CHAPTER 26 – RIVALRY IN THE SKIES
In the ensuing days, the weight of the undisclosed truth pressed on Harry's mind, making the passing of time feel agonizingly slow. The lingering impact of the Voldemort-induced dream left him unsettled, but soon, a captivating distraction emerged to seize his attention. The upcoming Saturday promised Gryffindor's inaugural Quidditch match of the year against Slytherin, heightening anticipation and excitement.
Though the specter of Voldemort loomed, Harry found solace in the prospect of the Quidditch match. Gryffindor versus Slytherin heightened the stakes, and the fervor surrounding the game overshadowed the somber revelations. Fleur's presence on the team added an extra layer of intrigue, even if it was unlikely she would play given Slytherin's formidable reputation. Angelina, the determined captain, aimed to field the strongest team to face their most formidable adversary. The anticipation of the match became a welcome diversion, temporarily eclipsing the weight of the undisclosed prophecy.
Harry wasn't the Quidditch enthusiast that many presumed him to be, a title more aptly bestowed upon Ron, who could rarely be swayed from discussing the sport. For Harry, it wasn't an obsession with the game itself but rather the exhilaration, the thunderous cheers of the crowd, and, above all, the sheer joy of flying that captivated him. The competition added a welcomed edge, and the opportunity to flaunt his superiority over Draco Malfoy in the pursuit of the elusive golden snitch was an added bonus. Whether victory or defeat, the chance to remind the pompous Pureblood that he'd never managed to best Harry in capturing the snitch was a satisfaction Harry couldn't deny.
He found himself amused by his own hubris and confidence, acknowledging the less attractive aspects of his character while simultaneously recognizing the undeniable truth. In matters of seeking, Malfoy's purported talents were nothing more than self-aggrandized delusions. Armed with the superior broom and honed skills, Harry exuded supreme confidence in his ability to outmaneuver the blond rival. Even if the golden ball materialized right under Malfoy's nose, Harry believed it would be a closely contested affair at best.
A soft chuckle escaped Harry's lips as he privately entertained these thoughts. He glanced around the library, gauging that his introspection had gone unnoticed by his companions. The Friday night ambiance in the library was serene, with only a handful of occupied tables, mostly seventh years immersed in their NEWT preparations. Hermione's table, where the friends had gathered for a late-night study session, was bustling with activity. Despite their varying ages and personalities, Harry felt the warmth of camaraderie, a feeling that hadn't always graced his life, even since his arrival at Hogwarts.
Ron and Hermione, stalwarts of Harry's life, had weathered the storms of numerous adventures, including the discord sown by Harry's unexpected inclusion in the tournament the previous year. Their enduring friendship stood as a testament to their unwavering support. Fleur, a newcomer to Harry's inner circle, owed her presence to the betrothal arrangement but had swiftly become an integral part of his life. Her role extended beyond the confines of obligation, contributing significantly to Harry's overall well-being. Neville, always on the periphery, had transitioned from an observer to an insider, a valued member appreciated for his growing confidence and rational demeanor.
In contrast to his initial hesitations, Harry had come to cherish the uniqueness Luna and Ginny brought to the group. Luna's whimsical personality and penchant for discussing fantastical creatures were now seen as endearing quirks rather than overt oddities. Ginny, while occasional lingering gazes persisted, had grown comfortable in Harry's company. Her infectious sense of fun and sunny personality had seamlessly integrated into the fabric of their friendships.
Reflecting on recent additions, Harry acknowledged the unlikely trio that had seamlessly become an integral part of the group. Susan Bones, although not intimately acquainted with the rest, had established herself as a friendly and open presence. Her Hufflepuff loyalty, coupled with her abilities and knowledge, had earned her acceptance from all of Harry's friends. The other two, however, were even more unexpected additions, challenging preconceived notions.
The six Slytherin members, while fitting in from an ability standpoint, had maintained an aloof distance from the rest of the club. Notably, two fifth-year girls had defied expectations, gravitating toward Harry's circle despite any protests from their housemates. Harry's initial impressions of Tracey Davis and Daphne had proven accurate—Tracey, once at ease, proved chatty, while Daphne, though reserved, displayed a friendly and outgoing nature. Their inclusion was still in its formative stages, and the development of lifelong friendships was a gradual process. Nevertheless, their progress, coupled with friendliness and competence, had firmly established them as welcome members of the evolving clique.
The presence of Tracey Davis and Daphne Greengrass in Harry's circle elicited a range of reactions from his friends. Fleur, perhaps due to unfamiliarity and the awareness of British Pureblood sentiments, maintained a cautious distance. Neville, exhibiting his characteristic nonchalance, took their inclusion in stride. Hermione, occasionally as guarded as Fleur, discovered an unexpected connection with Daphne. Sharing all elective courses with Hermione and even joining Harry's Ancient Runes tutoring sessions, Daphne's presence surprised everyone, including Harry.
However, the most astonishing response came from Ron. In the initial study sessions, Ron's discontent with the Slytherins was thinly veiled, his attempts at concealment marred by the tact required to hide his well-known abhorrence of Slytherins. Tracey, matching Ron's distrust with her own, refused to engage with him, while Daphne simply dismissed him.
To Harry's amusement, within a week, Ron's grumbling noticeably dwindled, and an unexpected shift in his attention became evident. The unmistakable signs of Ron's captivation with Daphne—undeniably attractive—did not escape anyone's notice, least of all Daphne's. Rather than confront him or react to his admiration, Daphne astutely altered her treatment of Ron, mirroring the transformation she applied to others. Once the evidence of Ron's disdain disappeared, their interactions shifted from distant acquaintanceship to a budding friendship. Daphne's response, or lack thereof, added an intriguing layer to the dynamics of the group, leaving Ron caught in a fascination he hadn't anticipated.
In this unlikely assembly of friends, Harry found himself growing fond of each individual. The concept of having such a diverse group was foreign to him, considering his solitary childhood influenced by Dudley's presence. Since arriving at Hogwarts, he had mostly navigated the complexities of friendship with just two close companions. However, the current constellation of friends brought a newfound joy to his life, and Harry was beginning to relish the experience.
Daphne and Tracey, although considered by some as too recent to fully trust, had earned Harry's confidence. His instincts and an unexplainable hunch led him to believe in their sincerity, and he embraced the idea that they were genuine friends. It was a heady feeling, one that added richness to the tapestry of his newfound social life.
"Harry!"
Hermione's exasperated voice jolted him out of his contemplation, and he turned to see her stern expression. Unaware of the muffled giggles and eye rolls around the table, Harry queried, "What?"
"You'll never get his head out of the clouds," Neville remarked with a snigger. "At least not until after the Quidditch match tomorrow."
"That's how it should be," Ron chimed in with a grin. "We want our star seeker to concentrate on the match. And come to think of it," he added, shooting a sly glance at the two Slytherins, "it'll be much worse tomorrow after Gryffindor pastes Slytherin."
"Oy!"
"Hey!" protested the two Slytherins almost simultaneously, their indignant voices echoing around the table. The playful banter and friendly rivalry only added to the camaraderie that had developed among this eclectic group of friends.
"Come on," Ron scoffed, a sly grin forming on his face. "You don't actually believe Malfoy will catch the snitch tomorrow, do you?"
Daphne responded with an air of prim confidence, "I'll have you know that our chasers and beaters are more than capable of overcoming such a... disappointment at seeker."
Tracey joined in, wearing a smirk as she shot a sly glance at Ron, "And besides, I've heard that Gryffindor's keeper makes Malfoy look positively competent."
"Oy!" Ron protested, but the two Slytherin girls simply grinned in response. To Harry, it wasn't merely a laughing matter; he sensed a slight tension in the air. Ron, a competent keeper but prone to confidence issues, might take these comments to heart, potentially affecting his performance in the upcoming match.
"Nah," Neville interjected, stepping in to diffuse any potential discord. "Malfoy excels at bragging without the ability to back his words up. We've got nothing to worry about."
Ron seemed to take it all in stride. Leaning back in his chair with a confident smirk aimed at the Slytherins, he remarked, "Too right, mate. And besides, with the ponce at seeker and the odds of your house winning being less than stellar—and now that you have Gryffindor friends—maybe you should switch allegiance and cheer for Gryffindor."
The playful banter continued, lightening the atmosphere and reaffirming the camaraderie among the diverse group of friends. Harry hoped that Ron would take Neville's reassurance to heart, steering clear of any detrimental effects on his confidence before the crucial Quidditch match.
"That will be the day," Tracey scoffed with a snort. "Cheering for Gryffindor? I'm content supporting my own house team, regardless of the blond and brainless seeker, thank you."
Harry joined in the teasing, saying, "But you'd have a much better chance of being happy with the outcome."
Daphne chimed in, "That's beside the point. House unity may not extend much further than Quidditch, but that, at least, is sacrosanct. Can you imagine the outcry in the Slytherin dungeons if we openly cheered for Gryffindor? It would be as though the entire fan base of the Holyhead Harpies suddenly defected and started cheering for the Chudley Cannons!"
"Hey, what's wrong with the Cannons?" Ron protested.
"Other than the fact that they've never won anything?" Daphne retorted incredulously.
"Nothing is wrong with Chudley," Tracey added with a straight face, though the twitching at the corners of her mouth almost gave her away. "We're trying to illustrate a point here. The unity within the house is crucial. Even a hint of us cheering for Gryffindor would give Malfoy all he needed to go after us, and he'd have the backing of the house."
The banter continued, each comment adding a layer of lightness to the conversation. The importance of house loyalty, especially in the context of Quidditch, became evident, and the Slytherin girls made it clear that allegiance, even in jest, would not be easily swayed. The exchange highlighted the delicate balance within the group and the unspoken understanding that extended beyond the realm of friendship and into the intricacies of house rivalries.
"Suit yourself," Ron conceded with a shrug and an evil grin. "Don't say we didn't warn you."
As the banter intensified, the friends delved into a spirited discussion about which house boasted the best Quidditch team that year. Despite Hufflepuff's expected challenges after losing Cedric Diggory, Susan enthusiastically joined the conversation. Luna, the lone Ravenclaw at the table, remained aloof from the Quidditch discussions, and the Gryffindors, outnumbering the Slytherins with only Daphne and Tracey, shamelessly asserted that their house had the superior team.
Harry, leaning back, observed the playful banter and camaraderie among his friends. Being part of this group and experiencing friendship had its distinct advantages, he mused. It was the camaraderie he had missed out on growing up with the Dursleys, and now, surrounded by friends, he hoped these connections would endure a lifetime.
As the weekend approached, the Gryffindor team brimmed with confidence, fully prepared to face their arch-rivals Slytherin. The anticipation extended beyond the desire to win the game; the Gryffindors believed a victory would propel them toward securing both the Quidditch and house cups that year. Historically, Slytherin had been their primary competition, jointly dominating the Quidditch Cups for centuries. This year appeared to be no exception, although Ravenclaw posed a formidable challenge. Unfortunately, the assessment of Hufflepuff's team from the previous evening seemed accurate—without Cedric's influence, they were likely to be overmatched. The stage was set for a thrilling weekend, with Quidditch rivalry and house pride hanging in the balance.
As Harry sat in the locker room, Angelina's pre-game pep talk became a distant murmur in his ears. The strategy discussions, while crucial for the team's overall success, held little relevance to him as the seeker. His task was clear—catch the snitch. Much of the intricate planning, especially the beaters' role in distracting the opposing seeker, didn't concern him. In an unconventional move, the decision had been made for the beaters to ignore Malfoy altogether and focus on the opposing chasers. The rationale was twofold: to support Ron as much as possible and, somewhat dismissively, because they didn't view Malfoy as a significant threat. It wasn't uncommon to adopt such a strategy when facing a less skilled seeker, but the irony of how Malfoy would react if he knew their game plan made Harry chuckle.
Rather than dwelling on the game, Harry's thoughts shifted to Draco Malfoy. The Slytherin heir had been simmering with resentment since the day of Dumbledore's first defense class. Though surprisingly silent in direct interactions with Harry and his friends, Draco's smoldering looks could almost be charged with murder. He had transformed from a mere nuisance to a genuinely dangerous adversary, regardless of Harry's assessment of his skills. Harry recognized the need for vigilance; Draco Malfoy warranted careful observation. The dynamics of their rivalry had shifted, and Harry couldn't help but wonder how it would unfold during the impending match.
"Harry!" a hushed voice from his side snapped him back to attention. "Pay attention!"
Glancing at Fleur, his betrothed, Harry winked at her. "Don't worry, Fleur. I've got the game plan under control."
"Maybe so, but you really should pay attention to what the captain is saying."
Smiling, Harry shook his head slightly and refocused on Angelina, who was concluding her remarks. While she had noticed the quiet exchange between Harry and Fleur, she opted not to address it directly, leaving only a subtle frown on her face.
The Gryffindor team soon exited the locker room, mounting their brooms and soaring into the stadium amidst the thunderous cheers of three-quarters of the crowd. Slytherin's bullying tactics and braggadocio had garnered them little favor, even from Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff. Generally, the three houses united in cheering for each other when playing against Slytherin, leaving the snakes outnumbered and indifferent to the crowd's sentiments.
"And here comes the Gryffindor team," Lee Jordan's voice echoed through the stadium. "Led by the lovely Angelina Johnson, Gryffindor is the favorite for the Quidditch Cup this year. The entire team, except for Ron Weasley, the new keeper, has been together for four years. Well, it would have been four years if the faculty hadn't broken our hearts and canceled Quidditch last year."
"Jordan, if you don't mind," Professor McGonagall's muffled voice cut into the seventh-year's commentary. The match was about to begin, and the excitement in the stadium reached a fever pitch. The Gryffindor team, fueled by the crowd's enthusiasm, was determined to secure a decisive victory against their arch-rivals, Slytherin.
"Of course, Professor," Lee responded with a smirk, showing no sign of being deterred by Professor McGonagall's interruption. Harry couldn't help but grin; it was far from the most outrageous statement Lee had ever made during a Quidditch match.
The day was perfect for Quidditch. The sun bathed the stadium in a warm glow, illuminating the brightly colored stands and tempering the Scotland afternoon to a mere chill, a far cry from the bone-chilling frigidity Harry had experienced in past matches. The pleasant warmth seemed almost like an omen, though Harry chuckled at his own whimsical thoughts. Debating whether the bright and sunny weather would favor Gryffindor over Slytherin was a fanciful endeavor.
Soaring high above the pitch, Harry observed as the two teams positioned themselves at opposite ends. Across from him, Malfoy assumed his position, his eyes fixed on Harry with the usual intensity. Harry responded with an insolent smile, his attention already shifting to the stadium, where he began plotting his strategy for catching the elusive golden snitch.
In a flash, Madam Hooch initiated the match, and Harry watched as the Gryffindor chasers swiftly seized control of the quaffle. The Quidditch spectacle unfolded, the stadium alive with the fervor of the crowd and the exhilaration of the game. The Gryffindor team moved with precision and determination, fueled by the collective desire to secure a resounding victory over their perennial rivals, Slytherin.
"And the game is underway! Johnson controls the quaffle, passes to Spinnet, back to Johnson, over to Bell who swoops in and scores!"
The stadium erupted in cheers, the resounding roar of the crowd echoing over the pitch. Caught up in the emotional tide, Harry pumped his fist in response to Gryffindor's swift scoring.
A sudden movement in his peripheral vision prompted Harry to bank sharply to the right, instinctively avoiding a close encounter with Malfoy, who had just swooped through the space Harry had occupied moments before. However, his evasion was quickly followed by a dodge to avoid an incoming bludger, maliciously aimed at him by one of Malfoy's burly bodyguards. It became evident that while Gryffindor's beaters had decided to ignore Malfoy, the same courtesy did not extend to Harry from the Slytherin beaters.
Soaring in a wide arc, Harry turned to face Malfoy, who once again charged at him with a grim determination mixed with loathing. An insolent leer appeared on Harry's face as he met the Slytherin seeker's gaze. If this was the way Malfoy wanted to play it, Harry was more than willing to oblige. The game had taken a personal turn between the two seekers, setting the stage for a rivalry that transcended mere competition on the Quidditch pitch.
Thus began a game of cat and mouse between the two seekers. Malfoy seemed to invest minimal effort in seeking the snitch, focusing instead on attempting to knock Harry off his broom. Juggling the threats from Malfoy and the Slytherin beaters, Harry found himself constantly on the defensive, though he diligently searched for the elusive golden ball whenever the opportunity arose. Amidst evading attacks, Harry led Malfoy on a lively pursuit, executing feints and dives, and occasionally making daring runs at the Slytherin seeker. Despite the Gryffindor's unpredictable maneuvers, Malfoy's determination never wavered.
While the intense seeker duel played out, the Gryffindor chasers operated like a well-oiled machine, swiftly amassing points against their less experienced Slytherin counterparts. Though Harry struggled to catch the specifics of the game, he gleaned a general sense of the proceedings. Lee's commentary intermittently reached him.
"…Warrington is hit by a glancing blow! That will leave a mark…
"…and Weasley let in another one, which perhaps he should have stopped…
"…Johnson passes to Spinnet…
"…Pucey passes to Warrington, who… oh, that's got to smart! Weasley gets Warrington with a bludger again!
"…and Weasley makes a nice toe save. If only he'd make a few more…
The match unfolded with a series of dynamic plays, and the stakes continued to rise as the Gryffindor chasers showcased their prowess and Ron faced the challenges of defending the goalposts. As the game progressed, the tension mounted, and Harry's focus remained divided between the hunt for the snitch and the relentless pursuit by Malfoy and his Slytherin teammates.
"…perhaps the Gryffindors should sub, if only to get the lovely Miss Delacour into the game…"
"Jordan!"
An hour into the game, Harry found a brief respite and took the opportunity to glance at the scoreboard. Gryffindor was leading Slytherin 120 – 90, and Harry had yet to catch even a glimpse of the snitch.
"What, are you scared, Potter?" Malfoy taunted as he passed closely by, making another attempt to knock him from his broom.
"In your dreams, Malfoy!" Harry retorted.
The two seekers circled each other warily for several moments before Harry, feigning excitement, abruptly dove toward the pitch, with Malfoy closely tailing him. Adding more speed to his Firebolt, Harry shot toward the ground, pulling up at the last possible moment, nearly brushing the ground with his boots. Malfoy, less fortunate in his panicked attempts to stop, caught a boot on the turf, sending his broom sideways. Although he managed to regain control before crashing, he chased after Harry once more, a venomous expression on his face. The rivalry between the two seekers intensified, with each maneuver and counter-maneuver becoming increasingly charged with competitive fervor.
Harry couldn't help but grin at the eruption of cheers from the stands, signaling the recognition of the famous Wronski Feint. He knew that Hermione, ever cautious, was likely on edge witnessing his aerial acrobatics and stunts.
His personal game of evasion with Malfoy continued, with the blond seeker now showing a bit more caution in pursuing Harry—an adjustment that suited Harry just fine. Meanwhile, the score steadily climbed, reaching 260 – 190, with Gryffindor steadily widening the gap.
"Hey Malfoy!" Harry taunted, deftly avoiding another of Malfoy's attacks. "You'd better hurry and catch the snitch! Your team will be too far behind if this keeps up!"
In response, Malfoy only snarled and once again launched at Harry. Harry skillfully evaded the pursuit while charging away from the Slytherin, his eyes scanning the pitch below.
"Fine!" he yelled back at a persistently pursuing Malfoy. "I thought I'd give you a chance, since you don't have one on your own. I guess I'll just have to catch it myself!" The competitive banter between the two seekers added an extra layer of intensity to the match, as Gryffindor continued to extend their lead, and the anticipation for the snitch's appearance heightened.
The Malfoy scion, however, gave no indication that he had heard Harry's taunt. Considering the speed and the wind's roar in his ears, Harry mused that it was entirely possible Malfoy hadn't caught his words.
Their confrontation continued for several more minutes, with Harry skillfully evading Malfoy's attacks and the sporadic bludgers. Then, from below, Harry caught a hint of gold. Careful not to show any overt reaction, he dodged another of Malfoy's passes and headed for the area above the Slytherin keeper, where the coveted golden snitch hovered behind Bletchley.
In a swift and calculated move, Harry sprang into action. He turned sharply and charged at Malfoy, who dodged somewhat haphazardly. Then, soaring high into the air, Harry prompted Malfoy to follow. Once at a sufficient height, he changed direction and dove toward the pitch. As planned, Malfoy, recalling his near miss with the ground, became more cautious in pursuit.
Amid the distant roar of the crowd, Harry approached the Slytherin goalposts, leaving Bletchley with a startled look. Ignoring the keeper, Harry sped by, narrowly missing him, and snatched the snitch from the air, raising it triumphantly.
The packed stands erupted into even greater cheers as the game concluded. Smirking at a clearly incensed Malfoy, Harry prepared to unleash a taunt, but before he could, he was abruptly jolted on his broom.
"Harry!"
Angelina soared up to Harry, her face etched with concern. "Are you all right?"
Surveying his surroundings, Harry spotted the bludger that had struck him in the back, along with the dark expression of glee on Goyle's face.
"It was Goyle," Angelina said unnecessarily. "He hit the bludger at you as soon as he saw you had the snitch."
Harry shrugged and tested his back; it seemed no damage had been done. "Don't worry about it. We won!"
The Gryffindor team took a victory lap around the stadium, landing in front of the Gryffindor stands where their housemates eagerly awaited them. Hugs and congratulations were exchanged when a familiar troublemaker approached from behind.
"Hey, scarhead, you got lucky again, didn't you!"
"I guess I must be really lucky, Bad Faith," Harry shot back. "I seem to have that luck every time I play you."
Malfoy's face turned almost red with rage. "You're a bit cocky for a jumped-up Halfblood."
"And you're cocky for someone who has never caught the snitch against me," Harry retorted, a smirk playing on his lips.
"Maybe we should just leave," Fleur suggested, her voice tinged with concern as she glanced at the growing crowd of students encircling the confrontation, their curious eyes fixed on the brewing conflict.
Harry's grin widened as he locked eyes with Fleur. "I figure you must relish losing. What's this now? A four-year losing streak to Gryffindor, and three consecutive losses to me. It'd be four if we had played Quidditch last year. Such a shame—you could've added another loss to your tally against me!"
Malfoy's fury surged, prompting him to swiftly draw his wand. "Locomotor Mortis!" he bellowed, unleashing the spell, followed by a stinging hex aimed directly at Harry's face.
Reacting swiftly, Harry evaded the incoming curses, his hand instinctively reaching for his wand. However, before he could retaliate, the Headmaster appeared, swiftly disarming Malfoy.
"What is the meaning of this?" Dumbledore's voice boomed with authority, fixing both Harry and Malfoy with a stern, unwavering gaze.
In the ensuing moments, the details of the altercation spilled out, painting a picture of the escalating rivalry between the two young wizards. Dumbledore's expression remained grave as he addressed them both.
"I have spoken to you both about this rivalry before. It is spiraling out of control," Dumbledore admonished, his voice carrying a note of disappointment. "If you cannot conduct yourselves with decorum, I shall have to insist that you avoid each other henceforth. And if that proves insufficient, detention may serve as a means for reflection on your actions."
Silence lingered between them—Harry attempted to muster a semblance of contrition, though he couldn't genuinely claim to feel remorse. Meanwhile, Malfoy, true to form, wore that familiar, infuriatingly smug smirk that seemed permanently etched upon his features.
"Now, ten points shall be deducted from both of your houses," Dumbledore's voice resonated with a tone of authority. "Moreover, Mr. Malfoy, you'll be serving two additional nights of detention for initiating the altercation and casting hexes at a fellow student. If you wish to avoid further consequences, I'd advise keeping your wand sheathed in the future."
Malfoy sneered, his arrogance undeterred, and without a word, he pivoted on his heel and strode away, his posture radiating haughty disdain. Harry, however, paid him little mind—victory in the match had been secured, setting the stage for Gryffindor's trajectory in the coming year. Anticipating a jubilant atmosphere in Gryffindor Tower, Harry yearned to revel in the triumph.
"Let's get you cleaned up and back to the tower," Fleur suggested, gently nudging him toward the changing rooms.
"Are you offering to assist?" Harry replied, mischief dancing in his eyes.
A subtle shift transformed Fleur's smile into something more alluring. "If you'd like."
The beet-red hue that painted Harry's cheeks triggered a cascade of laughter from the gathered Gryffindors. His pride as the triumphant hero on the pitch shattered, he made a hasty exit, thoroughly embarrassed by Fleur's comeback. Despite his embarrassment, a part of him couldn't help but entertain thoughts spurred by Fleur's teasing, even though he sensed her jest.
His mind, now diverted from the concluded Quidditch match, wandered toward the implications of Fleur's words. She wasn't entirely serious, he realized, but the notion lingered in his thoughts. After all, Fleur was undeniably a stunning woman, her allure not lost on him.
Flushed with renewed embarrassment, Harry firmly banished those contemplations, resolutely pushing them into the depths of his mind. Yet, even as he tried to dismiss the thoughts, his gaze involuntarily darted toward his betrothed. There was an undeniable charm in observing her, he admitted to himself. Fleur possessed a captivating grace that made her a captivating sight.
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