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As Harry opened his eyes, he wasn't greeted by a sky full of stars. The bright daylight had already dispelled the curtain of night, and the softly falling snow blurred the distant view, surrounding the rising sun with a gentle golden glow.
On the soft cushion of the viewing platform, only a deep indentation remained. A faint tickle on his nose stirred Harry from his drowsiness. The familiar fragrance drifting into his nostrils quickly swept away the last remnants of sleep.
"Good morning."
Stretching lazily, Harry found Fleur lying atop his chest, teasing him awake with a strand of her hair like a playful kitten. After two years of restraint, Fleur now exuded a carefree demeanor that was entirely unlike her usual self.
"I didn't snore last night, did I? I hope I didn't keep you up," Harry asked.
Typically, Harry was the first to wake up, whether at home or at school. He was used to leaving his warm bed as soon as the sun rose to start his day, but today, he had slept in far later than usual.
"No," Fleur replied with a slight shake of her head. "But the pillow was too hard."
"Maybe you should take a nap later," Harry suggested, glancing at his arm with a helpless chuckle. "Or I could start learning yoga. I've heard it can make people more flexible—kind of like combining strength with grace, don't you think?"
"But even if a rock becomes flexible, it's still just a rock," Fleur said, swinging her feet as she propped herself up. In that moment, a radiance more dazzling than sunlight filled Harry's vision.
"Well, at least it'd make your rest more comfortable, wouldn't it?"
Harry's gaze lingered, momentarily transfixed. He hadn't even noticed when Fleur had changed into her nightgown. Last night must have been the soundest sleep of his life. While Fleur's irresistible charm had little effect on him under normal circumstances, it seemed to have an unexpectedly soothing quality that helped him drift off.
He vaguely remembered the two of them stargazing and chatting until sleep overtook him. When he opened his eyes, it was already morning.
"At Hogwarts, you must have been quite the charmer, weren't you?" Fleur's question carried a playful hint of jealousy, though she tried to sound casual.
"Hey, you're not wrong! I was pretty popular back at Hogwarts. I got bags of notes and love letters, topped the charts academically, had professors doting on me, dominated on the Quidditch pitch, and was filthy rich to boot. But most importantly," he paused dramatically, "I was a dashing, handsome devil."
Harry's exaggerated, self-aggrandizing tone earned him a firm punch to the chest from Fleur. Despite her delicate appearance, Fleur's strength surpassed that of the average adult man.
Her situation was somewhat akin to Hagrid's. The magical fusion of wizard and magical creature blood within her had created a uniquely superior blend. Just as Hagrid was far stronger and more gifted than ordinary half-giants, Fleur's combination of traits elevated her far beyond the average witch.
However, unlike Hagrid, Fleur hadn't invested any of her talents into physical strength. Still, her physical constitution was notably superior to most witches.
"Ow~~~"
Yet, even her enhanced strength was no match for Harry.
"Pfft."
Harry tried his best not to laugh but failed to stifle a small chuckle. Fleur's pouty, aggrieved expression was just too adorably unfair.
Fleur glared at him fiercely, muttering something akin to "Men are all pigs" in her mind. But what she intended as a menacing look ended up resembling a pouty attempt at being cute. It was like encountering a tiny lemming in the winter wilderness—no matter how hard the little creature tried to appear fierce, all the observer could think was, "How adorable! My heart can't take it. I want to squish it!"
And so, Harry couldn't resist gently pinching Fleur's soft, pouty cheeks. They were smooth, bouncy, and delicate—an absolutely perfect sensation.
A soft hum escaped Fleur's nose, almost as if signaling her enjoyment of the gentle touch. The Fleur who once had to wrap herself in layers of defense, who spent her days secluded in her private corner, now seemed completely at ease. Even her closest sister, Gabrielle, had never been able to touch her fingertips. But now, the faint tingling sensation, akin to a mild electric current, made this lazy morning kitten melt even further into Harry's embrace.
"To be honest, I still feel like I might be dreaming," Harry said, his voice soft. "If it is a dream, I hope it lasts a bit longer."
"Are you saying we might be moving a little too fast?"
Fleur lowered herself, resting her head on Harry's chest, listening to the rhythmic beat of his heart.
"It's just a kiss," she replied, her tone teasing. "We're nowhere near as fast as your uncle and aunt—getting married in an hour. Compared to them, we're moving at a snail's pace. Maybe we should hurry it up a bit."
"You wish!"
Fleur rolled her eyes, though her slightly pouting lips betrayed a playful smile.
"What do you want for breakfast?"
"Soy milk, fried dough sticks, soup dumplings, rice rolls, steamed shrimp dumplings, and water chestnut cake."
"What are those? I've never even heard of them."
"Don't worry—I can make all of them."
Propping himself up with one hand while wrapping the other around Fleur's waist, Harry sat up, finally bidding farewell to their warm little nest. Feeling refreshed, he rose to his feet.
"Go wash your face and brush your teeth. Breakfast will be ready soon."
"Oh, and by the way," Harry added with a teasing smile, "you might want to start thinking about how we'll break the news to your parents later."
Harry gestured toward the wooden door leading downstairs from the viewing platform. He'd heard the creak of someone stepping on the stairs, and as expected, it was Fleur's parents.
A faint blush crept onto Fleur's face, but she quickly regained her composure, mumbling under her breath, "Why don't you come up with something?"
"Because I've got thicker skin," Harry said with a grin.
Catching the pillow Fleur tossed his way, Harry placed it on the rack by the door. As soon as he stepped out, he found himself face-to-face with the slightly "sneaky" Monsieur and Madame Delacour making their way up the stairs.
"Good morning, Uncle, Aunt," Harry greeted them warmly.
Monsieur Delacour's nose twitched slightly, and a satisfied smile spread across his face. Giving Harry an enthusiastic thumbs-up, he leaned in and whispered, "Try to call me 'Dad' soon, okay? I'm rooting for you—I'd really like to have a son."
"What nonsense are you spouting, Papa!"
The sound of a pillow hitting the door echoed from behind. While Fleur's physical strength might be average, her senses were exceptionally sharp. Whispers were practically impossible to conceal from her.
"Ahem, ahem."
Harry coughed awkwardly, pounding his chest lightly to compose himself. He had to admit, Monsieur Delacour's unorthodox train of thought—likely influenced by his whirlwind one-hour romance and marriage—was something he couldn't compete with.
"I'll go make breakfast. Excuse me, excuse me," Harry said hastily.
Under the satisfied gazes of Monsieur and Madame Delacour, Harry made a somewhat clumsy retreat, disappearing downstairs in moments. Soon after, the sounds of activity began emanating from the kitchen on the first floor.
This Christmas holiday seemed to have taken an unexpectedly lively turn, marking a new beginning.
(End of Chapter)