CHAPTER 17: A FAIRYTALE ENCOUNTER IN THE ROOM OF REQUIREMENT

A melodious symphony wafted up to the base of the grand, stone staircase, setting the portraits adorning the walls into gentle motion as they swayed and nodded in rhythm. Professor McGonagall drummed her fingers lightly against her hip, an expectant aura surrounding her as countless students meandered past.

In this surreal setting, Harry mused about the appropriateness of his location, comparing it to Professor McGonagall's rather questionable choice of a tartan monstrosity for a dress. Leaning casually against the balustrade, he gazed up at the ceiling, his anticipation building with every passing moment. A nagging thought crossed his mind—what if Fleur had orchestrated this meeting to deceive him or disrupt the Triwizard Tournament? Squashing the anxiety knot in his stomach, he redirected his focus to his fingernails, reminding himself of Fleur's trustworthiness. She had given him no reason to doubt her, and he didn't want to sabotage something beautiful without cause.

Just then, Professor McGonagall, sensing the passage of time, cast a quick Tempus charm. Harry couldn't help but dwell on the question that had been lingering in his mind: Did he indeed have a partner for this enchanted rendezvous?

Fighting off his inner worries, Harry reassured himself with a hopeful thought: She promised. "I'm sure she's just fashionably late, Professor," he replied, masking his anxiety with a forced smile.

Professor McGonagall raised an eyebrow and quipped, "Well, you can transfigure your robes into something more fitting while you wait. As long as she arrives before Miss Delacour and her companion, it should be just fine."

The Room of Requirement held the promise of a fairytale encounter, but as Harry adjusted his robes with a touch of magic, he couldn't help but wonder if the enchantment of the moment would live up to his expectations.

"Are you planning to transfigure your tartan terror into something more suitable as well, Professor?" Harry nearly let the question slip from his lips but managed to bite his tongue in time.

Cedric chuckled heartily. "I doubt Fleur Delacour will arrive before Harry's date does."

The Asian Ravenclaw on Cedric's arm couldn't help but giggle into his shoulder, adding to the lighthearted atmosphere. Viktor Krum, ever the stoic figure, snorted his agreement. "Da."

Hermione clung to Krum's arm, her fingers curled tightly around his bicep. She worried at her lip so intensely that her sleek coil of hair atop her head wobbled.

As Harry waved his wand over his school robes, they transformed seamlessly from plain black to a rich shade of green with silver edging. He couldn't help but muse, "I finally look like the Heir of Slytherin."

Professor McGonagall's expression tightened ever so slightly, though her eyes retained a softness that offered some reassurance.

Harry couldn't help but think about the Sorting Hat's words, which had once placed him in Gryffindor. "Should've listened to the raggedy hat," he thought. "I might not have become so entangled in the quest to be the perfect hero if I'd been sorted into Slytherin. Though I might have ended up with a murder charge against Malfoy. That's probably another argument for joining Slytherin, at least for some."

In the midst of these musings, movement caught Harry's eye. Fleur descended the stairs in a gown of shimmering silver, a vision of elegance and grace. The individual threads of her dress seemed to gleam as if coated in molten metal, and the material rippled around her hips like a heat haze. A wave of relief washed over Harry as Fleur's gaze met his and softened, dispelling his earlier concerns.

She looks beautiful. A small smile crept onto his lips. Her allure… Harry tore his eyes away and held his breath. Too beautiful. As if everyone didn't have enough reason to envy and hate me, I've got the girl they're all dreaming about, too. Fantastic.

"Miss Delacour," Professor McGonagall's tone held a touch of disapproval as she pursed her lips, "you are late and without a date."

Fleur responded with a steely look that reminded Harry of the formidable Hungarian Horntail. "My date's already waiting for me." She gracefully glided into the midst of the group and entwined her arm through Harry's.

A rush of warmth radiated from her touch, feeling like the scorching summer sun on his skin. "Deep breaths, Harry. It's just for a few hours," he reminded himself, willing his anxiety to recede. He stood a little taller and conjured a smile for the occasion.

A flicker of understanding passed through Fleur's eyes, and she then turned to Professor McGonagall with a sly smirk. "International cooperation."

"Well, it's too late to change now. It's time for the opening dance," Professor McGonagall declared, giving Harry and Fleur a meaningful look before she moved away.

As Harry began to walk towards the Great Hall, his heart raced, and he could feel the weight of countless curious eyes upon him.

Fleur leaned in and whispered, "I don't particularly enjoy dancing with people I don't know or trust, so I hope you don't mind if we only dance together, for as short a time as possible if it still makes you uncomfortable."

Harry drew in a deep breath, shutting out the whispers and the sensation of Fleur's warm touch against his skin, focusing on the mental image of the dark ink circle on a white page. It was a lifeline amidst the swirl of bright, gimlet eyes and the room filled with chatter.

Following Fleur's gentle lead, Harry's feet moved almost of their own accord. He allowed the cheerful waltz of music to sweep him away, and for a brief moment, the only thing that existed was the rhythm of the melody and the pulsating beat of his heart. That is, except for the occasional glimpse of Fleur's sky-blue eyes, just inches from his own. Her lips curved into a soft, contented smile as the song faded.

As they glided to a graceful stop, Fleur's hot fingers intertwined with Harry's, their connection reaffirmed. "Not so bad, Harry?" she inquired.

Harry grinned, his face warming. "I think there are a lot of envious wizards out there."

"And some envious witches," Fleur noted with a playful tilt of her head. She swept her radiant silver hair over her shoulder. "Sadly, I think they're all envious of me."

Harry paused for a moment, reflecting on the experience. "It wasn't so bad," he admitted, following Fleur to a nearby table adorned with an array of beverages. "But I won't pretend that I want to do it again anytime soon."

Fleur laughed melodiously as she surveyed the selection of drinks. "I won't force you. I'd rather we danced upstairs alone than perform for the peanut gallery."

Harry raised an eyebrow, a slight frown still on his face as he examined the bottle of red wine in his hand. "They're serving alcohol at a ball that underage wizards and witches can attend?"

Fleur leaned closer and gently tapped her finger on the top of the bottle. "The ball was originally intended for students who were seventeen and older. However, when your name was unexpectedly selected, they decided to let younger students attend so you wouldn't be alone."

Harry nodded, his frown softening. "I guess nobody remembered to remove all this from the drinks list."

Fleur reached for the bottle and took it from Harry's hand, placing it on the table a safe distance away. "Wine? Good wine, not that bottle of paint stripper you're holding."

Curious, Harry examined the label of the elf-made wine that Fleur had offered. "I'll trust your taste, then. You are French, after all."

Fleur chuckled and tapped two crystal glasses with her wand. They floated gracefully in the air, following her as she led Harry to a table at the side of the room. "I'm a little impressed, actually," she admitted. "My allure didn't seem to affect you much, and I threw a sizeable amount your way."

"You shouldn't have done that. The others–"

Fleur interrupted him with a confident tilt of her chin. "They would've stared regardless. I don't need magic to catch boys' eyes. I never have, not since I was a little girl." With that, she offered him the bottle and a glass.

Harry hesitated briefly but decided to pour himself a glass of white wine, hoping it might ease the sinking sensation he felt. He glanced into the crowd and mused, "I hope Katie's not drinking."

Fleur followed his line of sight, her inquisitive gaze narrowing on a particular girl. "Searching for someone? That Katie girl?"

Harry sighed, admitting, "Avoiding."

Fleur's blue eyes held a mischievous glint as she stared at him. "Well, she isn't worth wasting your thoughts on, especially not when I'm here."

Harry couldn't help but chuckle. "You're quite modest."

Fleur responded with a shrug. "C'est vrai. Hogwarts is very different from Beauxbatons." She took a sip of her wine. "The suits of armor, despite the Yule garlands, don't quite match the occasion."

Harry nodded in agreement. "I can imagine."

"We have ice statues at Christmas in France instead of this," Fleur remarked with a fond smile, taking another sip of her wine. "I learned the enchantments for them in my first year so I could make one for Gabby."

Harry recalled the photograph of the two sisters in Fleur's room. "You miss your sister."

Fleur nodded. "She's coming with my mother to see the second task. That's not so far away." She finished her glass and reached for the bottle, her anticipation evident.

Harry took another sip of his wine, savoring the rich flavor, especially when Fleur looked away for a moment. The wine seemed to flow down easily, almost like water. Suddenly, Peeves burst into the room, showering nearby couples with white berries and cackling with glee.

"Mistletoe, probably… hopefully," Harry thought with a mischievous grin, watching as Dean and Ron scowled at the mischievous spirit, clearly disgruntled by his antics.

Fleur laughed, her eyes sparkling with amusement. "Beauxbatons doesn't have a poltergeist, either," she commented, offering the bottle to Harry. "A shame, really. He seems most amusing."

Harry accepted the bottle and topped up his glass with the burgundy liquid, ready to enjoy the remainder of the evening with his enchanting partner.

"I believe there's a debate every year over whether he should be expelled from the halls or not," Harry explained. "He doesn't cause too much chaos, just enough to be a nuisance every now and again. The caretaker, Argus Filch, hates him."

Fleur nodded in understanding. "From what I've heard, your caretaker hates everything except his pet."

Harry grinned wryly. "There's probably some truth in that." He glanced at the immaculate Christmas cake on the table. "Do you think we're allowed to cut it? I've never tried Christmas cake before."

Fleur, seemingly unburdened by tradition, conjured a knife and cut a thin slice. "Do you want some?" She reassured him, "Nobody will tell us no."

"Thank you," Harry accepted the slice with gratitude.

Fleur, on the other hand, cut herself a piece three times the size, picking off the marzipan and eating large forkfuls with a contented smile. Harry raised an eyebrow, amused by her indulgence.

Fleur laughed softly, her voice as smooth and melodic as ever. "I have a sweet tooth."

"Is that your weakness?" Harry playfully inquired.

A delicate, chuckling sound escaped Fleur's crimson lips. "No. It would take more than the offer of something sweet to persuade me to help you win, though I am very fond of marzipan."

Harry observed as Fleur's slice of cake disappeared in a series of swift, neat forkfuls, and a delightful dusting of sugar clung to her rosy lips.

"Most wizards know very little about veela," Fleur mused, her lips thinning slightly before she playfully licked the remaining sugar from them with the tip of her tongue. She then proceeded to empty the rest of the bottle into her glass.

Harry leaned in, intrigued. "The only thing I know about veela is the effect of your allure. I felt it at the World Cup."

Fleur's voice dropped to a soft, thoughtful murmur. "So you do feel it. I wonder, then, why you're so resistant to mine. Mine's stronger than most."

Harry pondered for a moment and suggested, "I heard that you're part-veela; perhaps your aura is different?"

Fleur smiled, shaking her head gently. "You were right in saying that the only thing you know about veela is the feel of our magic. You really should have gone to the library once you knew I was a veela."

Harry shrugged, looking apologetic. "I've had a lot on my mind."

Fleur leaned closer, her silver hair cascading over her shoulder, and turned her chair to face him. "Well, so that you don't embarrass yourself, or me, in the future, I'll tell you something about veela."

Harry raised an eyebrow, teasing her. "You'd throw away your advantage? That doesn't seem like you. What about winning?"

Fleur chuckled. "Don't be naive, Harry. It would take you less than an hour to find out what I intend to tell you, and this way, I can control what you know."

"I don't think you'd tell me that if you had any intention of actually using the opportunity," Harry remarked, his gaze thoughtful.

Fleur's eyes briefly flicked towards the bottle. "Perhaps not. Truthfully, I dislike the idea of you having misconceptions about me, and if I don't tell you myself, you'll only hear more silly rumors from someone else." She idly toyed with the last piece of marzipan. "The first thing you need to know is there's no such thing as a part veela. A female child of a veela is a veela. It's a common misconception that we're part-human creatures, one encouraged by wizards who'd like to use certain laws against us, when in fact we're simply witches with an extra set of inherited abilities."

Harry thought for a moment, drawing a connection. "Like parseltongue."

Fleur nodded. "A little more wide-ranging and less reviled, but yes."

Intrigued, Harry probed further. "So where do veela really come from, then?" he asked.

Fleur began to explain, "Eastern Europe has legends that fit our description going back millennia. They can be traced eastward and down through the Caucus Mountains to the earliest such stories in Mesopotamia. There were myths of harpies, magical creatures, and fire worship all across the region. The rituals and miracles in ancient scripture there are often familiar to us."

"You can conjure fire," Harry remarked, sounding somewhat impressed. "I bet that's useful."

Fleur nodded in agreement. "I am also resistant to the heat." She leaned across the table and fetched a bottle of sweet dessert wine. "Do you want any? It's never been my forte, but I can be persuaded to share from time to time."

Harry declined the offer politely. "No, but thank you. I don't think I have your tolerance, and I'd rather not get myself or you laughed at."

Fleur agreed with a nod. "It's very nice, but I do very much dislike being laughed at, so I'll save it for myself." She began to pour herself a glass but then looked up and noticed a group of wizards giving her admiring looks and whispering. "I hope you won't be insulted if I leave as early as possible. I fear the invitations are about to start."

Harry sighed in relief. "Relieved."

Fleur's lips quirked with amusement. "We can return to the Room of Requirement, if you like?"

Harry raised an eyebrow, somewhat surprised. "Really?"

Fleur grinned mischievously. "I can't go back to the carriage early; it would be humiliating, and I've no other company I might prefer. Most boys would trade a great deal to be alone with me in a room after a few bottles of wine, Harry."

Harry thought about the potential drama and tension that awaited him outside the ball, and the idea of spending time alone with Fleur in a relaxed atmosphere was rather appealing. "I'm game," he agreed with a half-smile. "I don't really have any other plans."

Fleur watched as Harry meticulously pulled the pastry apart, finishing the last gulp of her wine. "Okay. I'll meet you at the stairs in a couple of minutes," she said, her voice soft and slightly slurred. "I need to make a detour to the bathroom first."

As Fleur walked away, Harry couldn't help but wonder how much she had drunk. His eyes scanned the three bottles on the table, and he couldn't fathom how she could remain standing. "How can she even stand?" he mused to himself. "Aunt Petunia's about her size, though she's wider and shorter, and she'd be comatose after half that much."

Fleur, shimmering like the Mirror of Erised, moved gracefully through the hall, and conversations parted before her like clouds parting before the summer sun. Harry decided that it was best not to linger alone where everyone could see him. He pushed himself to his feet and headed for the stairs.

However, as he approached the exit to the hall, Katie's voice reached his ears. "You're leaving," she said, her tone laced with a mixture of surprise and disappointment.

Harry turned around on his heel, only to find Katie wearing a form-fitting burgundy-red dress that matched the wine in her glass. The plunging neckline brought a flush to Harry's face, but when he looked into her brown eyes, he sensed a deep well of emotion there.

His gut tightened. "I really don't want to do this now," he thought, but replied, "Not really my scene, this."

Katie took a step closer to Harry, subtly tugging at the little finger of her left hand. "If you're bored, or in want of a partner, you can always come dance with me."

Just as Fleur appeared at the base of the stairs, her blue eyes scanning the hall and then narrowing when they landed on Harry. He sighed inwardly, recognizing the potential brewing storm. "Fantastic," he thought. "I should go."

Harry decided to inquire about Katie's earlier dance partner. "Has Roger Davies abandoned you?" he asked.

Katie nodded and gestured toward where the Ravenclaw was now dancing with a fellow Ravenclaw from their year. "Yes. I guess I deserved it, though." She extended her hand toward him. "Would you like to? Not even as a date, just as friends."

For a fleeting moment, Harry felt a warmth and a glint of hope in Katie's eyes that tugged at the strings of his heart. But he swiftly pushed the sentiment down. "No. She did it once. She'll do it again," he reminded himself. "If I forget, I'll just repeat my mistake."

As he glanced at Fleur's tightening grip on the banister, he told Katie, "I'm afraid I can't."

Katie followed his gaze, her expression falling. "Oh. You're still with her. I guess I'd've had to worry after all, huh. It's okay. I understand." She offered him a weak smile. "I'll find Alicia and Angelina. Have a good night, Harry."

Harry watched her walk away, the weight of his choice heavy on his shoulders.

"Bye, Katie," Harry whispered to himself, his gaze lingering on the spot where she had disappeared into the crowd. Then, he turned and briskly walked toward the stairs, a brief but bitter pang tearing through his chest. He pushed the feeling down, reminding himself, "She was no better than the rest of them in the end."

Fleur, who had observed the exchange with Katie, didn't waste any time. She demanded, "What did she want?"

Harry replied, "To dance."

Fleur probed further, "You said no?"

Harry replied with a touch of humor, "I had a prior commitment. I couldn't abandon her to dance with another girl. It seemed a bit rude."

Fleur's smile softened, and her eyes took on a gentle quality. "How noble of you."

Harry agreed, but in the back of his mind, he couldn't help but think, "I think it would have been a bad idea."

He was keenly aware that Fleur might have used her allure to disrupt the situation, and she wouldn't have enjoyed losing to Katie. As they ascended the stairs, a slight edge remained in Fleur's tone, a faint sharpness that sent shivers down Harry's spine.

He couldn't help but think, "Definitely a good thing I said no."

Fleur paused before the empty wall, her blue eyes scanning the room that was about to materialize. "I will choose, I think," she said, contemplating her decision. "You have three more years to play with this enchanted room."

As the Room of Requirement transformed, Harry found himself stepping into a winter palace. Magnificent ice statues sparkled like diamonds in each corner, reflecting a thousand scattered lights from the hovering candles above them.

Fleur admired the candles that lit the room. "I like the candles in the Great Hall," she commented, gesturing to the hovering candles in the palace. "Beauxbatons has crystal chandeliers, but I think this is more scenic." She made her way to the furthest seat from the door, where a bottle of elven wine and an elegant crystal glass had appeared on the arm of the chair.

Harry couldn't help but wonder, "Who left those in here?" He took the seat opposite Fleur. "Probably some seventh year's date that went wrong."

Fleur asked him, "Do you like it?" She pointed at the room. "I tried to make it something that was of both our schools."

Harry gazed around at the enchanting surroundings. "I do."

Fleur poured herself a glass of wine and took a long sip. She mused, "Alone with a veela in a room that can provide almost anything you want. This, I imagine, is the beginning of many adolescent wizards' dreams."

Harry grinned and quipped, "Not mine. You told me too much about veela. I don't want to get set on fire."

Fleur chuckled and added, "I would have an advantage here. It's warm and dry, my magic would flow faster than normal here."

Harry made a mental note, considering the implications. "Presumably, if warm and dry has a positive effect, then wet and cold would create the reverse." He filed that information away for later. "I wonder how her faster flowing magic would compare with mine since doing that ritual?"

He then casually revealed his wand, letting it slip from his sleeve into his palm. "My wand's easier to reach. Advantage me."

As Harry held his wand, Fleur playfully conjured a ball of blue flames that burst into sparks at his feet before he could react. "I do not need my wand to set you on fire, remember," she teased.

Harry inquired, "Can you transform?"

Fleur admitted, "I can, but I won't, not for your curiosity."

Harry nodded understandingly. "I suppose that's fair."

Fleur finished her glass of wine and looked at him thoughtfully. "Where would you be if I hadn't asked you to be my shield?"

Harry pondered the question. "Probably here, just alone," he said with a wry smile. "Or I might be downstairs, kissing Katie."

A hint of pink blossomed on Fleur's cheeks as she admitted, "I've never kissed anyone, despite what the other girls like to say about me."

Harry confessed, "Neither have I, but I sort of suspect that if I'd agreed to dance with Katie, I would've ended up kissing her." He suppressed the pang in his heart. "It would've been hard to say no if I was alone."

Fleur nodded and said, "A good thing I made you come with me, then."

Harry agreed, "Possibly. I can't imagine kissing Katie would end well."

Fleur emphasized, "If she turned on you so quickly before, she would again. I've made that mistake, more than once. Best not to repeat it, Harry, I promise you. It'll hurt more each time until suddenly it doesn't. And that feeling's worse than when it hurt."

Harry understood all too well and grimaced, the memory of the emptiness clawing at him with sharp, cold talons.

Fleur sighed and leaned forward, her expression more serious. "I asked you yesterday if you would let me test to see how resistant you are to my allure..."

Harry's curiosity was piqued. "I stand by what I said. I didn't feel too much before. Maybe a little bit earlier, I think."

Fleur ordered, "Focus on me."

Harry nodded and concentrated his attention on Fleur.

Fleur's summer-sky blue eyes radiated beneath a veil of lustrous, silver-blond hair, and her pale, rose-pink lips formed a soft, warm smile. Harry couldn't help but be entranced by her beauty. He tried to drag his eyes away from her lips, but they remained fixed on her.

He thought to himself, "Well, I'm clearly not as resistant as either of us thought."

Fleur inquired, "What do you feel?"

Harry, his words flowing effortlessly, replied, "I've no idea how I didn't notice you from the very beginning. You're the most beautiful girl I've ever seen."

Fleur stared at him, a small, bemused smile playing at the corner of her lips.

Around them, green strands of leaves twisted down from the ceiling, and the sweet smell of hot leaves mingled with the perpetual scent of burnt holly that clung to Fleur. The emerald-hued droplets formed a circle, surrounding a scattering of white berries.

Harry's heart raced against his ribs, and his mouth felt dry. He recognized the mistletoe. The realization hit him like a ton of bricks: "Fleur's in control of the room."

Harry's eyes flicked from the candles and mistletoe to the girl who was so close to him. Her eyes were mere inches from his, her flushed face so near that the tip of her nose brushed against his. Then, without warning, Fleur pressed her soft lips against his. The kiss was sweet and intoxicating, a blend of wine and sugar that melted on his taste buds. The tip of her tongue traced the line of his lower lip, and for that moment, Harry lost track of everything else.

As Fleur pulled back, a small, soft smile graced her lips. She stood up and whispered, "Goodbye, Harry."

The door swung shut with a faint thud, leaving Harry staring up as the candles dimmed and the mistletoe receded into the shadows of the ceiling. His heart pounded like thunder in his chest, and a small smile played on his lips. The ice statues melted away into the floor.

"Bye, Fleur," he whispered, as the enchanting night came to a close.

Welcome to PEVERELL_LEGACY on P.A.T.R.E.O.N . This is where the magic happens, where stories come to life, and where you get the first glimpse of what's next.

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