchanged a look; Fleur's amused, even teasing, and Hermione's awkward and flushed. Just being near Fleur made her mind feel strange.
The latter of the two even swore she felt a cold chill run through, despite all the charms she'd cast to ensure such a thing didn't happen. It ran down her spine, making her shiver as little tingles ran across the surface of her skin.
"I only 'ave one request," Fleur said, her voice seeming like that of a cloud as every syllable seemed to hug Hermione, wrapping around her as a warm blanket might. "You saw 'Arry touch me, no?"
"I did." Hermione's answer came out in an instant, with nary a thought passing through her at the admittance. She still remembered how he'd acted when they'd talked about that; he was nervous, but he had to know, he was special too. From what she'd read since, Veela really looked for people just like him, rare as they were.
"May I ask if you 'ave told anyone about zat?" Fleur cocked her head at Hermione, the baby blue of her clothing making her seem as otherworldly in her perfection as ever. Especially as the light seemed to make her all but glow, hair, skin and all. "Eet ees somezing I would prefer to keep quiet."
Slowly, Hermione shook her head. Something Fleur seemed to initially take negatively as she turned away with a pursing of her lips and furrowing of her brow. When Hermione registered what that meant after a few seconds, her mind still foggy as ever in the other girl's presence, she spoke, blurting the words out.
"I haven't told anybody."
"Ees zat ze truz?" Fleur's accent sounded particularly heavy with her choice of words as she leaned in close to Hermione, her eyes seemingly peering through the latter's soul.
Hermione nodded without so much as a thought put towards the action. It was almost as if she was a marionette, with Fleur pulling her strings. She imagined any question the other girl would ever ask would receive as quick an answer. Harry had said more than she had, and besides, Ron wouldn't betray their trust. It's always been the three of them for as long as could be. That's how Hermione assumed it'd always be.
"I am glad," there even seemed a touch of relief in Fleur's voice, her shoulders sagging for perhaps one breath, and then she straightened her posture once more and gave Hermione a smile. It was captivatingly brilliant. "Eef I make no mistake, zere were questions you wanted to ask me?"
Just as she'd done before, Hermione nodded, the action done rapidly enough that her bushy hair went moving all about.
"I wanted to ask about… well," Hermione swallowed. It was very difficult to say she wanted to ask about Veela — she figured it'd be quite rude. "I was interested in getting to know more abou—"
"Veela." Fleur said, cutting her off with a look of shock flashing across her face. "Eet ees rare to find one so interested. Most would be 'appy eef we were not to 'ave life."
There was more that followed such words, but Fleur hadn't said them aloud; they'd been meant for her alone. There was a chance here for her to have a female friend that wasn't related to her. She'd not get her hopes up, but the possibility of making friends with the girl beside her stayed perpetually at the forefront of her mind.
"That's horrible." Those words from Hermione pleased Fleur. So many would nod along with whatever she said, managing only grunts of acknowledgement or other unsophisticated, base-sounding noises.
Hermione had managed words, but beyond that, she'd actually heard Fleur. The words the latter had spoken didn't simply linger prettily in the air for the amusement and pleasure of others.
And then she managed more intelligible words not too long thereafter. "Could I… I mean… I wanted to know about—" Hermione huffed, clearly finding whatever she wanted to ask hard to put into words. After a second or so of pondering, Hermione bucked up her courage. "How does your allure work?"
She wanted to say she'd read about it, heard rumours whispered, looked through less than reputable sources for anything that might tell her why so many seemed affected including herself. But she hadn't. It'd have been quite rude, and beyond that, strange, she thought.
"You feel eet, no?" Fleur slid a touch closer, the distance between the two witches closing, but not enough so that Fleur could accidentally brush against her. Even now, covered as she was, she didn't wish to risk it. "Eet makes most feel 'azy and 'appy, relaxed and pleasurable. Eet ees 'ow you feel now, no?"
Hermione began to sputter out a response, but Fleur cut her off, her voice husky and teasing.
"You 'ave never put zought to eef you like witches, 'ave you? Maybe zat ees why you are affected," Fleur leaned in then. "Was eet you zat I 'ave felt staring at me when I eat?"
With wide eyes, a bright red blush and an amount of stammering that needn't be quantified, Hermione, after a few long-seeming seconds, got over her embarrassment. "It's only your allure that affects me, and no, I most certainly have not been staring at you. The ones at the World Cup didn't," she shifted in her seat, avoiding looking at Fleur. "That's what has me so curious. Ron, most of the others, they all fall head over heels for you."
"Except 'Arry." Fleur was quick to point that out.
Hermione nodded at the mention of her friend. "Except Harry. He's special."
That was something they both seemed to agree on.
"Is there… is there such a thing as a passive allure and an active allure? I saw mention of two differing types, but I've not felt any different — how does one stop being affected too? Is there a spell? A potion? A plant, maybe?" With the metaphorical floodgates now opened, Hermione all but bombarded the other girl with questions, each coming faster than the previous one.
Kind as she was, and secretly eager to make friends with the witch sitting beside her, Fleur answered each question in turn. "We 'ave two allures, eet ees true. Zere ees ze passive—" Fleur scrunched up her otherwise perfect face as she said the word, focusing on pronouncing it correctly to the point of adorableness. "— and zen we 'ave one zat we control."
"An active allure." Hermione offered helpfully, much to Fleur's smiling, clapping delight.
In response, Hermione huffed. She was very much annoyed with how happy Fleur's own happiness made her feel. All she'd done was make the other girl smile and she felt as if she'd passed a test at the top of the class.
"Yes," Fleur confirmed. "Zat one we control, and ze ozzer, eet ees 'ere always. Zere ees not a zing we can do to stop eet. As for 'ow not to be affected, ze question ees a 'ard one, no?"
"Try to answer it? Please?" Hermione was almost imploring; any insight Fleur could offer from her point of view as a Veela could be immensely valuable to her in helping Ron.
Fleur furrowed her brows and cocked her head. It was clear she was focusing on how best to explain what she meant, and another few seconds later, she did. "Eet ees based on one's cap-ac-eety for love. Ze more you can feel for ozzers, the more you are unaffected, zough ze strengz of ze Veela 'erself also plays a role. Zat ees why most Veela do not affect women zat are straight, zough maybe you find ozzers pretty too, no?"
Hermione made to stammer out a rebuttal, but Fleur continued, not giving her the chance to speak after having teased her.
"Zere are no potions, no plants, and ze only spell to stop eet ees ze one zat enslaves one's mind."
"The Imperius." Hermione stated. She'd heard about it. It was one of the three unforgivables; one of the worst spells ever to be created.
In a way, Hermione supposed that made sense. You couldn't very well be affected by an allure if your mind was already enslaved, and that was exactly what such a spell did. "Can all Veela do it? Ones that are powerful enough to affect witches? Or even those that aren't?"
"Zat ees ze one, and no. Eet ees only me, as far as I know." Fleur agreed, and then she smirked as she shifted a touch closer again. "You know. Eef eet ees only my allure that affects you as you say, maybe eet ees only me you 'ave eyes for, no?"
Hermione sputtered, her eyes widening at Fleur's teasing. "Wh— no, I — you see—"
Fleur's giggle was musical, matching the perfect sight she made for.
As for Hermione? She was blushing fiercer than she'd ever blushed before, but she finally got in a rebuttal against the French girl. "Maybe you're the one that has eyes for me." she straightened her back, having regained her confidence.
"Oh zat ees true, you are very pretty, no?" Fleur shifted closer… and Hermione's confidence, newfound as it was, whilst soaring from the other girl's compliment — plummeted. She couldn't beat Fleur in a game of teasing.