CHAPTER 39: THE PRINCESS OF ALLURE
The group fell silent, a brief pause filled only by the gentle breeze and the distant hum of the countryside. Then Jules broke the quiet with a hearty laugh. "Ah, ze Eenglish! Always ze charmers!"
Fleur recovered quickly, her lips curling into a sly smile. "Careful, 'Arry. Compliments like zat will get you into trouble."
Harry grinned, shrugging lightly. "What's life without a little trouble?"
The group laughed, their initial reservations melting away.
"It's difficult to make Fleur speechless," Hugo remarked, raising an eyebrow at Harry.
Marie giggled, her eyes sparkling with amusement. "You didn't tell me he was this much trouble, Fleur. I was expecting a boy."
"So was I," Fleur teased, taking a sip from her wineglass, her smirk playful.
"Ah, apologies, we're being terrible hosts!" Jules exclaimed suddenly. "'Arry, let me get you some wine."
"No need," Harry replied smoothly, pulling a bottle seemingly out of thin air. He held it up for the group to see. "This is a 2001 Château du Pompey."
The group fell silent, save for Guillame, who let out a low whistle.
"Please, please, let me try it," Guillame said, gently shifting Ines off his chest as if the wine demanded his full attention. He clasped his hands together in mock prayer.
"I'm guessing that's a good bottle?" Ines asked dryly, arching an eyebrow.
"Is Krum a good Quidditch player?" Guillame retorted without missing a beat.
"Yes, Quidditch. Clearly the best frame of reference," Ines said, rolling her eyes. "Boys."
Harry chuckled. "A good wine is always better shared. Please, join me." With a flick of his wand, six glasses, a table, and six chairs appeared, perfectly arranged.
Marie shot Fleur a questioning glance, to which Fleur responded with a subtle shrug.
"What about me?" Gabrielle piped up, crossing her arms and tapping her foot.
"You'll share my glass, of course," Harry said, tugging her hair playfully before pulling her onto his lap. The bottle floated in midair, pouring itself evenly into the glasses. "Forgive me," he added to the group with a sheepish smile. "I'm a bit of a show-off."
"I knew that when you flew against the dragon," Gabrielle giggled, leaning back against him.
"Or when you rescued my Gabby as well as your own hostage," Fleur added softly, placing a hand on his arm.
"Have you come to show off to French society, 'Arry?" Juliette asked, her gaze flickering to the other guests on the balcony. It was clear they had attracted an audience.
"No, but I'm not against it," Harry replied casually. "I've come to recruit for the war I'm thinking of having." His tone was light, but there was an edge of seriousness beneath it.
Jules laughed heartily, though the rest of the group exchanged uneasy glances. "A good fight, against ze Voldemort, non?"
"Yes, a bit of rough and tumble," Harry said with a faint smirk. "Though maybe that doesn't translate well."
"We understand," Juliette said, though her voice was quieter now. "And... is it your war, do you think?"
Harry's expression grew more serious as he met her gaze directly. "I've fought him twice in the last few months. He definitely wants me dead, and the feeling is mutual. Don't really see anyone else stepping up to kill him." He paused, his voice steady but resolute. "So yeah, I'm thinking it's my war."
The weight of his words hung in the air, silencing the group. Even Jules, who had been so jovial moments before, seemed to sober.
"Well," Guillame finally said, raising his glass, "to ze war you'll win, 'Arry. And to good wine."
Harry raised his glass in return, a faint smile playing on his lips. "To good wine. And winning."
The tension eased slightly as they clinked glasses, but the unspoken gravity of Harry's declaration lingered, casting a subtle shadow over the golden glow of the evening.
Marie took a slow sip of her wine, her expression playful. "Are you always this much fun, 'Arry?"
"Want to find out?" Harry shot back, a mischievous grin tugging at his lips.
Marie choked mid-sip, sputtering wine onto her sundress. "Merde! My dress!"
Harry burst into laughter, unable to contain himself.
"Taste of your own medicine, salope," Fleur teased, giggling behind her hand.
"Sorry," Harry said, though his tone betrayed zero remorse. With a casual wave of his hand, the wine stain vanished from Marie's dress.
Marie eyed him suspiciously, crossing her legs and leaning back in her chair. The movement caused her dress to ride up, revealing her sun-kissed, toned legs. "No, you're not sorry," she said with a smirk. "But that's okay. I wasn't expecting a wandless magic-wielding, expensive-wine-carrying, war-mongering teenager to flirt with me. Now I have fair warning—which, by the way, I did not receive from my best friend, Fleur."
She turned her mock glare on Fleur, who shrugged with an impish grin. Fleur stretched her bare feet under the table, her toes brushing against Harry's leg. "What can I say? 'Arry is a man of mystery, apparently."
"Whatever he is, I'll follow him into war if he's got more of this wine," Guillame declared, his eyes closed in bliss as he savored another sip.
Harry snorted. "I'll send you a bottle of something good, though it's not quite like this."
"It is great wine," Ines admitted grudgingly, swirling her glass.
Hugo remained quiet, puffing on his cigarette while studying Harry with newfound interest. Jules, however, scanned the balcony with a faintly worried expression.
"Fleur, it's only a matter of time," Hugo said, his voice low.
"I know," Fleur replied, her light tone darkening slightly.
"What's only a matter of time?" Harry asked, curiosity piqued.
"The Veela Princess is in attendance," Hugo said, exhaling smoke as he spoke. "Along with some of her coven. Sophia. She's the Queen in all but name—her mother's been on her deathbed for years."
Fleur wrinkled her nose in distaste.
"Oh?" Harry replied, keeping his tone carefully neutral. A Veela Princess? That sounded intriguing.
"She'll want to meet you, of course," Fleur said, her foot trailing further up his leg.
"All the women want my wine," Harry quipped with a smirk.
Fleur rolled her eyes, though her lips twitched with amusement. "She just enjoys showing off. Perhaps you'll get on well."
Jules snorted, but his gaze remained vigilant, flicking to the edges of the balcony. Harry noted the shift in mood but let it pass, swirling the wine in his glass thoughtfully.
They enjoyed their wine for a few minutes, chatting about nothing in particular. Harry allowed himself to relax, basking in the evening warmth, the stunning view, and the taste of the exquisite wine. This was the life. He closed his eyes, a contented smile spreading across his face. One day, perhaps, he could live like this—his every need met by a thousand adoring women.
"Merde." Fleur's voice snapped him out of his reverie. She stood abruptly, her expression one of irritation. "Come on, 'Arry. Let's get this over with."
"What?" Harry blinked, startled.
Fleur tapped her foot impatiently. "I'll introduce you to the bitch now, or her lackeys will just keep staring at me until I do."
"Fleur," Marie warned, her tone sharp.
"I know, I know. I'll play the game." Fleur waved her hand dismissively before grabbing Harry's arm. "Come on, 'Arry."
Harry barely had time to deposit a drowsy Gabrielle into Marie's lap before Fleur looped her arm through his. He grabbed his glass of wine and allowed her to guide him through the crowd. They passed several tables where people clearly wanted to say hello, but Fleur moved with purpose, cutting a path toward a large central table just inside the grand French windows.
The table's head was occupied by the most beautiful woman Harry had ever seen. Her hair, a cascade of white-blonde silk, flowed all the way down to the floor, trailing elegantly behind her even as she sat. The hair framed a face so delicate and unblemished it seemed otherworldly. Her Nordic features were striking, her startlingly blue eyes framed by long lashes, and her lips were full and peachy, as though perpetually inviting a kiss. Her rosy cheeks, lightly dusted with freckles, gave the impression she'd been outside in the snow rather than seated in the warm, luxurious interior.
Immediately, Harry slammed his Occlumency barriers into place. He felt the Veela aura batter against them, a force as overwhelming as a tidal wave. But his walls held firm, and the aura broke against them, unable to penetrate.
Around the table, Harry saw an array of women, all stunningly beautiful. Some were young, others older—perhaps in their thirties or forties—but every one of them was striking. Amusingly, they seemed to differentiate themselves through their hair colors, which ranged from vibrant teal waves to sleek purple strands, to pink shoulder-length bobs.
"Welcome, Harry Potter," the Veela Princess said, her voice smooth and melodic, carrying an undercurrent of authority that matched her regal appearance.
Harry raised his glass slightly, his smile easy but his mind sharp. "Thank you for having me. Though I'm not sure I'm here by choice."
Fleur gave him a side-eye glare but said nothing as the Princess smiled faintly.
"Few ever are," she replied, her tone laced with amusement. "I am Sophia. I've heard much about you."
"Only the good parts, I hope," Harry quipped, his tone light but his gaze steady.
The women around the table exchanged glances, some smiling, others observing him with open curiosity. The air was charged, and Harry could feel the weight of their scrutiny.
"Of course," Sophia replied smoothly. "Though I am curious to see how much of it is true."
Harry took a slow sip of his wine, his smile never wavering. "Then I suppose you'll have to ask Fleur. She's got all the best stories."
The tension in the room shifted slightly as Fleur rolled her eyes, muttering something under her breath in French. The women chuckled, and Harry allowed himself a small, satisfied grin.
The game had begun.
The table wasn't exclusively populated by women; a few men sat among them, all strikingly handsome and dressed in expensive robes. Their smiles were warm, but their eyes carried a glint of calculation, watching Harry like hawks sizing up potential prey—or competition.
"Your Highness," Fleur spoke smoothly, drawing the attention of the Veela Princess. "Please allow me to introduce my friend and fellow Triwizard Tournament contestant, Lord Potter."
Harry resisted the urge to groan. Lord Potter? That was news to him. He shot Fleur a quick glare, but she ignored him, her expression serene.
The Princess's eyes landed on him, her gaze assessing yet composed. She extended a delicate hand, her fingers long and graceful. Harry hesitated for a fraction of a second before stepping forward and pressing a light kiss to her hand.
"It's an honor to meet you, Your Highness," he said, retreating as gracefully as he could manage.
Her smile was faint but approving. "Your French is admirable, Lord Potter." Her voice was sweet yet carried a quiet strength. She wore a deep purple cloak that obscured her figure, though her petite frame was evident in the way she moved. "Yet I did not know you had ever stepped foot on our shores."
"This is my first time," Harry admitted, keeping his tone polite. "But I am a man who loves to learn, and I hope to spend more time here."
One of her delicate eyebrows arched slightly, a flicker of intrigue crossing her face. "Indeed?"
He smiled, letting a hint of mischief touch his expression. "I'm hoping to find allies to fight a war back home."
The table erupted into soft laughter, the sound tinkling like glass bells, but the Princess's gaze remained fixed on him. Her lips curved faintly, though her expression stayed measured.
"Is it true that you fought Voldemort?" she asked, her tone quiet but probing.
"It is," Harry replied, tilting his head slightly. "Though had the fight continued, I would have lost badly."
Her eyes narrowed, just a fraction. "But he retreated?"
"He did."
"Why?" Her voice was calm, but there was an intensity in her gaze that made Harry feel as though she could see straight through him.
Blimey, she was intense. He resisted the urge to fidget. "I'd already foiled his objective to murder one of Britain's foremost lords and injured his recruits. My allies were arriving in greater numbers. Retreat was his only option."
The Princess studied him for a moment, her expression unreadable. Around the table, the laughter had quieted, and the other Veela were watching him with varying degrees of interest.
"You are an intriguing man, Lord Potter," she said finally, her lips curving into a smile that was both charming and enigmatic. "I look forward to learning more about you."
Harry inclined his head slightly, matching her composure. "The feeling is mutual, Your Highness."
The game had shifted gears, and Harry could feel the stakes rising with every word. The Princess's questions were pointed, but he had learned long ago how to navigate delicate conversations.
"Then it was a victory, non?" she asked, her eyes never leaving his.
"I would say so," Harry replied, his voice steady.
"And you've had a number of these victories against the man?" she pressed.
"Five, so far," Harry said, letting the number hang in the air.
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