Occlumency Lesson: A Fictional Narrative

November passed into December with little to note. Umbridge made herself scarce; a pleasant surprise, but so had Ron, which wasn’t so pleasant.
Harry made significant headway in Occlumency, due mainly to four weeks of detention—most of which Ron legitimated by pushing Harry until he let loose on him one day in the Great Hall. The quick duel was interesting, as Fleur noted Ron holding back. Whatever Ron's game, she was getting sick of it.
But, since students always served detention alone with the professor, it was one less worry for her Occlumency lessons; another strange quirk of Magical Academia, as true at Beauxbatons as Hogwarts.
“I’m ready,” a voice interrupted her thoughts.
“All right, but remember what I said about protecting your mind.”
Harry nodded, and she prepared herself for the spell.
“Legilimens!”
I was a bitch, but you still treated me better than I deserved. There’s no . . . la tromperie—trickiness? Deception? I can’t think of the English word—in you. That’s why I trust you. That’s also the reason you won’t pensieve the memory you saw and sell it for a Galleon a copy.”
“It’d make a lot more than that,” he said, just loud enough for her to hear.
She turned pink, and he started to apologize again before stopping and buried his head in his hands.
“All right, enough of this topic,” she said. “How are you and Cho doing?”
His embarrassment faded, as did any trace of humor. “We’re not. Every time we talk we end up discussing Cedric, then go away depressed. She ended it a week ago; said she wasn’t over him, and that she was sorry for kiss—never mind.” “For kissing you after your D.A. recruitment meeting?”
Green eyes looked up under black eyebrows.
Fleur’s insides twitched. Damn it. That was the same look Tonks gave her morphed into Harry's form. If Septima talked her into playing that stupid game again, she’d have to be a little more forthcoming about Harry’s placement on her list of wizards she wouldn’t