A/N: Hello people and welcome to a fun, light-hearted fic with Harry, Fleur and friends! Part 7 of many!
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The first thing Harry noticed as he and Fleur led the Champions out to the dance floor, was the looks. He and Fleur had walked out hand-in-hand, with her as much a sight as she always was and Harry done-up well at her side. It was obvious to him as his hands found her waist and hers, his neck, that all those who viewed them did so with jealousy. One needed only a glance their way to see the looks in their eyes.
Harry's attention was called back to Fleur as the music began, slow and traditional as he'd been warned; they'd practised for this.
Fleur's smile, wide and eager for the dance, showed just how content she was in the moment. Those eyes, in the hundreds as they were and filled with the wish to swap with he or Fleur, didn't bug her. No, her eyes were for Harry, and Harry alone. The other Champions that danced around them, the Professors that joined in not too long after and the many spectators weren't so much as given a glance.
Their dance continued, seeing the two towards the centre of the floor. From such a position it made clearer that the eyes of not only Hogwarts were upon the pair, but also those from Beauxbatons or Durmstrang. He hadn't thought any of her schoolmates had liked him… he certainly hadn't thought any from Durmstrang would either, for the obvious reason.
"Pay zem no mind, yes?" Fleur leaned a bit to the right, intercepting his look with that earlier smile still wide as ever. The slight flush of her cheeks and those blue eyes of hers captivated him as they always did; she seemed to see as much with how her smile grew larger. "You 'ave only to look at me."
"You don't mind what they're going to say?"
Fleur tutted and took a half-step closer, her arms loose around the back of his neck, comfortable and familiar. "Ze rumours 'ave been around from ze very moment we met togezzer, and weez no ozzers. I care not for what zey 'ave to say any longer. You cannot tell me zat you do, can you?"
Fleur raised a good point. The rumour mill had been going since day one of the pair getting together. It'd only gotten worse the more often they were seen together, and worse still with her little sister, Gabrielle, usually alongside them. Even now, the hatred by some and the objectification by many for Veela thoroughly perplexed him to a point of annoyance; it had to stem from jealousy, that he knew… but they were Magicals like any other.
Magicals that could think, speak, feel and communicate the same as any witch or wizard. So why treat them as less than what they were?
At least with the near-entirety of their peers staring at them with a burning jealousy in their eyes, it seemed that hatred wasn't quite as strong as it'd used to be. Instead, many had a near-longing sort of expression that they wore upon their faces. He reckoned just about any of them would curse him for the chance to take his place in Fleur's arms.
As that train of thought ended, so too did the first song come to a close, and Harry's hand slipped into Fleur's. He was ready to escort her back off the floor, but she seemed to have another idea altogether as two other figures came to join them, each dressed as beautifully as she was; Gabrielle and Hermione. Like Fleur, their hair was done with cosmetics applied, and Harry, red-blooded bloke that he was, found himself more than fascinated by the trio, able to view the lot of them together as he was.
Merlin, the gossipers of Hogwarts and the other such schools would thoroughly enjoy him meeting with the three beautiful witches, wouldn't they?
Ah well, it was like Fleur had said. The rumours would run amuck regardless of what he did, or didn't do. There was no point in attempting to contest them… that still didn't set his mind at ease though, at least not entirely. He had to meet Fleur and Gabrielle's parents soon, and that would be made very awkward if such rumours were always on the lips of others.
Harry was shaken from looking betwixt the three when Fleur pulled him over to Hermione, and set one of his hands around her waist.
"Fleur?" he called over the thunderous music and the voices of those that danced around them, now most certainly perplexed.
"You 'ave a dance weez 'er," Fleur had a smile on her face as she said as much, one of Harry's hands still wrapped around her waist as she only just lowered her arms from around him. "My Gabby next too, yes? Zey would not ask, but zese are not requests you would deny, are zey?"
Harry made the conscious decision to move his other arm from Fleur, to Hermione as if to prove what his answer was with nary a word said aloud. After doing so, he came to the conclusion that it was decidedly strange to have Hermione so close to him, her breath splashing against his neck as it was. The feelings were made all the more queer when she made to mimic Fleur by wrapping her arms behind his neck; she was shorter, which brought her and Harry even closer than he'd been with the aforementioned Fleur.
Gabrielle said something quickly and quietly then. Harry hadn't a chance to intercept it given that it was said in French.
"Oh, 'Arry?" Fleur asked, her lips moving right by his ear; she'd moved closer so as to speak with a hint of privacy rather than yelling over the noise.
"Yeah?"
"Eef any come to you and ask about us or ze ozzers, let zem keep wondering. Zey weel be ze fools, no?" Fleur turned her head a touch, and with nary a pause, her lips, softer than they had any right to be and pleasurable to boot, pressed against his cheek. When she separated not a second later, her eyes peering intently into his, the next words she spoke sent a shiver down his spine. "I weel 'ave more dances before ze night ees over."
Harry found himself still focused on the kiss as she took a step or two away, the giggling from Gabrielle all but muted, given the general noise that welled up around them as more and more of their peers came to the floor. Merlin, he swore it'd gotten louder than Hogwarts had ever before been.
"Well, I'm glad to see I'm not the only one Fleur enjoys teasing." Hermione had a little smirk on her face as the pair finally began to move, slow and tentative; he still couldn't believe he had his hands around her waist or her face close to his as it was.
"You know, 'Mione," Harry said, swallowing down the strange feelings as the pair grew a bit more confident together, their pace increasing and the nervousness of their actions dissipating. "You look right beautiful too."
Maybe Fleur had rubbed off on him a smidge. He couldn't help but grin when he saw Hermione's cheeks redden; there was something gratifying about being the cause of it.
Hermione's cheeks went redder than he'd seen them go even when she'd improperly answer a question. If that wasn't reward enough, the sputtering as her lips attempted to put together words, only to fail, was all the more — he couldn't believe it — cute. Hermione was a witch. A pretty witch that looked even prettier when made to blush and mumble incoherently.
This year had certainly been something thus far.
Harry was left to wonder, as the dance with Hermione began to come to a close, what it'd continue to bring.
The immediate answer to his question had been a giggling, bashful and blushing miniature Fleur. Oh yes, Gabrielle had been all but handed to him, with Fleur assuring her little sister in French of something given the rapidness of their conversation and the wide-eyed state of the younger girl as Harry's hands settled around her waist. There was nearly a sense of wonder when her eyes first met his after contact had been made.
Her momentary embarrassment and silence, however, was just that.
Momentary.
For after nary a few steps together, Gabrielle's demeanour changed. Gone was the shyness — or perhaps, teased — quality that'd initially hung around the girl as a cloak might, and in place of it, was a confidence that seemed natural to the Delacour sisters. Just as natural as that smile that could see one's heart climb to their throat, even those unaffected by their allures.
"Fleur 'as done well weez you," Gabrielle's voice was near-angelic in its softness and warmth. It matched her feather-light, but firm grip as she mimicked the action of the other two witches and hung her arms around his neck.
"I'm glad you think so," Harry said as she twirled, the smaller girl dancing with all the grace of a ballerina as she spun back to him, her more lithe figure twisting in ways Fleur's curvier one would find harder. As she did so, his eyes were on her the whole while. She was as majestic as her sister, only in a different fashion. Speaking of Fleur, she seemed to now be sharing a dance with Hermione at their side; handless as it had to be, the pair were close, and able to enjoy the floor.
Gabrielle's smile as her arms returned to the spot behind his neck, was as winning as that of her sister. Speaking of, the pair looked at Fleur and Hermione more intently, and together, conspiratorial smiles on their faces. Based on the blush of the latter and the mischievous grin of the former, the teasing had yet to stop — Harry had to do a double take when he saw Fleur's hands very near to Hermione's body. She was teasing touching the other girl, but remained just far enough away from actually doing so. The locations of those hovering hands were… interesting, to say the least.
He'd been a fool to think Fleur would go a night without enjoying how easy Hermione could be made to blush.
It seemed like she was encouraging Hermione to be looser too, given that she grabbed one of 'Mione's hands via the use of magic and all but brought it to her waist, only just maintaining distance. Fleur giggled when Hermione turned even more red and shot Harry a wink, the playfulness threatening to cause a burst of giggles based on the face Fleur was pulling.
Hermione, meanwhile, was almost tomato-like.
"Your friend ees easy to play weez," Gabrielle said a second before one of her soft hands turned his face so as to look her way once more; that hand then took hold of one of his and held it aloft, a truly classical dance coming about as the song changed. "Zey are 'aving fun. I 'ave you for anozzer dance?"
"Can you?" Harry asked, wanting for clarification given the girl's heavier accent.
Gabrielle dipped her head, the little freckles littered across her face turning more noticeable as her cheeks coloured. "Please?"
How could he deny the angel of a girl before him? He couldn't…and so he didn't.
After a second, and later, third dance with Gabrielle, each as fun as the last, he found Fleur returned to him by a blushing Hermione. She'd hoped for a break from the vicious teasing, but that hope was destroyed the moment her hands were — literally this time — occupied by a beat-red and happy Gabrielle that'd been very content in dancing with Harry; unlike her big sister, Gabrielle was able to touch and poke at Hermione ruthlessly, and to her heart's content.
Gabrielle's desire to take up Fleur's spot in poking fun at Hermione meant she'd remain just as pleased in her position as her older sister reclaimed Harry.
Harry could only look at Hermione and mouth a scant few words before he found himself face to face with Fleur.
As their dance picked up once more, his focus returned to his date proper, Harry felt a weight disappear from atop him. This was what it meant to be right at peace and content in one's life. He was surrounded by witches of a quality unmatched by all others, be it in their kindness, intelligence or looks. Witches that would aid him and care for him, that wasn't to mention his mate Ron or the family that'd come to be thought of as Harry's own.
"Beautiful," Harry said, the word only loud enough to be heard over the gentle, rhythmic music that saw him and Fleur swaying together atop the dance floor.
Fleur's eyes sought his sans the usual amusement or teasing therein. Her arms grew tighter around the back of his neck, and she pressed a touch closer. The music the two danced to, slow as ever, only made the moment all the more long-lasting.
No words were said as they swayed with one another, but the pair had never felt closer.
After what Harry would recognise as one of the best dances of his life, he and the others sought out an isolated table. A break for food and drink was in order, and as they walked thereto where Ron was seated and waiting for them, Harry felt a tug on his arm. The one that wasn't currently occupied by Fleur, for even at the Yule Ball and under the gaze of just about everybody currently at Hogwarts, her constant need for physical contact wouldn't be done away with; Hermione was the offender, a quick look revealed.
"Harry," she whispered, her voice just quiet enough for them to speak under the conversation that Gabrielle and Fleur were having in French.
He broke a touch away from Fleur, creating more distance even as her hand kept its hold of his. "Yeah, 'Mione?" she was flushed still, and it didn't seem like that quality would be going away anytime soon.
"You're impossible."
Harry blinked. "What?"
She poked him. "I don't know whether I should be impressed at your immunity," she swallowed before poking him again. "Or annoyed at how dense you are."
Before Harry could question what that meant exactly, they'd reached the table, or near enough to it for Ron to greet the lot of them with a wave before he mumbled a flurry of words thereafter. He'd still yet to reign himself in whenever Fleur was near, such was the reason he wasn't oft around them; he simply wasn't able to be.
Harry felt for his mate, but before he could respond and go over to the bloke, Fleur spoke, much to his surprise.
"Eef you were able, I would 'ave 'ad you take me to dance as a friend. You are a good friend to 'Arry,'' Fleur pulled the aforementioned 'Arry with her, until the pair were near where Ron was seated. Harry, of course, was the closer of the two to him. "You could be a good friend of ours as well, no?"
Ron nodded, looking elsewhere as he did so. "Thanks," he was able to get out. "Reckon it's the thought that counts."
Harry immediately patted the other boy on the shoulder. "Glad to have you here, mate. Reckon you'll not be in for a shortage of dances."
"No, 'e weel not," Gabrielle answered for Ron as she popped over to stand before the pair with all the dexterity she'd shown when first Beauxbatons had made an entrance. "Dance weez me?"
When she offered a hand not a second after asking, a smile that radiated kindness on her face, Harry found himself, again, immediately impressed by her. She and Fleur were far more than most would ever give them credit for, and more still than their detractors could ever amount to themselves.
Ron stood then, much to Gabrielle's clapping delight. He took her hand a second later, grinning all the while. Her allure was weaker than Fleur's, and by a good deal at that. Enough so that Ron could actually enjoy a dance with her sans going dumb — Fleur, meanwhile, remained impossible for a good many reasons.
It didn't seem like it mattered much to the bloke as he walked away with Gabrielle leading him back whence they'd only just come. No, Ron was right happy, and Harry was glad.
"You know, he practised a lot," Hermione said as she and Fleur watched alongside Harry as the two found their spot atop the dance floor. "Evidently, Fleur's is still too… potent, for him to manage."
Harry was still as oblivious to it as ever, given it didn't so much as affect him beyond acting as a stress-reliever or an otherwise calming energy that radiated from the pair. "I'm happy for him. It's been strange, not having him around as often as he used to be — reckon another few months and he'll be able to manage it completely."
"I would say 'e did better zan I expected. 'E was able to manage words, no?" Fleur smiled wide, and leaned over to pat Hermione's cheek. "You 'ave done so well in 'elping ze boy. You, my 'Ermione and my 'Arry are always full of surprises."
There it was again. Her Harry. She'd said it first when she was just starting to teach him how to dance, and here it was again at the Yule Ball itself… and now with a 'Her' Hermione. She huffed as the heat began to rise to her cheeks, especially since Fleur would find that most amusing. Her and Gabrielle were far too good at poking fun at her, and Morgana, was she far too easy to rile up.
"Well, somebody has to make sure Ron's able to get over anything potentially mind-affecting for the future, and it certainly can't be Harry. Not with the tournament ongoing," Hermione tried to sweep away the credit Fleur gave her.
But the other girl wouldn't have it. No, Fleur tutted and shook her head. "You 'ave 'elped 'Arry as well. Eet 'as not been only me and Gabby," she shifted closer, but not close enough to accidentally ice the other girl. "You are a better friend zan most could ever claim to be."
Hermione flushed as she had earlier. It'd been rare before, but now, it was as common as a sunrise. She mumbled something unintelligible, before rising altogether from her seat and rushing off in the direction of the loo. He thought she'd said something about 'freshening up' but he couldn't be certain.
"She ees adorable." Fleur's chair found its way right beside his after those few words, their legs brushing as she interweaved their fingers. Hers were partially bare from the dress, Harry's, meanwhile, were covered in a dark, fanciful fabric. "And she 'as done a great job, I do not say zat only to tease her. Eef you are to marry my Gabby, or me—" she winked at him then "— we would see each other very often. Ze sooner 'e gets used to being around us, ze better, and 'ow does ze saying go? Zere ees no time as ze present?"
"No time like the present," Harry corrected, "But close enough… wait, what'd you say? Marry? For the future?"
He had to have misheard her.
"Ah, zank you, and yes," Fleur said without missing a beat. "Marry. Take a wife. Say vows weez a weetch. 'Ave I said eet wrong?" She cocked her head then, a perfectly kept brow raised at him in question; it looked to be a look of faux inquisitiveness masking the part-teasing, part-seriousness of what she'd said.
"No," he shook his head. "I di—"
Fleur grinned, and Harry paused.
He imagined the more he spoke, the deeper a hole he'd dig for himself… so he chose to remain silent.
She allowed him that.
Until the time came to dance once more.
Harry set down the copy of the Prophet with a huff. He was tempted to throw the whole bloody thing in the fireplace just to watch it burn given the scathing words therein. Seriously, who did Rita Skeeter think she was beyond a reporter that filled the paper with half-truths if not outright lies?
He was astounded that she was allowed a career, much less read by much of the wizarding world.
Now obviously, Harry knew he shouldn't let her words get to him as much as they had, but how couldn't he?
Fleur and Gabrielle, two witches he'd come to care for in the few months they've had together, were labelled as little more than foreign French women of questionable background that wanted to 'steal' Harry away from a proper, British witch. There was more said than just that, of course, but Harry had stopped reading shortly after the first paragraph, and even then, it'd been a struggle to get through the poison she'd written.
All of it was made out of spite, or the desire to cause drama based on the words used and lack of fact in the words he'd seen. Of course, it'd started out about Harry, discussing how he had put his name in the goblet himself for the sake of glory and attention; a blatant lie the likes of which he wished he could punish. What followed was a dumbed down recollection of the first task as it'd happened.
Naturally, Harry's skill hadn't been a factor. Nor was Krum's or Fleur's. Only Cedric's scant few sentences had been kind to the person which they belonged to, whilst Harry's, again, had been the most scathing of the lot.
"Ah, 'Arry," Fleur had returned from Gabrielle's room, the former having been needed to help the latter with fashion or cosmetics; he couldn't remember which. "You should not waste your time reading ze dreevel such a jealous woman writes. Eet weel do you no good."
"How's she allowed to write this?" Harry nodded at the portion of the parchment that was dedicated to him and the three witches he'd been to Yule with. Again, it made mention of how terrible and improper a young man he was regarding the goblet and how he'd cheated his way into it.
Fleur grew closer, eventually stopping to slide into the spot beside him, whereupon doing so, she took up one of his hands and leaned in to glance at the paper still held aloft. Her eyes scanned it quickly, clearly avoiding focusing on any one portion for too long, but even analysing it in such a way seemed to bring a sour look to her face.
Especially when she found the portion about the Yule ball, or more specifically, her and Gabrielle. It was the latter he reckoned she took more issue with, given how close the two sisters were.
Whilst she still looked it over, Harry too took a few seconds to glance at the section that'd irked her. As he'd thought, the portion towards the witches was every bit as heated as the rest of it had been; Fleur and Gabrielle were disrespected time and time again, called thieves, called Veela — never Witches — and made to be laughed at on account of their origins. There'd even been a comment that he'd not read initially that made mention of how the two were likely working in-tandem with one another to captivate and confuse Harry to take him away post-tournament.
Thanks to the absurdity of the paper, especially that latter section, Harry almost managed a snicker.
And then he saw the parting words. Hermione, who'd not taken quite as much heat as Fleur and Gabrielle, wasn't the proper witch for Harry. No, she didn't compliment his person, her hair was too unkempt, the family name she possessed was Muggle… there was more, but he skipped past the rest of the insults to look at the larger, darker text at the very bottom.
Harry, in conclusion, was a horrible wizard for not only actively pursuing three Witches, but also for snubbing a proper British witch from a family that deserved him. A Pureblood or Half-Blood family with an old name — and probably ties to the Prophet too.
As he looked at Fleur and away from the paper, regret filling him at having read more of the words he'd known were poisonous, he was just about to ask what she was thinking when she took it and set it on the table before them. As soon as she'd taken it from his grasp, it'd been closed, her hand snapping the paper shut. Once it was on the table and closed, and after a few seconds of what looked to be pondering, it was banished once more.
This time, to the fire of one of Fleur's lamps. It was slow to catch fire, but Fleur helped move that along with a flick of her finger. That small flick sent forth a noticeable ball of fire that enveloped the parchment, and the thing went up in flames in an instant.
It was pretty cool, seeing her inherent fire magic. Hot too.
He swallowed. "Fleur?"
At the mention of her name, she turned her head and fixed him with a smile, her fingers taking up his closer hand and caressing the back thereto. "Ze words were unfocused, no? Eet was as eef an eenfant wrote zat, and ze pacing, eet was 'ard to follow."
"She was all over the place, but she was still rude," Harry shrugged, watching as the last remnants of the Prophet finished burning. "More confused than anything. Reckon I'm not sure if I'm a witch's man, a fool, or a glory-hound."
Fleur's mischievous smile at his words told him he shouldn't have said as much aloud.
He'd be in for an interesting day, especially as Fleur switched from her seat beside him, to sitting atop his lap with their hands still connected. Oh yes, an interesting day indeed.
"You're sure I look alright, yeah? My hair's not messed up? I don't have anything on my robes?" Harry looked over his shoulder and down, attempting to get a glimpse at the back of his clothes and head in the mirror he was standing before. He failed to do so and instead, raised a hand, intent on feeling it out.
That hand would go on to be slapped away before it could close so much as half the distance it needed to.
Something was said in French, the words a flurry he couldn't begin to comprehend as Fleur took a step closer to him. Gabrielle, who was on his opposite side, responded just as quick before switching to English for his benefit.
"No touch," she tutted at him in that Fleur-like fashion. "We 'ave worked too 'ard on getting zat 'air of yours to do as we want eet to."
Fleur came around to stand directly in-front of his person after Gabrielle's words. One hand was plucking incessantly at his clothing, pulling away any inconsistencies, golden locks, fuzz or otherwise that made the suit have so much as one imperfection. Her other hand was held in a strange manner, her thumb raised and sticking out, and as Harry peered closer thereat, he found there was a cream or lotion on it.
"I won't touch anything," Harry returned finally, finished with looking Fleur over. "Wha—"
He was interrupted as Fleur's hand with the cream-covered thumb rose and sought out his face. Harry nearly flinched backwards given he wasn't sure what it was, but he trusted Fleur, and so he watched as her thumb glided across his field of vision, until it made contact with each of his eyebrows. The cream was cool, much like Fleur's hands, and the feeling of having his eyebrows rubbed was… strange.
"Zere, zose should do as we want now too," Fleur extended a hand Gabrielle's way, and in an instant, the smaller sister handed the larger, a little comb or brush, he couldn't quite tell. Not until it was pressed into those cream-covered eyebrows of his, whereupon Fleur started gently brushing them.
"Zat ees ze last step, no?" Gabrielle stepped back as she asked Fleur her question. Her eyes were entirely on Harry, and as Fleur worked, the smaller girl began to circle the pair. Like her older sister, she had a talent for fashion and a love thereto; one only needed to look at the pair during such happenings to see how serious they took putting somebody together.
"Eet ees, zere ees only ze matter of leaving next, to meet papa and mama."
Gabrielle did an eager little jump at that. Sure, she'd sat with her family in the stands during the first task, but her father, Alain, was the Minister of France. He was a busy man, one that'd made time to meet with Harry after the letter earlier in the year.
Harry swallowed. He'd been stressed about meeting Fleur and Gabrielle's parents from the moment he'd received the letter. He just knew the man was going to be intimidating the same way he knew their mother would be much the same — Merlin, a Minister and a fully-mature Veela, one that was undoubtedly just as powerful as her daughters.
He hoped he didn't make a fool of himself.
Harry, Fleur and Gabrielle, dressed in ornate clothing and in a wagon they'd rented to carry them from Beauxbatons all the way to Hogsmeade, a village filled with a new sense of life and purpose, found themselves finished with their travel outside a high-end restaurant. One that was only a temporary place, given the hundreds of people more the place could do business with, but that didn't make it any less nice a place to be.
There were Aurors of British origin, and others Harry imagined, of French origin, standing guard outside the building. More seemed to be inside, with the dozens of others that moved about behind the windows.
He shook his head and made to get out of the wagon as soon as it'd come to a complete stop, and a knock from outside told them the stairs had been pulled down. "Here," Harry said as he exited and turned, hopping down beside the stairs and extending a hand. "I'll help guide you down."
Given that the dresses and overcoats the pair wore were thick, Harry figured it'd be polite if he went out first and aided them down, that way if their fabric caught or if either stumbled, he'd be right there to catch them.
Fleur's smile showed just how pleased she was as she swept Gabrielle towards him, "Go," she told her sister. "Don't keep 'eem waiting, Gabby. Not when so 'andsome a boy ees offering to 'elp."
Harry coughed to hide the embarrassment her words caused, and then he felt his offered hand be taken up; he looked back then to find Gabrielle, with all the eagerness she ever possessed, climbing down from the carriage. His hand kept her stable as she did so, and when she turned atop the bottommost step, a smile on her face that was full of mischief, he had only enough time to brace himself before she jumped.
When he caught her, his arms encircling her to support her weight and keep her higher, lest her fabric hit the mud they'd parked over, he was rewarded with a series of giggles and animated words spoken in French, and loudly. Fleur appeared in the carriage door with a 'stern' expression as she answered.
Gabrielle pouted, and then she looked away from her sister, at Harry. She was squirming in his grasp, her feet kicking even as she smiled prettily down at him. "Zank you for 'elping me down," she kissed his cheek. "And zank you for catching me."
Harry set her back to her feet after a quick glance down, at the ground below. Thanks to Fleur's near-constant contact, the softness of Gabrielle's lips upon his cheek and the sweet way in which she'd spoken, hadn't stunned him silent. He was able to return the smile, wide and happy and without a worry in the world. "Of course. Can't let a pretty witch fall, can I?"
She bunched up her eyebrows. "Pretty?"
Fleur's laughter rang out as Gabrielle huffed and folded her arms, and then he felt himself be tugged by the collar of his robes, back, in the direction of the carriage. It wasn't a particularly rough or hard tug, and it hadn't caused him to stumble, so much as take a few steps back.
When he spun around to look at Fleur, he found she was already extending a hand, and so he took it without a moment's hesitation. He'd gotten well used to holding her hand, and Hogwarts' rumour mill had made their closeness known to all, so there wasn't any point in playing coy anymore.
"Am I pretty too, 'Arry?" Fleur's voice was soft, quiet too. Enough so that Harry reckoned even Gabrielle hadn't heard the whispered question. One that took him a second to answer, given the shiver caused by the warmth of her breath as it raced down his neck.
As he helped her descend the few stairs, he swallowed, looking her over and nodding. "Told you the day of the Yule Ball, didn't I?"
When Fleur arched a brow at him after descending the final step, Harry clarified what he meant whilst the two were still close enough to whisper.
"Beautiful."
Harry moved away then, and Fleur, the typically composed, confident and teasing girl that she was, turned red. Gabrielle noticed it just as quickly as Harry did, and even as Fleur made to seek out the door to the restaurant. Now, Harry couldn't exactly understand what Gabby said, few as the words were, but the giggles and look Harry's way gave it well away.
Fleur, for her part, looked over her shoulder at him as she reached the door. She didn't push it aside and enter, but instead, she waited for him as the red began to recede. When he made it over to her, she looped an arm through one of his, pulled him close and pressed a kiss right on the left side of his cheek.
He felt the wetness of it, and smelt the fruit of the lipstick she'd gone with, scented as it was. When he looked back from her, to the door before him, he noticed in the window the faintest signs of lips where she'd just pressed hers.
Harry was just about to make mention of it when the door was opened for the trio.
"Fleur, Gabrielle," a man's voice called past the French Auror that stood before them, one with just as heavy an accent as the two aforementioned witches possessed. "Come, eet 'as been too long."
Before Harry had so much as taken a step, Gabrielle was off at a sprint, pushing past him and the French Auror that'd opened the door. Fleur and Harry followed after her, their eyes remaining on her until she found her way into the open, waiting arms of a taller-than-average, dark-haired man. One adorned in a suit with a hat on the table beside him, and a rich-looking badge firmly pinned above his heart.
This was Alain Delacour, then. The French Minister, the father of Fleur and Gabrielle. He looked younger than Harry would have thought, and kinder. Neither trait seeming so prevalent made sense, given how old and sour-faced most politicians seemed to be. Especially in the Magical world — the one time Harry had 'visited' the Ministry hadn't been very enjoyable. The fleet of cars they possessed were dated, a touch dirty and those that'd been around them quite unpleasant. He'd also seen the papers of the Ministry and heard first-hand from Arthur how… different it was, and not in a good way.
"Papa," Fleur said as they drew close enough to speak sans speaking loudly or yelling. "Where ees mama? I 'ad zought she wanted to be 'ere as well?"
He responded initially in French, like how he'd been speaking to Gabrielle, but Fleur huffed and folded her arms, fixing him with a stare that made him shortly thereafter repeat himself. This time, in English, for Harry's benefit; he wouldn't make mention of her and Gabrielle doing the same on occasion. Reckoned that might be witch stuff, like when they whisper in one another's ears.
"She 'ad to see to business, but she weel be along shortly," The man stood then, making Gabrielle stand beside him; he was a good deal taller than his youngest. Alain took one step closer to Harry and Fleur, and after looking at the former a fair few seconds in silence through narrowed eyes, he stuck out a hand. "Eet ees good to put a face to ze name of ze man who saved my daughters."
Harry was immediately relieved as he shook the man's hand. He'd been dead nervous, especially when the man put him under an appraising view, but that was gone as the man smiled wide as his daughters oft did.
"It's nice to meet you, sir," Harry responded.
At that, the older man's smile grew larger as he turned and gestured to the table. "Come, seet. I would 'ave a meal and words weez you — wine ees fine, I 'ope? We 'ad a special bottle brought out for ze occasion," the man looked around and then leaned in with a conspiratorial grin on his face. "I weel not tell a soul zat you 'ave any, no? Eighteen can be ze law, but a man ees zought of as such by actions, not a number."
Fleur interceded then. "Ze one from mamie?" there was a Gabrielle-like eagerness he seldom heard in Fleur's voice… but she remained by his side. He noticed she'd not once moved towards her dad in a way similar to that of her sister.
"Ze very one, my flower," Alain responded as he finally took up the seat which he'd been atop previously. Naturally, Gabrielle sat right by his side whilst Fleur sat nearer to Harry, at the other side of the table. "I want to start, 'Arry Potter, by expressing just 'ow zankful I am. My daughters, zey are my world, yes? Zere ees leetle I would not do, eef eet meant zere safety. As I said in ze letter, an eenternational eencident would 'ave 'appened 'ad you not been zere to save zem een time."
Harry, with one of Fleur's hands still in his as he sat across from her father, nodded his head respectfully. He imagined he'd never understand until he had children of his own, but the pain of losing somebody was well-known to him. "I'm glad I could help. Death Eaters — they deserve to sit in Azkaban with the Dementors, the lot of them."
"Many deserve deaz, but zat would be a mercy compared to what many of zem 'ave done," Alain shook his head, cutting himself off as he looked betwixt his two daughters. "I can not 'elp but to zeenk about what could 'ave 'appened 'ere, away from 'ome. I would 'ave 'ad to mobisile ze army of France — maybe ze whole of ze alliance, yes? Ze NATO."
Harry vaguely knew what NATO was, and the thought of it alone, terrified him. To think h—
Alain laughed and waved a hand. "I joke, yes? At least, mostly," he looked between Harry and Fleur again, a pensive look on his face as he did so. "Eet 'as occurred to me zat I 'ave yet to zank you for ze last deed you 'ave done — you 'ave my thanks for marrying my daughter, my Flower."
At that, Harry blinked. He'd misheard the man, most certainly. Harry wasn't old enough to marry, and he'd certainly not agreed to taking Fleur as his wife, nor Gabrielle, in-case the man before him was confused; not in-case, he had to be if he thought Harry had somehow married one of them.
"What?" Alain asked, before he gestured to Fleur when Harry's look of total confusion, didn't diminish. "You 'ave 'ad her first dance, no? 'Ow could you take zat and zen abandon 'er? As 'er fazzer, zat ees a 'appening I cannot allow."
Now, Harry was right terrified, but before he could so much as say a word to the powerful man across from him, Fleur spoke up. "Fazzer, you are scaring 'eem. What am I to do eef ze only boy I can touch ees too scared to 'old my 'and anymore because of you?"
Alain grinned and leaned forward, patting Harry on the shoulder. "I am messing weez 'eem, surely 'e knows I would not press 'eem eento marrying my eldest — we 'ave not 'ad the chance to know one anozzer yet, 'ave we? I would need to make sure 'e ees ze right feet for you before I make ze demand."
Fleur folded her arms and looked at her father. The man smiled back at his daughter before holding up his hands in a gesture of peace. "Let an old man joke, no?" Alain paused then, looking about ready to say something more to the trio… until his face lit up and the matter seemed altogether forgotten. He gestured back in the direction of the door after following the person who'd only just entered for a second or so. "My lovely wife."
The voice of Fleur's mother sounded then. "My 'usband, and weez my lovely daughters," the woman's steps carried her into Harry's field of vision as the words finished being spoken aloud; the woman, Fleur and Gabrielle's mum, looked very much like her daughters. She was tall, taller than either of her girls and taller than her husband, with long, flowing hair of the same golden quality her daughters possessed and a figure that he'd reckoned was only drawable until this very day. "Zees ees ze one?"
Those few words, questioning as they were, remained the only ones she'd say aloud past the greeting given as she looked Harry over. Her eyes were the very same shade of blue that Fleur possessed, but in hers, there was an intensity he'd never seen from Fleur; appraising and curiosity were thinly-veiled thereunder as well.
"Eet ees, mama," Fleur was the one to break the silence, and only a moment before she stood up to hug her mother. The seat scraped across the floor, such was the speed with which she rose — with Gabrielle not a second behind her — but even air hugging her mother, a little cute action that made both smile, the woman remained with her eyes on him.
Quickly, a little exchange happened in the midst of the three's hug. He wasn't sure if the words were spoken in French or English, or a mixture of the two given how fast they were said. He didn't have very much time to ponder that either, for after a few seconds of embrace, the trio broke apart, and one from the three approached him.
It wasn't Fleur, and it wasn't Gabrielle. It was their mother, and she'd stopped right beside his chair. With her gaze still on him, and teary now, she flicked her wrist to have that chair turned towards her, and then with all the strength of a mother bear, she picked him up with his feet hanging clear off the ground.
Harry didn't know if the woman herself was particularly strong, or if Veela had super strength, but hanging in the embrace certainly left him wondering. Until the woman who was giving him the most bone crushing hug suddenly began to cry as she held him, her tears splashing against the top of his head as she held him aloft. Once that began to happen, Harry didn't know what to do, so he simply returned the hug.
"You saved my daughters," The woman's voice was emotional, "You saved zem, and now, you 'ave gone and married zem. Zere ees no better a 'ero een all of England."
Fleur, who was right by Harry's side as her mum gave him the longest-lasting, bear-like hug in the history of the known world, sighed upon hearing the latter words from her mother. Her cheeks had heated up, and turned a shade of red even as she attempted to look annoyed. Gabrielle, meanwhile, was thoroughly embarrassed, turning red as a Weasley's hair.
Neither seemed to know what to say, which worked out fine for their mother, who, apparently, wasn't finished embarrassing her daughters before the boy the pair both seemed to like. "I was so worried zat I would never 'ave any grandcheeldren, yes? Such a zeeng would be a 'orror I do not weesh to zeenk of."
"Mama!" Fleur said, now seemingly just as embarrassed as Gabrielle as she looked anywhere but Harry's direction.
As for Harry, there was little he could actually do given his legs were still simply hanging limp in the air. Thus, he looked in the direction of Alain. He hoped the man would help him, given it was his wife who currently had him trapped in a soft and firm hug; Merlin, Harry felt like he was a first year, just dangling there as he was.
Alain caught his look quickly, but rather than rise from his chair or speak up therefrom, the man smiled at him… and that was all. It was clear then that he'd be no help. Perhaps he and his wife had been in on this little joke together, or maybe the pair were where Fleur got her teasing streak from. If it were the pair in on it together, he couldn't believe he'd all but fallen for it a second time in a row.
A wistful thought struck him then, as the pair exchanged a small, almost insignificant happy smile with one another. He hoped his parents had been as playful and kind as they seemed to be.
Harry was set down then, and he looked up at the woman.
"Apolline Delacour," she kissed him on either cheek, "I weel be expecting you at our 'ome soon, yes?"
Harry had to share a look with Fleur first to make sure she was fine with it. He didn't want to just agree if it was something she'd shake her head at.
He supposed he shouldn't have been all that surprised when her reaction was a wide, toothy and beautiful smile that all but commanded him to agree right then and there. So he cleared his throat and nodded. "Sure."
There were worse things to agree to.
Apolline smiled much like Fleur, the relation between the pair very evident, and then she made to sit down.
"So," she prefaced, as her eyes flicked betwixt her daughters and him. "Tell us about your time togezzer. I would 'ear about eet over our meal."
Harry blinked.
Fleur was so much like her mother.
"What a 'ero," Apolline cooed Harry's way, when all was said and done.
Fleur's hand was firmly wrapped around his own, and she nodded her head at her mother's words. "Zere ees not a boy like 'Arry een ze world, mama."
The two shared a look with words therein, but Harry couldn't begin to decipher what it meant, nor could he try, given that he caught Alain's eye as the man pushed away his glass of wine, empty as it now was.
He followed that up by putting his hands atop the table, and then Alain rose from his seat. He did so only to make his way over to his wife, whereupon reaching her he slid his arm into a loop around one of hers as she too made to get up from the table, a silent conversation still ongoing with her eldest. Beside one another as they were, Apolline seemed an inch or so taller than her husband, who wasn't very short himself. The two certainly looked younger than he reckoned they truly were too, he could see that now that the torchlight had grown brighter given the day had gone a touch darker; he liked such adjustable charms.
"We weel speak again soon," Alain assured Harry, "When zere ees time to do so, or when you come over to our 'ouse over ze summer."
Apolline nodded and gave Harry a fond little look, finally finished speaking with her daughter. "You 'ave done a favour zat we weel not forget, 'Arry."
Alain nodded, and with a final shake of Harry's hand, the man left with his wife on his arm.
There was no further mention of Harry and his supposed wives or future children, of which he hoped the lot of it was them messing with him as Alain had done earlier. He reckoned that was more than likely the case… but Fleur and Gabrielle had gone red as could be, and the Veela nation, a very real thing, might have different rules, right?
Harry huffed. He was lost. At least her parents had seemed politer than most, even if the two were a bit, well, different than he'd have imagined.
He looked over at Fleur and Gabrielle then, but the two were still pointedly looking away from him with their cheeks red as could be. Their mum's words had clearly gotten to the pair, and so Harry looked back at the door through which the couple had left.
Harry was very much looking forward to a proper conversation beyond pleasantries and, as Fleur's father had said, putting faces to names.
Nearly thirty minutes later, Harry, Gabrielle and Fleur were back in the lattermost's room. Their embarrassment by way of their mother had finally died down, though that wasn't to say it was altogether gone, no, that most certainly wasn't the case given that Fleur was content with nought but his hand whilst Gabrielle was peering constantly through the window above her sister's bed.
At least through the pair of them, he understood now her parents had been teasing just as Fleur oft did. They didn't think they were married, their mum wasn't expecting grandchildren — yet — the pair had simply wanted to get a measure of him before a proper, long-winded conversation.
He had to admit too, they'd certainly made a first impression.
"You know, 'Arry," Fleur began, her hand using its grasp of his to pull him closer, "I was zeenking, yes? About what my mama 'ad said — I would not share you weez any ozzer but my Gabby."
Harry blinked. He was mishearing Fleur now too, clearly.
"Why say zat when 'Ermione ees so adorable?" Gabrielle piped up, making Harry's brain nearly overload given the words coming from her; what was worse, was there were even more that'd yet to be said. "You always are talking about 'ow pretty she ees, no? And 'arry zought so too during ze Yule Ball. Eet would be 'ees dream."
He wasn't sure what was happening. Today, Merlin, something had to have happened. Maybe he'd lost it and his ears weren't working properly.
Fleur tutted and let go of Harry's hand. He looked her way, still stunned silent, and watched as she pounced in the direction of the bed. Immediately, a scuffle broke out, one in which the younger, smaller Gabrielle lost after not more than a few minutes' time. Fleur seemed a smidge annoyed at Gabrielle's outing, and as she hefted the smaller girl upon her shoulder with one hand holding her legs, she looked Harry's way once more.
With her cheeks flushed from exertion, but a victorious, happy smile on her face, she nodded in the direction of Gabrielle's room. "I 'ave only now remembered zat Gabby and I are due for seesterly deesceeplee-bonding."
No further words came from Fleur as she marched over to the door with the squirming Gabrielle held in place.
Speaking of Gabrielle, that innocent visage of hers was shooting Harry a pleading look. "Aren't you going to save me again, 'ero? Ze weetch zat 'as me wan—"
Fleur silenced her and shot Harry a look over her shoulder, still as serene as it'd been seconds earlier. "Join us for breakfast, 'Arry?"
After one, slow nod from the aforementioned Arry, Fleur blew him a kiss.
And shut the door.