Harry took a slow, measured breath as he traversed the sloping grounds of Hogwarts, the sky tinted with wisps of pink and gold in the waning evening light. Despite the picturesque sunset, an uneasy coil of tension lingered in his stomach—tonight was Fleur's banquet at the Beauxbatons carriage, and he could feel the weight of it settling over him like a cloak. With practised ease, he used his Occlumency to still his thoughts, forcing a semblance of calm into his mind.
He fingered the collar of his new robes, the soft midnight-blue fabric lined with subtle silver filigree. They were a far cry from his usual plain black—Fleur had been adamant that he look properly presentable. He had to concede that she had an impeccable eye for style, even if part of him felt slightly out of place in such refined attire.
A familiar, sardonic hiss slithered through the air.
"You look ridiculous," Asmodeus drawled. "All that silver thread is distracting. I'd have gone for black and green."
Harry almost rolled his eyes at the remark but settled for a silent retort. "Yes, well, I like how these look. And you're a snake—what do you know about wizarding fashion?"
Ash let out a soft snort. Harry could feel the serpent shifting beneath his robes, apparently displeased by the banter. Then Asmodeus fell quiet, though Harry suspected he was only biding his time. The snake had, after all, declared he wanted to take a stroll around the castle this evening—yet here he was, coiled snugly against Harry's torso.
"Ash," Harry whispered with mild exasperation, "what part of 'taking a stroll' involves staying hidden in my clothes?"
The snake's lofty tone rolled through their soul-bond. "I am not one for cold evening air," Asmodeus replied. "Besides, you shouldn't question your betters, boy."
Harry shook his head and decided not to dignify that with an answer.
They reached the edge of the lawn where the famed Beauxbatons carriage stood in regal splendour—its powder-blue exterior gleaming in the last of the sun's glow. Though it looked sizable from the outside, Harry knew firsthand how vast it was within, courtesy of powerful spacial enchantments. A gentle hum of voices drifted out to the grounds, and floating candles lined a conjured walkway, flickering like tiny fairy lights against the evening dusk.
Harry steeled himself for the spectacle beyond those doors, watching as witches and wizards in their finest robes stepped carefully up the staircase. After a moment, he climbed the first step—just as Fleur appeared at the entrance. Silvery locks were pulled back in a delicate twist, her sky-blue dress robes shimmering faintly around her figure. Harry's breath caught momentarily at the sight. 'She's breathtaking,' he thought, feeling that now-familiar flip in his chest.
She descended a step and greeted him with a small, triumphant smile. Her gaze slid over his robes, and a hint of satisfaction lit her eyes. "You see," she murmured, "I knew I could make something nice out of you."
Harry placed a hand over his heart in mock offence. "Wow, so you're saying I'm not usually good-looking?"
A light laugh escaped Fleur's lips, and she moved closer. "Mon amour, you're adorable. Now, you're also presentable. You'll survive, non?"
He pretended to scoff. "I'll withhold judgment," he teased, though a grin tugged at his lips. She answered with a radiant smile that pulled him in, and he offered her his arm with a playful flourish.
The gentle strains of violins and harp filtered through the open doorway behind her, weaving a delicate melody that seemed to beckon them inside.
She slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow, and together they crossed the threshold.
Inside, Harry felt as if he had stepped into an enchanted palace. The interior was massive, with smooth marble floors and swaths of pale blue and silver draperies cascading along the walls. Overhead, floating chandeliers bathed the space in a gentle glow. Well-dressed witches and wizards mingled in small clusters—most of them French, though Harry spotted a few members of Hogwarts staff looking slightly out of place amid the lavish décor.
In the distance, Madame Maxime towered above the crowd, her posture unyielding and regal. Harry caught a glimpse of her sharp, assessing gaze briefly flicking towards him and Fleur before moving on to greet a small group of dignitaries. He resisted the urge to fidget under that gaze. Focus, Harry, he reminded himself, inhaling softly to maintain his calm.
A shifting weight against his chest served as a reminder that Ash was still coiled under his robes. 'Rather crowded, isn't it?' the serpent hissed through their soul channel. 'There's not enough room for a proper hunt.'
'No hunting,' Harry warned silently, 'and stay hidden.'
Outwardly, he kept his face impassive as an official approached them, balancing a tray of ornate pastries. Fleur accepted two delicate swirls of chocolate and spun sugar, handing one to Harry.
"Try it," she insisted, popping hers into her mouth. Her eyes fluttered shut as she savoured the sweetness. "Mmm, the chefs here never disappoint."
Harry took a cautious bite, relishing the burst of richness on his tongue. "Not bad," he admitted with a grin, "almost makes the pomp worthwhile."
"You do know," she teased in a low voice, "that for most people, simply being on my arm would be the highlight of their year?"
Harry rolled his eyes playfully. "Such modesty."
She only laughed, flicking his arm. "Come," she said then, tilting her head towards the other end of the hall. "We should say hello to Madame Maxime before she decides to lecture us publicly."
They wove through the crowd, exchanging polite nods with those who offered Fleur a quick "Bonsoir, Championne." Some students dipped half-bows in her direction. Harry noticed a tall, stylish boy smirking at him as they passed; he reminded Harry uncomfortably of Malfoy, so Harry chose to ignore him. A swirl of colourful robes and the soft hum of chatter made the entire place feel simultaneously grand and claustrophobic.
Finally, they reached Madame Maxime, who inclined her head in greeting. Her expression was formal, and her eyes lingered on Harry for a fraction longer than needed. "Mademoiselle Delacour," she said, her deep voice carrying over the strains of music, "and Mr Potter, I see." There was a slight emphasis on Harry's name, and then a knowing pause. "Welcome. Enjoy yourselves… within reason."
Fleur's jaw tightened for the briefest moment, but she kept a cordial smile in place. "Of course, Madame," she replied sweetly.
With a few additional words of caution and a brisk nod, Maxime dismissed them. Fleur steered Harry away from the Headmistress with a quiet sigh of relief. "At least that's done," she muttered under her breath, glancing over her shoulder to ensure Maxime was indeed leaving them be.
They continued on, eventually spotting a refreshment table, arrayed with pastel-hued punches and glass towers packed with tiny, twinkling confections. As they poured themselves each a glass of sparkling punch, Harry spied Professor Flitwick perched on a high stool.
The tiny Charms Master looked uncharacteristically animated, chatting with a tall witch in dark blue robes—Professor Faure.
Flitwick waved in greeting, his cheeks rosy. Harry chuckled softly. "He seems to be enjoying himself," he commented.
Fleur followed his gaze, a small smile playing at her lips. "Faure has a bit of a crush on him, I think. She mentions his legendary duelling achievements at least once every year."
The corners of Harry's mouth quirked in amusement. "Well, at least some people are making the most of the evening," he said. For a moment, it was easy to forget the swirl of politics that lingered just beneath the surface of such an event.
The quartet's music grew richer, shifting into a graceful waltz, and across the polished marble floor, couples began to form, turning in gentle circles under the chandeliers. The gentle lilt of violins and the melodic hum of a cello wove through the banqueters, and Harry felt Fleur's fingers curl around his forearm in the slightest show of tension.
She exhaled a soft breath, leaning in. "Let's dance," she murmured. "Might as well give everyone something beautiful to look at, oui?"
Harry smiled, ignoring the flutter of nerves at the idea of waltzing in front of half the French Ministry. "Lead the way," he murmured, and let her guide him onto the shining dance floor.
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Chapter 86: At least his name isn't Draco
Chapter 87: Always
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Chapter 93: Time Passes