I followed Fleur out of the Great Hall with all the enthusiasm of a man being dragged away from a highly anticipated performance.
Behind me, I could practically feel Sirius' smug grin burning into the back of my head.
The traitor.
The corridor outside was much quieter than the bustling Great Hall. The distant murmur of hundreds of students faded behind the heavy doors as Fleur continued walking without a word.
I lengthened my stride to catch up beside her.
"Miss Delacour," I said, "I do hope this is important. At this very moment, one of my students is either securing a date to the Yule Ball or suffering a devastating romantic defeat, and as his mentor, I feel morally obligated to witness the outcome."
Fleur shot me an amused glance. "You are very dramatic, Professor."
"I prefer the term emotionally invested."
She rolled her eyes, though the corner of her mouth twitched upward.
We reached a quieter section of corridor overlooking the courtyard below.
Only then did she stop.
I folded my arms and waited.
For several seconds, Fleur simply looked at me, which was surprisingly unsettling.
Normally people stared at me because I was exceptionally handsome.
But this felt different. Way more focused and deliberate.
"Well?" I prompted her to begin.
Fleur took a breath. "I wanted to thank you properly."
I blinked in confusion.
"For saving me."
Ah, that.
I waved a dismissive hand. "There is no need. Any professor would have done the same."
She immediately shook her head. "No."
Her voice was firm. "Not any professor."
For a moment her usual confidence slipped slightly.
"When I saw those flames..." she admitted quietly, "I thought I was going to die."
The memory clearly still bothered her.
I softened my expression. "You were never in any real danger."
Fleur gave me a look that suggested she found that statement deeply questionable. "Professor…"
"Well," I amended, "you were in a small amount of danger."
"A small amount?"
"A moderately concerning amount."
She snorted. And then, despite herself, she laughed. The tension seemed to leave her shoulders.
"I still owe you my thanks."
"You already thanked me."
The tips of her ears turned faintly pink. "Yes."
Fleur cleared her throat. "Still, I wished to apologise."
Now it was my turn to look surprised. "Apologise for what?"
"For kissing you."
I opened my mouth.
Closed it.
Then opened it again.
"That was certainly unexpected."
"I panicked," she admitted. "And maybe I was a little emotional."
"Just a little?"
"Perhaps more than a little."
I nodded sagely. "That sounds more accurate."
Fleur laughed again, the sound echoing softly through the empty corridor.
For a moment, neither of us spoke.
Then Fleur's expression grew strangely serious.
Uh oh.
In my experience, nothing good ever followed that particular look.
"Professor," she said.
"Yes?"
"Would you go to the Yule Ball with me?"
I blinked.
Once.
Twice.
Surely I had misheard.
"The Yule Ball?" I repeated.
"Oui."
I stared at her, and she stared right back.
Merlin help me, she was serious.
"Miss Delacour," I said carefully, "that would be highly inappropriate."
Fleur frowned. "Why?"
I gestured vaguely between us. "You are a student."
She opened her mouth.
"And I am a professor," I continued before she could interrupt.
She closed it again.
"You are seventeen."
She rolled her eyes.
"And I am significantly older than seventeen."
Her eyes narrowed slightly. "You are not that old."
"Thank you," I said automatically. "That is very flattering."
Then I remembered we were discussing a completely different issue. "But that is not the point."
Fleur crossed her arms. "It sounds like the point."
"The point," I said patiently, "is that you should be attending the ball with someone your own age."
The look she gave me suggested she found that advice deeply unhelpful.
"The boys my age are hopeless."
I sighed. Here we go…
"They stare."
"That is generally how eyesight works."
"They drool."
"A less desirable trait, admittedly."
"They trip over their own feet."
"An unfortunate but common condition among teenage boys."
"They cannot even have a conversation with me."
I rubbed my temple.
Fleur took a step closer. "I do not want to go with someone my age."
Her blue eyes remained fixed on mine. "I want to go with you."
That was significantly more direct than I would have liked.
For several seconds, I searched desperately for an argument strong enough to end this conversation.
Then inspiration struck.
My trump card.
"Miss Delacour."
"Oui?"
"I am a married man."
She blinked.
"I have three wives."
Another blink.
Surely that would do it.
Surely.
Instead, Fleur simply shrugged. "That does not seem to bother them."
I nearly choked. That was not the response I had prepared for.
"You can surely do better than me." The words left my mouth automatically.
But then I paused. "Well, perhaps not."
Fleur raised an eyebrow.
"I mean, there is technically nobody better than me."
She snorted.
"But that is beside the point."
I straightened my robes with as much dignity as possible. "The point is that I am unavailable."
For the first time, Fleur's expression faltered. "You really will not go with me?"
Her eyes suddenly became suspiciously shiny as tears began gathering in the corners.
Very impressive tears, too. But unfortunately for her, I had spent years teaching teenagers.
I knew fake crying when I saw it.
"Nice try."
Fleur froze.
I pointed accusingly. "Those tears are entirely fabricated."
She clicked her tongue and the tears vanished instantly.
"A shame," she muttered.
"And I shall be escorting my wife to the ball."
"Which one?"
"Aurora Sinistra, she's also a Hogwarts' professor."
Fleur sighed dramatically, but then she lifted her chin. "Very well."
I relaxed slightly.
Excellent.
The matter was settled.
"Then I accept this defeat."
Good.
"However..."
Never mind.
"I have not given up."
Of course she had not.
Before I could formulate a response, Fleur suddenly stepped forward, rising onto her toes to plant a kiss on my cheek.
I froze in surprise, not expecting the move.
By the time my brain resumed functioning, she had already turned away.
The young veela walked back down the corridor with a victorious smile and a sway of her hips that was undoubtedly deliberate.
Halfway down the hall, she glanced back over her shoulder.
"Goodbye, Professor."
Then she disappeared around the corner, leaving me standing there alone.
Bewildered.
Concerned.
And just a little afraid.
I stared after her for several seconds.
"...This is going to become complicated, isn't it?"
The corridor offered no answer.
Eventually, I shook my head.
No, there was no reason to worry.
The tournament would eventually end, which means that Beauxbatons would return to France, and Miss Delacour would move on with her life.
And everything would return to normal.
Satisfied with this flawless logic, I adjusted my robes and turned back toward the Great Hall.
After all, I still had a very important question to answer.
Had Harry secured his date?
Because unlike veela-related complications, that was an issue of genuine importance.
…