A/N: Hello people and welcome to a fun, light-hearted fic with Harry, Fleur and friends! Part 6 of many!
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Hermione huffed, sat on the chair between the two French witches as she was. It was Fleur and Gabrielle she'd gone to for assistance on what to wear and how best to do her makeup charms; she'd not wanted anything too flashy, but she wanted to look presentable enough. She certainly wasn't interested in using illusionary magic — just that which would animate the various items so as to apply the makeup autonomously. It was hard to describe, and no wizard would ever understand the concept, not even Harry, and least of all Ron, who she'd opted to go with, friend as he was the boy was dense when it came to such topics.
"I zeenk zat ees ze one zat works best for 'er," Gabrielle folded her arms after pointing at the gown she liked most. "Eet ees best weez 'er 'air, 'ow you can not see zat?"
"Eet ees 'ow can you not see zat, seester, and eet ees me, no?" Fleur put a hand to her chest, seemingly offended by Gabrielle's questioning of her dress choice. "I 'ave been 'elping you to dress for as long as you 'ave been alive. Trust."
Gabrielle said something in French, and then she dipped her head to her sister before rising from her seat altogether. After she did so, she made her way over to the dress in question as Fleur spun Hermione in her seat, words already flowing from her mouth before Hermione was so much as facing her in the chair.
"Gabby weel see to ze dress to make sure eet ees free of wreen-kles—" Fleur had to concentrate, seemingly forgetting and remembering the word in the span of a few seconds; she smiled wide when she sounded her way through it. Even Hermione found it rather cute with only a tinge of annoyance at herself. "And eet weel be I zat 'andles the makeup. Zat works, yes?"
Hermione tentatively nodded. "It's fine with me… but you two aren't going overboard, right? I'm only going with Ron as a friend, we're not datin—"
Fleur tutted. "Eet ees not only 'e zat sees you, no?" she ran a hand across Hermione's back, gathering up long tendrils of bushy hair as she did so. "Zere ees a pair of Veela and a certain black-'aired boy to eempress as well."
"You two and Harry?" Hermione all but squeaked, before she fixed her posture and stood tall once more. "I do—"
"No no no," Fleur tutted, her hands plucking at Hermione. "I weel not 'ave eet. We should do all zat we can to make you look your absolute best — eet ees what you deserve, now come, Gabby ees ready to 'ave you put een ze dress."
Hermione had nary a second to respond in the next minute that'd pass, and in that scant sixty seconds, she was very quickly stuffed into the dress after her previous clothes were tossed aside. Neither Fleur nor Gabrielle was inappropriate or teasing then either, each seemed totally dedicated to having her put in the fabric… but once she was zipped up in the back, the two did begin to pluck and pull incessantly all over her person.
There was a hand here and there, especially in her hair, on her face and across the bared skin of her shoulders. Each of the two Veela sisters seemed incredibly insistent that she allow them their time in applying all that they desired… until one hand grew to be on her face for too long, a warmth starting to come to her face as the allure of the two began to drown her.
It was only then when she coughed, garnering the attention of the pair — not that she'd already possessed it — and earning a few words from Fleur.
This time, they were teasing, and as she spoke, her hands began to brush through her long, bushy hair that refused to do as it was told. "We are just making sure ze dress feets and ze makeup ees perfect as can be. You would not begrudge us for zat, no?"
Hermione made to protest again, but rather than do as much, she remained silent. She surprised herself by deciding as much, but she was too fond of the attention, and besides, like Fleur said, they were just having their teasing fun that was all too normal of them.
At the end of the day, this was still a favour for her, and a wonderful one at that.
Harry descended the stairs, nodding at a pair of peers that walked past him as he came to a stop near to where Professor McGonagall was standing. She'd told him where to come and when to arrive, but now that she saw him, he couldn't help but wonder why she looked so panicked. Dumbledore — the man only just coming from around the corner at a speed which seemed irregular for him — seemed simultaneously relieved and worried, and as he raced Harry's way, the same semblance of panic seemed present.
Though, of course, it was far more subdued. Dumbledore was a master when it came to setting those around him at ease.
Ultimately, it was McGonagall that spoke as the two stopped but a few feet away from him, and she did so as her eyes scanned the room. "Where's your date?" McGonagall looked back whence he'd come as if she were expecting a witch to materialise or otherwise appear.
Harry shrugged. "I didn't ask anybody." He didn't think it'd be this big of a deal, especially with Cedric representing Hogwarts. With him present, there'd not really be a loss of prestige for the school or the country… and Harry wouldn't have to dance before a crowd. It'd seemed like a win-win so far as he'd been able to tell.
McGonagall's eyes looked as if they were about to pop from her head, but before she could begin what likely would have been a rushed series of words, Dumbledore spoke. His voice was calm and measured as ever, but therein was a certain urgency. "The Ball is, according to magic, as much a part of the tournament as any task is. Without a partner to join you for the dance, the same punishment will be enforced by the magic of the tournament itself — but only when it starts."
"I didn't know." Harry was terrified at the prospect of losing his magic. It'd mean he'd lose his home as well; Hogwarts. Without both, what would his life become? He couldn't stomach the thought as panic began.
When it seemed like the old Professor paused for a breath, McGonagall chose then to intercede. "I told you. All Champions are required to attend, and with a partner, no less." The concern in her gaze was palpable, and her eyes sought out the first witch she saw alone. By the look of things, she looked half ready to call over any that she could.
Harry, meanwhile, had begun to completely melt where he stood. He'd already been terrified when they'd said he was at a very serious risk of losing his magic, but now that it was all but assured… he hadn't a clue what to do. He thought at the time McGonagall had meant what he'd initially believed, that being that it was meant for Hogwarts' image, and not the tournament itself.
"Ah," Dumbledore said aloud, but no words followed. For some strange reason, however, the man's visage returned to one of serenity as the edges of his lips raised; his eyes were rather mirthful too, for somebody who would be soon to witness the end of Ha—
"Ah, 'Arry, 'ere you are," An arm looped through his as the accent wrapped around him just as oft as the girl it belonged to would do; Fleur, and Merlin, was she a sight. "I 'ope my date 'as not caused a problem, Professors. 'E wanted to arrive earlier zan I."
McGonagall opened her mouth. It remained open for a second or so, until words finally seemed to come through. "I'm… glad that you two have opted to go together. There's nothing that states otherwise, unorthodox as it is," she paused again, shaking her head as her free hand was raised to rest against her chest. "I'll not keep you. The dance is soon to start, please, be ready."
Dumbledore, for his part, simply winked at Harry as he turned to walk away whence he and Professor McGonagall had come. The man had spotted Fleur before either he or his fellow Professor had, and somehow, he'd read her completely and utterly. His relief, whilst not outwardly as visible, seemed evident in the pace of his walk; it wasn't remotely as expedient.
Alone with Fleur now, he turned so as to look at her completely, going so far as to attempt a step away from her. Of course, she didn't relent her grasp, if anything, she pulled him closer… but it was a good thing she did so. The sight of her, close as it was, already proved enough to leave him shocked still.
"Merlin." It was all he could manage to utter as he looked her over.
The dress that she'd chosen fit her snugly in every spot he reckoned he'd look, her hair, longer than it'd been since first he saw her, was all but glowing as it flowed freely down her back. Unlike most witches as well, there were no obvious signs of makeup, no, Fleur seemed to have gone with nought but her natural beauty and it only made her choice of apparel all the more mystifying.
Really, she was, as he'd said before, an angel given flesh. There wasn't any other way to describe the perfect being before him — she was sculpted as a statue from Greece or Italy might be. Without imperfections, flaws, and there seemed around her an otherworldly aura.
"Eet ees ze most I 'ave ever seen you react to me," Fleur raised a hand, her cool fingers ghostly in their touch as she caressed his cheek. "And you should know, you look very 'andsome today — eet ees adorable." That hand upon his cheek turned teasing as it pinched him.
Harry's relief was still spiked high as could be thanks to Fleur's presence, and her having ultimately saved his magic. "Thank you," he grasped her free hand with his and squeezed. "Really. And you look beautiful, Fleur. Merlin."
He swallowed, unable to stop the previous exclamation, but in fairness… he was lucky he could so much as manage to speak whilst standing before her. She was too perfect, too beautiful, and fanciful as she looked down, there was nary a thing he could do to pull his eyes off her person.
Unfortunately, all that going for her still failed to move the boy from his denseness.
Fleur seemed to recognise that at the same time she internally reprimanded herself for thoughts that seemed so rampant as of late. In silence as the pair was, however, Fleur still retained the initiative, poking him as she regained control of her thoughts. "You should 'ave known eet could 'ave ended badly. Zat ees why I had my Gabby eef I were to need 'er, and why you should 'ave asked 'Ermione to go weez you as well. What eef you 'ad not found anybody?" she paused, her chastising turning soft as she gazed at him. "But eef you truly deed not know about ze rule, I cannot blame you. Next time, I must say you are going weez me, and zat weel be ze end of eet, no? After all, I 'ave to reap ze reward for teaching you 'ow to dance."
Harry could barely react before she looped her arm through his own and claimed the hand thereof. From there, she started them towards where Professors McGonagall and Dumbledore were standing; Krum had just arrived, as had Cedric, and in the next few minutes or so, the festivities would officially begin.
It was he and Fleur that'd lead the Champions out.
"Togezzer," Fleur's hand clenched around his own, their fingers interlaced.
He repeated the word back to her as the seconds slowly ticked by.
The steady — and slightly fast — beat of his heart was all that he was paying attention to, the noise grounding him as much as Fleur's presence. That was, until he heard the girl beside him shift, the fabric of her dress jostling near enough to his ear to make him turn and gaze at whatever had caught her attention.
When he found what her eyes had locked on, he blinked, and then he blinked some more. Hermione had arrived, but it wasn't at all how Hermione had ever looked before. No, gone were the casual clothes that were chosen most oft for comfort or necessity rather than style, and in place of them was a dress the likes of which seemed tailor-made for her. The fit was as Fleur's, tight and accentuating that Hermione was, indeed, a witch just like any other. He'd always seen her as a sister, but now, he did have to recognise she was a really pretty witch any bloke would be lucky to date.
And speaking of her date as she grew nearer, so too did the boy by her side; Ron.
Scant as the few minutes were that remained before the start of the Yule Ball, they were just enough to manage a short conversation. Something Cedric and Cho were doing with a dozen or so friends very near to where Fleur and Harry had previously been standing idly hand in hand.
"Right and proper Ron," Harry said to the other bloke with a nod; he'd have bumped him with an elbow too, but Fleur's grip was still ironclad.
Ron swallowed and nodded. The other boy looked as if he were trying his best to avoid looking Fleur's way. Harry supposed that made sense too, he still hadn't improved all that much at all when it came to being around her or Gabby, or just about any Veela, really.
"You too, 'Mione — you look great," Harry was careful with his words after looking away from Ron. He was here with Fleur, after all, and that wasn't to mention he reckoned calling Hermione beautiful might be a touch awkward.
Ron mumbled something which sounded like a right quick excuse before ducking away in the direction of the loo. Hermione, meanwhile, smiled at Harry with a red flush of her cheeks prominent as could be. "Thank you," she seemed to get redder still, should such a thing be possible. "You both look very well done-up as well."
Fleur's musical laughter came forth then. "You are too kind," she curtsied, a playful look on her face now. "And Ron, 'e 'as gotten a touch better, no?"
"He has," Hermione seemed proud to say. "He's been quite the gentleman as well. It almost seems like going with a friend is better than with some person you've rarely spoken with before."
Ah, right, Ron and Hermione had gone together as friends. He'd thought Ron had asked, but now that he thought about it, the idea likely belonged to Hermione. Speaking of Ron, Harry excused himself so as to speak with the other bloke for a few seconds. Fleur only relented when he assured her — thrice over — that he'd be back in thirty seconds at the most.
"Alright, mate?" Was his way of greeting Ron.
The other boy looked up and nodded, a small smile appearing. "Yeah. I'm good," he shook his head. "You don't know how lucky you are, being unaffected by her allure, I mean. It almost feels like you're you, but not you… I'm rubbish at explaining. And like you said earlier, 'Mione looks right pretty."
"I always thought you two…" Harry trailed off when Ron grimaced.
"I'd thought about it too, yeah? But then I realised how little we've got in common — she hates Quidditch, I hate books and studying and plays. Reckon you're like a bridge between us," Ron shrugged then. "Works for me though. 'Mione's brilliant. She's gotten us out of rough spaces more than a few times, wouldn't change her for anybody."
That was, well, very mature of Ron. The answer hadn't been at all what Harry had been expecting. As for the points raised by the other boy, they were all good and true. Especially Quidditch and Books. Those were always points of contention between the two, especially when it came to time spent on one or the other.
"You should go back to your bi— Fleur. Looks like she's about ready to march over here and grab you up if you don't," Ron sounded amused, but there was also a tinge of something indecipherable in his voice as well. His discomfort around her was evident.
Harry clapped the other boy's shoulder. "See you inside, yeah?"
Ron nodded. "Yeah. Reckon I'll steal a tray of treacle tarts for our table."
That excited Harry more than any dance would, and with a last lingering grin his friend's way, he went back to the two witches. His eyes lingered on Hermione for a touch longer than Fleur, and not to any fault of the latter; no, Hermione was just… a witch.
Merlin. He couldn't exclaim it aloud again, but Harry was all but in shock, plain and simple.
His eyes went back to Fleur then, as he was shaking his head. When they did so, however, he noticed her eyes had already been on his person, taking in what he was doing and where he was looking with a brow raised. Immediately, he returned his hand to her grasp, whereupon doing so she ensured the grip was as certain as it'd been before and their fingers were woven together tight as a basket and she seemed to be staring at him.
Was she jealous he was looking Hermione over? He wasn't even really staring, he just, well, couldn't believe that Hermione could look as good as she did. Harry reckoned he was a right idiot for thinking the way that he had, but she'd never put in the effort she had today, and the effects were obvious.
Fleur, whilst still maintaining eye contact with him, said something back to Hermione that he didn't quite catch. It almost sounded like a farewell of a kind, temporary as it'd be. The truth came a few seconds later when, low and behold, Hermione fixed him with a smile and spoke.
"See you soon, Harry," There was almost more that she said, but she stopped short and muttered something in a fashion that wasn't too dissimilar to Ron before heading the aforementioned boy's direction.
Whatever it'd been, Fleur had snickered, and then she whispered something low enough that it was only audible to his ears. "You are worried zat I saw you stare at 'er so many times, no?"
Begrudgingly, he nodded. He didn't give a toss he'd been caught, what annoyed him was how easily he was read. It wasn't just by Fleur either. Hermione and Professor Dumbledore were always as capable; it was like he wore his thoughts on his sleeves.
Fleur giggled and pulled him in closer, their arms now flush against one another as her grasp around his hand remained firm and decisive. "I am not jealous so long as eet ees 'er or Gabby. My leetle seester ees adorable, and 'Ermione ees much ze same. 'Ow could I begrudge you for 'aving seen zat?"
Harry… hadn't been expecting that to be her response. He didn't understand it, but he'd not argue. Gabrielle and Hermione were now, apparently, free to be stared at; it was just any other witch that was maybe off-limits. Yeah. That sounded right.
"No other birds, then," He agreed.
Fleur blinked and cocked her head at him, her eyes narrowed a few seconds later. "Zat ees racist."
This time, it was Harry's turn to blink. He hadn't realised he'd so much as said that out loud, now, he was flushed with embarrassment twice over.
Krum and the others began to gather around, and a few seconds later, so too did Professor McGonagall. At least their timely arrival would see him spared from any further embarrassment.
He hoped.
There still was the dance and opening ceremony, after all.