Chapter 2
It had been weeks since the other wizarding schools had arrived at Hogwarts. Harry’s name had been pulled from the Goblet of Fire, even though he was underaged and now a fourth champion. He kept seeing Malfoy with both Slytherin and Beauxbaton students, and even whispering with his double during mealtimes. The only explanation Harry could think of was twins, even though he was sure Malfoy had never mentioned having one before.
But the twin was so beautiful . Harry never thought he would think of a Malfoy that way, but he couldn’t deny it. The light blue of Beauxbaton uniform lit up his grey eyes, usually so full of hatred and disdain towards him. The way he let his platinum blond hair flow freely over his shoulders instead of having it slicked back was mesmerizing, almost like Harry was watching the veelas from the Quidditch World Cup all over again. Harry couldn’t help but stare.
He wanted to go up and talk to the twin, he really did, but he spent every waking moment avoiding angry glares from wronged students, getting his schoolwork done, and trying to figure out what the first task of the Tournament was.
“Go on, Harry,” Ron encouraged him one night in early November. Even after a month of having both Malfoy twins living under his nose, he hadn’t seemed to have noticed anything. “You have to at least say hi to him! He won’t be here forever, you know.”
Harry stared out of the window by his four-poster, his back to his best friend. “I can’t, Ron, not with everything going on. I don’t even know French!”
“Maybe not,” said Ron, “but you know Hermione, and that’s almost as good as. She can find anything in those books of hers.”
And so, a week before his first task — whose idea was it to make students face dragons? — Harry stumbled his way to the Ravenclaw table to speak to the Beauxbaton Malfoy, having convinced Hermione to teach him French. She only accepted because it had been an excuse for her to learn something new as well. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a girl he knew to be named Cho Chang sit up expectantly as he passed, but he couldn’t afford to be distracted or else he’d lose his nerve.
“Erm, bonjour ,” Harry attempted feebly. The eyes of the Beauxbaton students turned to him, and he gulped. He had to keep going. “ Je suis Harry, Harry Potter.”
Most of the blue-clad wizards and witches returned his greeting but went back to their meal, their interests obviously not in exchanging pleasantries with a British student. One of the pairs of eyes still focused on him was grey, however, and Harry wanted to keep their attention.
“Comment tu t’appelles ?” Harry could tell his French was less than exceptional from the giggles and glances shared among the Beauxbaton students, but he tried to block them out.
They were silenced quickly by a sweeping glare he knew only too well. “Au moins il essaie! C’est plus que n’importe quel Durmstrang a fait.” Turning back to Harry, Malfoy said, “Je m’appelle Adonis. Enchanté,‘Arry.”
He didn’t understand anything before the last two sentences, but a faint memory of Hermione’s latest interest in Greek mythology reminded Harry that Adonis was a man of great beauty and was favored by the goddess Aphrodite. Harry could clearly see why his parents had chosen his name to be so.
Realizing he’d been silent too long, staring, Harry forced out the reason he had approached. Blushing, he asked, “Um, iras-tu au bal avec moi?”
Again, giggles and glances broke out. Apparently his conversation was being overheard by the seemingly uninterested Beauxbaton students. Quick snatches of French Harry didn’t understand spread like wildfire. Even some Ravenclaws had caught wind of what was going on if they looks they gave Harry meant anything.
Something danced in Adonis’ eyes, and he nodded, smiling. “Je porterai du vert.”
Harry didn’t know what that meant, but the nod was all he needed. A stupid grin on his face, he said, “Great!” louder than was necessary and hurried back to his seat beside Ron and Hermione.