Chapter 88: CH 88
Ice statues,' Harry murmured, stepping into the winter palace Fleur's mind had mustered. There were four of them, one in each corner, sparkling like so much diamond and reflecting a thousand scattered flares of the candles that hovered above them.
'I like the candles in the Great Hall,' she explained, gesturing at her hovering sources of light. 'Beauxbatons has chandeliers, but I think this is more scenic.'
The french witch took the furthest seat from the door, filling the elegant crystal glass that appeared on the arm of the chair with the contents of her purloined bottle. Harry took the only other seat.
'Do you like it?' she asked. 'I tried to make it something that was of both our schools.'
'I do,' Harry answered honestly. The room was more in the style of elegant, renaissance Beauxbatons than stout Hogwarts, but Harry didn't mind. He loved Hogwarts. It was the home he had never had, but it was not the most attractive building on the inside, no matter how awe inspiring its exterior appeared.
'Alone with a veela in a room that can provide almost anything you want,' Fleur began lightly. 'This, I imagine, is the beginning of many adolescent wizards' dreams.'
'Not mine,' Harry grinned. 'You told me too much about veela to risk me getting set on fire.'
'I would have an advantage here,' Fleur surmised, 'looking over the room. It's warm and dry, my magic would flow faster here than normal here.' Harry filed that away for a later date. Presumably if warm and dry had a positive effect then wet and cold would create the reverse.
I wonder how her faster flowing magic would compare with mine since doing that ritual?
'My wand is easier to reach,' Harry pointed out, letting it slip from his sleeve.
A ball of blue flames burst into sparks at his feet before he had managed to catch it. 'I do not need my wand if to set you on fire, remember.'
'Can
you
transform?'
Harry
asked
her curiously. The veela at the World Cup had taken on a birdlike appearance at the very end.
'I can,' Fleur replied enigmatically, 'but I won't, not for your curiosity.'
'I suppose that's fair,' Harry answered evenly. He wouldn't start spouting parseltongue for her interest either.
There was a short silence as Fleur finished her glass of wine. It had been a small bottle and only half a goblet more remained.
'Where would you be if I had not asked you to be my shield?' The french witch seemed genuinely curious.
'Probably here, just alone' Harry admitted with a wry smile. 'Or,' he mused. 'If I had gone I might be downstairs kissing Katie.' 'I've never kissed anyone,' Fleur remarked, finishing the last of the wine. She was a little flushed, either from the alcohol or their topic of conversation.
'Neither have I,' Harry half-smiled. 'But I sort of suspect that if I had agreed to dance with Katie I would have ended up kissing her.'
'A good thing I made you come with me, then.'
'Possibly,' Harry conceded. 'I can't imagine kissing Katie would end well.'
'I asked you yesterday if you would let me test to see how resistant you are to my allure,' the platinum blond began as tentatively as he had ever heard her.
'I stand by what I said,' Harry responded before she had to actually ask. He was curious himself now that he knew Fleur was every bit as much a veela as those at the World Cup.
'Focus on me,' Fleur commanded, leaning in closer to him.
For the first time since he had met her Harry focused simply on Fleur. Her bright, clear, summer sky blue eyes, the lustrous, silver-blond hair, pale rose lips. Her face had soft, warm kind quality to it that he had somehow never really managed to notice when she wasn't smiling. Something lurched wildly in his chest; Fleur Delacour was really rather beautiful.
I am clearly not as resistant as either of us thought.
'What do you feel?' she asked, tilting her head coyly to one side.
'I have no idea,' Harry began, breathless, 'how I didn't notice you from the very beginning.' He swallowed his embarrassment at what he was about to say, relying on his occlumency to fight off the blush that he knew was beginning to creep onto his cheeks.
'You're the most beautiful girl I have ever seen.' Raw honesty was evident in the shakiness of his voice. Fleur stared at him for a long moment, a small, bemused smile at the corner of her lips.
Above his head green, twisting strands of leaves entwined their way down from around the candles. The sweet smell of hot leaves, joined the perpetual scent of burnt holly that clung to Fleur. The leaves unfolded, their emerald hued, droplet shapes surrounding a scatter of white berries as they descended to hang just between and above their two chairs.
Fleur is in control of the room.
His eyes flicked down from the ceiling of candles and mistletoe to the girl whose thoughts they mirrored.
She was inches away; her face still ever so slightly flushed.
Harry froze, cold surprise gripping him at her proximity, then instantly thawed when Fleur pressed her lips ever so gently against his in a moment of such softness and warmth that Harry's mind lost track of his other senses.
He was vaguely aware of her lashes brushing against cheek, the same sweet smell of burning holly, and the taste of wine and sugar, but he forget them all when her tongue traced with excruciating bliss over his lower lip.
She pulled back, her blue eyes flickering open demurely less than a hand's length from his own.
There were no words that Harry could find in the quiet as she left the Room of Requirement with her real smile spread delicately across the curve of her lips. The only thing he could find on his tongue was the ever so sweet taste of Fleur Delacour.
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