Harry had made the introductions, and Draco had shaken Fleur's hand while she beamed at him and tossed her shining silver hair.

"Malfoy," Fleur had said. "I know that name, that is a French name.

Is your family French?"

Draco had admitted that at one time, they probably had been.

"You are part-veela, are you not?" Fleur continued. "I am as well. I am sure we are related, I have brothers who look just like you. I take one look at you across the hall and think to myself, "That is a beautiful boy, he must be related to me!"

Fleur said this with no shred of humility. She was just as conceited as Draco, which in Harry's opinion lent a certain credibility to her assurance that they shared family.

"I think she fancies you," he had said to Draco once Fleur had gone, but Draco had shaken his head.

"We're both part-veela, we're immune to each other's charms," he'd said. "She just likes me because I look like her."

Whether or not they fancied each other, Harry thought, looking at them, they'd formed an effective mutual admiration society. Draco rarely went anywhere these days without Fleur tagging along at his heels. It was almost funny, Harry thought, after all he was the same age as Draco and it wasn't all that long ago that Fleur had considered him too "leetle" of a boy to be taken seriously…

The owl hooted again, snapping Harry back to attention. He gave the owl a Knute, took his red-ribboned letter, and tore it open eagerly.

Dearest Harry, I can't write much because I'm rushing off to London, but I'll send you another letter later, by Pig. Ron and the Weasleys are fine. Mr and Mrs. Weasley have gone off to the seaside for a romantic holiday, and Fred and George are in Hogsmeade at the joke shop, so it's just me and Ron and of course Ginny, who is back from France and sends her love.