HP: Spirit Talker

I was having breakfast in the company of a sleepy Kiriko, who couldn't shake off her sleep and was literally teetering on the edge, making me and Ms. Travers smile. At one point the girl swayed in her chair and dozed off, and I had to hold her down and then hold her to my side as she almost fell again. In a half-slumber, the girl uttered: "Daddy... warm..." and drifted off into a fitful sleep.

I thought I'd fall into a stupor when I heard something like that, but I didn't find anything like that, nor did I find any rejection, as if that was supposed to be the case. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Miss Travers tense up and look at me with some apprehension. Did she think I was going to curse at the girl? It's a strange way of life in Britain for a woman to allow such a thing.

I realize that Kiriko, like any other child, needs someone to call a parent. In fact, I am her father, when you think about it, but the question is, why didn't she come to me right away? Was she afraid? Of what? And where could such fear come from?

Unfortunately, I can't stay home today — business, so I took the girl to the sofa in the living room, wrapped her in a blanket, stroked her black hair, and left for Hogwarts. All week Madame Maxime had been unavailable for conversation, but yesterday morning I received a letter from her agreeing to meet at noon today. The building materials and the builders themselves, as well as the foreman, are arriving in the morning. Malfoy and someone from the Ministry are also coming, all important things.

Nothing too complicated or exhausting — the usual approvals for contracts already signed, banal introductions to those we'll be working with, and so on. Malfoy, on the other hand, acted as a representative of the Board of Trustees, as well as a financial advisor to the Minister himself.

His presence alone saved me a great deal of time and nerves, for the officials and clerks who came were very opaque, slippery and insolent, and terribly greedy. I'm afraid I wouldn't have held back myself, but that doesn't change the fact that I'm going to do something with them as soon as I get the chance.

By the way, this was the first time I saw Umbridge. In life, this witch was even more unpleasant than the actress who played her in the movie. I won't list all the "virtues" of the Lady in Pink, but I'm sure Grindewald, Hitler and Goebbels would have accepted her as a native.

Anyway, we were on time with our business, so I found myself at the Buxbautonsa carriage a few minutes before the appointed time. As soon as I approached (I had surrounded myself with barriers since the morning so that I wouldn't get dirty and have to change my clothes to meet the Frenchwomen), the doors opened and on the threshold I saw Fleur. Oh! I had to admit that I was impressed by the girl's current image!

Today she had managed to be completely different from what she usually is, and at the same time the opposite — as if revealing her true self. Her silvery hair, loose and flowing, covered the right side of her forehead with a curl. A vivid light burned in her heavenly eyes, which attracted no less attention than the deep neckline of her snow-white dress and two stubborn bumps between which fell a strip of white metal, part of an elaborate ornament of chains, stones, and rings.

Slender legs, a palm above the knee, covered by fabric, tantalized by the purity of her skin and the harmony of her form. A thin sash, embroidered with shining silver threads and white stones, encircled her slender waist. I could hardly take my eyes off a few bright blue pebbles between well, completely uninteresting hemispheres.

A mischievous smile and contentment on her oval face told me that the girl had noticed my impression, and her eyes were not hidden from my gaze.

— Hi! Come on in. — The girl shifted slightly to the side.

"How is she not cold?" — I thought as I walked in and immediately found the answer. I hadn't noticed it on my last visit, but it turns out there are magic spells at the entrance — a weak air shield that keeps the cold out and the heat in, but doesn't impede the movement of the air itself. I'll have to remember that and install something similar for myself.

Dropping my coat and scarf on the wide hanger at the entrance, I moved to follow this wonderful vision. My gaze went down by itself — the loose fabric did not hug the round ass, but it did not hide it either. The girl was babbling about how she had literally just gotten ready for lunch, alone.

Madame Maxime and her assistants hadn't arrived yet, and her guards were sitting in their rooms at the entrance as instructed, so the poor girl was bored alone with her books.

And dressed in a stunning snow-white cocktail dress, a set of jewelry, light-heeled shoes, and perfumed with the very scent I like, not her favorite sweet scents — it's a coincidence. Fleur, "complaining about her cruel fate," gestured gracefully with her left hand, jingling her thin bracelet rings, and looked at me out of the corner of her eye, enjoying my reaction. The skin of her exposed shoulders, shoulder blades, and half of her back in the deep cut glistened and breathed health and purity.

Damn! THIS Fleur would give her gorgeous mother a hundred points! Where was she before? Or where were my eyes before? The corners of her pink lips curved upward in a wider, more contented smile, and her eyes continued to sparkle.

I barely had time to take my eyes off the 'lower nineties' when the girl's head turned slightly again to cast a glance over a dainty shoulder with a thin strapless dress. But a twinkle in her eye and a flushed cheek made it clear — the girl had noticed everything, but continued to talk about some emergency meeting the principal was late for.

I was not confused, but rather thinking about how not to do something irreparably stupid, because in high society everything is not so simple, and even to start courting you have to ask permission from the girl's parents first. But what Fleur is doing now. And which normal, sexually mature man wouldn't react to THIS kind of woman? I have a feeling that the next few hours are not going to be easy.

And I'm not wrong. The charms of the young Vayla may not work on me, but it didn't save me from the female "magic" (or can it be without quotation marks?). Fleur's voice murmured and shimmered in a melodious stream, pleasing to the ear.

The grace and sexuality of each fleeting movement drew me into the invisible net of French charm. Light smiles, shining eyes, "natural" turns of the flexible bed fleetingly opened a view of the cleavage at favorable angles, each time attracting the eye. I had never experienced such a massive attack!

Ternier acted more... rough? Swaggering? But Fleur! Fleur, that's great! If I hadn't thought of putting my mind into a light trance, I'd have that temptress in my arms by now. I should have met her parents. And I shouldn't have drunk that "weak sweet" wine!

The appearance of Madame Maxime and her entourage was a relief. To think that I had almost agreed to try a "family recipe of huîtres fraîches"! I did not immediately understand the translation and did not immediately remember the famous feature of "fresh oysters" when translated into an understandable language.

In short, I went over the edge, although I don't think Fleur would have gone further than a certain line, after all she is familiar with some of the peculiarities of family magic.