Though Fleur had visited the De Versailles estate before, she had never explored it entirely. The manor, located just outside the gates of the famed Château de Versailles, was a grandiose building in the same Baroque style: high arched windows, golden cornices, marble floors, and towering ceilings painted with enchanted frescoes that shifted subtly depending on the hour of day.
He led her through room after room—music salons filled with antique instruments, sun-drenched lounges lined with ancestral portraits, and even a greenhouse where rare magical flora grew in harmony with enchanted butterflies. The gardens outside seemed to stretch for acres, blooming in precise symmetry, with whispering fountains and hedge mazes charmed to rearrange themselves every full moon.
Fleur marveled. "It's like living in a living museum."
Louis smiled. "That's one way to describe my family."
He showed her to her room—just two doors down from his own. The suite was bathed in lavender tones, with delicate silver embroidery on the drapes and a balcony overlooking the central courtyard.
"Are you sure your parents are fine with me staying here?" she asked, though her voice lacked real concern.
"They're more than fine," he said. "You're basically family."
And indeed, his parents welcomed her warmly. Lady Mary greeted Fleur with a kiss on each cheek and a fond smile, while Lord Charles offered a handshake and a rare nod of approval. They were used to Fleur's presence—her visits had become part of the rhythm of Louis' life. They respected her maturity, her brilliance, and most of all, the quiet strength of her connection with their son.
Over the course of the week, the two teenagers made the most of their freedom.
With the help of magic—and the De Versailles family's considerable resources—they travelled with ease. In France, they toured the lavender fields of Provence, visited the enchanted catacombs of Paris, and even sailed along the magical side of the Loire River where ghostly châteaux shimmered in and out of existence. Sometimes, Mary and Charles joined them, but more often than not, they gave the pair space, trusting their bond.
When the mood struck, Louis and Fleur simply Apparated to England—wandering through the hidden groves of Cornwall, watching Hippogriffs in the Lake District under Ministry supervision, and sharing quiet moments on the cliffs near Dover.
Everywhere they went, they talked.
About magic. About the future. About what it meant to grow up with so much expectation on their shoulders—and the quiet longing for a world where they could shape their own paths. For Fleur, it was a relief to speak freely; for Louis, it was grounding.
One morning, as they lounged in the rose garden under the enchanted parasol, Louis looked at her thoughtfully.
"I want to show you Hogwarts," he said suddenly.
Fleur tilted her head. "Now?"
"Well, during the holidays. Dumbledore stays most of the time at the school. I wrote to him asking if I could bring you for a visit."
Her eyes sparkled. "And?"
"He agreed."
Her expression brightened, but then Louis added with a wince, "Now I just have to convince my parents."
They both laughed.
After a carefully worded conversation and a bit of diplomatic finesse, Louis managed to persuade his parents. Charles raised an eyebrow but ultimately consented, and Mary, ever fond of Fleur, nodded with a small smile.
The next morning, a silver-and-emerald portkey arrived by owl—a gift from Dumbledore himself.
With a final good-bye, Louis and Fleur grasped the portkey. In a whirl of wind and magic, the world spun around them—and with a flash, they stood at the gates of Hogwarts.
Fleur gasped.
Even in the quiet of the holiday break, the castle exuded timeless majesty. Its turrets rose against a clear sky, and the lake shimmered like molten glass. The grounds, though mostly empty, were alive with quiet magic.
Louis beamed. "Welcome to my second home."
They toured the corridors, Louis pointing out classrooms, passageways, and portraits with personal anecdotes. Fleur marveled at the moving staircases, the whispering suits of armor, and the charm of each house common room entrance—though she only saw the outside, as protocol demanded.
In the Great Hall, the enchanted ceiling mirrored the crisp blue sky above, and the long tables lay bare in the absence of students. It felt strange but sacred, as if Hogwarts itself approved of the visit.
Dumbledore met them near the Astronomy Tower, his long cloak trailing softly.
"Miss Delacour," he greeted with a gentle smile, "a pleasure."
"The honor is mine, Professor," Fleur replied gracefully.
He walked with them briefly, sharing stories of magical theory and the founding of the school, answering Fleur's thoughtful questions with genuine warmth. Eventually, he excused himself, citing "a troublesome scroll from the Department of Mysteries" awaiting his attention.
As they stood alone on the ramparts, gazing across the lake, Fleur took Louis's hand.
"This place," she whispered, "feels alive."
"It is," Louis said. "And now it knows you."
Later that evening, they returned to France via portkey. Tired but happy, they landed back in the rose courtyard.
As Fleur brushed wind-blown hair from her face, she turned to him with a mischievous look. "Your turn next week."
He blinked. "My turn?"
"To visit Beauxbatons. You'll stay with me, and I'll show you every corner. My world."
Louis smiled slowly. "I'd like that."
She leaned closer. "You'll love it. I promise."
And just like that, the first week of spring break drew to a close—not as an ending, but as the beginning of something even more magical.