“Oh Ronald,” sighed Ginny as she helped her brother to lay on his bed.
Immediately you could tell that this small, cramped bed was Ron’s side of the shared men’s room. News paper articles and rolls of parchment were spread about, all about Ronald’s favorite Quidditch team, the Chudley Cannon Knights.
There were also several shabby volumes of books on Quidditch on the small table beside the bed, all given to him by Father.
Ginny watched amusedly as they waited for Remus to bring up the hot water.
“I feel like a fool,” Ron murmured as Ginny leaned over to pick a weed from his bright red hair. “Could it be any worse? Not only do I take a terrible fall but sprain my ankle in the process.”
Dirt was all over his already shabby robes, with weeds, and grass stains. Dirt also covered his freckled face.
Ginny couldn’t help the grin upon her lips as she took a hanky from her robe pocket to wipe the smudges from his face.
“Hermione is your best friend,” she said calmly. “There wouldn’t be a point in her being angry with you or thinking of you any less. She’s known you almost as long as I.”
“Yes, but this is different,” said Ron, his eyes downcast.
“It does not mean you cannot try again,” Ginny replied.
“But I want to do things right next time,” said Ron. “I mean, I -”
“Ron?”
Ginny and Ron looked around to see Hermione enter the room, a rag and bowl of steaming water in hand.
“Ah - Hermione, just what we needed,” said Ginny, smothering a grin at the sight of her brother turning red beneath all that mud. “I’ll get a crutch for you, shall I Ronald?”
Hermione took her place as Ginevra hurried out of the room, giggling as she descended the stairs to the basement.
“Oh, Harry James, those robes are perfect!”
Harry spun around slowly to look at himself at all angles in the deep blue robes he was wearing, lightly tugging on the silver threaded hood and broach. Quite good, he thought as he looked into the multi-paneled mirror.
He was rather exasperated, and they had been about this in his quarters for quite some time now. At least two hours.
His mother and Madam Malkin’s entourage had evaded him in his alone time, absolutely insisting that they fit him for robes at once, as the ball would be tomorrow night.
His mother had taken to sitting on the fine scarlet and gold bedspread, her hand around the intricately carved wooden post.
“Well I’m pleased they see fit to your tastes, Mother,” said Harry, discarding the robes and pulling on his own black ones.
The young maid that worked for Madam Malkin blushed as he handed the robes to her.
“Harry? Harry where are you?”
“In here, Draco,” Harry called back.
Draco appeared in the large doorway, smiling handsomely.
“Ah - one more day until the end of your life,” he said.
“Now, Draco,” said Mother with warning. She was smiling nonetheless.
“Hello, Mother - I-I mean, Queen Lily,” said Draco as she went to hug him.
“Draco, how many times have I told you!” laughed Mother as she kissed his cheek. “You may call me ‘Mother’ we did take you in, after all!”
Draco smiled back at her.
“I expect you’ll want these pressed and wrapped, then, Prince Harry?” Madam Malkin asked, a plump, blonde witch in finely tailored robes.
“Erm - yes,” said Harry. “Please.”
“We’ll have them back to you by the afternoon, I expect, my Queen,” Madam Malkin and her entourage bowed to Harry, Draco and Lily before exiting.
“So - have you found an escort to the ball, Draco?” Mother questioned, sitting in the chair at Harry’s parchment covered desk.
“Why should I when all the women will be swooning over my dear friend?” Draco teased at Harry.
The corners of Mother’s mouth twitched.
“I’m sure they all won’t be ‘swooning,’” she said evenly.
“I am,” said Draco. “Did you see that young maid?”
Lily couldn’t help but grin. “Well - he does have his father’s looks -”
“All right,” said Harry, exasperated, “can we please strict all talking of the prince to a minimum?”
“Sorry, dear,” said Lily.
“Harry!” came a voice. “Harry - are you in here?”
“Yes, Father,” answered Harry.
James strided into the room, briefly nodding to Mother and Draco. He looked anxious.
“What is it, Father?” asked Harry.
“W-well. . . . We’ve had a visit, and . . .”
“Yes?” prompted Harry.
“And - well, she’s just traveling through but she wished to stop by and see you.”
“Well - who is it?” asked Harry impatiently.
“Fleur Delacour.”
“Fleur Delacour?” asked Harry. “But -”
“Well, she is the Princess of Beauxbatons,” said James. “And as doing so she’s bound duty to visiting other kingdoms. She’s just arrived from the Americas and would like to see you.”
“Me?”
“Yes - and she won’t wait much longer - she insists -”
“Where iz ’e?” came an utterly female voice behind father. “I want to zee ’im.”
There was the pounding of many feet on the stone flagged floors, the unmistakable sound of fine heels, and the murmuring of many voices.
Next moment a young woman entered the room.
My, was she beautiful.
She had a long sheet of silvery blonde hair, large blue eyes, and when she set eyes on Harry, smiled with even, dazzling white teeth.
“You must be ’Arry,” she said in an almost purred voice.
Harry cleared his throat, suddenly finding that he was standing up straighter.
“Yes,” he said. “And you must be Fleur.”
“Why yes,” said Fleur, striding to him, offering her hand.
Harry took it in one of his own, bowing slightly and kissing the tops of her perfect, pale knuckles.
“’Ow wonderful it iz to finally meet you, ’Arry,” said Fleur. “But I fear my visit must be brief - I must be getting home - I very much miss my muzzer.”
“Won’t you stay for dinner?” asked Mother. She nudged Draco as she walked by, who was gaping at the Princess. She smiled gracefully at the young woman as she took Father’s arm.
“Well - I think I can find a reeson or two,” said Fleur, smiling at Harry.
Yes, you may all smack me for being so dang irresponsible. But I promise to make it up to you with another chapter. Soon!