Trust Me
This one-shot is part of the amazing Emily Collection project initiated by the people over at the Flowerpot Discord server. Their kindness and thoughtfulness have inspired me and dozens of other writers to write stories with the Harry/Fleur pairing. I heavily incentivize you to read them all and to join the server for more amazing ideas like this. They can be found at the following invite link:
/VyN5dg2
For Emily.
"There are uses to adversity, and they don't reveal themselves until tested. Whether it's a serious illness, financial hardship, or the simple constraint of parents who speak limited English, difficulty can tap unexpected strengths." – Sonia Sotomayor
"I'm surprised you're back in England," Harry greeted Fleur as the Veela entered Grimmauld Place. "I thought you wouldn't ever step back here again after the battle."
"It was not in my plans to do so," she said after kissing both his cheeks in a distracted fashion and stepping outside of the rain. "But I think it was for the best that I come back now and not later."
"Why?" He asked curiously. "This isn't your fight, Fleur."
"It's everyone's fight," she disagreed with him, putting her raincoat in the rack in the entrance hall. "Voldemort may be dead, but his influence didn't stop at Dover. And I am a Veela. I would always be his enemy."
"Still..." he trailed off.
"I didn't think you were sending away a helping hand," she disputed with a raised eyebrow.
"I'm not," he rushed out to answer before shrugging a bit helplessly. "It's just surprising."
"Well, despite our being adversaries in the Tournament together, we never had the opportunity to know one another," Fleur spoke on, sitting down on the black sofa with golden detailing crammed into one of the corners of the living room. As she looked around the place, studying the old furniture that made up the Black family home, Harry scanned her form. The Veela was as beautiful as ever, with her eye-catching long silvery-blonde hair slightly darkened by the rain and her usual relaxed grace contrasting with the glaring gloominess of Grimmauld. Her traits had grown more refined in the years since the Tri-Wizard Tournament, and her already supernatural elegance had grown evermore, with more polished and daintier features adorning her face. Fleur turned away from her examination of the surroundings and turned to him. Her impossibly blue eyes pierced him with a light veneer of amusement as she caught him staring, and though he felt a bit embarrassed, he did not look away, which seemed to meet her approval. "If we had, you may not have been as surprised as you are."
"I didn't expect you of all people to complain that we didn't take the time to know one another," Harry commented, and she shrugged with one shoulder, the motion drawing his eyes towards her long neck. He frowned inwardly, admonishing him for the lack of concentration, and firmly decided to keep his gaze trained towards her own eyes. Remembering her reasons for leaving her home country made her beauty less distracting.
"I see someone is still embittered about the little boy comment," Fleur quipped with a twitch of the lips before sighing softly. "I regret a lot about my behavior that year."
"We all do," Harry replied softly, and when Fleur raised a questioning eyebrow, he flushed slightly and rushed to correct any ambiguity. "We all regret all of our behaviors, not yours specifically. You were fine. Well, not fine, but... ergh, I'm going to shut up now," he trailed off, and Fleur laughed shortly at his embarrassment.
"I know what you mean," she reassured him after she had her fun, and then the shine in her eyes grew dimmer in muted horror and past grief. "It took Cedric for me to realize that the Tournament was supposed to be a friendly competition," she spoke softly, and the mention of the first death in the war made Harry shiver slightly as his insides act as though covered by a cold blanket. "And it took you rescuing Gabrielle for me to realize that the other champions could be my friends."
"How is Gabrielle?" Harry asked politely, wanting to change the subject. Fleur's face brightened for the first time since her arrival, shining in fond reminiscence as she wondered where her little sister was at that exact moment.
"She is safe and happy in France," she summed up before smiling a bit sideways at him. "And still missing her white knight."
Harry wanted to moan a bit despairingly, but caught himself, fearing he was going to be rude. But Fleur noticed his sentiment in the half-grimace, half-yawn he used to disguise his discomfort, and merely laughed.
"Trust me; I would be more concerned if I were you. Gabi always has a way of getting what she wants. It's the eyes," Fleur posited, shaking her head in familial amusement. "She does this thing with her eyes, and even our mother can't resist it."
"She's a child. I think I'm safe," Harry responded.
"Oh, you've already proven that little boys and girls are often more than they look," Fleur joked, and he gaped at her for a second before she waved his concern off. "But yes, she's far too young for you, for now. Don't let her know that I've told you that."
"You have my silence," he assured her, a bit mortified, and she nodded once quickly before getting serious.
"Well, what can you tell me about the project?" She questioned, hesitating slightly before uttering the last word. Then she looked around the house. "I expected more people to be around you."
"The house is under a lot of wards and protections. I'm just here on Hermione's orders," he explained. Fleur blinked confusedly, and he shrugged a bit abashedly. "She threatened everyone about giving me a few days alone."
"Why would she do that?"
"I was told I was a nuisance," Harry spoke a bit bitterly. Fleur narrowed her gaze on him dubiously, sensing he wasn't telling her the whole story. "It wasn't my decision," he continued in an irritated voice.
"I'm not blaming you for it," Fleur explained, looking at him in vague admonishment for his outburst. "Even if something tells me I should."
"I didn't do anything!" He protested.
"I'm sure you didn't," she responded dryly. "So, what shall we do? Are we waiting for Viktor here for a couple of days before meeting everyone else, then?"
"That's the idea," he nodded. "I'm surprised Ron didn't put up a stink about Hermione writing a letter to Krum."
"Are they a couple now?" Fleur asked curiously, and Harry hummed in confirmation. "That's an... interesting match."
"You disapprove?"
"Please," Fleur scoffed quietly. "I barely care. Why would I disapprove? If they're happy, it's their business. But they do seem ill-fitted."
"That's quite the judgment for someone who doesn't care," Harry spoke in light irritation, feeling the need to defend his friends, even if he privately agreed with her words.
"I don't need to care to judge," she shrugged. "I happen to be good at it."
"I remember," he replied drolly, remembering her behavior towards him during the Tournament.
"There are exceptions," Fleur conceded with the slightest bit of shamefacedness. "Still, it is unimportant. I'm happy that Viktor is coming, even if it's surprising. He's quite busy, I hear."
"As are you."
"I have more leeway than him with my job, and this was important to me," she looked at the ground solemnly and determinedly in equal measure. "I want to see this through."
"I'm still impressed you're all willing to come," Harry softly. "Though I'm a bit uncomfortable with the name of the bill. It feels callous, calling it after Cedric."
"It's a politically intelligent move," Fleur spoke neutrally. "He's a promising Pureblood who was killed as a student early on in the war, so people still remember that shock. Cedric's father was also important, given how much nonsense everyone tolerated from him," she added a bit derisively, making Harry grin slightly despite himself. Amos was a bit hard to endure on most occasions, that was undeniable. "And everyone liked him. Having all the champions from the Tournament there helps, too."
"Hermione and Luna came up with it," Harry informed her. "I understand it's a good idea, or at least, it's what everyone tells me. I just feel uncomfortable."
"I feel a bit uncomfortable too, but it's how we can do the most good. A reminder that everyone suffers when people don't have equality," she spoke gravely. "Even the privileged."
"Well spoken," Harry praised her, making her smirk laterally at him.
"I'm French. Trust me; we know all about equalité."
"According to you, the French know all about everything," he deadpanned, and she laughed shortly.
"No, bad food is still very much your purview, I'm afraid," she smiled beatifically, and he rolled his eyes but couldn't hide a small smile. "National stereotypes aside, do you mind if I do something?"
"Go ahead," he waved her off, watching curiously as the woman drew her wand.
"Homenum Revelio," she enchanted calmly, and then there was a noise on the other side of the room as someone fidgeted. Fleur looked at that corner with a demanding expression, and Charlie Weasley ruefully appeared from under a powerful Disillusionment Charm. "I thought so."
"Hey, Harry," he greeted him with a regretful grin.
"I've been here for three days!" Harry spoke up in not a small amount of insult, and Charlie grimaced slightly.
"How did you know?" He demanded of the Veela, who looked unimpressed back at him.
"None of you would leave Harry Potter unsupervised," she spoke matter-of-factly before glancing a bit at the aforementioned young man, who was busy gaping wordlessly at Charlie. "I don't know him that well, but from what I could tell during the Tournament, he's the kind of person that would leave the house to fight alone on a whim."
"The war is over! There's nothing to fight!" Harry protested loudly, though on reflection he would disagree with himself. There was plenty of danger out there. Maybe not for the average wizard, but he was still very much on the forefront of many people's minds, and some of them did not have wholesome intentions. Both of the other people in the room reached the same conclusion, staring at him with a mixture of pity and disbelief.
"And yet, many people still want you dead," she responded dryly, voicing what they had both thought.
"She's right, you know?"
"Whatever," Harry breathed out vaguely petulantly, crossing his arms and sinking into the sofa. Fleur sent a smirk at him and did not allow it to waver when he glowered back slightly.
"Sorry, mate, but..." Charlie trailed off with a nervous chuckle.
"So, did you spend three days looking over the place?" Fleur interrupted, the emphasis on the last word making it clear that she meant Harry. Charlie coughed slightly to disguise his amusement, and Harry sunk further into the sofa with a grumble.
"No, I rotate with my brother, Percy," he explained, and Fleur nodded.
"Well, if it's just you, you can go back," she shooed him away, and he looked nervously at Harry. "Wait, where is everyone located, anyway?"
"Hogwarts," Charlie responded. "It's the only place big enough to fit everyone. Don't you want to go back to the castle now?" He suggested, and Harry shrugged indifferently.
"I'd go now. I didn't choose to leave. Krum knows the way, he doesn't need a guide."
"You seemed more relaxed the last few days," Charlie mused, and Harry threw his hands on the air.
"Are we not going to talk about how absurd it is that you were here all along?" He demanded angrily.
"It's hardly surprising," Fleur countered, and Harry snapped his eyes at her frustratedly. "What? It is. They would never leave you alone until the bill goes through. Maybe not even after that."
"I'm going to have words with Hermione," Harry grumbled with narrowed eyes. "Sending me away and then putting a hidden escort with me."
"They were both McGonagall's ideas," Charlie smiled a bit nervously, and Harry gaped at him again. "Hermione wanted to put you in the Room of Requirement for a few days and not let you leave, but Neville pointed out that you could just wish for an exit."
"What did you even do to make them so frustrated at you?" Fleur looked over at Harry in a scandalized brand of amusement, and he looked away.
"Not telling her that bit, huh?" Charlie asked with a lip smack. Harry flushed slightly, and Fleur's curiosity grew.
"What did he do?" She demanded of the older boy, but he just pointed at Harry.
"He'll tell you, won't you, Harry?" Charlie said, going around the table to smack Harry's shoulder. The younger boy floundered a bit under the strong slap but stayed still otherwise. "I'm going to go now and tell them that Fleur is going to watch over you. You can come back today or in a couple of days like we planned."
Then he left the room under a disillusionment charm and apparated away.
"What did you do?" Fleur repeated her request, and Harry repeated his silence. The Frenchwoman eventually settled on discovering what he had done on her own time or simply asking someone when they went to Hogwarts. "Well, you didn't answer my question beforehand. What can you tell me about the project?"
Harry's sour mood melted away as he pondered the question, but it was slowly replaced by a severe heaviness that did not fit his character. Fleur thought it would have been fitting for her strictest lectures in Beauxbatons and to the goblins which had employed her on the continent, not for the young man beside her.
"Not many people are as focused on the bill as they claim to be." He finally spoke in a somber demeanor.
"Oh?"
"Everyone's still grieving."
"Isn't that normal?"
"That's not what annoys me," he spoke with muted but scathing anger. "They keep telling me that it's good that not that many students died, but I can tell they're just lying," Harry accused, looking at a distant point beyond the walls of Grimmauld. "I hear them crying and mourning when they think I'm not there, and I hear their whined laments. But as soon as I appear, everyone gets cheerful about the war ending by what I've done."
"Can't both things be true?" Fleur suggested kindly. Harry looked at her and said nothing, and she took it as a cue to continue. "By the letter I received from your friend, this bill represents an attempt to end the legacy of the war. It's to be expected that it would bring painful memories. They can try to work on it while mourning those who passed away."
"Then why not do it in front of me?" Harry demanded harshly.
"I presume they're trying to protect you," she tried to reason, and he scoffed.
"If they wanted to do that, they should have done so years ago, not now," he responded, and she accepted the answer with a sorrowful nod. They stayed in uncomfortable, heavy silence for a few more seconds before she spoke again.
"So, what are we doing?" Harry looked at her, and she expanded on her question. "I'm going to stay here as long as you do. So, what are we doing?"
"I don't feel like going back today," Harry spoke, a bit miffed about learning that there was what amounted to a conspiracy to send him away for a while. Yeah, he might have gotten a bit annoying, but to make him leave was exaggerated, right?
"What about we get to know one another, then?" She inquired. Harry tilted his head sideways as he looked at her, and she explained. "We didn't get to know one another during the Tournament, so let's do that now."
"Hm... sure, why not?" Harry conceded, and Fleur walked around the room towards the kitchen. Harry watched her, a bit confused, marveling at how she had made the place her own despite being there for barely half an hour.
"Do you have any wine here?" She called out. Harry was surprised by the question, so he just stood there confusedly staring at the general direction of the kitchen. Fleur finally made another questioning noise, compelling him to yell back.
"I think there's some firewhiskey," he cried out, and Fleur grumbled something under her breath in response but did come back with a bottle of the drink.
She froze a step into the living room and looked at Harry with a narrow gaze. "Are you over eighteen already?"
"My birthday is on the 31st of July."
"Close enough," she declared imperiously, putting two tumblers on the table as she sat down and opening the Ogden's firewhiskey bottle. She sniffed it and cleared her throat slightly but poured a couple of fingers for each of them. "In France, parents introduce themselves to the wonders of wine from an early age, a sip or two with some meals. Whiskey will have to do—butterbeer is revoltingly sweet."
"Butterbeer is nice," Harry issued in a weak protest as he grasped the cup that the woman passed him. She looked at him skeptically, and he responded. "What? It's refreshing."
"Yes, because England is known for its scorching warm weather," Fleur retorted dryly. She took a tentative sip of the whiskey, and her eyes widened immediately. The drink made her face pink minutely, and her pupils dilated for a couple of seconds before returning to normal. She frowned at the amber liquid over the border of the cup. "This is infuriatingly good."
"Infuriatingly?" Harry inquired before grinning a bit. "Still can't accept that the British can do good things?"
"I never denied that," she rolled her eyes. "France is merely the superior country," she declared pompously, but with a self-effacing grin that made Harry laugh a bit. "Even a broken clock is right twice a day."
"Are you calling the whole of Britain a broken clock?" Harry asked, amused.
"You're focusing on the wrong thing," Fleur said casually, swirling the whiskey around before sipping it again. "I'm saying you're right twice a day."
Harry laughed before drinking a small gulp of the whiskey and immediately choking on it. Even the minute amount that went down his throat was enough to make his insides feel like they were boiling, and puffs of smoke left his nostrils and ears. While Harry recovered from the coughing fit that ensued, Fleur looked at him while calmly sipping on her whiskey, quietly humming 'God Save the Queen' in a joking manner.
"Bugger off," Harry told her off when he regained control over his breaths, and she smiled angelically back at him.
"I don't know what you mean," Fleur responded with a mischievous grin before finishing off the last of the whiskey and pouring herself a bit more. Harry watched, indignant, as the only effect the drink bore down on her was that slight pinking of her face.
"How can you drink this without barely an effect?" He demanded, and she raised her eyebrows fractionally in response.
"I am a Veela. Therefore, I am a witch of fire," she declared, looking at the drink through the light of the old crystal lamps on the wall. "And like I said, this is infuriatingly good. Of course, the British would do good whiskey." Harry was about to take another sip of his drink, but Fleur stopped him by conjuring some ice. He looked at her confused, and she explained. "Let it cool and water it down a bit. It'll be easier to drink."
"Oh, clever," he praised the idea before putting the cup on the table and looking back at her. "Do you do it with wine as well?"
"Of course not," Fleur replied indignantly with a wrinkled nose. "Watered-down wine is revolting. Though I have seen people keep their wines chilled with a frozen grape."
"That makes sense," Harry mused, and some silence fell over them. He didn't know what to talk about, and Fleur seemed entranced by the drink which she kept analyzing at length. After a couple of minutes of that awkward silence, she rested her head on the support of the sofa and turned it towards Harry.
"For how long do I have to skirt around the elephant in the room to be polite?" She asked calmly, and he looked confusedly at her.
"I don't understand?" Harry slowly responded in turn, and Fleur breathed out for a second before leaning a bit closer.
"One of the things I dislike the most is nibbling around the problem at hand," Fleur spoke resolutely. "And the war is clearly on your mind."
Harry looked at her for a few seconds before looking to the ground. He picked up the whiskey cup and wanted to drink it—it felt fitting at that moment—but the ice hadn't begun melting by any significant measure, so he put it back on the table with a sigh. He passed a hand through his hair before speaking and didn't take his eyes away from the floor as he did.
"It's hard for me to talk about it," he started slowly. Before he could continue, Fleur interrupted him.
"It does not mean that it's not necessary."
"I know," he sighed. "It's just..." he trailed off and then rubbed his eyes tiredly behind his glasses. "So many people died, Fleur." He tried to detail his concerns more, but every prospective word was being blocked by a mounting ball of emotions that threatened to overwhelm him. Fleur silently offered him the glass, and he swallowed a large gulp of the whiskey, the heat of the drink burning its way through his emotions and sending him into another coughing fit. Unlike the previous occasion, Fleur slapped him in the back comfortingly, and he welcomed the warmth of the contact.
"I know it was a jarring experience," she said softly. "I don't have any advice to give you."
"I'm surprised," Harry spoke with a mirthless chuckle. "Everyone seems to have some words of comfort to say to me about it, as though they mean anything."
"Another one of the things that I hate the most is when people speak comforting lies instead of the truth. It's better to simply say what's supposed to be said, and I will not lie to you: I do not know how to comfort you about the war," Fleur reasoned, and he nodded absently.
"I think that no one can, which is the real reason they sent me away for a few days. They think I'll be better off by myself than in the middle of all of their hidden grief," Harry said with distant, unseeing eyes. "Out of curiosity, what is the thing that you hate the most?"
"When people repeat obvious things," she spoke without requiring a single second to think about the question. "It's very constructive to discover what annoys you the most about people. It tells you who to listen to and when."
"I'll keep that in mind," Harry accepted the suggestion, though he couldn't think about anything that irritated him in particular. His hatred was overwhelmingly directed at specific people, not specific things. "I don't think I hate many things."
"Of course you do," Fleur dismissed his claim, and he looked at her curiously. "We all do. It's just a matter of identifying it. But no one lives their life in pure acceptance of their surroundings unless they are idiots or complacent, and you don't strike me as either."
"I thought we didn't know one another very well," Harry questioned, and Fleur's face softened fractionally.
"I know you enough to know that you are not an idiot, and a complacent man wouldn't have tried to save my sister," she explained herself, and Harry felt a bit awkward at witnessing the clear gratefulness on Fleur's face as she remembered that day.
"Anyone would have done the same, Fleur," he pointed out, and she looked at him curiously.
"You honestly believe that, don't you?" She asked herself before giggling a bit, though her giggles could hardly register as such. They were more like bells resonating clearly in the quiet room. "Believe me when I tell you, Harry, that most people would not."
"I don't know about that," he said, uncertainly.
"But I do, so trust me: take my word for it," she answered him while gulping the last of her whiskey. She didn't refill it a third time, though she did look at the bottle with longing. "You are quite exceptional in that regard."
"You're only saying that because I saved your sister," Harry shook his head, and Fleur looked at him with some frustration.
"You say that like it's a small thing," she spoke with some anger, but when he went to justify himself, she silenced him with a hand gesture. "But that is not the only reason for me to say this, Harry. During the Tournament, there were already whispers about the things you've done, and I dismissed them at the time as delusional rumors about a misplaced child," Harry felt some quiet indignation about his characterization, but he couldn't get a syllable of protest as she kept speaking. "And ever since, your war exploits continued to be spoken by people fleeing England, and the events of the Battle of Hogwarts itself have already reached France. You have killed Voldemort. It's an impressive achievement. Learn how to take compliments, Harry," she advised him with a side-glance. "It's unbecoming to reject them as you do."
"I'm surprised you say his name so calmly," Harry deflected the point. By the look Fleur sent his way, it was a poor effort.
"He stole my language to make himself a ridiculous moniker," she criticized in a vaguely scandalized manner, full of pride and indignant national fury. "The least I can do is mock the choice. Also, don't avoid the subject, or at least do so more competently. Learn to take a compliment."
"I don't think I deserve the compliments I get, and certainly not from you," he replied firmly. "I helped Gabrielle because she was someone in need and because it was necessary. That's all there is to it."
"All you're doing is contesting my previous claim that you weren't an idiot," Fleur spoke bluntly. "Your statement, by itself, is proof that you deserve compliments," she sighed shortly before speaking again. "Men like you are rare, Harry. Trust me. Accept it already."
"But—"
"No buts," she interrupted him with a stern look. "Accept it already."
Harry felt a bit bashful to have been called a rare man by Fleur, and she was piercing him with her eyes with such ferocity that he couldn't help but nod. She immediately relaxed her posture and leaned back into the sofa cushions with a content breath.
"You say that you don't know what you hate," she began to speak, not taking her eyes from the ceiling to where they went as soon as she rested her body against the sofa. "Do you know what you want the most?"
"For the war to end, for good," he spoke immediately. "Not Voldemort dying; he's gone. But things aren't finished. I don't feel like the war is done. I don't know if one law is what it takes, but again," he shrugged. "Everyone seems to think it is and that I can help with it."
"And what do you think about it?" She asked, sending him a shrewd look.
"Death Eaters didn't care about laws," he responded, supporting his face on his hands. "But maybe this is different, now that Voldemort is gone. Kingsley seems to think it's a deciding thing, and he doesn't have Hermione's..."
"Naive enthusiasm?"
"I was going to say idealism."
"You didn't read the letter she sent me. Idealistic would be a compliment," Fleur retorted, and he didn't have anything to say about that. Hermione did seem to believe that Voldemort's death would open the path to a golden age of progress for wizards, but he was far more skeptical. He still couldn't leave Grimmauld without risking attack from a snatcher or some random supremacist — it had happened twice since the battle. They stayed in contemplative silence for a few moments before she resumed her inquiry. "Yours is a good wish, but I meant outside the war and everything around it."
Harry took his tumbler and finished the rest of his drink in two gulps in quick succession. He was satisfied to note that he did not cough when drinking the diluted firewhiskey, though the burning sensation and the puffs of smoke still came, albeit in a subdued fashion.
"The war has been all that's been on my mind recently," he admitted. "For the whole of the past year. While lectures were still on in Hogwarts for everyone, it was easier to ignore. Dumbledore's death pushed us all over the edge."
"Well, the war seems to be approaching a definitive end now, one way or the other," Fleur spoke on, absent-mindedly combing her hair with her hand. Harry's eyes wanted to follow the flow of its silvery glow, but he managed to focus on her face instead. "I think it would do you some good, thinking about that."
"I don't think I'll manage to wish for anything else other than the war to finally end," Harry expressed quietly, and Fleur looked at him with some exasperation. "I don't want anyone else to die. The way things still are tense even after Voldemort died..."
"Be selfish, Harry," she advised him, and he smiled sadly at her.
"Who told you that wishing for the war to end isn't selfish on my part?" The statement made Fleur look at Harry under a new light, and her blue eyes looked at him with clarity that wasn't there before. She murmured something to herself that he didn't understand—he could tell it was in French—and then she rose from the sofa.
"You should wonder about it, Harry. It'll be good for you to have something to desire after the tension of the aftermath of the war is over and the bill is through," she declared.
"I need to survive first," he spoke, knowing that he had no chance of reviving once more.
"I'm confident that you will," Fleur spoke matter-of-factly.
"You're confident about everything," Harry deadpanned, and she grinned slightly.
"And rightly so," she agreed, making him exhale in amusement. "Trust me, think about it. Now, show me the house."
Harry rose from the sofa and walked to the entrance to begin a general tour. As he did so, he couldn't help but ask what he wanted.
The two following days were a bewildering sequence of much-needed levity and startling, unexpected bluntness. Fleur flowed from topic to topic with the same ease she applied to everything in life, with her overwhelmed elegance perfectly preserved in the process. She would go in a breathless rant about Kreacher's heavy breakfasts and then immediately and smoothly switch to speaking about the French response to the Muggleborn refugees crossing the English Channel before Voldemort successfully closed off the country. Harry learned to identify when Fleur was about to switch subjects, the only visual tell of that being a slight shifting of her eyes as her brain caught sight of another thing on which she wished to comment. As he had grown used to forcefully and constantly make eye contact with the woman, it was easy to see it once he noticed it for the first time. Harry did not fully trust himself to not stare at her lecherously in a moment of distraction, even with his admittedly significant resistance to her Veela allure. He certainly didn't want to make a fool of himself to impress her, as he had temporarily craved to do during the Quidditch World Cup when the group of Veela cheering for the Bulgarians flew by. But Fleur was still a startlingly beautiful woman, and Harry was still a teenager.
The time to return to Hogwarts came up, and Harry found himself in the surprising position of not wanting to go. Fleur's presence distracted him from the memories of the struggle of the Horcrux hunt and the subsequent Battle of Hogwarts. The fact that he hadn't seen her during the battle made it far easier to ignore it during those couple of days. There was no compunction to share the worst of the memories, and there were no memories of a bleeding, disheveled Fleur Delacour to flash in his mind's eye as they talked.
They arrived in Hogsmeade through the Floo. Locals, Aurors, and students alike were present in the Three Broomsticks, and they all cheered with Harry's arrival. Some faces—heavily tilted to the male gender—lit up in joy when they recognized Fleur as well, but her head was held up high and didn't waver as they passed through the friendly mobs around them.
"They're in high spirits," Fleur spoke neutrally as they finally passed by the school gates.
"They think that now that the war is already won, everything will be perfect," Harry said with clear exasperation. "It's not even properly done anyway. There are still Aurors everywhere."
"Voldemort is dead. Allow them to celebrate, just don't allow them to rest on their laurels," she spoke neutrally. "For them, most of the details do not matter now that the main threat is gone."
"They are very important details," he countered, and she shrugged.
"I agree, but they are still only details. People don't care about minutia, they want peace, and Voldemort's death brought some semblance of it," Fleur professed knowingly, her demeanor growing frustrated. "Convenience outweighs justice, in the minds of most."
"You say that like it's simple," Harry spoke in a disapproving tone, and Fleur looked at him.
"It is simple," she reasoned before turning back towards the castle. "Many truths are complicated, but the most fundamental are always simple. It's the methods to reach them that are difficult. There is hardly a reason to overcomplicate things now, is there? Are we not facing enough challenges trying to pass this bill?"
"How are you so confident? About me, about this bill, about everything?" Harry demanded, halting their progress towards the castle and looking at her firmly. Fleur looked at his eyes for the longest time before resuming her walk, though she didn't leave him standing there alone for long before speaking without turning her head over her shoulder.
"I told you. You're unique. Voldemort was just another Dark Lord. These men," she snarled lightly, a look which didn't fit her even at her most haughty, "are the last of long lines of narrow-minded, short-sighted bigots. You'll prevail."
"A lot of unique people have tried to stop them, including Dumbledore," he answered dryly before turning introspective. "I wish Voldemort was the biggest problem, in the end. He was easier to deal with. Kill him, and that's it. This is politics, and it's much worse."
"Trust me: you will win," Fleur spoke fiercely and more than a bit angrily, which took Harry slightly aback.
"I wish I had your confidence," Harry lamented quietly before speaking with more strength. "But I'll give it everything I've got."
"Which means you'll win," Fleur decided for him, and the rest of their journey towards the castle was in silence.
Their arrival on the school per se was no less celebrated than their arrival in Hogsmeade, and more familiar faces received them warmly. The first close person to approach them was Luna, who was walking absently across the Great Hall and then jogged, stopping in front of Harry on a dime.
"Hello, Fleur," Luna greeted the Veela first with a calm smile before her gaze was drawn to her friend. "And hello, Harry. You look better."
"I feel better," Harry said fondly, which caught Fleur's eye, though she remained silent. Luna hummed in agreement to his statement and tilted her head sideways ever so slightly, looking at a point above his forehead with utmost concentration.
"I'm glad you feel better," she stated serenely and a bit sadly, though Harry would be among the few who knew her well enough to be able to discern the girl's emotions from her voice. "I didn't want you to leave, but I didn't manage to convince them. I thought the Nargles would be able to get to you if you were alone, you see."
"I'm Nargle-free," Harry grinned a bit. Fleur looked on, confused.
"Well, I wouldn't say Nargle-free," Luna disagreed quickly after stealing a glance at his forehead again. "But you are far less burdened by them, so that's good. I think Fleur might have helped. Beautiful people have an odd effect on the Nargles—sometimes they attract them, other times, they repel them."
"I'm sure Fleur helped make them go away," Harry affirmed casually, and Luna nodded agreeably before looking at the Veela with much more seriousness and clarity, something which drew the attention of both newcomers to the castle.
"Thank you for taking care of my friend," Luna spoke honestly, the tone of her voice turning graver, that almost mystical tilt to her accent all but gone.
"He's my friend too," Fleur declared simply instead of accepting the appreciation, and Harry was surprised that he honestly agreed with the sentiment. His proximity with Fleur was by no means a meteoric occasion amidst the circumstances, but it did astonish him in a muted, oblique sort of manner. Luna nodded her understanding and looked over at him again.
"Everyone's at the Room of Requirement, talking about the Ministry," she explained. "I needed to walk away for a while. Everyone is very loud."
"Are they arguing?" Harry asked with a furrowed brow.
"Yes, and I don't understand it," Luna said with some underlying frustration. "It's not like getting louder makes the arguments any better."
"People are often concerned with making their argument more than finding the right one," Fleur spoke sagely, and Luna looked at her for a second before agreeing with a bright smile. The Veela was slightly surprised by the strangely happy reaction but recovered quickly. "Aren't the professors also helping?"
"Yes, but they get passionate too," came the answer from the Ravenclaw, whose behavior turned morose with such rapidity that it alarmed Harry. "Everyone just wants the war to end for good, but they still act like they're about to go into battle."
Harry felt cold gnaw at his insides and looked down at the ground in guilt, attracting the ire of both women around him instantly, though Luna's was far more discreet than Fleur's silent growling.
"You are hardly at fault, Harry," Luna spoke calmly but firmly, looking at him with her silvery eyes seeming unusually sharp.
Fleur made the silver atmosphere in the vicinity intensify as she shook her head disapprovingly, strands of her hair flowing rhythmically as she did. "You never listen when it comes to yourself, do you?"
"It's complicated," Harry tried to defend himself but stopped once Luna frowned at him.
"It's hardly complicated. If it weren't for you, we would have all been dead by now," Luna spoke with unnatural ease considering the weight of her words. "I know you're feeling guilty, but you really shouldn't be."
"Listen to your friend," Fleur commanded. Harry looked over at the older woman of the pair and found in her eyes the precise combination he expected. Understanding—always understanding—but covered by a will of iron and an impossible amount of confidence.
"You should listen to me more," Luna grinned jokingly, successfully dragging Harry out of his uncertainty as he snorted at her. She seemed to ponder something before she decided to speak. "Hermione asked me not to tell you this, but I think you deserve to know. We used the days where you weren't in the castle to deal with the last few funerals that we hadn't had the chance to do since the battle." Harry's mood instantly crashed into furious, betrayed anger, as he realized that he had been sent away before he could express his sentiments to those who had fallen in the battle. Fleur studied his behavior with interest, and she continued to stare at him as Luna continued to speak, Harry's mood flowing with the words. "McGonagall and Flitwick quietly went over those who died, and not one of them did not choose to fight."
"Do you mean?" Harry asked, suddenly filled with hope.
"None of the younger children died," she confirmed calmly with a sympathetic but sad smile. "It doesn't mean that what happened here wasn't a tragedy," she continued in a mournful tone. "But everyone who did pass away here did so because of their conviction to fight for a better world. The best way to respect that is to stop any similar wars from ever happening again, don't you think?"
Harry stood silently for a while. He still felt angry, and a good part of his body still refused the notion that he wasn't somehow at fault for what had happened to those who had died. But Luna's words had helped, and from the corner of his eye, he could see Fleur looking at him encouragingly.
"Why don't you go to the Room of Requirement?" Luna encouraged them. "I'm going to go back there a bit after I swing by the kitchens. Unless you're hungry?"
"No, we'll go to the Room," Fleur decided for the both of them, and Luna waved her goodbyes.
"You just don't want to eat the food here, right?" Harry questioned dryly.
"This early? I'd feel so heavy that I'd be useless the rest of the day," she responded firmly, and he grinned slightly.
"I was surprised you didn't comment anything to Luna about the Nargles thing," Harry spoke after a few seconds of silently guiding Fleur towards the seventh floor. "You don't seem the type to listen to things you disagree with and stay quiet."
"I don't know what those are, but I also don't care about that," Fleur explained casually, confusing Harry slightly. "What I do care about is that your friend is better at making you listen than I am, and if she has to tell tales of Nargles to make you listen, it's fine by me."
"Thank you?" Harry spoke, still confused.
"You should be," Fleur breathed out, looking forward. "But I wouldn't treat your friend poorly, even if I did speak out," she revealed.
Harry looked at her inquisitively as they approached the doors to the Room of Requirement. Before he opened them, he asked. "Why?"
"Because she's honest," she replied. "And honest people deserve my respect."
Harry stared at her for a few seconds before very softly speaking. "Thank you." When Fleur raised an eyebrow silently, he continued in the same tone. "Luna is one my favorite people in the world, but most people don't respect her much because of what she believes. I'm happy that you do."
Fleur stared at length to him before she motioned for him to open the door. As she did, she spoke with finality, timing it so he couldn't get a reply out before people noticed their arrival. "I've turned into a great judge of character after being wrong about you during the Tournament. That's why I'm so sure you're so unique."
Luna was accurate in describing the situation in the Room of Requirement. If anything, she had severely underplayed the absolute pandemonium ensuing inside its requested configuration as people yelled loudly in different groups in a complete lack of coordination. Hermione was trying to appease multiple groups at once and failing miserably, looking as lost and disheveled as during her days being overwhelmed by the time-turner. Just about the place in which some productive work was being done was at a table to the far left, where Slughorn was pouring over some documents with some other staff members, Kingsley, and a few Aurors, as well as Percy. The rest of the Weasleys were the first to notice Harry's arrival, and it was Ron who bellowed.
"Harry's here!"
Instantly the room turned to face the entrance, and people peeled off from their groups to greet him. Hermione and Ron were the first to arrive to hug him, even though they had been standing from across the crowd. Molly was next with one of her glomps, and then came the rest of the Weasleys. Harry noticed that Fleur was eyeing Bill speculatively, and he immediately tensed nervously, though he wasn't entirely sure why. He didn't have much time to ponder the question as other people began to greet him. Neville grinned and hugged Harry.
"How are you doing?" The boy asked with some lingering nervousness. Charlie was looking at the exchange somewhat piteously, and Harry immediately realized that Charlie had spoken to Neville about their conversation in Grimmauld a few days prior.
"I'm fine," Harry spoke honestly before dryly adding. "You don't have to worry about me adding rooms to this place either."
Neville flinched guiltily, and Harry noticed that everyone around him was much tenser as they realized that he was angry. Something about that effect only served to frustrate him further, and he looked at Hermione sharply. She met his gaze evenly, confident that she had acted in his best interest, but he could read her like a book and immediately noticed her nervous tick. Ron also did, and playing out the part of her new boyfriend, approached her and held her hand.
"After this is all done, you're taking me to the graves that you dug behind my back," he demanded firmly. Fleur turned to Harry in impressed surprise, but his focus was entirely on his best friend, and he did not notice.
"Did Luna tell you that?" Hermione asked after she finally realized how Harry might have known about it. "I asked—"
"Hermione," Harry snapped over her, and she got quiet in startled surprise. "I am not asking."
Hermione wavered slightly under Harry's angry gaze, and she looked down in a bit of shame. It reminded Harry of the entire Firebolt incident all over again. He resisted the urge to sigh despondently at Hermione's tendencies towards overeagerness when it came to protecting those she loved, even though he recognized after he calmed down that it was incredibly hypocritical of him. He vaguely recalled that her parents were still forgetful about her existence somewhere in Australia and somewhat mirthlessly thought to himself that at least he had his memories. Ron seemed like he wanted to intervene but didn't know what to do. Harry suspected his best friend had not agreed with the decision of isolating him in Grimmauld for a while, but it was clear he felt uncomfortable passively watching Harry grilling his girlfriend. Harry sent him a calm but pleading look, and Ron hesitated but nodded understandingly. He would not intervene for now.
"We'll talk more later, okay?" Harry said softly, embracing Hermione calmly. "I'm not happy with you right now, but we have more important things, right?"
"I'm sorry," Hermione spoke, clearly choked up. "I don't regret my choice, but I'm sorry."
"We'll talk later," he repeated himself, and she nodded before letting him go. Harry then looked at McGonagall. He did not even say anything to her, but his glower communicated his disappointment better than any words could.
"I stand by my decision, Mr. Potter," she spoke calmly. "You blew up two rooms. You needed a place to calm down that was far away from the other students."
"What did you do?" Fleur demanded as Harry ducked his gaze.
"Politics are stupid."
"He didn't tell you?" Neville asked, surprised.
"It was bloody funny," Ron snorted and then bit his lip when Hermione looked at him admonishingly.
"Students might have been injured if we were just slightly unlucky," McGonagall reminded Ron, who sobered up slightly.
"I checked," Harry protested meekly, his anger forgotten under McGonagall's unyielding, no-nonsense stare and the memory of what finally pushed everyone over the edge about sending him away for a few days.
"Did you just admit to deliberately acting to destroy two Hogwarts classrooms?" McGonagall inquired with such a surprised and indignant undertone that it felt somewhat humorous to those in the room, who looked at Harry's fidgeting in unified amusement, particularly considering how angry he had been barely a minute before.
"As much as I will be hearing that story later on," Fleur started slowly, looking at Harry critically, though the boy continued to ignore her demands for information. "We have work to do, no?"
"Yes, we do, Miss Delacour," Kingsley took control of the conversation, clapping loudly to call attention to himself, though his booming, powerful voice was more than enough to do the trick. "And I need to go back to the Ministry soon, so I'd appreciate it if we could be more productive. Where's Mr. Krum?"
"Arriving soon. Viktor sent a letter denouncing a small complication, but he's en route," Fleur spoke elegantly. "He should be here shortly."
"Very well, then. Does Mr. Krum know about this room, or do we need to send someone to guide him?"
"I'll go!" Ron volunteered, all too eagerly. Hermione looked at him with a pursed pair of lips which much reminded Harry of McGonagall. "Look, I'm pants at homework, and this is way over my head anyway."
"I'm sure that's the reason, and not that Viktor is a Quidditch star," Hermione remarked wryly.
"Oh, that's not why he wants to go," Fleur spoke amusedly. Hermione looked at her, puzzled, while Ron grimaced. "He wants to make it very clear to Viktor that you're accounted for, doesn't he?"
"Do you now?" Hermione spoke far too sweetly, turning her attention to Ron, who tried to blend into the background as best he could.
"It's all about Quidditch," he squeaked out, though his glaring at Fleur and the way Charlie and Bill were howling in the background didn't help his case. Hermione just rolled her eyes at him, and though Ron was too nervous to notice, Harry did see she was a bit pleased with her boyfriend, though he doubted anyone else could notice.
"Just go," she sighed, rubbing her forehead. Ron offered her a sheepish smile and sprinted away.
The discussions began again, but they were not as orderly as they should have been. There were simply too many people there, too many cooks to make a broth. And far too many of the people present were students with no legislative experience, something even the Aurors mostly lacked. The students were surprisingly not useless and did provide some valuable input once in a while, but there was very little coordination. There was also another problem.
"There's one color missing," Fleur spoke quietly to Harry, looking over the room to the many students present, all members of the DA.
"There weren't many Slytherins fighting on our side," he spoke in a lament of sorts. He had grown to respect that house for what it was, but it still felt sour and alien in his mind. "I guess Slughorn is here?"
"That's not enough," she warned him. "You're trying to make a law for everyone, and then you're not asking the opinions of one-fourth of the people. And even more than that, it's the group most likely to oppose you."
"People aren't in a very forgiving mood, I'm afraid," Bill intervened in the conversation, introducing himself with the argument. Fleur turned to face the older man.
"It's not about forgiveness; it's about representation. It makes it much harder for the bill to pass if their opinions get dismissed."
"I agree with you, but there's the argument that they would dilute the scope of the law," he pointed out.
"And if that is the price of peace?" She questioned. "Better something than nothing."
"You're not very hopeful that we'll get somewhere," Bill concluded, and she looked at him wryly.
"I've heard too many empty promises to feel much hope."
"People would make empty promises to you, wouldn't they?"
She raised an eyebrow at the knowing question. "You seem to think yourself a specialist."
"Hardly so," he smiled charmingly. "Just an educated guess."
Harry felt increasingly uncomfortable near the both of them, so he walked away, though, for reasons he did not know, he kept half an eye trained on their conversation as it progressed. Fleur went back to talk with him after a while but said nothing of her interactions with Bill, and Harry didn't ask. He wasn't sure he wanted to know.
The discussions went on like that for the following days, with a varying group of participants every time. Krum and Kingsley were the rarest appearances, showing up for brief bursts. Both men had an enviable ability to make others concentrate on their work, so their presence was always welcome, particularly for poor Hermione, who was getting frazzled still trying to make everyone cooperate. Slughorn had given up on that and had simply cordoned off a section of the room for intensive work, where other politically inclined people — and Harry — gathered. Hermione begged Harry to try and make everyone focus or to contribute to the discussions, but he just emptily looked at everything being debated and didn't have anything to say.
"I've done my part," Harry would eventually snap when she repeated the request one too many times. "Put me on a stage, or whatever it takes to get this bloody thing done, but don't you dare ask for more than that."
"But Harry, this is a chance for you to voice your opinion," she insisted.
"Here's my opinion: find a way."
"It's complicated," Hermione complained.
"So is everything about the war. I don't care. Find a way," he demanded. When he noticed everyone was looking at their interaction, even Slughorn stopping his work to peek at them, he barked. "What are you looking at? Go find something!"
Fleur approached him with a smug smirk from across the room, as everyone else did just that. "I told you to trust me that you were unique. No else managed that. If I knew that getting you angry was all it took for you to say your mind, I'd criticize your food far more often."
"Shut up," he grumbled half-heartedly, rolling his eyes. Fleur's giggling was too pleasant to his ears for him to remain in a bad mood for long.
Such was the way things went. Fleur and Bill continued to have animated conversations throughout the days, and Harry kept on feeling the need to keep an eye on them. His heart sank an inch with each time she sent a delighted burst of laughter and only lifted again when it was him making her laugh.
The day of the vote was full of pomp and circumstance. He was fitted into an uncomfortable formal robe alongside the other key figures of the Battle of Hogwarts, to stand in the background like a pampered mannequin as Kingsley spoke of the bill's merits, and Hermione passionately articulated in behalf of the students, both the fallen and the living.
"Look fierce," Kingsley instructed him specifically. "Look angry and frustrated. Be a reminder of the cost of war and the consequences of fighting."
It wasn't difficult. Harry was all of those things, after all. He desperately wanted to see the war relegated to the history books for good, and all of this political work seemed like madness to him. But another source of frustration was nascent and growing daily, and it bloomed more every time he saw Fleur and Bill talking to one another.
Even for his clueless self, it was turning painfully evident that he felt a great deal of jealously, which was irrational. Fleur didn't belong to him, and he had no right to feel anything of that nature. But that didn't stop his emotions from overflowing, and as they exited the stage to allow the men of the Wizengamot to vote, they finally got the better of him. As they made their way back to Hogwarts via Floo to wait for news from Kingsley, he pushed on Fleur's sleeve discreetly.
"Fleur, can I ask you something?" He asked her seriously a second before they stepped into the fireplace.
"Of course," she blinked in surprise at his tone. Harry motioned for her to go first, and she did. Soon after, he stepped into the Floo, and he was one to do, lost his balance and was almost sent sprawling into the floor.
"Yeah, yeah, laugh it up," he grumbled as she smirked in his direction, though she did offer a helping hand.
"What did you want to talk about?"
"Let's walk for a bit," he pointed to the nearest door, and she nodded, intrigued. They walked in silence for several minutes towards the Great Hall and then the fields outside the castle, where the summer sun warmed both their skins. The weight of his words bore down on him before he even spoke them, and he could feel his hands getting clammy and his heart rate increasing. "I thought about what you said."
"I've said many things."
"About what I want, after all of this is done," he explained and got a raised eyebrow in response.
"Did you find the answer?"
"I don't know about the answer, but I found something," Harry said nervously. Fleur continued patiently looking at him, so he took a deep breath and then plunged right into it. "After all of this — the vote, I mean — how would you feel about dating me?"
Fleur blinked twice in quick succession, looking mildly surprised. That she didn't look shocked registered in Harry's mind, though he was unsure on how to feel about it.
"This wouldn't happen to be about William, would it?" She asked astutely.
"I'm sorry?"
"You were very obvious about it," Fleur responded wryly, with a fleeting grin. "Sometimes, it looked like you wanted to set him on fire with your mind."
"It's not like that," he denied fervently. When Fleur again raised an eyebrow questioningly, he admitted. "Alright, so Bill being all over you made me realize something, but it's not why I'm asking."
"Why are you asking, then?"
"Look, I'm not—" When a disapproving light passed through her eyes, he took a deep breath and relaxed for a second. "You interest me."
"That's it?"
"Weren't you the one that said the most fundamental truths are always the simplest?" He returned to her. "Yes, it's that simple. There are layers to it, I guess, but at its core, you interest me. I like things that do."
She hummed thoughtfully. "I was planning on returning to France, Harry."
"I've always wanted to travel," he countered quickly.
"I am older than you."
"Says the person trying to pawn me off to her younger sister."
"Gabrielle will kill me if I accept," Fleur spoke a bit despairingly.
"She'll manage."
"You are persistent," she spoke gravely.
"I've been told it's one of my best character traits," he smiled.
"I wouldn't say best," she countered with a sigh. "It's closer to infuriating."
"I'm sure you find it endearing."
"Aren't you suddenly full of confidence?" She asked him dryly, and he tilted his head a bit before answering slowly.
"This has been on my mind for a while," he admitted. "So it feels good just letting it air out. And honestly, if you say no, it's not the end of the world. We'll be friends, and that'll be that."
"That's a surprisingly mature attitude," Fleur praised him softly.
"I have my moments," he grinned sideways before looking at the horizon. "I don't know if we would work out or not, but I'm willing to give it a shot. If it doesn't work, well, it didn't. It may be awkward for a while, but hey," he smirked at her. "We would have the Channel between us."
Fleur looked at him for many seconds before also turning to face the horizon. "I find it odd that you went from nervous to confident in so short a time," she prodded. "Before I give my answer, why is that?"
Harry felt like his response would be a factor in her decision. So he gave it some thought for a few moments and then faced her, allowing himself to be distracted by the way the sun made her hair shine even brighter before answering.
"When I want something, I don't give up," he summarized what was in his mind. "It's always been like that. Once I committed to admitting that I have an interest in you, well—" he trailed off for a bit before continuing with a light shrug. "I knew what I wanted."
"I wonder if you do," she spoke idly before taking a deep breath. "Okay, then. After we get news from Kingsley, we can try dating."
Harry smiled brightly at her. "You won't regret it."
"We'll see, Harry," she added before turning back to the castle. "Let's join everyone else."
They returned to the tense atmosphere of the castle, where everyone who had worked on the bill, from the law-wizards brought by Slughorn to the Aurors that weren't busy protecting the interim Minister, waited for news with bated breath. It would be hours before any announcements, but the time passed by paradoxically. At once, it took several eternities and mere seconds for three hours to elapse and for Kingsley to appear through the Floo carrying a piece of paper.
"The Cedric Diggory Peace Bill," a beat of silence for dramatic effect, and then a smile, "was narrowly passed."
Hermione and Ron embraced Harry, and they started jumping up and down, lost in triumphant happiness. Though neither of the boys held much faith in the idea that a law could change decades of prejudice, they couldn't remember the last time Hermione seemed so joyful, almost infantile. Across the room, people cheered and hugged, and even the sternest among them quietly celebrated the feat, with McGonagall offering a rare full-toothed smile. Above Hermione's shoulder, Harry met Fleur's gaze and sent her a wink. She rolled her eyes and shook her head but was grinning widely throughout.
A few weeks later, Fleur stretched her arms to the air, making her slender body almost sing with joy as she stepped into dry land again. Importantly to her, they were in France.
"You know, I can still see Dover," Harry teased her. "You have no business being this happy."
"Oh, shush," she responded without even looking at him. "The air smells different."
"No, it doesn't," he denied amusedly.
"Your unrefined senses are evident once more," she said with mock mournfulness, and he laughed happily.
"Well, we're in France, now. You can show me how to refine my senses," he offered with an excited smile that she returned.
"You have much to learn," she claimed, grabbing his hand and then walking away.
Their interactions were still a bit stilted from time to time, but they were warm as a whole. Harry and Fleur broke the news they would try dating, and he would use his money to rent somewhere in Paris to live for a while to the complete astonishment of everyone. Some people protested, but he quietened them down calmly.
"I'm not moving to France for Fleur. I'm moving there for myself. I need to be away from this mess for some time," he explained patiently.
"But if things work out, will you just stay there?" Ron demanded.
"And if they don't, will you come back?" Hermione asked, significantly more skeptical of their match.
"I do not know," Harry tiredly replied. "We'll figure it out."
And that was the spirit that guided them. They would figure things out. They wouldn't spend all the time together, as Fleur had her work and life to deal with, and Harry wanted to explore France by himself on occasion, but they agreed to meet on weekends and some weeknights to go on dates, eat out, or simply be together. To test if they had any hope of making it, they stayed a couple of weeks in London doing the same thing.
"I am enjoying myself," Fleur admitted during one of her dates at a restaurant.
"There's no need to sound so surprised, you know," Harry quipped, and she laughed.
"Well, it is surprising. But it's a nice surprise," Fleur said softly, and he hummed in response.
"I'm having fun too," he decided. "This can work."
"You sound confident," she commented.
"Trust me," he smiled at her, and she rolled her eyes. That had become one of his favorite things, throwing that comment back at her.
"I liked the shy leettle boy better," Fleur commented jokingly, exaggerating her accent for effect.
"No, you don't," he responded immediately. "He didn't buy you wine."
"True," she sipped her goblet slowly. Harry had to focus to not blatantly gaze at her lips, but the past few weeks had been good for him to learn to keep his gaze trained in her eyes. And in fairness, it wasn't hard to appreciate just how blue they were, so it was less of a daunting task than he made it to be at times. "So, are the souvenirs I bought you what sets me apart from Tournament me?"
"I can think of a few other things," he smiled sincerely before playfully narrowing his gaze. "But to be fair, that was a very pretty necklace."
She laughed elegantly, shook her head, and started eating again. "What can I say? If we are going to be dating, I need your fashion sense to improve."
"What's wrong with my fashion sense?" He demanded indignantly, looking down on himself. He thought he was very well dressed, with a nice dress shirt whose sleeves he rolled up and a dark jacket.
"Oh, it's nothing," Fleur said glibly, examining his clothing. "You look... fine, dear."
"Okay, that's enough wine for you," he claimed, pretending to be stealing her glass.
"Let's not get hasty," she defended it proficiently, making him grin and discreetly try to reach for it again. Bringing it closer to her face in an elegant fashion, she smirked victoriously at his pout before offering honestly. "You do look nice; I was just teasing you."
"I know," he smiled calmly, and she grinned more widely.
"It's nice to see you more comfortable with praise."
"I deserve this bit of praise," he conceded, looking at himself in an imaginary mirror. "I do look good."
"I have created a monster," Fleur claimed in a false horrified manner.
"A handsome one."
"Oh, be quiet and eat your dinner," she eventually instructed him, with gleaming blue eyes.
And now, they were in France as a couple, a new and tentative one, still very much at the exploratory phase of things. They hadn't even kissed yet, other than some quick pecks that still made him burst with joy. Calais wasn't their destination. It was merely a stopping point towards a Floo point which would take them to Paris itself, where Harry's new one-bedroom apartment was waiting for him, and where Fleur's career awaited her.
"I'm excited to see Paris."
"I'm excited to show you France as a whole," she smiled over her shoulder. "Thankfully, we are magicals. It means we can start the day in Paris, go to Montpellier or Toulon, and then return in time for dinner."
"That does sound nice," he granted, though he knew nothing of those towns. But from the way Fleur almost shone with joy at the prospect, he imagined it would be an excellent way to pass the time. Harry had already learned that Fleur had an appreciation for the finer things in life, though she was surprisingly simple at times. It was an interesting dichotomy, trying to figure out when the blunt and direct woman would appear and when the refined oenophile would.
They made landfall in Paris and then rushed to Harry's apartment. He was taken aback by just how pretty everything was in the city, with intricate façades and large open spaces. There was a unified aesthetic to it, a sense of purpose that London lacked. But they didn't have time to wander, or at least Fleur didn't. She needed to go back to work after taking a vacation to help them out with the bill.
"This is a nice place for you to stay," she commented as they reached his new address. He looked up to see the building as a whole, a four-story residential block with an exposed brick front and tall and narrow windows with complicated balconies, all of which were decorated by hanging plants and flowers. Two of those windows were his, now. The absurdity of the situation dawned on him, but he only felt excitement. "Near Montparnasse, with a few squares nearby, excellent restaurants, and close to the magical district." She listed off the elements around them slowly and excitedly, but Harry could tell something was on her mind.
"What is it?"
"You'll be fine here, right?" She asked him with uncharacteristic anxiety. He blinked a bit in surprise.
"Why wouldn't I be?"
"You're far from home, and you don't know anyone here other than me," she grimaced a bit. "I worry."
"Then don't," he instructed her firmly. "It's precisely because I don't know anyone or anything here that I'm so excited. Even if we hadn't begun dating, I probably would have done something similar eventually."
"If you are so sure," she trailed off, unconvinced.
"Trust me," he reassured her with a playful grin. "Besides, I have you to show me around, don't I?"
"Fine," she sighed, internally pleased at his confidence in her and his growing confidence in himself. Whether by her hand or by the end of the war, Harry seemed more comfortable, which made her happier in turn. "I'll be going now, then."
"Have a nice day of work."
She smiled and turned to walk away to find a good apparition point before she turned back, walked to him, and kissed him for several seconds. When she released him from her grasp, she quietly spoke. "You are right, Harry. I do think this can work."
Then she left, leaving him surprised but elated. Grinning, he rose the steps to his new home.
Harry explored Paris by himself for a couple of days, taking care to write down his address on a piece of paper so he could clumsily ask for directions if he got lost, which happened more than once. He tried apparating into his house a few times but found it more comfortable to take the long way back, as he could enjoy more of the scenic views the French capital had to offer. His new home was not close to any tourist destinations, or at least, it was as far away from them as one could be in the inner arrondissements of Paris during the summer, but there was still plenty to see and do around. He quickly came to appreciate why Fleur was so fiercely proud of her country and why she had such a hard time acclimating to Hogwarts all those years back. She was an exaggerated woman, both for good and for bad. Much of her ethos was shared by the people and the city, and occasionally he would glimpse at something that would remind him of her, even with his complete lack of understanding of the French language.
When Fleur knocked on his door early on Saturday morning, she looked happy but exhausted.
"I had forgotten how tiring work could be," she explained to him after greeting him with a quick kiss again.
"You still look happy, though," he claimed. It was easy to see when Fleur was happy with something. Her blue eyes would shine almost impossibly brightly, and her hair and skin would glow as though she were a second moon orbiting the planet.
"I am," she admitted, sitting down next to Harry on a small sofa that came with the apartment. "I love my work, but it does get tiresome. That's something I meant to ask you; do you plan on working here anytime soon?"
"I'll take a few weeks to myself, but then, yeah, probably," he nodded. "I need something to do to keep myself occupied, but for now, I want to relax a bit."
"When you decide to begin working, do let me know. I can help you with finding something," Fleur said absently before lying down her head on his lap and closing her eyes. He smiled down at her, enjoying their proximity. He passed his hand through her hair, enjoying the way it seemed to come to life under his touch. Veela, or at least Fleur, were very tactile, and their bodies seemed to sing when satisfied with touch. It was clear evidence of her being content with his presence, and he felt giddy with it, particularly given how unashamed she was of showing her delight.
"I'll do that," he claimed. An urge bore down on him, and he leaned down to kiss Fleur's forehead lightly. She opened her eyes in astonishment as he did. "What?"
"Oh, it's nothing." She said with a happy smile. "I'm just surprised. You can be very shy sometimes when it comes to kissing me."
"I just felt like it," he shrugged, feeling his face warm up. Sensing his embarrassment, Fleur smirked and leaned away from his lap, making their faces level, though her body was still in contact with his.
"Did you feel like kissing me, now?" She teased him, her face tantalizing close. He could feel his face warming up and tried to look away, but couldn't take his eyes away from hers, eventually finding it impossible to not gaze longingly at her lips. "Did it overwhelm you?"
"Shut up," he tried to grumble, but it came up as a whisper.
"I don't think I will," she responded in a sultrier tone that sent shivers down his spine.
"I'll stop kissing you if this is how you repay me," Harry responded, but the words felt hollow. Fleur only smirked even more.
"Will you, now?" She muttered before fully closing the distance between them. This kiss was much more intense than any they had shared until then, and it quickly evolved into something further afield than any of their pecks beforehand. Fleur's body was so warm, and she smelled so intoxicatingly good, and halfway through the kiss, she would make these satisfied little exhales as the angle of her tongue shifted that urged him on more and more. He lost track of time or even where he was. There was hardly anything in his mind that wasn't overwhelmed by the sensorial experience of having Fleur so close to him. There was no allure there, despite the way her body seemed to shine in pleasure as she also experienced the same sense of losing herself to the kiss. There was simply a kiss, but Fleur's words rang prophetically. The most fundamental truths were often the simplest, and that simple kiss was as great a proof of that as anything else. Minutes passed, though it could have been hours, for all he could tell, and when they finally separated, they were flushed and breathless. Fleur's face reminded him of that day there were drinking firewhiskey, which seemed like forever ago. "Yes, this can work."
"Yup," Harry dumbly replied, still in a daze from the kiss.
"So, if I kiss you like this, do I get to stop listening to you trying to be clever?" She teased him, caressing his face slowly.
"I think we need to test that, don't we?" He asked with a sharp inhale of breath, sensing an opportunity. Fleur laughed at his willingness and then happily complied, though not before making one last comment.
"Yes, you still sound too smart for your good."
He agreed. A second later, they were both too lost in themselves for complicated articulations.
That day marked a corner in their blooming relationship, which quickly deepened as they realized they affected one another quite a lot. They weren't in love yet; that would come only with time. But they were both happy. Harry didn't have this realization, as he wasn't very introspective, but Fleur would always cherish the moment where she concluded that she was bound to fall in love with Harry one day.
About two months after their arrival, they were standing on a bridge watching the Seine pass by. She had just finished a breathless rant about her workplace, with Harry laughing at her indignity all the while. Some birds were chirping in the late afternoon, and the city seemed prepared to shine, as it always did in the evenings. She turned to him with a question on her lips after her mind stumbled into something she found odd.
"I just noticed something," she claimed, and he looked curiously at her.
"What did you notice?"
"You never called me beautiful, or anything like that," she furrowed her brows, trying to remember if he had, but coming up empty.
Harry looked alarmed, thinking he had offended her, but sheepishly agreed. "Yeah, I haven't."
"Why haven't you?" She asked. Fleur wasn't angry — by that point, she had accrued plenty of evidence that he was very much physically attracted to her — but merely curious. It was so intrinsec to her existence that compliments over her beauty were commonplace, and in the few romantic relationships she had over the years, they showed frequently. She found it odd that he hadn't, considering how he didn't falter when complimenting other aspects of her personality.
"Well, you told me that you hate when people tell you obvious things, remember?" He said, blinking a bit owlishly at her. Fleur's eyes widened and she let out a breathless exhale, her lips opening minutely. Harry looked at her for a few seconds, not sure of how to interpret that expression on her face, before he nervously looked to the river below them again.
Fleur couldn't resist it, and she laughed merrily. For all the cleverness that had come with his confidence after the war, from time to time, the old Harry still appeared, nervous, twitching, and insecure, not entirely clear on what to do. He looked bewildered and a bit hurt at her, and she shook her head, quietly giggling under her breath.
"Sometimes, it's very obvious you don't have a lot of dating experience, you know that?" She asked him with a beaming smile.
"Ergh, what?" He mumbled confusedly, taken aback by the mixed signals of her words and her clear joy. She laughed again, sending her head back in earnest and complete happiness.
"Harry," she spoke lovingly, stepping closer and resting a hand on his cheek. "When you say something as ridiculously romantic as that, you're supposed to kiss the girl."
"Am I?" He asked, surprised. "Wait, did I?"
"Yes, you did," she rolled her eyes. He stood there, still surprised, and she puffed demandingly. "Well? I want my kiss, you idiot."
He obliged once he snapped out of it. Fleur was happy.
This will work, she concluded. She just had to trust Harry.
This is it! Short, and with a happy ending. If Emily, or you all, want to see pictures of the relationship between Fleur and Harry, do let me know.