FIVE
"Stupefy!"
"Protego!"
Harry's felt his shield charm flare brilliantly, deflecting Seamus's stunning spell into the ceiling. The stone absorbed the impact with a dull thud, adding another scorch mark to its already impressive collection.
"Excellent form, Mr. Potter!" Professor Graves's voice cut through the chaos of two dozen students practicing shield charms. "Notice how he angled the shield? That's exactly what I was talking about – efficiency over power."
Harry lowered his wand, taking a moment to collect his breath.
"Merlin's beard, mate," Seamus grinned, wiping sweat from his forehead. "Bit overkill for a practice duel, don't you think?"
"Sorry," Harry shrugged. "Force of habit."
"Force of surviving a war, more like," Ron muttered from nearby, where he was helping Neville with his stance.
"Exactly, Mr Weasley," Graves strode over to their group, his dark blue robes somehow still immaculate despite the dusty atmosphere, "that's precisely why shield variations are so crucial. Mr. Potter just demonstrated why. Would you care to explain your technique to the class?"
Harry turned red as he felt everyone's eyes turn to him. "Er, well… it's not really technique. It's just… you sort of feel what kind of shield you need? Like, Seamus telegraphs his stunning spells a bit to the left, so…"
"Oi!" Seamus protested good-naturedly.
"Fascinating." Graves's grey eyes gleamed with interest. "Intuitive magic at its finest."
The bell rang, saving Harry from having to respond.
"Right then!" the Professor raised his voice over the sudden shuffle of books and bags. "Two feet on shield charm emotional resonance by next week. And remember – precision beats power every time. Mr. Potter, a moment of your time?"
Ron paused in packing his bag. "Want me to wait?"
"Nah, go ahead. Save me some lunch before Dean eats all the shepherd's pie again."
Harry stayed in his seat, watching his classmates file out. The room still crackled with residual magic, shield charms leaving traces of ozone in the air. Graves waited until the last student left before speaking.
"That was quite impressive spellwork today, Harry – may I call you Harry?"
"Erm, sure. Thanks, Professor."
"And your last essay on counter-curse theory…" Graves pulled a rolled parchment from his desk. "Exceptional work. You have a natural understanding of defensive magic that goes beyond mere technique."
Harry shifted uncomfortably. "Professor Lupin covered the basics with us in third year."
"Ah yes, Remus." Something flickered across Graves's face. "He was always thorough. Though I imagine your… extracurricular experience has contributed significantly to your understanding."
"Right." Harry's hand began tapping a nervous rhythm on the desk. "Was that all, Professor?"
"Actually," Graves's tone turned casual – almost too casual, "I was hoping you might help me with something. As you may know, I studied here several years ago. As a Ravenclaw, meaning I've sadly never been to your Tower."
"You mean the Gryffindor Tower?"
The Professor nodded."I've always been interested in interior design, you see- especially magic components of the same. I've heard there's quite a collection of magical artifacts in the Gryffindor common room – statues, decorative pieces, that sort of thing. Any chance you've noticed a lion statue? Small, probably bronze or gold?"
Harry frowned. "There are loads of lion statues in there. Kind of our whole thing, isn't it?"
"Of course, of course." Graves smiled, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. "Just artistic curiosity, you understand. Being Ravenclaw myself, I can't exactly pop in for a look."
"Right," Harry said slowly. "Was there anything else, Professor?"
"No, no, that's all. Thank you for your time, Harry. Keep up the excellent work – I look forward to your next essay."
Harry walked quickly to the Great Hall, his mind racing.
Why would a Defense professor be so interested in decorative statues?
Sure, some Professors had weird hobbies- Professor Flitwick had a frog choir. Madame Hooch used to race Thestrals. Even Lockhart used to write fanfiction…about himself.
Harry made his way to the Great Hall, his mind still turning over the strange conversation with Professor Graves. There was something about the man's interest in the common room decorations that nagged at him, but he couldn't quite put his finger on why.
"MATE!" Ron's voice cut through his thoughts. He looked up to find himself already at the Gryffindor table, with no memory of walking there.
"Sorry, what?"
"I said, are you planning to sit down, or are you just going to hover there like a confused ghost?" Ron grinned, shifting over to make room.
Harry dropped onto the bench, automatically reaching for the shepherd's pie. "Just thinking."
"Dangerous pastime," Hermione commented, not looking up from her Arithmancy textbook. "Especially when you've got that look on your face."
"What look?"
"The something's not quite right but I can't prove it yet look," she said, finally marking her page and closing the book. "The same one you had about Quirrell, and Lockhart, and—"
"And you were right about all of them," Ron pointed out through a mouthful of food.
"This is different," Harry said, pushing his food around his plate. "Professor Graves is… I don't know. He seems alright…"
"But?" Hermione prompted.
"But nothing. He just asked about some decorations in the common room. Just curious about the castle, I guess."
Ron frowned. "Decorations? Like what?"
"Just some lion statues. Said he was interested in the history or something." Harry shrugged, trying to sound casual. "Probably nothing."
"Probably," Hermione agreed, but her tone suggested she was filing the information away for later. "Though speaking of Defense class, that was quite impressive spellwork today."
"Yeah, mate," Ron grinned. "Thought Seamus was going to wet himself when your shield nearly knocked him over."
"It wasn't that powerful," Harry protested, but he felt himself smiling. "Just got lucky with the timing."
"Lucky?" Hermione raised an eyebrow. "Harry, you're top of the class in Defense. Even Professor Graves said—"
"Can we talk about something else?" Harry interrupted, suddenly very interested in his pumpkin juice. "Like… I don't know, how's prefect duty going, Ron?"
Ron groaned dramatically. "Don't even get me started. Caught some third-years trying to charm the suits of armor to do the macarena last night. Took ages to sort out."
"The what?" Harry asked.
"It's a Muggle dance," Hermione explained. "Though I'd love to know where they learned it…"
The conversation drifted to safer topics, but Harry caught Ron and Hermione exchanging one of their looks – the kind that meant they'd be discussing this later when he wasn't around. Harry didn't really mind. He had a lot of other schoolwork to do.
The library's ancient wooden shelves loomed over Harry as he stared at his half-finished Charms essay, the parchment mockingly blank beyond the first few paragraphs. Dust motes danced in the late afternoon sunlight streaming through the high windows, and the familiar scent of aged leather bindings and parchment filled the air. Around him, other students bent over their own work, their quills scratching quietly against parchment in the hushed atmosphere.
He ran a hand through his messy hair, letting out a frustrated sigh. Next to him, Ron was slouched in his chair, his own essay forgotten as he absently played with his Head Boy badge, polishing it against his robes for what must have been the hundredth time that week. The silver badge gleamed proudly against the black fabric, and Harry couldn't help but smile at his friend's obvious pride.
"Mate, if you keep that up, you'll wear the badge down to nothing," he teased.
Ron's ears turned pink, but he grinned unabashedly. "Can't help it. Still can't believe McGonagall chose me, you know? Sometimes I think she must have confused me with someone else."
"Oh, honestly, Ronald," Hermione chimed in from across the table, not looking up from her own perfectly organized notes. Her quill moved steadily across her parchment, already filling her third foot of essay- that girl was on automatic. "Professor McGonagall chose you because you earned it. Though perhaps a bit more focus on your essays and less on your badge wouldn't go amiss?"
Ron's response was cut short by a loud growl from his stomach. He glanced hopefully at the library's entrance. "Reckon it's almost dinner time?"
"We've only been here an hour," Hermione huffed, though her stern tone was softened by the affectionate look she gave him. "And you had three sandwiches at lunch."
"Four, actually," Ron corrected, then quickly added, "But who's counting?"
Harry watched their familiar banter with a mixture of amusement and envy. Their relationship had grown deeper since the war, and while he was genuinely happy for his best friends, sometimes their closeness made him feel like a third wheel. He turned back to his essay, trying to concentrate on the theoretical principles behind Atmospheric Charms, but the words in his textbook seemed to swim before his eyes.
"This is hopeless," he muttered, dropping his quill onto the table. "I can handle the practical applications just fine, but all this theory…" He gestured at the stack of books surrounding him. "It's like trying to read Ancient Runes backwards."
"Isn't that how you're supposed to read them, mate?"
"Oh buzz off, Ron," Harry groaned.
Hermione finally looked up from her work, her expression thoughtful. "You know, Harry, there might be a solution." She carefully placed her quill in its holder, a sure sign she was about to propose something she'd given considerable thought to. "Why don't you ask Professor Delacour for help?"
Harry felt his stomach do an odd flip at the mention of Fleur's name. "What? Fleur? No, I couldn't—I mean, she's probably too busy, and besides—"
"Besides what?" Hermione pressed, raising an eyebrow. "She's the Assistant Charms Professor, and helping students is literally part of her job."
"Yeah, but…" Harry trailed off, unable to articulate why the idea made him so nervous. It wasn't just that Fleur was beautiful—though she certainly was—but there was something about her presence that made him feel simultaneously drawn to her and terrified of making a fool of himself.
Ron looked up from his badge polishing, a knowing smirk on his face. "Afraid you'll start drooling like a first-year the moment she starts explaining Atmospheric Charms?"
"I do not drool," Harry protested, feeling his face heat up. "And I'm perfectly capable of having a normal conversation with her."
"Oh, yes, because 'Nice weather we're having' followed by running away for Quidditch practice is the height of normal conversation," Ron chuckled, dodging the crumpled piece of parchment Harry threw at him.
"That was one time," Harry muttered, though he couldn't help but smile at the memory. It had been particularly mortifying because it had, in fact, been raining quite heavily that day. Still, he'd stubbornly flow out in the rain, and gotten thoroughly drenched in the process.
Hermione closed her book with a decisive snap. "Harry, you're struggling with the theory, and Professor Delacour is an expert. She scored the highest marks in Charms at Beauxbatons in over fifty years-"
"I don't even want to know how you know that, 'Mione," Ron muttered. "Do you keep track of all the Professors' marks?"
"Plus," she added with a slight smirk, "she's the only professor who might understand your handwriting, given that English isn't her first language."
"Oi!" Harry protested, but he had to admit Hermione had a point. His handwriting had improved since his early years at Hogwarts, but it was still far from elegant.
"Look," Hermione continued, her voice softening, "I know you're managing the practicals brilliantly, but the theory is just as important. And with all your Quidditch Captain duties…" She gestured at the plays and training schedules peeking out from under Harry's Charms textbook. "You could use the extra help."
Harry glanced down at his scattered notes and half-finished essay. The NEWT exams seemed to loom larger with each passing day, and between Quidditch practices, team selections, and the growing pile of homework, he was starting to feel overwhelmed. Still, the thought of asking Fleur for help made his stomach churn with a mixture of anticipation and dread.
"She probably has better things to do than help me understand basic theory," he mumbled, picking up his quill again and pretending to focus on his essay.
"Actually," Ron piped up, "I overheard her telling Professor Flitwick she wanted to get more involved with student tutoring. Something about building connections beyond ze classroom." His attempt at Fleur's French accent was terrible enough to earn him an eye roll from Hermione and a reluctant laugh from Harry.
"Come on, Harry," Hermione pressed, leaning forward across the table. "What's the worst that could happen?"
"She could laugh at how stupid I am?" Harry dropped his head onto his textbook with a dull thud. "Or I could make a complete idiot of myself? Again?"
Ron snorted. "Mate, you defeated You-Know-Who. Twice. Pretty sure you can handle asking a professor for help with homework."
"That was different," Harry mumbled into his book. "Voldemort never made me explain the theoretical applications of Atmospheric Charms."
A sharp voice cut through their conversation. "Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley, Miss Granger!" Madam Pince appeared between the bookshelves like a particularly stern ghost. "This is a library, not the Great Hall. If you wish to continue this discussion, I suggest you take it elsewhere."
"Sorry, Madam Pince," they chorused, watching her glide away with her usual disapproving frown.
"Right then," Ron whispered, gathering his things. "Great Hall? I'm starving anyway."
Hermione checked her watch. "It's only four-thirty, Ronald."
"Yeah, and? Perfect time for a pre-dinner snack."
They packed up their books and headed out of the library, their footsteps echoing in the stone corridor. The castle was quieter now, with most students either studying or at various club meetings. A group of first-years scurried past them, rather reminding Harry of a school of fish.
"Look," Hermione said as they walked, "Professor Delacour holds office hours every Tuesday and Thursday afternoon. Why don't you just—"
"Oh no," Harry interrupted, pointing ahead. "Speaking of…"
Fleur was walking toward them, her silver-blonde hair catching the late afternoon light from the windows. She was carrying a stack of books and seemed deep in thought, her brow slightly furrowed in concentration.
"Perfect timing!" Hermione said brightly. "You can ask her now!"
"What? No, I'm not ready, I haven't—"
But it was too late. Hermione had already called out, "Professor Delacour!"
Fleur looked up, startled out of her thoughts. "Ah, 'Ermione! And 'Arry, Ron." She smiled, though Harry noticed it didn't quite reach her eyes. She looked tired.
"We were just talking about the Charms essay," Hermione continued, ignoring Harry's frantic head-shaking. "Harry was hoping—"
"I was just wondering if you had a minute!" Harry blurted out, cutting off whatever Hermione was about to say. His heart was hammering so loud he was sure everyone could hear it.
Fleur shifted her books to one arm, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "Of course. Is zis about ze Atmospheric Charms essay?"
"How did you—"
"Most of ze students are struggling with zat one," she said with a small laugh. "Professor Flitwick believes in… 'ow do you say… throwing you into ze deep end?"
Ron nudged Harry with his elbow. Hard.
"Right, yeah," Harry managed. "I was hoping… I mean, if you're not too busy… maybe you could help me understand some of the theory? I'm fine with the practical stuff, but all these theoretical principles are doing my head in."
Something flickered across Fleur's face—surprise? amusement?—before she nodded. "Of course. I 'ave office hours tomorrow at three, if zat works for you?"
"Three's perfect!" Harry said, perhaps a bit too enthusiastically. Ron made a strange choking sound that might have been suppressed laughter.
"Excellent. And 'Arry?" Fleur's expression softened slightly. "Do not worry so much. Ze theory is not as complicated as it seems. We will figure it out together, non?"
"Right. Together. Brilliant." Harry felt his face heating up again. "Thanks, Professor."
They watched as Fleur continued down the corridor, her footsteps echoing on the stone floor.
"Well," Ron said after she was out of earshot, "that wasn't completely terrible. You only stammered twice."
"Shut up," Harry muttered, but he was grinning. "Come on, let's get to the Great Hall. Didn't you say something about being starving?"
"Now you're talking!" Ron's face lit up. "Race you there?"
"Ronald!" Hermione protested. "We're supposed to be setting an example—"
But Ron and Harry were already running, their laughter echoing through the corridor as Hermione followed, trying and failing to keep a disapproving expression on her face.
As they ran, Harry felt lighter than he had all day. Maybe asking for help wasn't such a terrible idea after all. Though as his mind wandered to tomorrow's study session, he couldn't quite ignore the nervous flutter in his stomach. One problem at a time, he told himself firmly. First, dinner. Then he could worry about making a fool of himself in front of Fleur.
Besides, Ron had Hermione to help it out with his academic work. Why couldn't Harry have someone too?
The next day found Harry standing outside Fleur's office at precisely 2:55 PM, his bag laden with books and his stomach tied in knots. The corridor was mercifully empty – most students were still in classes or enjoying the rare October sunshine by the lake.
If it was any other Professor, he'd probably have made up an excuse and escaped for a quick flight- the weather was positively brilliant.
But this was Fleur. He'd changed his shirt twice before coming here, finally settling on a simple green one that Hermione once said brought out his eyes. Not that he was trying to impress anyone, he told himself firmly.
He raised his hand to knock, then lowered it. Raised it again.
"You know," came an amused voice from behind him, "ze door works better if you actually knock."
Harry spun around so fast he nearly dropped his bag. Fleur stood there, a stack of papers tucked under one arm and an expression of barely suppressed laughter on her face.
"Professor! I was just—I mean—" Harry ran a hand through his hair, feeling his heart threaten to leap out of his chest at embarrassment.
"Zinking about ze fascinating architecture of my office door?" Her blue eyes sparkled with mischief. "And please, when we are not in class, call me Fleur. I 'ave told you, 'Professor' makes me feel ancient."
"Right. Fleur." Harry nodded. "Sorry about… well, lurking outside your door like a confused first-year."
"At least you were not running away zis time," she teased. She moved past him to unlock her office, and Harry caught another faint scent of something floral – lavender, maybe?
Her office was smaller than the main faculty ones, but she'd made it her own. Delicate silver instruments that reminded Harry of Dumbledore's collection whirred softly on floating shelves. A large window overlooked the Quidditch pitch, and various magical photographs decorated the walls – mostly of French landscapes and what Harry assumed was Beauxbatons.
"Actually," Fleur said, setting down her papers, "I was thinking we might go to ze library instead. My office can feel a bit…w'at is ze word… cramped?"
"Oh! Yeah, sure, that's…" Harry tried not to sound too relieved. The thought of being alone with her in such a small space had been making him nervous. "That's probably better."
As they walked to the library, Harry felt compelled to explain himself. "Look, I should probably tell you – I'm not actually terrible at magic. I mean, I do well in most subjects, especially the practical bits. It's just this theoretical stuff that's giving me trouble, and with Quidditch and everything…" He trailed off, realizing he was rambling.
Fleur's laugh was like silver bells. "'Arry Potter, you are perhaps ze last person in zis castle I would underestimate." Her expression softened. "I saw you during ze Triwizard Tournament, remember? And during ze war… well. Let us just say zat anyone who thinks you are not capable is, 'ow you say, a buffon?"
"Buffoon?"
"Oui. Zat."
Harry grinned, feeling some of his tension ease.
"Thanks, Fleur. Sometimes- sometimes I feel that tournament was easier than these essays. Even the dragon-"
"Ah, but ze dragon cannot give you detention for late essays, non?"
They shared a laugh as they entered the library, Harry trying not to smile to much.
He finally felt comfortable talking to Fleur. When most of the castle expected him to be some sort of magical prodigy excelling at everything without trying, it was refreshing to find someone who just understood that he too, needed help sometimes.
Fleur led them to a secluded corner, far from Madam Pince's watchful gaze. Tall windows let in streams of autumn sunlight, and the wooden tables were worn smooth from centuries of student use. It felt cozy, almost intimate. There were no students around, because everyone with a life was outside. Even Ron and Hermione had taken the day to slip off for a date at Hogsmeade.
"Now then," Fleur said, settling into a chair, "show me what you 'ave written so far."
Harry pulled out his half-finished essay, suddenly very conscious of his messy handwriting. "It's not much…"
"Zat is why we are here." She leaned closer to read, and Harry tried very hard to focus on the parchment rather than how her hair caught the sunlight or the way she bit her lower lip when concentrating.
"Ah, I see ze problem. You are thinking like a duelist – all action, no theory. But theory and intuition, zey are not so different."
"Really? Because Professor Flitwick's explanations make them seem pretty different."
"Filius is brilliant, but sometimes…" She searched for the right words. "Sometimes 'e forgets zat not everyone zinks like a Ravenclaw. Let me show you another way."
She pulled out her wand and with a graceful movement, created a small rain cloud above their table. "Feel ze magic," she instructed. "Don't think about ze theory yet. Just… feel."
Harry closed his eyes, reaching out with his magical senses. He could feel the delicate balance of temperature and pressure, the way the magic wove together to create something both powerful and gentle.
"That's… amazing," he breathed, opening his eyes to find Fleur watching him intently.
"Zat feeling? Zat is your intuition. Now, let me show you 'ow it connects to ze theory…"
The afternoon passed in a blur of explanations, demonstrations, and increasingly comfortable conversation. Fleur had a way of making complex concepts seem simple, relating everything back to practical experience, very different from the classes Harry was used to from Professor Flitwick. She also, he noticed, had a habit of touching his arm lightly when making a point, each contact sending sparks through his skin.
"You know," she said during a break, "it is refreshing to work with someone who actually asks for 'elp when they need it. Most men are too…" She waved her hand expressively. "Too proud? Too stupid? Both, perhaps."
"Speaking from experience?" Harry asked, then immediately wished he hadn't. It was no secret that Fleur and Bill's relationship had ended shortly after the war, but it wasn't his place to bring it up. Especially not with Fleur helping him so much.
But Fleur just smiled, a bit sadly. "Let us say I 'ave learned to appreciate those who know their own minds… and their own hearts." Her eyes met his for a moment, and Harry felt his breath catch.
The moment was broken by the distant sound of the clock tower chiming.
"Is it that late already?" Harry gathered his books, reluctant to end their session. "I should probably…"
"Same time next week?" Fleur suggested, and was it his imagination, or did she sound equally reluctant to end their meeting?
"Yeah, that would be… yeah. Brilliant." He stood up, then hesitated. "And… thanks. For everything."
"It was my pleasure, 'Arry." She smiled, and this time it reached her eyes, making them sparkle like sapphires in the fading sunlight.
As Harry walked back to Gryffindor Tower, he couldn't stop smiling. His essay was still only half-finished, but somehow, that didn't seem to matter quite as much anymore. Somehow, the whole idea of Charms didn't seem so daunting anymore.
The following week passed in a blur of classes and Quidditch practice, but Harry found himself counting down the days to Thursday. When he arrived at their usual corner of the library, Fleur was already there, her silver-blonde hair tied back in a loose braid, a few strands escaping to frame her face.
"'Arry, you came!" she smiled.
He grinned back. "Definitely wouldn't miss this for the world. You make learning charms something I look forward to- something I though I'd never say."
He didn't miss the subtle red that painted her cheeks.
The afternoon sun painted long shadows across the ancient wooden tables as they worked. Harry found himself stealing glances at Fleur when she wasn't looking, noticing how she absently twirled her quill between her fingers when deep in thought, or how her accent grew stronger when she was excited about explaining a particularly complex piece of magic.
"And you see," Fleur was saying, leaning close to point at a diagram in his textbook, "'ere is where ze atmospheric pressure connects with ze magical current…" Her shoulder brushed against his, and Harry forced himself to focus on the words rather than the warmth of her skin.
"R-right. Magical current."
Hours slipped by unnoticed to Harry. The sun had long since set, and the library had gradually emptied until they were alone except for the occasional ghost drifting through the walls. The lanterns cast a warm, golden glow over their corner, and the crackling fireplace nearby kept the autumn chill at bay. Harry, however, just kept writing, shifting down onto a carpet with his books around him when he got tired of the tables.
"I can't believe I actually finished it," he said, after a while, staring at his completed essay. Honestly, pound for pound, it could probably rival even one of Hermione's. "And it actually makes sense!"
"Of course it makes sense," Fleur replied, but she was smiling. "You understand magic better than most, 'Arry. You just needed someone to speak your language."
Without thinking, Harry pulled her into a hug. "Thank you," he said, his voice thick with genuine gratitude. "You have no idea how much this helps."
He felt her stiffen for a moment in surprise, then slowly relax into the embrace. When they pulled apart, both their faces were flushed, and they couldn't quite meet each other's eyes.
"I… ah… you are welcome," Fleur mumbled, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. Her usual composure seemed slightly rattled. Harry hoped he hadn't been too forward.
They sat in comfortable silence for a while, neither making a move to pack up their books. The fire ahead of them crackled softly, casting dancing shadows on the walls. Somewhere in the distance, Harry could hear Peeves causing his usual nighttime chaos, but it felt far away, like they were in their own private world.
Fleur had moved her chair closer to the fire – and consequently, closer to Harry– complaining about the Scottish cold. The firelight played across her features, softening them, making her look younger and more vulnerable.
"Bill and I," she said suddenly, her voice quiet but clear in the stillness of the library, "we tried to make it work after ze war. But sometimes…" She stared into the flames. "Sometimes we must let go, non? We were both… 'ow do you say… broken in different ways. 'E wanted to throw 'imself into dangerous work, to prove 'e was still strong after what Greyback did. And I…" She shrugged, a graceful motion that somehow conveyed volumes of unspoken pain.
Harry found himself nodding. "I get that. After everything with Voldemort… Ginny and I thought we could just pick up where we left off, you know? Like nothing had changed. But everything had changed. We had changed."
"Exactement." Fleur turned to look at him, her blue eyes reflecting the firelight. "She wanted ze 'ero from ze stories, non? And you just wanted to be 'Arry."
"Yeah," Harry said softly, surprised by how perfectly she'd understood. "And Bill wanted…"
"'E wanted ze beautiful, perfect fiancé to prove 'e was still 'ole." Her smile was tinged with sadness. "But I am not perfect. I am part Veela – we feel things too deeply, too strongly. I could not pretend everything was fine when it was not."
"Is that why you broke off your engagement with him?" Harry asked, quietly.
Fleur sighed and nodded.
"Do not get me wrong. It 'ad nothing to do with ze fact zat 'e was a werewolf. Nothing to do with 'im on ze outside. It was…"
"The person he really was was different from the one you'd actually met, right?" Harry completed for her.
Fleur nodded.
"I always used to be guarded around 'im. Acting a little different zan how I really am. 'oping that-" her voice cracked, "'oping zat one day 'e would accept me for who I actually was."
"Was this before or after Greyback?" Harry had to ask.
Fleur looked into the fire for a moment, not saying anything.
"Zere were…signs..before. 'e always wanted me to listen to w'at 'e 'ad to say. Did not really count my…opinion. I- I could not live like that. Je cherche pour…I wanted someone who- who would respect me and my input as well. You understand?"
"Yeah," Harry sighed. "I do."
"Do you ever wonder," he asked after a moment, his voice barely above a whisper, "if maybe we're all just trying too hard to be what everyone expects us to be?"
The fire crackled softly, sending sparks dancing upward like tiny golden stars. Fleur shifted in her chair, then seemed to make a decision. With fluid grace, she moved to sit beside Harry on the plush carpet near the hearth, drawing her knees up to her chest. The firelight caught in her eyes, and Harry tried not to stare for too long.
"It 'as been… lonely," she admitted softly, her eyes fixed on the dancing flames. "Ze letters to Maman and Papa help, and Gabrielle…" A fond smile touched her lips. "She writes every week, full of stories about 'er year at Beauxbatons. And always, always asking about you."
Harry turned to look at her, surprised. "Really? She still remembers me?"
"Remembers?" Fleur laughed, the sound warming the space between them. "Mon dieu, she 'as your picture from ze Prophet pinned to 'er wall! She tells everyone who will listen about 'ow ze famous 'Arry Potter saved 'er from ze lake."
"But I didn't really," Harry protested, feeling his face heat up. "The merpeople wouldn't have actually—"
"Zat is not ze point," Fleur interrupted gently. "You were willing to risk yourself to save a stranger. My little sister… she sees ze 'ero in you, but not ze way others do. She sees your 'eart. She 'as a little crush on you," she teased.
Harry fidgeted with a loose thread on his sleeve. "I doubt she'd still have a crush on me if she actually knew me. I'm not… I mean, who would really want—"
"Non!" Fleur's voice was suddenly fierce. She turned to face him fully, her blue eyes blazing with intensity. "Do not finish zat sentence, 'Arry Potter. You think people would not want you? You, who are brave without being reckless, kind without seeking praise?"
Her words tumbled out faster now, Harry felt rather than heard her accent growing stronger with emotion. "You are intelligent but never arrogant, powerful but gentle. You make everyone around you feel safe, feel valued. You notice when someone is sad or lonely, even when zey try to hide it. You would make any woman proud to call you 'ers!"
She caught herself then. Harry noticed a delicate blush spreading across her cheeks as she realized the passion in her words. The fire popped loudly in the sudden silence, sending a shower of sparks up the chimney.
His heart was hammering in his chest. Slowly, carefully, as if she was a nervous hippogriff, he reached out and took her hand. Her fingers were cool despite their proximity to the fire, and they trembled slightly as they intertwined with his.
"Thank you," he whispered, his voice rough with emotion. "I… sometimes I feel like I'm never quite enough, you know? Like I'm always falling short of what everyone expects me to be."
Fleur's thumb traced gentle circles on the back of his hand. "I understand," she said softly. "When you are part Veela… people see ze beauty, ze allure. Zey do not see ze person beneath. Zey do not want to." She let out a bitter laugh. "Do you know 'ow many men 'ave asked me to dinner since I arrived at 'Ogwarts? And not one of zem 'as asked what I like to read, or what I think about advanced charm theory, or…" She trailed off, shaking her head.
"What do you like to read?" Harry asked quietly, and was rewarded with a smile that seemed to light up the entire library.
The fire burned lower, casting everything in soft, warm shadows. Outside, an owl hooted softly, and the wind whispered through the ancient stones of the castle. But in their corner of the library, time seemed to stand still. They talked about books (Fleur loved Muggle poetry, particularly Baudelaire), about their families (Harry found himself sharing stories about Sirius that he rarely told anyone), about their dreams and fears and the quiet moments that made up their lives.
Harry could distantly feel their hands still remaining linked, like a gentle anchor that kept him in the moment. He didn't bring it up, however, because he was honestly afraid that diverging attention to it might break whatever spell had fallen over their secluded corner. The warmth of the fire, the softness of the carpet beneath him, the comfortable weight of honesty between them – it all felt like a dream, like something that might dissolve with the morning light.
"Tell me more about Gabrielle," he said, watching the fire cast dancing shadows across Fleur's legs. "How's she doing at Beauxbatons?"
Fleur's face lit up. "She is brilliant! Top of 'er class in Charms – she gets zat from Maman's side. Though she still complains about ze uniform. Says ze silk tears too easily during dueling practice."
"Dueling? So young?" Harry raised an eyebrow. "I thought at her age it was all… I don't know, elegant dancing and ice sculptures."
"Oh? And what would you know about elegant dancing, Monsieur Potter?" Her eyes sparkled with mischief. "As I recall from ze Yule Ball…"
"Oi!" Harry laughed, giving her shoulder a gentle squeeze. "I've improved since then! A bit. Maybe."
"We shall see at zis year's ball, non?"
"There's going to be another one?" Harry frowned. He definitely hadn't heard about that.
"Mais oui! McGonagall thinks it will help with… what did she call it? Inter-house unity and post-war healing." Fleur's impression of McGonagall's Scottish accent was even worse than Ron's attempt at French, making Harry snort with laughter.
"Speaking of healing," Harry said after their laughter died down, "how are you finding Hogwarts? Really?"
Fleur was quiet for a moment, watching the flames. "It is… different. Ze castle feels older, more mysterious than Beauxbatons. Sometimes I still get lost." She smiled ruefully. "Last week I ended up in ze kitchens when I was trying to find ze 'erbology classroom."
"The kitchens aren't so bad. At least the house-elves are friendly."
"Oui, very friendly. Zough they kept trying to feed me. Apparently I am too thin." She rolled her eyes. "Remind me to never mention French portion sizes to zem again."
Harry chuckled, then sobered. "But seriously, are you… okay here? After everything that happened during the war, coming back to Britain must be…"
"Difficult?" Fleur finished. "Oui, sometimes. But also… necessary, I zink. I needed to prove to myself zat I could make my own path, away from w'at everyone expected." She turned to look at him. "You understand zat, don't you?"
"Yeah," Harry said softly. He began to speak about something he'd never told anyone before- not even Ron. "Yeah, I do. Sometimes I think about just… leaving. Going somewhere where nobody's heard of The Boy Who Lived. Where I could just be Harry."
"And where would you go?"
"I dunno. Somewhere warm, maybe. With good flying weather." He grinned. "Though knowing my luck, I'd probably end up with some crisis or the other-."
Fleur laughed, but her eyes were serious. "You know, 'Arry, you don't have to save everyone. Sometimes it is okay to just… be."
"Says the woman who joined the Order and fought in a war that wasn't even in her country."
"Touché." She nudged his shoulder with hers. "Perhaps we are both a bit… 'ow do you say… heroic for our own good?"
"Maybe." Harry watched the fire for a moment.
"Do you ever regret it? Coming to Britain, joining the Order, all of it?"
"Non." Her answer was immediate. "It was not easy, but it was right. And it brought me…" She paused, then continued more softly, "It brought me 'ere. To 'Ogwarts. To… zis moment."
The air between them seemed to thicken. Harry was acutely aware of her presence beside him, of the subtle floral scent of her hair, of the way her fingers fit perfectly between his.
"You know what's funny?" he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "For the first time since… well, since everything… I don't feel like I have to pretend. Like I have to be something I'm not."
"I know exactly what you mean." Fleur's voice matched his quiet tone. "With Bill, with everyone… I was always playing a part. Ze beautiful girlfriend, ze perfect daughter-in-law-to-be. But 'ere…" She gestured vaguely at their surroundings with her free hand.
"Here we can just be us," Harry finished.
"Oui. Just us."
The castle clock chimed somewhere in the distance, making them both jump. Harry realized with a start that it must be well past midnight.
"We should probably…" he started reluctantly.
"Oui, it is late." But neither of them moved to get up.
"Same time next week?" Harry asked, trying to keep his voice casual.
Fleur smiled, and Harry felt his heart skip. "I zink so. For… academic purposes, of course."
"Of course," Harry agreed solemnly. "Purely academic."
"After all," she continued, her eyes twinkling, "what kind of professor would I be if I did not ensure my student's success?"
"Terrible. Absolutely terrible."
They shared a look and burst into quiet laughter, their joined hands tightening briefly before finally, reluctantly letting go.
As they gathered their books in comfortable silence, Harry caught Fleur humming softly – a French lullaby he vaguely remembered from the Triwizard Tournament. The simple melody seemed to wrap around them like a warm blanket, making the moment feel even more intimate.
"I should walk you back," Harry offered as they reached the library doors. "You might end up in the dungeons by mistake."
"Cheeky!" Fleur swatted his arm, but she was smiling. "I will have you know I only got lost three times zis week. A vast improvement!"
"Only three? We should celebrate. Tomorrow at breakfast I'll have the house-elves make you those tiny French pastries you like."
"'Ow did you know I like zose?"
Harry felt his face heat up. "I, uh, might have noticed you always take extra at breakfast. Not that I was watching! I just… notice things sometimes."
Fleur's expression softened into something he couldn't quite read. "You do, don't you? Notice things?"
The way she said it made his heart race, but before he could respond, he heard footsteps approaching – probably Filch on his nightly rounds.
"This way," Harry said quickly. While he doubted Filch would cause any trouble, he preferred not to meet anyone right now.
They walked in a comfortable silence through the moonlit corridors, their footsteps echoing softly against the ancient stone walls. As they passed a particularly large window seat, Fleur suddenly stopped, her eyes drawn to the view outside.
"Oh, regardez!" She tugged gently at Harry's sleeve. "Ze moon is beautiful tonight."
The window seat was carved into a deep alcove, easily large enough for someone to curl up with a book – or in this case, to watch the night sky. Without waiting for a response, Fleur settled onto the cushioned seat, her legs stretched beneath her.
"Join me?" She patted the space beside her, though there wasn't much of it.
Harry shifted his weight uncertainly. "I don't think there's really room—"
"Nonsense. And we cannot 'ave you standing there like a lost first-year." She grabbed his hand, pulling him down beside her. The space was indeed tight, forcing them to sit pressed together, Fleur half-leaning against his chest.
"Someone might see—" Harry started, but Fleur cut him off.
"You 'ave your cloak, non? Ze famous invisibility cloak?" Her eyes sparkled in the moonlight.
"I… yeah, but—"
"Zen use it! Unless…" She tilted her head, a teasing smile playing at her lips. "Unless you are uncomfortable?"
"No! I mean, yes— I mean—" Harry fumbled with his words, grateful for the darkness hiding his blush. "It's not that, it's just…"
"Just what, 'Arry?" Her voice was soft, patient.
Harry sighed, reaching into his bag. "Fine. But if we get caught—"
"We will not get caught. And if we do, I will simply say I was practicing advanced Disillusionment Charms with a promising student."
Harry rolled his eyes but pulled the cloak up anyway, using a few quick sticking charms to attach its ends to the alcove. The silvery fabric settled over them like liquid moonlight. Through it, the world took on an ethereal quality, almost like…magic, but just more.
"See?" Fleur murmured, settling more comfortably against him. "Much better."
Harry tried to ignore how perfectly she fit against him, how natural it felt. Her head rested just below his chin, and he could smell that subtle floral scent that seemed to follow her everywhere.
"The stars are different here," she said softly, gazing out at the sky. "In France, ze constellations seem… 'ow do you say… closer?"
"Maybe they're afraid of Scottish weather," Harry suggested, earning a quiet laugh that he felt more than heard.
"Per'aps. Though I am starting to appreciate ze Scottish… warmth."
Harry wasn't sure if she meant the weather or something else, but before he could ask, a huge yawn escaped him.
"Tired?" Fleur asked, amusement coloring her voice.
"Long day," Harry mumbled, his ears red. "Quidditch practice ran late, and then that Transfiguration essay…"
"Ah, so I am boring you then?"
"No! Not at all, I just—" He caught the teasing note in her voice and relaxed. "You're impossible, you know that?"
"Mmmm, so I 'ave been told." She shifted slightly, and Harry's breath caught as she settled more fully against him, her head now resting properly on his chest. "But you are comfortable, so I will forgive your yawning."
They fell into a comfortable silence, watching the clouds drift across the moon. The castle creaked and settled around them, ancient magic humming through the stones. Somewhere in the distance, an owl called out to the night.
"Tell me about France," Harry said softly, his voice barely above a whisper. "What do you miss most?"
"Besides ze food?" Fleur's laugh was quiet, thoughtful. "Ze mornings, I think. Ze way ze sun rises over ze mountains at Beauxbatons, turning everything golden. Ze smell of fresh bread from ze kitchens…" She sighed contentedly. "But mostly, ze quiet. Everything 'ere is so… busy. Always rushing, always moving."
"Like now?" Harry asked, gesturing at peaceful hideaway.
"Non," she murmured. "Now is perfect."
A comfortable drowsiness began to settle over them. Harry found his eyelids growing heavy, lulled by the warmth of their shared space and the gentle rhythm of Fleur's breathing.
"We should probably head back soon," he said, making no move to get up.
"Mmm, five more minutes," Fleur murmured, her own voice thick with approaching sleep. "Ze moon is not finished telling 'er stories yet."
The first rays of dawn crept through the window, painting the castle walls in soft golden hues. Harry's eyes fluttered open slowly, his mind taking a moment to register where he was. The weight on his chest made him freeze – Fleur was curled against him, her silver-blonde hair spread across his jumper like moonlight made tangible. Her breath came in soft, even patterns, tickling his neck.
His first instinct was panic – she was a professor, they'd fallen asleep in a window seat, anyone could walk by-
But then Fleur shifted slightly in her sleep, making a small sound of contentment, and something in Harry's chest tightened in a way that had nothing to do with worry.
"Fleur," he whispered, his hand hovering uncertainly before gently touching her shoulder. "Fleur, wake up. It's morning."
"Mmm… cinq minutes de plus," she mumbled in French, burrowing closer.
"We can't. It's almost sunrise."
Fleur's eyes opened slowly, confusion giving way to recognition. She blinked up at him, her hair tousled from sleep, and Harry's breath caught at how vulnerable she looked in that moment.
"Oh." She sat up slowly, color rising in her cheeks. "I… we fell asleep?"
"Yeah." Harry ran a hand through his perpetually messy hair. "I'm sorry, I should have—"
"Non, do not apologize." She stretched, reminding Harry absurdly of Crookshanks in a patch of sunlight. "I 'ave not slept so well since… since before ze war, I think."
"Me too, actually." Harry found himself smiling despite his nervousness. "No nightmares."
"Non?" Fleur's expression softened. "I… I 'ave them too, sometimes. About ze war. About Bill…" She trailed off, then added quietly, "But not last night."
They sat in silence for a moment, neither quite meeting the other's eyes but neither moving away either. The invisibility cloak had slipped down during the night, pooling around their waists like liquid silver.
There was no doubt about it. Harry had probably used this year's worth of luck tonight that no one had spotted them.
"We should probably…" Harry gestured vaguely.
"Oui, before Peeves decides to start 'is morning chaos." Fleur stood, smoothing her robes. "Though… 'Arry?"
"Yeah?"
"Thank you. For… well, for making me feel safe enough to sleep."
The simple honesty in her voice made his heart skip. "I… yeah. Same, actually. I mean, usually I just sort of… exist through the night, you know?"
"Je comprends. But last night…"
"Last night was different," Harry finished softly.
Fleur nodded, then suddenly seemed to remember herself. "We should 'urry. Ze castle will be waking up soon."
"Right." Harry quickly pulled out the Marauder's Map from his bag which had fallen down nearby. "Coast is clear to the staff quarters. Want me to walk you?"
"Always ze gentleman," she teased, but her smile was genuine. "Though per'aps we should avoid any more window seats, non? For now, at least."
Harry couldn't find himself to ask her what for now meant.
"See you at breakfast?" Harry asked as they reached the corridor leading to the staff wing.
"Oui. I will be ze one pretending I did not just spend ze night sleeping in a window."
"Could be worse. Could have been caught by Peeves."
"Or worse – Minerva," she replied, with a comically scary voice.
They shared a quiet laugh, both imagining McGonagall's expression.
"Fleur?" Harry called softly as she turned to go.
"Oui?"
"I… sleep well. Again, I mean. When you get back to your room."
Her smile was like sunrise breaking through clouds. "You too, 'Arry. Dream of pleasant things."
As Harry made his way back to Gryffindor Tower under his cloak, he realized he was still smiling. The castle was beginning to stir around him, but he felt oddly separate from it all, wrapped in the lingering warmth of the night before.
He had a lot to think about. But for now, he just let himself remember the weight of Fleur's head on his chest, the sound of her breathing, the way she'd trusted him enough to fall asleep.
Later, he told himself. He'd figure it all out later. For now, this moment – this perfect, quiet moment – was enough.
The Great Hall buzzed with its usual breakfast chaos – the clinking of cutlery, the rustle of morning owls delivering packages, and the scattered laughter of students still waking up. Harry was halfway through his toast when McGonagall's voice cut through the morning din, magically amplified to reach every corner of the hall.
"Your attention, please." The hall fell into an expectant hush. "As part of our ongoing efforts to foster inter-house unity and celebrate our recovery from the war, Hogwarts will be hosting a Yule Ball this December."
The silence exploded into excited chatter. Next to Harry, Ron groaned and dropped his head onto the table.
"Not again," he mumbled into the wood. "I still have nightmares about those dress robes."
"Oh, honestly, Ron," Hermione rolled her eyes, but her lips twitched. "You're Head Boy now. You can't show up in something with moldy lace this time."
"Oi!" Ron lifted his head, indignant. "Those were family heirlooms!"
"Yeah, from which century?" Seamus called from across the table, earning a piece of toast thrown at his head. Harry had to hide his grin. To his right, Dean leaned back, laughing. "So, who's asking who this time? Neville, you going to try for another Triwizard champion?"
The aforementioned gryffindor turned pink but smiled good-naturedly. "Actually, I was thinking of asking Hannah Abbott. We've been partnered in Herbology and—"
"And she actually laughs at his plant jokes," Ginny finished, sliding onto the bench beside Dean. "It's quite sweet, really."
The conversation devolved into playful bickering, but Harry found his attention wandering. His toast suddenly seemed very interesting as his mind traitorously conjured images of silver-blonde hair and French accents.
"What about you, mate?" Ron's voice snapped him back to reality. "Got anyone in mind?"
"I… uh…" Harry took a large bite of toast to buy time.
"Oh, leave him alone," Hermione interjected, though her knowing look made Harry wonder if she'd noticed something. "There's plenty of time to figure it out."
"Yeah, but all the good ones will be taken!" Seamus protested. "Remember fourth year? Poor Harry had to practically duel for a date!"
"I did not," Harry muttered, though his cheeks felt warm.
"Speaking of dueling," Dean said with a mischievous grin, "heard Romilda Vane's still available. Fancy another go with love potions, Harry?"
The table erupted in laughter as Harry buried his face in his hands. "I hate you all," he declared.
"At least you don't have to open the ball this time," Ron offered consolingly. "No champion duties."
"Thank Merlin for small mercies," Harry agreed, reaching for the pumpkin juice. His hand definitely wasn't shaking as he wondered if professors were expected to help chaperone the ball.
"We should go dress robe shopping in Hogsmeade this weekend," Hermione suggested, already pulling out a piece of parchment to make lists. "Get ahead of the rush."
"Brilliant idea," Ron said, peering at her notes. "Maybe we can stop by the Three Broomsticks after? Make a day of it?"
"Already planning date spots, Won-Won?" Ginny teased, ducking the napkin Ron threw at her.
The conversation continued around him, but Harry found himself staring up at the enchanted ceiling. The morning sky was a clear, crisp blue that reminded him of certain eyes he'd been trying very hard not to think about.
"Earth to Harry!" Seamus waved a hand in front of his face. "You're missing all the planning!"
"Sorry, just… thinking about NEWTs," Harry lied, forcing himself to focus on his friends.
"NEWTs?" Ron looked horrified. "Mate, we've got a ball to worry about! Priorities!"
"Yes, Ron. Priorities," Hermione cut in. "Such as: we're going to be late for Transfiguration if we don't leave now."
As they gathered their bags, Harry let himself fall slightly behind the group. His friends' excited chatter about the ball washed over him as his mind wandered over the past few days. It was annoying sometimes, because it felt like his mind was not his own anymore.
"You okay?" Hermione had dropped back to walk beside him. "You seem distracted."
"Yeah, just…" Harry gestured vaguely. "Lot on my mind."
Hermione's expression softened with understanding. "You know, Harry, sometimes the right thing and the proper thing aren't always the same."
Before he could respond, she hurried to catch up with Ron, leaving Harry to wonder if he was really that transparent or if Hermione was just that perceptive.
Probably both, he decided, adjusting his bag on his shoulder as they climbed the stairs to Transfiguration. He'd figure it out later. Maybe. Probably. Eventually.
The castle corridors were quieter now that classes had begun. Sunlight streamed through the high windows, casting long shadows across the stone floors and warming the ancient walls.
Harry walked slowly, his footsteps echoing in the empty hallway. For the first time in days, his mind felt clearer, less wrapped up in impossible possibilities. A healthy dose of Quidditch and mind-numbing Runes did that to you.
He was just passing the Charms classroom when voices drifted through the partially open door.
"Come on, Fleur. It makes sense, doesn't it?" Professor Grave's voice was friendly, reasonable. "We're the only professors under thirty."
Harry froze mid-step. He knew he should keep walking, but his feet seemed rooted to the spot.
"I do not know, Ethan…" Fleur's hesitation was clear in her voice. "It seems… complicated."
"It's just a dance." A chair scraped against the floor. "Look, would you rather go with Slughorn? Or Flitwick?"
A soft laugh, though it sounded slightly forced. "Non, of course not."
"Then it's settled. We'll go together, have a few drinks, make sure the students don't spike the punch. Simple."
The silence that followed felt heavy. Harry pressed himself against the wall, heart hammering.
"D'accord," Fleur finally said. "You are right. It is… logical."
Harry didn't wait to hear more. He pushed off from the wall and walked quickly, not caring where his feet took him. The corridors blurred past, portraits watching curiously as he strode by.
Logical. Of course it was logical. What had he been thinking? That he could just-
He turned a corner sharply and collided with something solid.
"Oof!"
Books clattered to the floor, parchment scattering like autumn leaves. Harry stumbled back, already apologizing.
"I'm so sorry, I wasn't looking where—" He broke off as he recognized the girl gathering her fallen books. "Daphne?"
Daphne Greengrass looked up, brushing a strand of blonde hair from her face. The morning light caught something golden in her eyes that Harry had never noticed before.
"In a hurry, Potter?" She didn't sound angry, just amused. Her voice was different than he remembered – softer, maybe.
"No, just…" He knelt to help gather her things. "Lost in thought, I guess."
"Dangerous pastime." She smiled as their hands brushed reaching for the same book. "Especially in this castle."
Harry found himself smiling back. He'd never really talked to Daphne since that incident with Malfoy. She'd always been quiet, keeping to herself even among the Slytherins. Which just confused Harry all the more- she'd kissed him hadn't she? Was that supposed to mean something?
"New perfume?" The words slipped out before he could stop them. There was something different about her today- he couldn't exactly place it, but she looked…better than usual.
Daphne's cheeks colored slightly. "Jasmine," she said, tucking that stubborn strand of hair behind her ear again. "My grandmother sent it from India."
"It's nice." Harry handed her the last book, noticing the title. "Advanced Arithmancy? You're taking that too?"
"Some of us actually enjoy numbers, Potter." Her tone was teasing, none of the old house rivalry in it. "Though I heard you're not bad at Charms these days."
Something twisted in Harry's chest at the mention of Charms, but he pushed it aside. "Getting better," he said instead, standing and offering her a hand up. "Though Arithmancy might actually kill me."
"Drama queen." Daphne accepted his help, her hand surprisingly warm in his. "It's not that bad once you understand the basic principles."
Harry stood there for a moment, not quite sure what to say next. Of course, when did he know what to say next to a pretty girl?
"I should probably…" Daphne gestured vaguely down the corridor.
"Yeah, right, sorry about…" Harry ran a hand through his hair. "You know, the collision."
"It's fine." She adjusted her bag, then paused. "Though you could make it up to me somehow."
"Oh?"
The corridor suddenly felt very quiet, very still. Daphne's eyes met his, and there was something in them – uncertainty mixed with determination – that made his breath catch. He'd never seen his this vulnerable, this…unsure of herself before. It almost felt wrong, in a sense.
"Maybe we could—"
The bell rang, sharp and sudden, making them both jump. The sound of hundreds of students moving between classes filled the air, breaking whatever moment had been building.
"I've got Potions," Daphne said quickly. "I should…"
"Yeah, me too. I mean, not Potions, but-"
"Actually-" Daphne interrupted, her fingers tightening around her books. The morning light caught in her face, creating subtle highlights Harry had never noticed before. "I was wondering…"
She trailed off, and Harry found himself fascinated by this unfamiliar sight – Daphne Greengrass, usually so composed, actually stumbling over her words. The corridor felt suddenly very still, as if the castle itself was holding its breath.
"Yeah?" Harry prompted gently, surprised by how much he wanted to hear what she was going to say.
Daphne took a deep breath, squared her shoulders in a way that was almost Gryffindor-like, and met his eyes. "Would you like to go to the ball with me?"
The question hung in the air between them. Harry blinked, genuinely surprised. Of all the things he'd expected her to say-
"I mean," she continued quickly, a slight flush coloring her cheeks, "I know you probably have dozens of offers already, and we've barely talked before this year, but I thought…" She stopped, seeming to realize she was rambling. "Never mind, it was silly—"
"Yes." The word came out before Harry had fully processed it, but as soon as he said it, he knew he meant it.
"Yes?" Daphne's eyes widened slightly.
"Yeah," Harry repeated, finding himself smiling. "I'd like that."
"Well." A slow smile spread across Daphne's face, transforming her usual reserved expression into something warmer, more playful. "Look at me, snagging the most eligible bachelor in the castle. Pansy's going to be absolutely furious."
Harry felt his face heat up. "I'm not—"
"Please." Daphne rolled her eyes, but her smile remained. "Half the school's been plotting how to ask you since McGonagall's announcement. I just decided to skip the love potions and elaborate schemes."
"Is that why Romilda Vane keeps offering me chocolates?"
"Probably. Though I heard she's moved on to scented stationary this year. Very sophisticated."
They shared a laugh, and Harry felt something in his chest loosen. This was… nice. Easy, almost.
"So," Daphne said, adjusting her bag. "What color robes are you thinking? I need to make sure we don't clash horribly. The Prophet would have a field day."
"Oh Merlin," Harry groaned. "I hadn't even thought about that."
"Boy Who Lived Takes Snake to Ball – Is He Going Dark?" Daphne's impression of Rita Skeeter was surprisingly good. "'Sources say young Potter was seen smiling at a Slytherin. Exclusive interview with his devastated house elf on page six.'"
"Stop," Harry laughed. "Though actually… that reminds me. Which way are you headed?"
Daphne gently flicked his forehead. "I told you, muttonhead. Potions with Slughorn."
"Oh alright. I'll walk with you?" He phrased it as a question, suddenly unsure if he was overstepping. "You know, in case any reporters are lurking behind statues."
"My hero." Daphne's voice was dry, but her eyes sparkled with amusement. "Though really, Potter, if you wanted to spend more time with me, you could just say so."
"I… that's not…" Harry stumbled over his words, making Daphne laugh.
"You're quite adorable when you're flustered, you know that?"
"Yeah, sure, make fun of me-HEY!" Harry snipped, but protested a second later as Daphne gave him a quick punch.
They began walking, falling into step beside each other. The corridors were filling with students now, and Harry noticed more than a few curious glances thrown their way.
"So," he said, desperate to change the subject, "about that Arithmancy you mentioned…"
"Smooth transition, Potter." But she launched into an explanation anyway, her hands moving expressively as she talked about number charts and magical resonance.
Harry found himself watching her more than listening. She was… different than he'd expected. Funny, in a dry sort of way. Scarily smart, obviously. But weirdly kind as well, in a way that made him both want to move closer and run away at the same time.
They reached the Potions classroom quickly. Daphne paused at the door, turning to face him.
"Well, this has been…" She searched for the right word.
"Unexpected?" Harry offered.
"I was going to say 'interesting,' but that works too." She adjusted her books, then added more softly, "Thanks for saying yes."
"Thanks for asking." Harry scratched the back of his neck, a familiar sensation of pins and needles catching him off-guard. "Though really, I should be thanking you. Saved me from Romilda's scented stationary."
"My true heroic purpose revealed." Daphne's smile turned slightly mischievous. "See you around, Potter. Try not to crash into any other unsuspecting witches between now and the ball."
"No promises," Harry called after her as she disappeared into the classroom, her quiet laugh lingering in the air behind her.
He stood there for a moment longer, aware that he was probably going to be late for his own class but not quite ready to care. The morning sunlight streamed through the high windows, warming the ancient stones, and Harry found himself smiling at nothing in particular.
It wasn't what he'd expected when he'd started his day. It wasn't what he'd wanted, exactly, just hours ago. But perhaps it was what he needed.
He was happy for the next ten seconds- until he reached Herbology. After that, it was just waiting for the lunch bell to ring. Which took its own sweet time- meaning a rather sleepy Harry dragged himself out of class at lunch. The Great Hall was already packed when Harry arrived, the enchanted ceiling reflecting the bright autumn sky outside. He spotted Ron's distinctive red hair at the Gryffindor table and made his way over, his mind still swimming with thoughts of the morning's events.
"There you are!" Ron called out as Harry dropped onto the bench beside him. "Was about to send out a search party. Where've you been?"
"Got held up," Harry muttered, reaching for a sandwich.
Hermione looked up from her copy of the Daily Prophet, her eyes narrowing slightly. "You look… different. Did something happen?"
"Different how?" Harry asked, suddenly very interested in the pattern of his plate.
"Dunno," Ron said through a mouthful of shepherd's pie. "Sort of… dazed? Like that time you got hit with a Confundus Charm in Defense."
"I'm not dazed," Harry protested. "I just… well, I sort of asked someone to the ball. Or rather, they asked me. And I said yes."
Ron choked on his pumpkin juice. "Already? Mate, it was just announced yesterday! Who—"
"Daphne Greengrass," Harry said quickly, like ripping off a bandage.
The silence that followed was broken only by the clatter of Ron's fork hitting his plate.
"Daphne… Greengrass?" Hermione repeated carefully. "The Slytherin?"
"No, the other Daphne Greengrass," Harry said, a bit more sharply than he'd intended. "Sorry, I just… it sort of just happened. We literally ran into each other in the corridor, and…"
"Blimey," Ron whistled. "A Slytherin? You're braver than I thought, mate."
"She's different," Harry found himself saying. "Not what I expected. She's actually quite… funny."
"Funny?" Ron's eyebrows shot up. "A funny Slytherin? What's next, a humble Malfoy?"
"Ron," Hermione chided, though her expression remained thoughtful. "Actually, Harry, I've worked with Daphne in Arithmancy. She's quite brilliant. And she never really got involved in… well, you know. All that business with Malfoy and his crowd."
"Yeah?" Harry tried not to sound too eager for validation.
"Definitely." Hermione's expression softened. "Though I have to ask… are you sure this isn't about… someone else?"
Harry's stomach clenched. "What do you mean?"
"Well…" Hermione glanced around before lowering her voice. "We've all noticed how you've been spending rather a lot of time with Professor Delacour lately…"
"That's different," Harry said quickly. Too quickly. "That's just… tutoring."
Ron and Hermione exchanged a look that spoke volumes.
"Right," Ron said slowly. "Just tutoring. That's why you keep staring at the staff table every meal."
"I do not—" Harry started, then caught himself. "Look, it doesn't matter anyway. She's going to the ball with Professor Graves."
"Oh, Harry," Hermione's voice was gentle. "I'm sorry. Did she tell you?"
"Not exactly. I… might have overheard them talking." Harry poked at his untouched sandwich. "It's fine. It's better this way, really. I mean, she's a professor, and I'm…"
"The most powerful wizard of our age?" Ron suggested.
"A student," Harry finished firmly. "Besides, Daphne… when she asked, it just felt…"
"Right?" Hermione supplied.
"Different," Harry said. "Not what I expected, but… yeah. Different could be good, right?"
"Different could be brilliant," Hermione agreed, reaching across the table to squeeze his hand. "And Harry? For what it's worth, I think you made the right choice. Sometimes the best things in life aren't what we planned for."
"Yeah," Ron added, already reaching for seconds. "Like me becoming Head Boy. Speak of unexpected, eh mate?"
They all laughed, and Harry felt something in his chest loosen.
"So," Ron said, grinning, "reckon we should warn Daphne about your dancing skills now or let her find out the hard way?"
"Oi!" Harry threw a bread roll at him. "I've improved!"
"Sure you have, mate. Sure you have."
A/N: Busy with work. Updates will resume post Jan 25th. But don't worry, I have the entire storyline planned out already. Let me know what you think in the reviews