Disclaimer: All characters, proper names, and the world belong to J.K. Rowling

A/N: To be honest while writing this chapter, I had something diffrent in mind how this chapter should look. Also I wanted to use Isabelle for different purpose. In the end i started to like this character, so i will need to postpone her fate. After this chapter, story will be back to Daphne.

VI. Chapter: Still Here

Fleur felt Isabelle's hand slowly, yet with clear confidence, slide across her bare back. Each inch of that touch sent a shiver down her spine, making Fleur's breath grow increasingly rapid and uneven, as if her lungs could barely keep up with the intensity of her emotions. It was as if the mere proximity of Isabelle's skin ignited something primal within her, a fire she both feared and craved. When her cousin's hand reached the waistband of her panties, it paused there momentarily, as if contemplating whether to venture further or halt at the edge of what was forbidden. The brief pause, though lasting only a few seconds, seemed to stretch into an eternity for Fleur. Time seemed to warp, every second dragging out, filled with the weight of unsaid words and unacknowledged desires. Every fraction of a second felt precious; she could feel her senses on the verge of overload, as if each touch were a spark igniting something deep within her, something she struggled to keep buried.

When Isabelle finally withdrew her hand, Fleur still felt its lingering presence, as if it had left an indelible mark on her skin, a sensation that refused to fade. It wasn't just a touch; it was a silent conversation, a language spoken through skin and breath, one that Fleur understood all too well. A part of her ached to reach out, to close the gap between them again, but she held back, her mind waging a silent battle against the urges of her body. Isabelle took a deliberate step back, giving Fleur space to turn towards her. As Fleur did so, her body became fully exposed to her cousin, every curve and detail of her silhouette now clearly visible under the soft light filtering through the room. The light seemed to caress her skin, casting a gentle glow that highlighted the golden undertones of her Veela heritage.

Isabelle's face remained focused, yet her black eyes held an intensity that made Fleur feel as though she was being devoured by that gaze. Isabelle's eyes seemed to absorb every inch of Fleur's body, as if savoring it with an almost primal hunger. There was something more in that gaze than mere desire—something darker, as if Isabelle saw Fleur as her prey, ready to defend what she considered her own. The intensity of Isabelle's stare sent a jolt through Fleur's system, a mix of excitement and trepidation coursing through her veins. Yet Fleur felt no fear. On the contrary, the glint in her cousin's eyes ignited a similar, predatory instinct within her. She knew that in her own gaze, Isabelle would find a mirror of that same longing—a yearning to feel Isabelle's touch, to experience the thrill of stepping closer to the edge of what was allowed. It was a dangerous dance they played, one where the lines between affection and something far more perilous were increasingly blurred.

The only thing holding Fleur back was the presence of others in the room, their silent gazes a reminder of the world that still existed around them. Fleur wouldn't have minded if the entire world disappeared, vanishing away into nothingness, leaving only the two of them. But reality anchored her, and she knew she couldn't give in, not here, not now. The costume that had previously floated beside the mirror was now in Isabelle's hand. The rest of the group was already dressed in their outfits, waiting for the performance to begin. Isabelle, calm and composed, stood before Fleur, holding her costume with a delicate grip, as if waiting for the younger Veela to reach for it. Each costume was meticulously tailored, perfectly hugging the body and highlighting every curve and detail of the silhouette. Fleur's costume stood out from the rest—it shimmered in shades of blue and red, drawing the eye and adding intensity to the entire performance. Although the neckline was covered, the subtly sheer material on her chest gave the outfit a provocative character, emphasizing her natural shape in a way that was more suggestive than revealing.

This blend of elegance and sensuality seemed to fit Fleur perfectly—her body, her aura, everything about her radiated passion, which Isabelle clearly perceived and seemed to be intimately familiar with. The fabric was soft against her skin, a stark contrast to the tension she felt within, and she could almost sense Isabelle's satisfaction in the way the costume clung to her form. The elder Veela's gaze never wavered, her expression unreadable, though Fleur knew that Isabelle took pleasure in seeing her struggle with the tight garment. "Can you put that costume on by yourself, or do you need help?" asked the older Veela, her voice light and playful, yet Fleur sensed something more beneath the surface—something elusive yet intensely palpable.

Seeing Isabelle in such a tight outfit that perfectly accentuated every curve of her body, Fleur found it difficult to tear her eyes away. Her thoughts began to drift into dangerous territory, but she knew she had to keep her cool—this was no time for weakness. The tightness of the fabric, combined with the intensity of Isabelle's presence, made it hard to focus on anything but the rapid beat of her own heart. Determined to regain control, Fleur took her costume from Isabelle and stood in front of the mirror, slowly beginning to put it on, though it wasn't an easy task. The fabric, while elastic, was incredibly tight, and Fleur's lower curves presented quite a challenge. Every movement had to be precise, full of tension—as if the slightest mistake could ruin everything. She could feel her frustration mounting with each centimeter as the fabric stubbornly resisted, clinging to her form in a way that was both flattering and maddening.

"You'd better worry about your costume not ripping, because it would be a shame if the whole stadium got to see your butt," Fleur quipped with slight irritation, cursing the designer of the outfit under her breath.

Isabelle, seemingly unfazed by Fleur's remarks, stepped closer and began helping her with the zipper on her back. The touch of Isabelle's fingers on Fleur's skin sent a sudden shiver through her, like an electric jolt. The contact was brief, but it was enough to send a cascade of memories flooding through Fleur's mind—moments shared, secrets kept, and the unspoken bond that tethered them together. "I'm glad you're worried about my butt, but I have to disappoint you—it's not just for you," Isabelle replied with a hint of sarcasm, still struggling with the zipper. Her voice was light, but Fleur detected a subtle provocation, as if Isabelle was deliberately testing the boundaries between them—boundaries that became increasingly blurred with each encounter.

After a moment of hard struggle, Fleur stood before her group of dancers, her posture commanding, as if silently challenging each one of them to meet her gaze. None of them did. There was a certain satisfaction in that, a validation of her dominance, though it left her feeling slightly hollow. Fleur ordered them to line up in pairs—she took the lead position, with Isabelle just behind her. She felt no stress; being the center of attention had become second nature to her. She had learned to ignore the stolen glances, as if they were merely part of the landscape. She was satisfied that none of the girls accepted her unspoken challenge, though she felt a slight tinge of disappointment that she hadn't found a worthy rival.

Fleur understood that being chosen as the leader of the dance group at the Quidditch World Cup was a great honor, but she felt no excitement. It was just another task, another opportunity to be a beautiful ornament for the eyes to feast on. But Fleur had other ambitions. Her thoughts were already far from the stadium, focused on something that would ensure she was remembered not for her beauty, but for the talent that burned within her like a living flame. The Triwizard Tournament was going to be her ticket to fulfilling those ambitions, the door to a world where something more than just looks mattered.

Now, standing before her group, she knew that what she was doing was merely a prelude to something greater. She could feel it in every movement, in every breath, as if her body was already preparing for the next battle—the one that truly mattered. There was a tension in the air, a sense of anticipation that mirrored the storm brewing within her. She knew that this dance, this performance, was just the beginning, a necessary step towards the future she envisioned.

As they stepped onto the stage, they were greeted by the roar of the excited crowd and the dazzling lights focused on them. Fleur had to admit, the sight was impressive. In the crowd, she could sense a whirlwind of emotions, ranging from tense anticipation to euphoria, to raw excitement. Fleur raised her wand high. The wand was adorned with a garland of flowers, which restricted her movements. All the eyes of the girls in the group were fixed on her, waiting for the signal to begin the performance. As Fleur directed her gaze towards Isabelle, she looked at her intensely, searching for something, though she wasn't quite sure what. Isabelle only nodded at her. And that was enough. Fleur flicked her wand, and the entire stadium lighting shifted to a deep, intense red. She fired a green spark from her wand, signaling the beginning of the flawless dance.

As Fleur and her group's performance drew to an end, her mind began to sense subtle shifts in the surrounding atmosphere. Although she was surrounded by a crowd of thousands of eyes watching her—eyes filled with envy, excitement, and desire—Fleur was aware that these feelings were familiar to her. Her presence on stage drew attention, and the crowd reacted with typical emotions that had become almost routine. She had learned to ignore the superficial reactions of people, accustomed to being in the spotlight and feeling the intensity of emotions that were merely a surface layer of their true admiration.

However, at that moment, something in the atmosphere changed. Her Veela instincts, always on guard over her emotional state, detected something beyond the standard reactions of the crowd. One pair of eyes, though equally focused on her as the others, emitted something more complex and elusive. Fleur could sense the difference—this gaze was more penetrating, more analytical. Her instinct, sharpened by years of experience and the unique sensitivity of a Veela, perceived in this look a cold calculation intertwined with a deep, almost intangible interest. It was not a mere curiosity about her body or her performance—it was a gaze that delved deeper, probing into her essence, trying to understand something that was inaccessible to others.

Fleur noticed that this exceptional gaze contained a form of intellectual analysis. There was something cold, calculating about it, but not devoid of emotion—instead, it was directed towards something fundamental that could have serious consequences. It was as if a different kind of evaluation was taking place, one that not only perceived her external charm but also tried to understand her true intentions and goals. Fleur had the impression that those eyes saw something in her that the rest of the crowd could not notice—perhaps they perceived her hidden ambitions, her inner fire that drove her to strive for more than mere superficial success.

As their performance neared its end, Fleur started to see this person as someone who could play a significant role in her future plans. They could be part of a broader connections that influenced her fate, or they might possess information that could be crucial for her subsequent actions. This unique gaze stirred in Fleur a sense that something was shifting, that her public performance was only one stage in a prolonged game where the stakes were her true goals and ambitions.

Descending from the stage, Fleur was consumed by intense thoughts about what might lie behind that gaze. On one hand, it could be a threat—someone intending to exploit her weaknesses or expose her secrets. On the other hand, it could be a potential ally, whose presence and intentions might prove crucial in the upcoming challenges she faced. Despite her heart racing with emotion and adrenaline, Fleur felt she was on the brink of discovering something significant. She knew she needed to be vigilant and prepared for what might come. What she felt was not only a portent of potential danger but also an invitation to uncover new opportunities that could influence her path forward. In that intense moment, Fleur realized that the future might bring both unexpected challenges and untapped chances that could determine her fate.