Harry Potter: Magic and Guns

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The lively barbecue feast left both the hosts and guests in high spirits, but there was something slightly odd about Fleur during the dinner. It wasn't because of the conversation between Mr. Dracour and Harry beforehand, but rather because Fleur had not removed her mask while eating. A silk scarf was tied around her nose, covering two-thirds of her face, and her hair was wrapped in a headscarf, leaving nothing exposed.

Mr. Dracour, who had drunk himself into a stupor, and Uncle Vernon were both carried to their rooms by Harry, one in each hand. Dudley, who had also indulged in a glass of Ogden's Old Firewhisky, drunkenly collapsed onto his bed. Gabrielle, feeling incredibly sleepy, was cradled in Mrs. Dracour's arms and taken to bed. The task of cleaning up was left to Harry and Fleur.

This, however, was no trouble at all for them. Fleur had mastered a spell to automatically wash dishes. One after another, the dirty plates flew into the sink, quickly scrubbed by a brush, and within moments, they were neatly stacked on a nearby rack to dry.

"I'm sorry you had to see all that," Fleur said, her voice apologetic as she finished tidying up. "My father can be a bit... unpredictable sometimes. He and my mother got married in less than an hour after they met, so maybe someone like him just doesn't think the same way as other people."

She paused for a moment, her face showing a slight trace of helplessness.

"How could that be? But meeting you and Gabrielle during this vacation really is a stroke of luck," Harry replied with a warm smile.

"I bet Dudley will brag about meeting two stunningly beautiful girls during the Christmas holidays when he gets back to school. He'll probably talk about it for a whole year without getting bored."

Harry glanced at Fleur, who was smiling softly at his comment.

"Actually, I don't mind," Fleur said suddenly.

"What?"

"I can't take off my mask. The best solution is to wrap myself up completely, like a mummy. That's really the best way to handle things for everyone," she explained.

"Because once someone looks at you, they can't look away?" Harry teased.

"Even worse than that. And it only gets worse."

Fleur gestured toward the upper level of the tent. They ascended the automatic spiral staircase and reached the observation deck. The tent, which was set up in the hotel room, had a floor-to-ceiling window facing the balcony, but here, one could gaze directly at the pure, clear night sky of the Alps, with stars twinkling brightly. It was a rare clear night.

There were soft cushions that allowed one to sink comfortably into them, creating a sense of complete relaxation.

"Very few people can control themselves when they lock eyes with me," Fleur said, her gaze steady as she looked at Harry. "When I was younger, it wasn't that obvious, but now, aside from my family and Maxim's wife, no one else can look into my eyes without being affected."

Fleur stared into Harry's calm eyes, a trace of joy and relaxation in her expression.

"But that only applies to eye contact." She hesitated for a moment before reaching up and pulling off her headscarf. Her brilliant silver hair cascaded down like a waterfall, the light from the stars seeming to gather around her. Fleur glowed softly, her hair shimmering with a faint silver-white light that could be seen even with the naked eye.

"Beautiful," Harry couldn't help but murmur. The texture of her hair was smoother and more delicate than the finest silk, something far beyond what ordinary shampoo could achieve, yet it was undeniably enchanting.

"It's nice not to have my hair wrapped up anymore. It was uncomfortable, but I had no choice," Fleur said, clearly pleased by Harry's reaction. She ran an ivory comb through her hair, making the silver glow even brighter.

The magical aura around her intensified, forming a shimmering magical field that surrounded her. Harry had never seen this kind of magical overflow from any wizard before. Fleur's magic didn't radiate the typical pale blue of most wizards but was a silvery hue, quite different from the magic of a "Waker."

"My grandmother is a Wéilèbìt elf, a member of the Měiwá clan," Fleur continued. "However, very few Měiwá are able to adapt to the wizarding world and truly integrate into it. Most of them, when emotionally stirred, transform into something far different from their beautiful appearance—growing wings covered in scales and heads with sharp beaks. It's quite terrifying. Unfortunately, Měiwá are sensitive and quick to react, so the world of wizards is too stimulating for them."

"But some exceptional individuals overcome these challenges, like my grandmother. To me, she's the most gentle and beautiful woman in the world."

"Is she more beautiful than you?" Harry asked, leaning back with his hands behind his head as he gazed up at the starry sky.

"No, I'm more beautiful," Fleur replied playfully. "That's what my grandmother always says."

"Although I only have one-quarter Měiwá blood, I've always been different from the rest of my family. When I was thirteen, if I removed my mask, even a full-blooded Měiwá would fall into a drunken stupor just from seeing me."

Fleur's voice lowered slightly as she continued, "Once, due to an accident, someone pulled off my mask. That person had to undergo a deep memory modification and lost a month's worth of memories. Now, I'm much more powerful than I was at thirteen... my charm, my deadly charm, has only grown stronger."

She turned to face Harry, their eyes meeting.

"This isn't a blessing. I don't know how long this change will last. If I could, I would rather not have this cursed beauty."

"When did being beautiful become a sin?" Harry asked, sitting up and facing Fleur, both of them now sitting at roughly the same height. The fifteen-year-old girl, standing at around 1.78 meters, was only a head shorter than Harry. Their gazes locked, and Fleur instinctively raised her chin slightly.

"You just haven't met someone who can truly appreciate this beauty," she said softly.

"But it's dangerous."

"If there's nothing more dangerous than wrestling with a dragon, then I'm eager to find out."

"Don't tell me you're actually a half-blood giant?" Fleur laughed lightly, knowing a little about Harry's past. She knew his parents had died at the hands of Voldemort, and the legend of the Boy Who Lived had nothing to do with giants.

"I do know a half-blood giant who can wrestle with a dragon, though," Harry responded, "Rubeus Hagrid. He's one of my best friends and a great teacher. Honestly, I never thought about comparing my strength to his."

"Could you, though?"

Under the gaze of her clear, emerald green eyes, the shy girl nodded slightly. She felt an urge to close her eyes, but for some reason, she straightened her back, as if trying to encourage herself.

Fleur even gripped her wand tightly, her finger resting on the trigger, ready to cast a Memory Charm on Harry at any moment.

She was more nervous than Harry, her palms slightly sweaty.

---

The corner of her mask was gently pulled, the silk slipping slowly down her nose. It revealed a graceful mountain ridge bathed in the silver light of the full moon. As the ridge reached its highest point, a faint rose-colored horizon began to glow on the edge of a shallow valley, outlining an upward curve of lips. Her pearly white teeth gently bit her lower lip—a subtle nervous habit she had when anticipating something, her heart filled with a sense of anxious expectation.

The observation deck at the top of the building was quiet, with only the sound of two heartbeats, each with its own rhythm. As the beats quickened, they seemed to find a sync, matching each other in pace. Outside, the snow swirled against the window, and the night wind cut through the cold air. But inside the quiet room, the temperature slowly began to rise.

Two pairs of eyes—one green, one blue—both showed a faint daze, like the light drunkenness of alcohol, overwhelmingly intoxicating.

'It's sweet,' Harry thought, instinctively licking his lips. Both pairs of eyes snapped back to reality in a flash, quickly pulling away from one another.

After a moment of silence.

"Sorry... uh... or... thank you?"

The awkward young man seemed unsure of what to do, while the girl opposite him smiled, a bright grin that brought the warmth of spring to the cold winter air.

"You're welcome," she said softly, with a trace of joy in her voice.

"I almost used the Memory Charm on you," she teased.

"That's definitely the worst news I've heard today," Harry replied.

"Well... shall we do it again?" Fleur asked playfully.

"Okay, uh..."

'Yeah, it's sweet.'

(End of chapter)