Harry Potter entered the tent with his Firebolt resting on his shoulder and his arm wrapping around his Golden Egg. He was wearing a grin that could threaten to split his handsome face, and his vivid emerald eyes gleamed with unconcealed pride. Blood soaked through his robe where the dragon's tail had grazed him, but he didn't look concerned about the fact. Any boy his age wouldn't have managed half of what he did against his dragon—let alone face a dragon. No, this was not the little boy she had thought he was.

Fleur Delacour watched as the Hogwarts Matron fussed over Harry's wound while muttering something about "children fighting dragons for entertainment." Harry took it all in stride, drinking every given potion without complaint while still maintaining that charming grin he had. As if sensing that he was being stared at, he snapped his head toward Fleur. She couldn't help but feel the heat on her cheeks from getting caught, but what made her stomach drop was the look that he was giving her.

Narrowed, empty eyes behind wire-rimmed spectacles stared back at her. His cheeks looked gaunt, and there were dark circles under his eyes. The frown creasing his pale face and his furrowed brows aged him by a few years. Fleur gasped from the coldness of his voice.

"What are you looking at? Want to gloat some more?"

"I—I—I—" Fleur stopped herself before she could stammer further. "Why is he having this effect on me?" she thought. "He should be the one who's stammering. He should be trying to impress me with how he outflew a dragon! And why is he so angry with me?"

"What's the matter? Cat got your tongue? 'Zis little boy' too much for you to handle?" Harry exaggerated the word "little."

Fleur's eyes widened as realization dawned on her. "But, of course!" The young man's ability to hold a grudge shocked her. As guilty as she felt at the moment, she wouldn't let anyone treat her like he had. She mustered all the haughtiness she had developed over the years and turned her nose up. Standing up for added effect, she crossed her arms and looked down her nose.

Her actions rewarded her with the intended effect. She suppressed a smirk as she watched Harry fidget in his seat, eyes darting at anywhere but her.

"S-Sorry about that," he muttered under his breath, looking at the ground. "I didn't mean to snap at you like that. I was just angry about that night you called me a little boy and I used that anger to fuel my desire to win this stupid tournament and maybe you're right because I let that dragon hit me and I could've been killed and…"

Fleur couldn't hold her mask any longer at his childlike behavior. She kept getting amazed by how different he was from her idea of the Boy Who Lived. "Perhaps if I had given the time to get to know him…"

She reached out and held his chin with her hand, forcing him to look at her. The gesture stopped his rambling, and his gaze went to her eyes. "Oh, what prominent limbal rings you have." She spoke before she got lost in his green depths.

"Monsieur Potter," Fleur whispered. "Eet ees I zat should be apologizing. I spoke out of turn zat night, and I regret ze words zat I 'ave said to you." She paused, admiring how the blacks of his eyes threatened to engulf the greens. "I 'ope zat you find eet in yourself to forgive me."

"Of course," came his breathy reply. "It's nothing—really." He drew away from her hand—much to Fleur's displeasure—and gave his head a little shake.

"Maybe we should start over," Harry said, voice steadier than before.

"Per'aps." She flashed her first genuine smile since her arrival to this miserable school.

"What's taking him so long?" Fleur tapped her nails on the table as she looked across the Great Hall toward a mop of messy, black hair. Weeks had passed since the announcement of the upcoming Yule Ball, but no matter how many hints she dropped, he seemed to act oblivious to each one. Her pride wouldn't let her be the one to do the asking. "Perhaps he just isn't into girls. If this goes on long enough, I might have to take Davies up on his offer."

As if reading her thoughts, Harry shot straight out of his seat, which was unusual given that it's only halfway through lunchtime. All eyes followed him as he made his way past the Hufflepuff table and around the Ravenclaw table. Fleur's heart started to pound, realizing what was about to happen. He walked toward where she sat as if the two of them were the only people in the entire hall.

Harry stopped behind her, and when she looked up to meet his gaze, the determination burning in his eyes made her catch her breath.

"Fleur Delacour," he said, his voice carrying across the silent hall, "would you do the honor of accompanying me to the Ball?"

The entire student body and faculty waited with bated breath.

Fleur decided to play her part. She looked him up and down like she'd done to the others who had asked her before.

"You're too short."

The Great Hall rumbled with the collective gasp.

Fleur's heart broke at the hurt that crossed Harry's face. Without missing a beat, she continued.

"I will not be wearing 'eels, zen."

Harry raised an eyebrow, taking a moment to realize what had happened, before breaking into the brightest smile Fleur had ever seen from him.

She felt her heart flutter when she saw Harry pump his fist before going back to his seat; his steps gained an extra spring to them.

The smile never left his face that day.

Fleur paced back and forth along the pebbly shore of the Great Lake. She neither minded the biting cold of the Scottish February nor felt the numerous cuts on her body inflicted by the nasty grindylows. The assurances of both Madame Maxime and Headmaster Dumbledore that the hostages were safe did little to calm her nerves. Given the choice between Gabrielle and Harry, Fleur was loath to admit that she preferred family over anyone else.

The cheers from the stands made her snap her attention to the lake. Two heads were moving toward the shore as she heard Bagman's booming voice.

"Mr. Diggory is the first champion to rescue their hostage, with 15 minutes to spare!"

Fleur was upon the Hogwarts Champion as soon as the couple reached the shore.

"Cedric!" She tried to restrain the desperation in her voice. "'Ave you seen 'Arry?"

"Fleur—relax!" Cedric wrenched away the hands Fleur hadn't noticed she was gripping his shoulders with. "Last I've seen him he was waiting for something down there. I don't know why he doesn't just grab his hostage and go."

"Merde." Fleur watched the matron whisk the couple away into the tent. "Harry Potter, always the hero." She resumed her pacing, trying her hardest to stave off the foul thoughts that were creeping into her head.

Krum and Granger followed soon after. Minutes passed by, and the time limit was reached. Still, there was no sign of Gabrielle nor Harry.

"What if they were wrong?" Thoughts about why the tournament was suspended in the first place surfaced to her mind. She stifled a sob when she imagined holding the lifeless body of her sister.

Agonizing seconds ticked by, and the seconds turned into minutes. Murmurs could be heard from the stands, and the air was thick with trepidation.

Fleur was shaking, but it wasn't because of the cold. She held the towel around her tighter and was sweeping her eyes over the lake, looking for any signs of disturbance, when three heads popped out to the surface. She tuned out the roars from the stands and Bagman's voice, focusing on the black mop and the silver blanket that were bobbing in and out of the water.

"Gabrielle!" Fleur broke into a run and met the trio halfway when they neared the shore. "Are you hurt?" She looked her sister over, and relief washed over her after finding no signs of injury.

"I'm fine." Gabrielle had a dreamy look on her face and was staring at something behind Fleur. "'Arry Potter saved me."

Fleur perked up at the mention of his name. She followed the direction of her sister's gaze and found the young man in question in all fours. His chest heaved as he tried to catch his breath, while his arms threatened to buckle underneath him from all the shaking they were doing. She had half a mind to express what she was feeling about his actions as she marched her way toward him. Upon reaching him, she grabbed him by the collar of his robe and pulled him up to his feet.

"You imbecile!"

"Fleur—"

She slapped him across his face.

"Zat was for making me worried sick!"

Harry looked at her, slack-jawed. Before he could say anything, she leaned in and kissed the cheek she had struck. She pulled away to see his reaction. His mouth tried to work something out, but no words were coming out of it.

"Zat was for saving my seester."

He raised his eyebrows, and his mouth had stopped moving albeit still slack-jawed. Fleur went in for the killing blow, taking advantage of his parted lips. She slipped her tongue in uninvited. Harry gasped from the intrusion. Her arms snaked their way around his neck, one hand going through his wet hair, and she pulled herself close to his body. She explored the depths of his soul without resistance, drawing a mental map of every corner and crevice. Fleur clung to him as if she would never see him again.

She pulled away but not before giving his bottom lip a gentle nibble.

"What was that for?" Harry managed to say through his panting. A goofy grin was plastered on his flushed face.

"Zat…" Fleur cupped his face on her hands and gave his lips a quick peck. "Was for being you."

"Maybe I should be me more often."

She laughed, knowing full well the effect it had on him.

"Now go get changed, or you'll freeze yourself to death." Fleur shooed him away.

She absently ran her fingers on her lips as she watched Harry's retreating form.

"Perhaps I could get used to this."