Chapter 7: Preparations for the Ball
It had been a few weeks since the first test. Today Hermione was determined to find Harry's new lodgings and find out everything at last. Whether he was telling the truth about the NEWT, which was highly doubtful, about the university degree, which also smelled like bullshit.
Although the level of transfiguration he showed was very high, but as a lot of students, including Ron, thought, Hermione was sure that it was Dumbledore who had helped him.
Professor McGonagall couldn't deny her two favorite lion cubs such a small thing as showing them where their friend now lived. So there the two of them were, heading there to say their 'fi'.
Hermione believed that Harry was much smarter than he was showing. But not to this extent! Ron just wanted to express everything he thought about the 'traitor'.
And Fleur wanted someone to stop being stupid. God, she's already sleeping on his bed, he on the couch. She's walking around in a short robe over her naked (!) body, and he's looking her emphatically in the eyes. Sometimes you just want to hit him with something. She constantly calls him "honey", "darling" and similar words. Honestly, she would think Harry was messing with her if she didn't know him a little better. He does have a knack for understanding people's relationships with each other, but when those very feelings or relationships concern himself, he is remarkably blind.
Harry, on the other hand, was enjoying life for the first time. He had everything he needed so far: his own private corner - his apartment, the brainpower of the Tournament, Fleur, and the opportunity to do a bunch of experiments in his new lab, which Harry had ruthlessly given one of the two available rooms other than the living room. It looks very strange, but it's efficient. Both state-of-the-art instruments and cauldrons of brews can be found there. All in all, a mix of modernity and medieval with steampunk elements. But it's so interesting!
Dumbledore has fit the research and all of Flamel's diaries. Of course, this is very difficult, any self-respecting alchemist encrypts his notes, and six hundred year olds - so on three ciphers that no one knows about. But Harry doesn't give up, he unravels.
The whole laboratory has cost him a veritable fortune-about fourteen thousand galleons. Instruments enchanted with Muggle technology, the very price of advanced technology, ingredients, catalysts and whatnot. Sometimes even Dumbledore stops by for his experiments. Harry doesn't mind. After all, he himself is curious to see what the old man will do there. Well, it was interesting the first time. Lemon slices. He was seriously making lemon wedges in the advanced lab with his favorite flavor
.
And so, Harry was sitting in his new favorite chair by the fireplace, smoking a cigar and sipping coffee, when there was a knock on the door.
It was unexpected.
The Headmaster apparates with the phoenix, Fleur is currently reading something in her bedroom. Yes, hers, because Harry has been sleeping in the living room lately while the bed is occupied by one cheeky veela. Sometimes it seems like she has cats rather than birds in her ancestry - the same brazenness combined with grace and beauty. She even brought her own groceries! And most importantly, with a cute little note: "Harry! "If you touch me, I'll kill you!" - and a heart. Brilliant.
Thank Merlin, God and other creatures the fish believe in, no one else visits his humble apartment.
Without waiting for their master's permission, Ron and Hermione poured into the living room. And immediately began to look around. From the door there was a small hallway that led into a large room with a fireplace, opposite which was a large sofa, with nice armchairs on either side and a coffee table. A smiley face with knives sticking out of it is painted on the wall in yellow paint. The table is littered with books and parchments, on top of which is a laptop and a cup of coffee. The fireplace is also littered with stuff on top. And there's a lightning bolt hanging above it.
In short, it's a creative mess. Creative, because if you look closely, you'll realize that each item has its own place. Hermione had read somewhere that geniuses had their own systematization of information. Well, that's just for the record.
There were three doors and a small archway, behind which was a small kitchenette, but still it was not empty - you could see bread in the breadbox, fruit near the sink. And for some reason Ron could vaguely guess why there were French croissants in a bag on the refrigerator with some kind of note on them.
Behind one of the armchairs sat Harry Potter himself in his house robe with a cup of coffee in one hand and a cigar in the other. He stared questioningly for probably about five minutes while the 'dear' guests looked around. Then he spat and decided to get their attention.
"Hello. I'm listening to you, did you want something?"
"А...? Yes. Harry, why aren't you in class? Studying is an important part of your life. You need to study..." began Hermione
.
"Stop. I've already given my reasons, and if you're here this early for that, the solution is over there."
"Harry, this isn't funny anymore. Your joke has gone on long enough. I knew you were hiding something, but it's unlikely you'd have been allowed to take the NEWT this early, even I wasn't allowed to take the OWL just a year early."
"I'm a Hero of Magical Britain, you're a mere Muggleborn. I had Dumbledore personally speak for me, no one speaks for you. I'm smart, you're not. That's the minimum reason why I can graduate this year and you can't," she managed to piss off even the phlegmatic Harry. The words were scathing and true, which was what hurt Granger the most.
While Hermione, with tears in her eyes, began to flap her mouth, Ron decided to take the floor.
"Shut up Potter, you think you were able to trick or black magic your way into the Tournament and are already better than everyone else? You're nothing! If it wasn't for me..."
Ron had a lot of things he wanted to say, but a girl came out from behind one of the doors with the words:
" 'Arry, honey, what are you making so much noise? I'm sleeping here, actually," she was still in her silk short robe. On her breasts, two nipples were slightly visible through the thin fabric. So it wasn't hard to guess Weasley's reaction: he just froze with his mouth open. Fleur, seeing this, quickly grabbed another of Harry's robes from a nearby rack and put it on. The warm terrycloth robe, which was a size larger than necessary, hid all of the veela's body except for her head.
Hermione was very annoyed and had already forgotten about crying. Notations were more important!
"Harry, how can you! You've been allocated an apartment and you're taking all sorts of-"
"You're making me tired. Both of you out," Harry said coldly.
"But..."
"Out."
"Ah, you stinking snob..." with those words Weasley pounced on Potter, but a slight movement of his wand and the chains encircled him, leaving only his legs free.
"If you both do not leave my domain, I will use force. I'll count to five."
"But, Harry..."
"One."
"...I just..."
"Two."
"OK, we're leaving," Hermione took a kicking Ron by the chain and led him towards the exit.
Fleur, who had been standing there the whole time, took off her terrycloth robe, leaving her in her silk one, and decided to cheer Potter up a bit.
She usually sits in the other chair across from the fireplace. They are discussing something, playing chess, deduction or just reading something. But today Fleur felt that this meeting had hurt Harry after all, even if he wouldn't admit it even to himself.
She simply sat on his lap, wrapping her arms around his neck and resting her head on his shoulder.
Yeah, that definitely lifted Harry's spirits...and more. At first he wanted to object, but then he realized he had nothing to object to. It was just sitting there, warming him up.
"Can you please make me a blanket? I'm cold," the veela asked.
"And you shouldn't be dressed like that in winter."
"Like you don't like it?" inquired Fleur mockingly, looking at Harry. Potter looked at her.
After five minutes of a battle of glances, she gave up.
"Okay, I like to walk like this," Fleur said a little frowning, getting comfortable on her lap. "Harry, you know the Christmas Ball is coming up, right?"
"Who?"
"Oh mon dieu, what am I talking about? Of course he doesn't know..." rolling her eyes, Delacour muttered rather to herself.
He hadn't paid attention to the first round assignment, what ball was she even talking about?
She still couldn't forget Harry's performance. How instead of the usual dragons, they bred this rabidly huge scary tailed dragon. How he fearlessly stepped up to the dragon, looking it straight in the eye, and then with two strokes of his wand KILLED the damn dragon without moving. Then, of course, he heard Bagman and took his egg, but you should have seen the faces of the judges: all but Dumbledore (who was grinning into his beard) were watching with bulging eyes. THAT kind of transfiguration is not available at that age for many reasons.
Then there were arguments and squabbles, but Potter got his rightful first place, and a fine of five hundred galleons for destroying a rare species of dragon.
How Fleur had cried afterward, hugging Harry, first groping him and checking that he was in one piece, then just from the horror she had experienced, again in Harry's arms. He in turn scrutinized and groped her too, but only in the permissible places and for injuries.
The most interesting thing was that Fleur had experienced more stress from Harry's fight than her own. Still, the difference between a ten meter skinny Welsh dragon and a thirty meter tall killing machine was obvious.
"En bref, there will be a ball at Christmas, which champions are required to attend with a couple. There will be dancing and drinking and so on. And you must have a couple, hein?"
and looks with such breathless hope, straight into his eyes.
"Oh, I shouldn't have chased that curly-haired one away just now, she seems to be of the female sex..." Harry couldn't help but say it.
The Marauder legacy sometimes shone through even his intelligence.
"Ah, you bâtard, I mean, dire ici and that pour vous, and that..." straying into French, Fleur began to pummel this silly Englishman with her fists.
"Kidding," catching her slender hands, Harry replied, looking straight into her eyes. "Would you be so kind as to escort me to the ball?"
Fleur walked over to Potter with a squinted, sort of appraising gaze.
"Oui. And don't make any more jokes like that."
"Deal," Harry summarized, nuzzling the veela again.
Yes, he definitely liked it when she wasn't sitting in her chair.
The time before the ball flew by very quickly: experiments, Flamel's puzzle, Fleur almost moving in with him, waking up in bed with a veela in his arms, because Harry was just tired of sleeping on the couch, Hermione and Ron's failed attempts to talk to him.
All in all, Potter didn't notice how it was already tomorrow that he had to go to the ball. The costume for it had long ago been bought, checked with Delacour, and approved.
There were some dumb but funny moments, like the Weasley's attempts to invite Fleur to the ball; or the way the younger redhead tried to invite Harry herself, but ran away after the veela in her unchanging robe called Potter from the depths of the apartment; or the way Malfoy once decided to remember about Harry and came over to the Gryffindor table where Harry and Fleur were quietly chatting.
"What, Potter, has your entire faculty turned their backs on you? I wouldn't let a liar like that into the drawing room at all. You're just..."
"Fleur, look, who is that and why did he speak to me?" interrupting Malfoy, Harry asked.
The white-haired man seemed about to burst with tension. His face began to blotch red, making him look dramatically like Weasley.
"Oh, that boy keeps picking on you, vois?"
Malfoy tried not to give any sign of how hurt he was by Delacour's words, for after Potter's insults, he had planned to ask the pretty girl to the ball.
"Oh," Harry said meaningfully, glancing at Malfoy for a second, "Ron's the one who's always throwing himself at him whenever he sees him. Clearly a generational feud, because it started in absentia before they met..."
"Potter, don't you dare ignore me," interrupted Draco trying hard not to look in the veela's direction.
"Fleur, do you think if you keep ignoring him, he'll back off?"
"Not the right psychotype," the Frenchwoman, as always in public, was a little wordy and rather cold.
"Agreed. Stupefy, stupefy, stupefy. Problem solved."
"No, here comes that man in black," Fleur replied as she continued to eat.
"Oh, it's that young psychologist's manual..."
"Potter, minus fifty points for assaulting students and a week's worth of detention."
Harry shrugged and continued his meal. Just as Fleur had thought, Potter didn't go to any detention. Snape freaked out, Snape complained, Snape scolded, but he never got anywhere.
I'm telling you, stupid but funny situations.
Malfoy didn't bother anymore, by the way.
But here's Harry standing amongst the other champions. Cedric Diggory was with an Asian-looking girl, Krum was with a curly one who had at least combed her hair for the ball. The pair were chatting among themselves, laughing, joking. "The Chinese girl is obviously very interested in Cedric," Harry noted to himself. Rapid breathing, dilated pupils. The Hogwarts Champion, on the other hand, showed only polite interest with signs of sexual infatuation. That made sense.
With Kram's pair, it was exactly the opposite: Viktor seemed to be looking at the snooty girl with puppy eyes, and the latter showed only a little involvement. I'm sorry, Bulgarian, but she likes the redhead better.
But then Fleur entered the room. She was wearing a silver dress, which was complemented by her usual straight hair. The dress was rather austere, because the veela had long ago learned that Harry was more attracted to inner beauty than outer beauty. But that kind of scope for fantasy made her seem even more sexy. Delacour's face was almost devoid of the makeup that girls usually abuse. She could drive anyone crazy with her looks right now. What to say when even Harry hung back as he looked at his date for the ball.
"It's nice to see that I managed to have such an effect on you, mon chéri," Fleur approached him with a slight smile.
"Don't get used to it, it's a one-time event," Harry said in the lady's ear, regaining his composure.
"Si tu le dis," she giggled, accepting her partner's outstretched hand.
"Champions, to me!" came the voice of the vice-principal.
And then Delacour thought, "When did Harry learn to dance? He couldn't have... forgotten, could he?".
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