You Do Not Drool

(Announcement: The Secret Cheese Society has been temporarily disbanded in consideration of the complete clusterfuck of ads you need to go through, a better, private alternative will be created soon. )

...

The walk through the castle was silent, bordering on awkwardness from an outside perspective but the two of them didn't seem to mind it; both deep in thought.

Magnus was pondering on this new depth to her character, trying his hand at empathy was always a hard exercise for the self centered, family focused boy.

Fleur meanwhile was a mess by any other name.

...

Merde

She didn't know what took control of her, why she followed him through the castle for ten minutes until her disillusionment charm faded away.

Only this time, she was right in front of him.

Fleur thought she hid her surprise pretty well, all things considered. Of course she could have chosen something less troublesome than 'How do you do it?' to explain her presence, something that didn't require her spending extensive amounts of time discussing with a stranger for the first time in years.

Who was she kidding? She was a wreck.

The Beauxbatons champion did manage to rationalize her borderline stalker-ish behavior under the pretense of honing her already perfect grasp of the invisibility charm. But being confronted by the object of her curiosity was too much for a socially impaired Veela; especially when he was an alert Occlumens, she had no grasp of his emotions.

So here she was, following the fourth year she had been not-so inconspicuously watching into an empty classroom to converse. The word was foreign to her, when it didn't involve Gabrielle or her parents, that is. Her teachers at Beauxbatons might qualify, but they were encouraged not to get too close to their students for obvious reasons.

'Not anymore.' She thought, not enjoying it nearly as much as she expected.

Her heart pounded in her chest, four years living like a hermit in Beauxbatons coupled with her lack of social interactions without anyone beyond her family were a bit too much.

Fleur wanted to run, almost did so when he opened the door to a small room with a couple old chairs and a fireplace. With a couple wand motions alone he lit it, and cleaned the entire place much to her relief; the dust there seemed ancient.

It was warmer inside, with no windows the hearth and many floating candles were sources of both light and warmth; much better than the wretched cold outside.

'Merde.' She thought yet again, half-heartedly cursing her Veela nature when she couldn't help but step inside and sit as close to the fire as possible.

It was not enough for her sensibilities, so she cast a couple warming charms while scouting even closer.

The scion of Black looked at her with a single raised brow, an amused smile on his face. She felt her own flushing in embarrassment but he fortunately made no comment, only removing his cloak.

"You'll get burned." He warned, levitating a chair a good distance away from her and the fireplace.

"I will not." She said, extending an unclothed hand into the flames to illustrate her point.

She watched his eyes widen in horror, his hand reaching for his wand when he noticed the fire dancing around her unburnt fingers. Worry turned into wonder, and for the first time since she'd first seen him, the young man looked his age.

She allowed a smile at that, seeing the unasked question and feeling confident enough to answer at least that much.

"Veela are creatures of fire." Fleur said more softly than intended, and tried to sound more assertive in the next phrase. "It cannot hurt us...unlike this horrible weather."

He chuckled, much to her relief. Indirectly insulting his country was not a good way to start a conversation, and she feared her maladroitness would ruin it all.

"Believe me, it will only get worse." laying back on his seat. "You might just regret coming."

Fleur shuddered, the cold did not agree with her.

"It will all be worth it." She said, her gaze steely, "When I win the tournament, it will all be worth it."

She waited for the answer, for him to either crumble and agree with her like those pathetic little boys. Or perhaps he'll follow the shallow, jealous girls and claim she doesn't stand a chance, and that her success depends on her ability to charm the other champions.

"Will it?" He asked, looking genuinely curious.

That was new.

She watched him chuckle, and once more wondered whether or not he was making fun of her. She knew talking to him was a bad idea, she should've ran when she had the occasion.

"You've never been asked that?" He tilted his head. "And no, I'm not making fun of you...yet."

Fleur flushed, checking her very own barriers for intrusion. Veela were gifted with the mind arts, though their talent was more natural and basic than the learned skills of Occlumens, an extension of their allure so to speak.

Everything was in place, he was either a genius in the mind arts or very good at guessing.

"Neither, you're just easy to read." His amber eyes gleamed with amusement.

He offered an apologetic smile when her face grew too red to be ignored.

"At least you're having fun." She mumbled, trying and failing to sound angry. "Canaille."

"Maybe." He smiled, this one much more sincere. "But you didn't answer, why did you put your name in the goblet?"

She didn't know what to say.

It was in fact, the first time someone asked her if it was worth it. Her parents supported her from the start, knowing full well how skilled their daughter was and unafraid to shower her with compliments.

Gabrielle thought the sun rises and sets with Fleur.

Her classmates were of no consequence, not that she bothered talking with them anymore. Her teachers were as cold as they came, seldom giving away praise let alone advice and enquiries.

Madam Maxime was much closer to her than others, as they shared the same plight caused by their lineage, though her life was nowhere as hard as her headmistress's had been.

The giantess had expressed her faith in her ability more than once, and made sure to check her progress regularly. Even before, when they were selecting the students worthy of coming, it was clear that Fleur would become their champion.

But why did she put her name in the goblet? She didn't lack gold or prestige in her school, nor did she desire any kind of fame.

The answer came soon enough.

"I want to win." She nodded. "Otherwise, this would all be for nothing."

She wanted to win, to prove to herself and everyone that she deserved what she had. That all this time spent studying and training was not wasted, that the insults of her peers were meaningless.

"I see." He said, closing his eyes for a second. "So it isn't the glory or gold you want, but the victory itself."

He leaned back again, as if measuring her worth from this answer alone. After a while he smiled, having seemingly found what he wanted.

"I can get behind that." He said, "But I don't think it's worth risking your life."

"Precautions were taken to make it less...deadly." She winced at how empty her words sounded. "And I am skilled enough to survive it…Non, I'm good enough to win."

"We shall see."

He neither affirmed nor denied her, it was good enough.

"It is your turn to answer my question, Mr. Black." She grinned, trying to forget that damned tournament for a moment.

"Magnus." He corrected her, a roguish smile on his face very similar to the one she'd seen his father wear in the papers.

"Magnus." She repeated, it was a good name, not too english sounding. "Then you must call me Fleur."

He seemed to like the way she said it, if the split second blush on his face was any indication. She made note of that, even if it might have been imagination.

"A bit late for introductions, don't you think?" That made her pause.

"...You are trying to change the subject, aren't you?" She asked him gently, looking at his eyes.

She couldn't feel his emotions, and his expressions always seemed so...controlled, she dared not trust them. But his eyes couldn't lie could they?

"No?" He tilted his head, still smiling. "Truthfully, I don't actually know what you're asking."

Fleur wondered just how she could explain her problem, or the lack thereof, without sounding mad or shallow. Ultimately, she chose blunt honesty.

"You do not drool."