A Star Is Born Chapter 32 (Patreon)

Chapter 32

The journey to the Puddle Jumper took longer than it should have, mostly because no one wanted to arrive separately. One by one, Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Bill, Fleur, Gabrielle, and the Puddlemere players disappeared through the green flames of the family room hearth, each arrival greeted by another burst of cheering from the club beyond. By the time Harry stepped through, the celebration had already spilled across the dance floor. Supporters were singing, glasses were raised toward every player they recognized, and blue sparks flashed against the ceiling each time someone triumphantly repeated the final score.

Rex and two members of the stadium security staff guided the group through the crowd before Harry could be swallowed by it. The Puddle Jumper had reserved a long table in the private section at the back, partially screened from the main room but still close enough to feel the celebration shaking the walls. Drinks were already waiting, extra chairs had been pulled in for Harry's guests, and before Harry could even decide where to sit, Conner was already pulling a chair out for Gabrielle.

"The international delegation sits here," he announced. "It's official team policy."

"There is no such policy," Oliver sighed.

"There is now."

Gabrielle laughed and accepted the seat with an exaggerated little curtsy that earned approving whistles from half the table.

Harry shook his head as he dropped into the chair beside her. Ron and Hermione settled across from them, Bill and Fleur took the remaining seats nearest Gabrielle, while the Puddlemere players packed themselves into every available space they could find. Somehow, despite having known the team for less than a day, Gabrielle already seemed to fit among them as naturally as if she'd been celebrating victories with them all season.

A fresh cheer rose from the public room when someone spotted Harry through the partition. He acknowledged it with a raised glass before reaching for the drink waiting in front of him. Around the table, everyone else followed suit.

"To four and one," Oliver called.

"To Pucey finally coming out with the team," Charlotte added.

Pucey rolled his eyes but couldn't quite hide the smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"And," Conner said loudly, refusing to let the moment pass, "to Potter's dessert."

The last toast was considerably louder. Harry could do nothing but bury his face in one hand as Gabrielle dissolved into laughter beside him.

It also turned out to be nowhere near the last toast.

Conner insisted Pucey required another for finally joining them, which Pucey accepted only after demanding Conner drink twice for being irritating enough to make the occasion necessary. Charlotte raised one to the Chasers for dismantling Caerphilly's formation. Jason countered with one for the Beaters who had dismantled it first. Ron attempted to toast the importance of strength-of-schedule analysis until Hermione informed him that nobody had ever deserved a drink less. Naturally, that became another reason for everyone else to raise their glasses.

The drinks themselves began changing somewhere along the way. Harry's first had been a butterbeer, his second another, but then George returned from the bar carrying a tray of Puddle Busters that burned pleasantly all the way down. Fleur complained that British celebrations lacked imagination and disappeared with Gabrielle, returning several minutes later with a collection of smaller glasses filled with something Harry was assured was French. It tasted dangerously little like alcohol until he swallowed, at which point the entire table laughed at the expression on his face.

"That is criminal," Harry accused.

Gabrielle lifted her own empty glass. "That is culture."

"That's paint thinner."

"You have no taste."

"I have feeling left in my throat. I'd like to keep it."

Pucey, already well beyond the single drink he had promised, reached across Harry for another. "I'll take his."

Gabrielle looked delighted. "See? Monsieur Pucey understands."

"I understand free alcohol."

"Even better."

That earned Pucey another cheer, and this time he didn't shrink from it. He raised the little glass toward the table before knocking it back with the rest of them.

After that, Harry stopped keeping much of a count. Someone always seemed to be returning with another round, and each one arrived attached to some new justification. A toast to four-and-one became a toast to Oliver's saves, which somehow became a toast to the banner Harry had torn down, followed by a particularly loud one to Caerphilly's newspapers. Conner attempted another toast to Gabrielle's promised dessert and received a handful of napkins thrown directly into his face.

By the time the collection of empty glasses had begun crowding the middle of the table, the private section had grown noticeably louder. Oliver had abandoned any serious attempt to keep order, Ron was arguing Quidditch statistics with Pucey using several coasters as an improvised tactical board, and even Hermione had surrendered to laughing when George began moving the coasters around whenever neither man was looking.

Harry sat back in his chair and felt wonderfully warm.

Not drunk. Not yet, anyway.

But comfortably loose around the edges.

The victory felt bigger now than it had in the press room. Every joke seemed funnier, every story improved with retelling, and the noise from the dance floor no longer sounded quite so overwhelming.

The table eventually dissolved into several conversations at once. Ron and Pucey became unexpectedly invested in arguing over one of Caerphilly’s formations, while Oliver attempted to prevent Conner from recounting increasingly embellished versions of Harry’s first week with the club.

Gabrielle moved easily between all of it. She laughed with Charlotte, questioned Jason about one of the hits she had seen during the match, and somehow managed to coax Pucey into admitting that his promised single drink had become considerably more than two.

Harry watched her over the rim of his glass for longer than he probably should have. 

There was none of the careful adjustment he had grown accustomed to whenever someone entered this part of his life. Gabrielle did not seem overwhelmed by the players, intimidated by the noise, or particularly interested in the fact that supporters beyond the partition were still attempting to catch glimpses of the team. She simply spoke to whoever was beside her as though she had every expectation of being welcomed.

Apparently she was right. And somewhere between Fleur’s mysterious French liquor and whatever George had convinced him to drink afterward, Harry had stopped pretending he wasn’t watching her. Gabrielle caught him doing it once. Instead of looking away, she lifted her glass toward him.

Harry lifted his own. Her smile lingered over the rim as she drank. A faster song began somewhere beyond the private section, immediately drawing a reaction from Ginny.

“Oh, finally!" Ginny exclaimed.

Harry barely had time to look toward her before the redhead appeared beside his chair and offered a hand. “Come on.”

He stared at it. “Where?”

Ginny looked toward the dance floor and then back at him as though concerned about his intelligence.

“No,” Harry said as soon as he realized what Ginny wanted.

“You haven't even heard what I was going to ask.” Ginny said, sounding affronted.

“You were going to make me dance.” Harry took another drink. “I still need several more of these before that happens.”

Ginny looked pointedly at the collection of empty glasses covering the table. “Several more? Harry, you drank something Fleur described as a family recipe.”

Fleur lifted her glass from farther down the table. “And survived.”

“Barely,” Harry joked.

Ginny grabbed his wrist. Harry looked toward Ron for assistance. His best mate immediately turned away. “Coward.”

“I’ve seen Ginny try to make people dance,” Ron said. “You're on your own.”

Ginny pulled Harry to his feet. The motion came more easily than Harry expected, though the room took half a second longer than usual to settle around him.

“You spent an hour flying at murderous speeds hundreds of feet in the air,” Ginny said. “You can survive three minutes on a dance floor.”

“I don't think those things are related,” Harry deadpanned.

“They aren't.”

She began dragging him toward the opening in the partition. Harry caught Gabrielle watching them. The witch had turned sideways in her chair, one arm resting over its back, her glass loose between her fingers. Her gaze moved from Ginny’s hand around Harry’s wrist to Harry himself.

Then Ginny noticed. The smile that spread across her face made Harry immediately suspicious. “Oh no.”

“What?” Ginny asked innocently.

“You've got that look,” Harry accused.

“I don't have a look.”

“You absolutely have a look.”

Ginny slipped one arm through Harry's and pressed herself unnecessarily close as they approached Gabrielle.

Harry groaned.

“Do try not to miss him too terribly,” Ginny told her sweetly. “I'll bring him back.”

There it was. Gabrielle’s eyebrows rose. For half a second Harry wondered whether Ginny had finally pushed the joke too far. Instead, Gabrielle slowly looked Harry up and down.

Harry noticed. Ginny definitely noticed.

“I appreciate that,” Gabrielle said. She took another drink, still looking directly at Harry. “But please be careful with him. Apparently I am buying dessert, and I would hate for you to tire him out first.”

Charlotte choked on her drink. Conner struck both palms against the table. Harry felt heat crawl immediately up his neck, which only made Gabrielle's smile more satisfied.

Ginny stared at her for one surprised heartbeat before breaking into delighted laughter. “Oh, Gabrielle has grown up.”

Fleur answered her sister-in-law with a cheeky smile, “She is my sister, Ginny. You should know she can keep up, non?”

Harry looked between the three witches. “This feels like it has become hostile toward me.”

“It has,” Ginny said happily.

“Very much so,” Gabrielle agreed.

Harry pointed toward her. “You were supposed to be on my side.”

Gabrielle leaned back in her chair and crossed one leg over the other. “I have known them for several hours now, Harry. You better move faster if you want to keep moi.”

Ginny laughed and finally dragged him away from the table. Harry could hear Conner shouting something about French alliances behind them as they entered the crowded dance floor. Puddlemere supporters recognized him almost immediately, but the reaction blended into the music rather than stopping it. Several glasses rose in his direction, people shifted enough to make room, and with the alcohol pleasantly softening his usual self-consciousness, Harry let Ginny pull him into the movement of the crowd without nearly as much resistance as he would have offered an hour earlier.

“You did that deliberately,” Harry accused.

“It was even funnier than I expected.”

“I thought you might start an international incident.”

Ginny glanced back toward the private table. Gabrielle was still watching them. This time Harry didn't pretend not to notice.

Ginny smirked. “She can take a joke.”

“I can see that.”

“You've been seeing quite a lot tonight.”

Harry looked at her sharply. Ginny caught him by one hand and pulled him sideways with the rhythm before he could answer. Harry recovered badly, nearly stepping on her shoe, which earned an unimpressed look from the professional Chaser.

Ginny turned beneath his arm. Harry caught her around the waist when she came back toward him, dipping her farther than he probably would have attempted sober. Ginny laughed as her hair nearly brushed the floor before Harry pulled her upright.

“What is that look for?” Harry asked, eyeing the mischievous smile still plastered across his ex-girlfriend's face.

“Nothing.”

“Ginny.”

She took both his hands and pulled him deeper into the crowd before forcing Harry through an unnecessarily dramatic turn of his own. A few nearby supporters cheered. Harry came out of it laughing and nearly nose-to-nose with the redhead.

Ginny's grin widened. “I am dancing with my friend. Stop interrogating me.”

“You're only half-terrible at pretending.”

“And you're still half-terrible at dancing.”

Ginny spun away, keeping hold of one of his hands until Harry tugged her back. She collided lightly against his chest, laughed, and immediately threw herself into another dip. Harry caught her easily, although the unnecessary flourish earned another cheer from the people dancing around them.

“You made me come out here!”

“I am doing you a favor.”

“How's that?”

Ginny glanced deliberately over Harry's shoulder toward Gabrielle. “I'm making sure you get this dessert everyone keeps joking about.”

Harry laughed, but this time the joke landed differently. Perhaps because of the alcohol. Perhaps because Gabrielle was still looking at him. Probably both.

“Very charitable of you,” Harry said with a shake of his head.

“I've always been generous,” Ginny agreed.

“You're enjoying this far too much.”

“Absolutely.”

Harry finally stopped resisting and simply danced. Once he quit worrying about what everyone around him thought, it became considerably easier. Ginny had the effortless balance of someone who spent her life on a broom and enough confidence for both of them, while Harry found himself increasingly willing to follow her into turns and dips he would have refused earlier in the night.

Ginny had come dressed for the party rather than the match. Her black skirt was shorter than anything Harry was used to seeing her wear around the Burrow, paired with a fitted dark top that left her looking considerably less like Ron’s little sister and considerably more like the professional athlete half the room already knew her to be. Her red hair had been left loose over her shoulders, and Harry noticed more than one wizard glance her way as she pulled him closer to her.

Apparently Gabrielle noticed too.

At one point, Harry glanced back towards their section and caught Gabrielle smirking at him. The next time he looked, she was standing beside Charlotte. Later, she was laughing with Fleur. By the time Harry looked again, Gabrielle was already on her feet.  Charlotte was pulling her into the crowd, with Conner and Jason following close behind. Gabrielle moved comfortably with the music as she approached, pale hair shifting over her shoulders, and when she caught Harry staring this time, she did not merely smile.

She crooked one finger toward herself. Harry's stomach tightened pleasantly.

Ginny followed his gaze and laughed. “There we are.”

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“Ginny.”

But the song was already changing. Gabrielle reached them just as the final notes faded, her cheeks warm from the alcohol and dancing and her smile considerably less innocent than it had been when Harry first entered the family room.

She looked at Ginny. Then at Harry. “Thank you for warming him up.”

Ginny laughed. Gabrielle slid smoothly into the space between them and took Harry's hand before he could answer. “My turn.”

Ginny surrendered him immediately. “Have fun.”

“Oh,” Gabrielle said, looking up at Harry as the next song began. “I intend to.”

Ginny laughed as she backed away. “He still needs work.”

Gabrielle looked Harry over with exaggerated consideration. “I think I can manage.”

“I’m standing right here,” Harry protested.

“That makes it easier,” Gabrielle teased.

Ginny disappeared into the crowd wearing a predatory smile as she went after Wood to drag him onto the dance floor next, leaving Harry alone with Gabrielle as the next song settled into a slower, heavier rhythm.

Gabrielle didn't hesitate to step closer into his personal space. Harry’s hands found her waist almost automatically, and the chemistry felt different in an instant. Ginny had spent the last two songs spinning, laughing, throwing herself into dips, and doing everything she could to have fun, even if it made Harry look uncoordinated in comparison. Gabrielle, however, seemed perfectly content to remain close enough that there was very little room for ridiculousness or anything else between them.

“You dance better than Ginny suggested,” she said.

“She was sabotaging me,” Harry said with a laugh.

“Obviously,” Gabrielle agreed while resting one hand against his shoulder, the other loosely gripping his. Harry guided her sideways with the crowd, finding the rhythm considerably easier now that nobody was attempting to fling him through unnecessary turns.

“I hope you are having fun,” Harry offered, looking down into her blue eyes as she seemed perfectly content to simply watch him. 

"Tonight has been tres bien," Gabrielle promised. "I really like your teammates. You seem to have found some more family in this new world."

"It wasn't that way at first," Harry said with a sigh. "But we are getting there. We had a lot more than just the pitch to conquer when we all came together."

"You are all stronger for it," Gabrielle said confidently. "I can see it in the way you all interact. This is a chemistry I am enjoying being a part of."

Harry squeezed her hand gently before spinning her around and dipping her slowly. They were nearly nose to nose when he slowly pulled her back up. A few wolf whistles followed. Harry wasn't sure where they came from; he just watched as the witch's smile softened.

The music shifted as the song came to an end, and Harry became considerably more aware of where his hands were. In the slower dance, Gabrielle had moved closer without him noticing exactly when it happened. The hand resting against his shoulder had drifted behind his neck, and every few steps brought them within inches of each other.

Harry could smell whatever perfume she had worn beneath the sharper scent of the club and alcohol. His throat tightened, and his stomach fluttered a little under the gaze of the young Veela woman, but he was nearly too enraptured to look away.

“You keep looking at me,” Gabrielle observed.

Harry's eyes returned immediately to hers. “It would be quite rude of me if I didn't look at my dance partner, Ms. Delacour.”

“Oh,” Gabrielle giggled. “It's like that now.”

"You started it with the last names," Harry countered.

"In France, it's a sign of respect," Gabrielle assured. "And make no mistake, Monsieur Potter, I have nothing but admiration for you."

Harry could blame the alcohol for his face heating up, but he didn't. "The feeling is quite mutual. You are quite the witch."

They turned with the crowd, Gabrielle’s pale hair brushing across his wrist as Harry guided her beneath his arm. She came back toward him more quickly than he expected and collided softly against his chest, making both of them laugh.

Her eyes drifted up to his. They were nose to nose now, and neither stepped away. Harry looked down at her as the music and voices around them suddenly seemed considerably farther away.

“You've changed,” she said.

“So have you.”

Her eyebrow lifted. Harry realized how that sounded. “I didn't mean—”

Gabrielle laughed and pressed closer just enough to stop him. “I know what you meant.”

“Good.”

“But I still enjoyed watching you panic.”

“I wasn't panicking.”

“Of course not, Monsieur Potter.”

There it was again. The French came through more heavily when she was amused, and Harry found that he liked it.

“Are you going to call me that all night?”

“Perhaps.”

“Why?”

Gabrielle leaned closer until her mouth was near his ear, partly because the music had grown louder and partly, Harry suspected, because she knew exactly what effect she was having on him. “Because you react every time I do.”

Harry swallowed. When she pulled back, her eyes were bright with amusement.

“You're enjoying this,” Harry accused.

“Very much,” Gabrielle admitted.

Harry tightened his hands slightly at her waist and drew her back into the rhythm. “Careful.”

Gabrielle’s smile widened. “Was that a warning?”

“Maybe.”

“Good.”

The next few moments contained considerably less conversation.

Gabrielle turned beneath his arm and came back against him with none of the playful distance she had kept earlier. Harry caught her at the waist, and instead of immediately moving into the next step, she settled comfortably into his hold, rocking her body slowly from side to side against Harry. The slower rhythm left them moving together in a much smaller space now, Gabrielle’s arm looped around the back of his neck while Harry's hand shifted from her waist to her hips.

The alcohol had stripped away most of Harry’s instinct to second-guess himself. When Gabrielle turned back to face him, he caught her hand and pulled her back. When she laughed and leaned into him, he finally stopped pretending that having her this close wasn't exactly what he wanted. The dance had become less about steps and considerably more about the fact that neither of them seemed interested in putting any distance between them.

Gabrielle noticed the change. Her smile turned slower, warmer, and decidedly less innocent as she stayed exactly where she was.

Instead, she turned slowly beneath his arm again, letting Harry guide her back until she was standing directly in front of him. Her hand slid from his shoulder to the back of his neck, fingers brushing lightly into his hair as they continued moving with the music.

Harry's breath caught. Gabrielle's eyes flashed. That had definitely been deliberate.

“You're getting more confident, Monsieur Potter.”

“You told me I was improving.”

“I was talking about your dancing.”

“So was I.”

Gabrielle laughed softly, though there was considerably less innocence in it now.

Harry dipped her again. This time there was nothing exaggerated about the movement. He lowered her slowly, one arm firm around her back, and Gabrielle trusted him enough to follow without breaking eye contact. When he brought her upright again, Harry didn't immediately release her.

Gabrielle came back against him. Slowly. Her face stopped inches from his. The cheering, music, and crowded dance floor seemed to disappear somewhere behind them. Harry’s eyes moved from hers to her mouth.

Gabrielle noticed. Of course she noticed. Her fingers tightened gently at the back of his neck, and for one long second neither of them moved at all. Harry leaned fractionally closer. So did she. Close enough that he could feel her breath against his mouth.

Then Gabrielle stopped him with the smallest pressure of her fingers against his neck. “Not yet.”

Harry stared at her. “I didn't say anything.”

“You were about to.”

“Was I?”

“Oui.”

Her smile turned wicked as she eased back just enough to make the sudden distance irritating.

Harry laughed under his breath. “You're cruel.”

Gabrielle turned away from him, but Harry caught her hand before she could get far and drew her smoothly back against him. She laughed. “That was better.”

“I'm learning.”

“Dangerously quickly.”

“Careful.”

Gabrielle glanced back over her shoulder at him. “You keep saying that.”

Harry smiled. “You keep giving me reasons to.”

“Good.”

That broke whatever dangerous little bubble had formed between them, and Harry laughed again. Somewhere behind Gabrielle, a roar erupted from the direction of the private section. Both of them turned. Jason was standing on top of his chair.

Harry stared. “That seems concerning.”

Conner climbed onto the seat beside him.

“That seems worse.”

The two Beaters had linked arms around Pucey’s shoulders and were loudly singing something Harry recognized only after several painfully off-key lines as the old Puddlemere fight song, and Pucey was singing with them.

Harry stopped dancing. “No.”

Gabrielle followed his gaze. “What?”

“He said he'd leave if they started singing.”

Pucey lifted his drink into the air and shouted the chorus louder than both Beaters combined. Gabrielle burst out laughing.

Harry pointed toward the table. “That man spent ten minutes making me promise I'd have his back so he could survive one drink.”

“How many has he had?”

“I have absolutely no idea.”

“Then you should probably rescue him.”

Harry looked down at her. “Do I have to?”

Gabrielle considered the question seriously. “No.”

“Good, this is excellent blackmail material. You wouldn't believe how much these guys take the mickey out of me.”

Gabrielle was about to comment further, but another cheer rose as Jason attempted to conduct the rest of the table with his glass. Charlotte had joined the song from her seat, Oliver was shaking his head while visibly fighting a smile, and Ron seemed to have abandoned his statistical debate entirely in favor of shouting the wrong lyrics.

Gabrielle watched for several seconds before looking back at Harry. “I think your team is getting drunk.”

Harry laughed as she caught his hand. “Come.”

“Where?”

Gabrielle began pulling him back toward the table. “If Monsieur Pucey is singing, I think we need another drink before he remembers enough dignity to stop.”

“That might require several.”

Gabrielle looked over her shoulder. “Then we should hurry.”

By the time they reached the private section, Pucey had somehow acquired one arm around Jason and the other around Conner while the three of them bellowed the final verse badly enough that several nearby supporters had joined simply to drown them out.

Harry stopped beside the table and stared. Pucey noticed him. For a second, neither man spoke. Then Harry slowly raised an eyebrow.

Pucey pointed accusingly with his glass. “Not. One. Word.”

Harry sat down beside Gabrielle. “I didn't say anything.”

“You were thinking very loudly.”

Conner dropped into the chair opposite them. “He's having a wonderful time.”

“I hate all of you,” Pucey announced.

Jason clapped him across the back. “He loves us.”

“I absolutely do not.”

Gabrielle leaned toward Harry as another tray of drinks arrived. “He sounds like he is having the time of his life.”

Harry looked at Pucey, who was currently arguing with Conner over which of them had missed more words in the final verse.

“It definitely seems that way.”

Gabrielle laughed and pushed one of the fresh glasses toward Harry.

Their knees touched beneath the table. Neither moved. Harry picked up the drink. Gabrielle lifted hers toward him. “To your victory?”

Harry glanced around the table, then back at her. “I think we've toasted that enough.”

“To terrible dancing?” Gabrielle asked.

“You said I improved,” Harry said, his eyes narrowing.

“You did,” Gabrielle promised.

Harry thought for a moment. “To dessert?”

Gabrielle’s eyes flashed. “Careful, Monsieur Potter.”

Harry touched his glass lightly against hers.

“You said that was a good thing.”

Gabrielle smiled. “Oui. It could be.”

They drank.

After that, the evening began to lose some of its sharper edges. Harry remembered another round arriving but could not have said who ordered it. Someone brought shots next. Fleur insisted the British were doing them incorrectly, and prompted Gabrielle to demonstrate the proper technique. She did so with such confidence that Harry copied her without asking what he was drinking, immediately regretted it, then accepted another when she smiled and held one toward him.

Harry was drunk now. Not stumbling. Not lost. But definitely drunk. Everything was warm and wonderfully easy. Gabrielle's shoulder kept finding his. Their knees had long since stopped touching accidentally beneath the table, and her hands seemed to find him just as often. Whenever somebody forced Harry into another conversation, he invariably found her beside him again before it ended.  At some point she stole his drink because hers was empty. Afterwards, she complained in rapid French when he stole it back, and even though he didn’t understand any of it, he gave it to her again simply because he liked listening to her when she forgot to translate herself.

Then the music changed. The opening notes of something fast and familiar exploded through the club, and almost the entire private section reacted at once.

Jason slammed both hands against the table. “That's our song!”

“Every song is apparently ours!” Oliver shouted back.

“This one actually is!” Conner said, jumping to his feet.

Harry never figured out who started the migration. One moment everyone was crowded around the table; the next Charlotte had seized Pucey by one arm, Jason had the other, and the Puddlemere players were pouring through the partition toward the packed dance floor. Ron and Hermione followed because Ginny dragged them. Bill and Fleur were with them, and Oliver lasted perhaps ten seconds before Ginny caught him attempting to hide and hauled the captain after everyone else.

The dance floor had become chaotic by the time Harry and Gabrielle followed. There were no couples, no careful dancing, and certainly no room for technique. The team had formed a moshpit in the middle of the crowd, surrounded by fans who immediately recognized them and pushed closer to join in. Jason and Conner were jumping more than dancing, with Pucey somehow wedged between them and shouting the chorus loudly enough for Harry to hear over the music. Nearby, Charlotte spun beneath Garrett’s arm before abandoning the attempt entirely when she crashed laughing into Ginny.

For several minutes there was nothing except noise. Harry tried to sing along, but only remembered some of the words as he threw an arm around Ron’s shoulder. Gabrielle was laughing so hard she could barely sing, but made sure to stay in the crook of his other arm.

When the music changed, Gabrielle had both hands against Harry’s chest, laughing as the crowd surged around them. Harry caught her around the waist and pulled her closer, and she came willingly enough that whatever playful distance had remained between them disappeared completely.

Gabrielle turned in his arms, pressing her back against him as she moved with the beat. One of Harry’s hands settled at her hip while the other remained tangled with hers. It would have embarrassed him sober. At that moment, with the entire team dancing like idiots around them and alcohol humming pleasantly through every part of him, Harry couldn't bring himself to care.

Gabrielle tilted her head back and kissed his cheek.

Harry laughed. “What was that for?”

She turned just enough to look at him, her smile slow and unmistakably suggestive. “A hint of dessert.”

“That was only a hint?”

“Oui.”

Harry’s grin widened.

The next song carried them along with everyone else, though their dancing had become considerably sloppier than before. Gabrielle spent more time against him than away from him, Harry nearly lost his balance when she attempted another turn, and both of them dissolved into laughter when he caught her before they collided with another couple. Around them, the rest of Puddlemere was beginning to surrender to the end of the night. Charlotte was steering Garrett back toward the table, Oliver had given up pretending to control anyone, and Jason and Conner were still singing loudly enough that Pucey had apparently decided joining them was easier than escaping them.

Gabrielle looked up at Harry, still holding the front of his robes. “You know,” she said, “I think I am ready for dessert.”

Harry stared at her for half a second.

This time the alcohol wasn't responsible for how quickly he understood.

“Are you?”

Gabrielle answered by catching the back of his neck and pulling him down. The kiss was brief, but there was nothing tentative about it. Harry barely had time to respond before she drew away again, smiling against the few inches between them.

“There,” she murmured. “That one belonged in Puddlemere, non?”

Harry laughed softly. “Definitely.”

Gabrielle’s fingers remained curled in his robes. “And the rest?”

Harry looked at her. She only raised an eyebrow. That was answer enough. “You want to get out of here?”

“Oui.”

Harry caught her hand and they started working their way through the crowd. They stopped at the private section only long enough to collect their things and offer something resembling goodbyes. Pucey was still wedged between Jason and Conner, loudly insisting he knew the next verse better than either of them. Fleur noticed Harry and Gabrielle almost immediately. She looked at their joined hands, then at her sister, and merely shook her head with an amused smile before giving them a small wave. Bill followed her gaze, understood just as quickly, and raised his glass toward Harry.

Harry returned the gesture.

Then Gabrielle tugged him toward the exit.

Outside, the cooler night air hit Harry hard enough to make him laugh, and Gabrielle immediately tucked herself against his side as they made their way toward the Apparition point.

They had barely gone twenty paces before she stopped him again. Harry turned. Gabrielle reached for him again and pulled him into another kiss. This one lasted considerably longer.

When they separated, Harry kept one arm around her waist. “Still hungry?”

Gabrielle smiled. “Very.”

Harry laughed, tightened his arm around her, and looked toward the Apparition point. “Ready?”

Gabrielle nodded.

A moment later, they disappeared together.

Harry landed inside his flat with Gabrielle still tucked against his side. The familiar pull of Apparition had barely released him before she turned in his arms and kissed him again.

There was no teasing little retreat this time. Harry caught her around the waist as Gabrielle pushed closer, one hand sliding behind his neck while the other caught the front of his robes. He stumbled backward a step and laughed as she followed him until his back was against the wall. Her kisses on his lips ended at once and fell to his jaw and his neck.

The entire evening seemed to come rushing back at once—the letter, the kiss blown across the stadium, her hand in his on the dance floor, every drink that had made him progressively less interested in pretending he wasn't attracted to her.Harry's hands slid down her back and settled at her hips. Her cloak slipped from one shoulder, but neither of them bothered fixing it.

Gabrielle pulled away only far enough to catch her breath, her forehead resting briefly against his. Her cheeks were still flushed from the club, pale hair slightly mussed from dancing, and the playful confidence she had carried all evening had followed her directly through the door.

“I think our little joke has run its course, Monsieur Potter.”

Harry's smile faded into something hungrier than it had all night. “That sounds promising.”

“Oui. It will be.”

Lemon Begins

Gabrielle caught his collar again and pulled him back down to her. Harry scooped her up at once and turned her around until she was pinned against the wall. Gabrielle moaned in approval. His hands settled high on her thighs while her legs locked around his waist.

The Veela then broke the kiss, shedding her robe and letting it fall to the floor, leaving her in a navy blue tank top that showed off enough skin to keep Harry’s attention. His eyes rested on her chest for just a moment before he began kissing along her collarbone, working lower until her tank top stopped him.

As he did so, Gabrielle whispered into his ear, “Have you ever been with a Veela, Harry?”

He stopped his kisses before glancing up at her and grunting, “You will be the first.”

“Bien,” Gabrielle said, looking pleased. “I should warn you, it can be quite the experience. My magic, it can be quite captivating.”

Harry wasn’t sure what she meant, and at first she didn’t explain further. She began nibbling on his ear and tracing kisses back along his jawline before guiding his hands lower to her ass. “You see, Harry, being a Veela is not just about being beautiful.”

Feeling something stirring as she spoke, Harry’s grip on her ass tightened as she nibbled on his neck.

“Once you start fucking me, Harry…you may find it rather difficult to stop.” 

Harry separated from her for a moment, and the teasing smile on her face said it all. She was enjoying this. Deciding that patience wasn’t on the agenda for the rest of the night, Harry reached for the bottom of her tank top, and she separated from him just long enough to pull it over her head, leaving her in just a black bra and the skirt she had been wearing underneath her robes.

His mouth returned to her breast, and Gabrielle’s head thudded back against the wall in pleasure as she reached her hands behind her back and unclasped it with ease. Her legs were still locked around Harry, and he had no doubt she could feel his excitement below her.

Her nipples were perky and pink. Harry kept her pinned against the wall as he took one into his mouth and the other in his hand, appreciating their firmness and size. Gabrielle moaned again before pushing against his shoulders and unfolding her legs from his waist.

Harry gently lowered her to the ground and glanced into her eyes in confusion, but that only lasted a brief moment as she pulled her hair back and tied it up with a piece of ribbon that seemed to materialize from nowhere.

“Clothes off, Harry. J’aime mon dessert désordonné,” Gabrielle said, her hand moving towards his belt buckle with enough intention that Harry didn’t need a translator to know what she wanted.

Harry stripped faster than he perhaps ever had. Within moments he was down to his boxers, and Gabrielle helped tug those away as well as he stood completely naked before her. The witch looked immensely satisfied as she took his manhood in one hand.

“This has been on my mind all night,” Gabrielle said softly, before licking it from the base to the tip.

Harry’s hand shot to her pale blonde hair and gripped it lightly in surprise. Gabrielle took this as encouragement and placed it into her mouth before attempting to take more and more of it inch by inch. The witch gagged several times in rapid succession as she attempted to take more and more of it in, but Harry felt his vision swimming. He wasn’t sure if it was the alcohol or something to do with Gabrielle being a Veela, but something magical was happening.

Something primal took hold of Harry as she continued to work him with both her hand and her mouth. Harry could hardly stand it when he felt a guttural growl pass through him, and he pulled away from her just enough for her to look up at him with an intense desire in her eyes.

He wasn’t going to make it back to his room. Instead, Harry leaned down, cupped her cheek with his hand, and began gently pushing her backwards onto her back. Her skirt may have been slightly in the way, but Harry was already reaching underneath it to yank a very small, flimsy piece of underwear away.

“Please, ‘Arry,” Gabrielle said in the thickest French accent he had heard from the witch all night.

He was grateful the witch was ready, because she was driving him absolutely wild. Her blue eyes looked up at him expectantly. Harry slipped one hand to her ass, lifting a leg up into his chest as he lined himself up at her entrance and slid right in.

Both moaned out together, and Harry wasted zero time in thrusting in and out of the witch, making them both moan louder and louder. Gabrielle was moaning his name. Harry felt that fuzzy feeling taking hold as he desperately worked to please the girl. Each call of his name just encouraged him to thrust harder or faster.

Harry felt himself coming undone after just a moment. To ensure she got her own pleasure, he used all his willpower to separate from her, ripping her skirt the rest of the way down her legs, but before he could go back on top of her, she put a hand on his chest, pushed him back, and climbed on top of him.  “My turn.”

She impaled herself back on him at once, and Harry’s head went back into the tile in amazement as he watched the blonde goddess grind against him. Her hand was on his chest as she rocked back and forth, moaning louder than ever before. Harry’s hands were on her ass again, and he helped rock her faster and faster.

Gabrielle was shaking now, but Harry was certain he was at his breaking point. She gripped his cheek and made him look her in the eye, “Oui, comme ça!”

Her accent alone nearly did him in as he used his arms to force her back and forth even more. Her fingers went to her clit as she began rubbing it at the same time as she rocked into him. Harry came undone after that, and pushed her hand away as he rode through his own orgasm, using his own hand to rub her clit as fast as he could. She followed quickly in a shaking scream of pleasure, before collapsing right on top of him on the floor.

“C'était magique,” she whispered in his ear before saying in a thicker-than-usual French accent, “We should probably make it to the bed, non?”

Harry laughed breathlessly, still trying to convince his heart to slow down. “That might have been useful advice about twenty minutes ago.”

Gabrielle lifted her head from his chest, pale hair thoroughly disheveled now, and gave him a lazy smile. “You did not seem interested in advice twenty minutes ago.”

“I wasn't.”

“Neither was I.”

That earned another quiet laugh from him. For several seconds neither made any effort to move. Gabrielle remained sprawled comfortably against him, tracing an idle finger across his chest while Harry stared toward the ceiling and tried to decide whether the strange warmth still running through him belonged to the alcohol, the lingering trace of her Veela magic, or simply the witch currently using him as a pillow.

Eventually Gabrielle shifted and kissed the corner of his mouth.

“Come, Monsieur Potter,” she murmured. “Surely your bed is more comfortable than your floor.”

Harry glanced toward the hallway and then back at her. “Probably.”

“Probably?”

“I haven't spent much time sleeping on the floor for comparison.”

Gabrielle snorted and pushed herself upright, offering him a hand. Harry accepted it, though neither of them was particularly steady when they finally got to their feet. Gabrielle laughed as she stumbled into him, and Harry caught her around the waist before she could fall.

For a moment they simply stood there, grinning stupidly at one another. Then Gabrielle rose onto her toes and kissed him again. Whatever intention Harry had possessed of immediately going to sleep disappeared with it.

He wrapped an arm around her and started toward the bedroom.

Gabrielle laughed against his shoulder. “I thought we were going to bed.”

“We are.”

“To sleep?”

Harry looked down at her. Gabrielle's smile answered the question before either of them said another word. The bedroom door closed behind them.