The Most Expensive Night of Her Life

…

Chapter 6.

Harry turned in the shower, letting the water sluice over his neck, flopping his head forward then back, enjoying the heat on traps that he had had no idea were so tense. His eyes fluttered open and then he saw it.

A lacy black thong hung over the shower screen. A pink ribbon weaved along the waistband and a cute little pink bow sat dead centre. A little diamanté winked down at Harry as he stared at it.

Fleur had been wearing that get-up underneath the baggy clothes all day? Harry's traps tensed again.

Crap.

…

Harry woke up the next morning after another fitful night's sleep to the sound of dreadful off-key singing and the smell of frying bacon. His stomach and his mouth watered at the smell, despite the assault his ears were facing.

He wasn't sure what to expect this morning after… his disagreement with Fleur last night and he'd lain there all night wondering what kind of post-spat personality he would be meeting.

Was Fleur a flouncer, sulker, or a brooder?

From the sound of the off-key singing, she didn't sound like any of the above. Harry reached for his leg and put it on, then reached for his shirt and pulled it down over his head. He had taken it off during the night as replays of Fleur straddling him had made the already warm night a few degrees hotter.

Harry rubbed a hand through his hair, taking a moment to brace himself for what he was about to face before standing up and walked out of the room. Fleur's singing had stopped and the steady murmur of a morning news breakfast show on the television replaced it. Harry hoped Moody had some news for them this morning. Like maybe they had caught the person or persons responsible for shooting up Fleur's house.

Fleur then started singing again and Harry made his way to the kitchen before stopping to stand there and watch her for a moment as she boogied in front of the cook stovetop. The gown from last night was back on, but it was hanging loosely by her sides. Harry felt a kick to his groin at the thought that Fleur might be naked underneath the gown like she had been last night and if she turned around –

She turned around.

Everything leapt to attention for a brief second and not even the evidence in Harry's own eyes – that Fleur was indeed wearing something under that robe – could stop the swelling of his erection. Because a spaghetti-strapped, clingy, not-quite-meeting-in-the-middle vest top and matching boy-leg undies on a tall, bronzed supermodel was something to behold.

Fleur's face lit up with a smile. "Ah! You're up. I'm making bacon butties," she told him.

Harry swallowed. Up? In more ways than one. Was there anything sexier than a gorgeous woman in skimpy lingerie? Except for perhaps a gorgeous woman in skimpy lingerie cooking bacon?

Fleur smiled as Harry's eyes roamed all over her. Yeah buddy, this is what you're missing out on. "How did you sleep last night?" she enquired sweetly.

Harry's eyes narrowed at the suspiciously smug question. So, this was the kind of post-spat personality Fleur was – a fighter.

Who liked to pay dirty.

Well, he wasn't part of the entourage of men who fluttered around Fleur Delacour, kissing her butt. "Like a log," he finally said to her question.

Wrong choice of words as Fleur's gaze dropped down to the area between his hips with the suspicious bulge.

Which did not help the suspicious bulge.

But then her smile slipped a little and a tiny frown knitted her eyebrows together. Harry looked down to what Fleur found so disagreeable and realised, unlike every other time she had seen him, his prosthesis was on full display.

Harry supposed that a woman as physically perfect as Fleur would find his leg rather confronting. He felt absurdly like covering it. And then he felt really freaking cranky. His teeth ached from clenching his jaw so hard as he waited for Fleur to say something. Something trite or clueless, something about how he at least still had one leg or how marvellous prosthetics were these days.

Instead, Fleur just dragged her gaze up to his face and said to him, "Take a seat. The eggs are just about done."

…

There was no news from Moody, although Fleur was still the talk of the tabloids and breakfast shows. Speculation as to where she had gone was rife and one talk-back radio station offered money to anyone who could produce pictorial evidence of her whereabouts.

Moody was far from impressed with that.

Harry was downright annoyed. He suggested Fleur make good use of Lavender and sue their arses off for endangerment. Fleur had just shrugged at that, clearly so desensitized to press intrusion that the invasion of her human rights didn't even register.

They got under soon after breakfast was done. They were travelling along a stretch of the tidal Thames and they had to fit into the lock times that were mandated by the tide. Harry's plan was to moor somewhere around Windsor overnight then head on to Reading the next day where the Kennet and Avon canal began. Once they'd turned into it, they could putt along more lazily, but for now it was full steam ahead.

As full steam ahead as it could get when the speed limit was four miles per hour!

And Fleur Delacour was your very distracting travelling companion.

Harry didn't think Fleur was being deliberately distracting. She was fully bagged up again. Baggy shorts and shirt, her hair all tucked up in her cap and sunglasses firmly in place. She looked as anonymous as the next woman riding the canals.

But he knew what she was wearing under all those layers.

And that was pretty all he could think about – every time she moved or talked or offered him something to eat. Like freaking Eve with the apple. In fact, even when she wasn't anywhere near him, he was thinking about her and what she might be wearing against her skin.

Did she have the same spaghetti-strapped vest and matching boy-legs that had been under her gown this morning – the ones that displayed the most perfect belly button probably ever created? Or had she changed into some other frothy, lacy, silky, maybe be-ribboned scraps of fabric when she'd changed into her outside clothes?

It annoyed Harry at how much brain space the speculating was taking up. He should be enjoying the gorgeous sunshine on his face, the breeze in his hair, the spectacular beauty of the English countryside. And while Fleur raved over the magnificence of Hampton Court, he had barely registered it.

It was not good for his mood or his sanity, and it was the last straw when he caught himself trying to look down Fleur's top from his vantage point at the helm as she asked him a question from the bottom of the three stairs that led down to the back of the boat.

"What?" he'd asked stupidly as he realised that he hadn't heard a thing Fleur was saying to him because he swore he caught a glimpse of red satin.

Fleur, who deliberately leaned forward a little, gave him an innocent smile. "I said are you ready for some lunch now?"

"Yep. But not here," Harry had replied. He knew he had to get off the boat. Get away from the lure of Fleur and red satin. Put himself amongst people where he had to behave rationally. And not tear Fleur's clothes off with his teeth.

"There's a pub just up ahead," he then said to Fleur. "Five minutes away. We'll moor and eat there."

"Superb," Fleur said and smiled up at him.

Harry pushed the boat just a little bit harder.

…

Fleur was enjoying watching the array of boats go by and the sun on her face as they sat in a reasonably full beer garden that fronted the river. They were sitting at one end of a bench – the other end was occupied by a family group that were oblivious to who they were seated next to.

By tacit agreement, Harry had gone inside to order for them while Fleur stayed outside. Being incognito worked best if she exposed herself to scrutiny as little as possible. Sitting in a riverside beer garden like any ordinary girl was possible. But the more people she spoke to, the more likely she risked exposure.

Fleur was pleased when Harry came back with pints of cold frothing beer. It was warm in the sunshine and her baggy clothes were considerably warm. What she would give to be in her bikini right now, or at least in clothes that didn't cover her from her neck to her knees.

"You remembered," she said, smiling at Harry as she lifted her glass and tapped it against the rim of his larger one. "Salud."

Harry watched as Fleur guzzled her beer like a pro before licking the froth from her mouth. Sexiest thing he had ever seen.

"Mmm," Fleur murmured after taking several deep swallows of the beer, quenching the thirst the hot sun had produced. "That hit the spot. It's warm, non?" she asked.

Fleur put her beer down and pulled on the neckline of her shirt, fanning it back and forth rapidly to try and cool the sweat she could feel pooling between her breasts. She hadn't done it to provoke Harry on purpose, but it was pleasing to see his eyes narrow and watch the movement.

She was glad Harry's sunglasses didn't completely obscure his eyes like hers did. She liked knowing exactly where it was he was looking. He looked kind of hot and bothered himself and she smiled. "Aren't you hot in those jeans?" she asked.

Harry shook his head in response. "I'm okay."

Fleur regarded him. Did he always cover up his prosthesis? She'd been surprised when seeing it this morning. Not because she thought it was grotesque but because Harry seemed so sure of himself, so confident, so… able. Seeing his leg was a reminder that he wasn't, or at least it wasn't so effortless for him.

"Do you never wear shorts?" she then asked him.

Harry dropped his gaze to his beer and took another sip and Fleur could tell that he was uncomfortable with the subject.

"Perfect weather for them," she pushed as he turned his head to take in the activity on the busy river. "You don't like people knowing?" Fleur guessed tentatively.

Harry sighed as he turned back to face her, putting his beer down on the table. "I don't care knows or doesn't know. Jeans… avoid conversations I don't want to have," he said.

Fleur got the message loud and clear. But she wanted to have the conversation anyway. "Like how it happened?" she asked.

"Yes."

"What a hero you must be?" she guessed.

Harry rolled his eyes, "Yes."

"And how brave you are?"

Harry nodded. "Yes."

The level of chatter was sufficiently high enough that they could talk without fear of being overheard and Fleur really wanted to know the circumstances of Harry's amputation. The man had pushed her to the ground as someone shot at her house, purely out of instincts that had obviously been honed during his time in war zones.

As far as she was concerned, he was a hero.

"How did it happen?" she asked.

Harry didn't really fancy talking about it with her, but at least talking was keeping his mind off her red bra. In fact, he could use it to his advantage. "If I tell you, will you promise not to hang your underwear in my shower?"

Fleur was momentarily surprised by his blatant blackmail. But it was satisfying to know her underwear was getting under his skin. "Deal."

Harry took another sip of his beer. "It happened the usual way," he said dismissively. "Out on patrol in the middle of nowhere. A roadside bomb. An IED. All over red rover."

Fleur should have expected the abridged version. "Did anyone die?"

Harry steeled himself not to flinch at the question. "Yes. One."

Fleur nodded slowly at another abridged version that told her nothing of the emotional carnage Harry must have borne. "And the leg? Did you lose it straight away, or after?"

"It was pretty mangled. They amputated as soon as I got into the hospital."

Harry's words were flat, his answers matter of fact, but Fleur could see the tension in his muscles, the tightness of his jaw.

"That must've been incredibly painful," she murmured.

Harry gripped his glass as the sounds of his screams of agony filled in his head all over again. He wondered if people – if Fleur – would think him so heroic if they knew how loudly he had screamed. Laying there in the dirt in agony, his eardrums blown out, the warm ooze of his own blood welling over the hand he'd reached down to try and stop the pain.

If they knew his best mate lay dead beside him and Harry hadn't even given him a single thought.

"It was," he finally said.

Fleur was about to say more. To push more. To ask more. But the waiter arrived with their ploughman's lunches and an extra bowl of hot chips for Fleur and Harry's white-knuckle grip on his glass eased as he picked up his knife and fork.

"Let's eat," he said.

Fleur tried not to sigh too loudly at this. Conversation over.

…

They didn't talk much over lunch, something which Harry was grateful for. Fleur seemed happy to drop her line of questioning and just eat and enjoy the sunshine, with occasional questions about their route in the afternoon.

He didn't really talk about how it happened – not with civilians anyway. His friends and family knew the most of it. The army shrink knew more. Hermione at one stage had wanted to know every detail and go over and over it ad nauseam and, even though it had been horrible and he dreaded every time he'd seen her number flash on his phone screen or hearing her wobbly strung-out voice in his ear, he'd done it because he owed her that.

The only people Harry could really talk about it with any level of comfort was the guys he had served with because they were the only ones who could truly understand any of what had happened over there. But he rarely saw any of them and when he did, contrary to popular perception, none of them were keen to rehash old war stories.

Talking about with Fleur wasn't his idea of fun but he'd at least won a concession from her, so maybe it had been worth it to tell her.

Harry watched as Fleur as she laid her cutlery on her empty plate and reached for the tomato sauce bottle and squirted great dollops all over her bowl of hot chips, follow by sprinkling a heart-attack quota of salt all over them. She picked one up between her fingers and ate it with gusto, giving a little sigh. She added two more to her mouth, then, before they were fully chewed and swallowed, another two.

A dollop of sauce smeared the corner of Fleur's mouth and Harry's gaze was drawn to it – he couldn't help himself.

"What?" Fleur asked him through a mouthful of chips. Then she picked up the remnants of her beer and washed down the mouthful of hot chips in her mouth, licking her lips free of sauce and beer residue.

She somehow made the simple act of eating a sexual enterprise.

"Isn't your body supposed to be a temple or something?" Harry asked her. "Aren't supermodels always supposed to be on some kind of diet that involves no carbs and lots of egg-white omelettes and running on a treadmill for six hours a day?"

"Ugh, non-merci." Fleur shuddered as she picked up another chip and popped it into her mouth. "My maman used to be strict about that stuff as I was growing up and –" She stopped herself. She didn't want to think about her pageant queen mother. It was a long time ago and it always put her in a bad mood if she ever thought about it and the sunshine and the company were just too good.

"Anyway… I do exercise… mostly… but…" She sighed and said, "I have to admit I'm not a fan of it and it's hard to see the point of it when I'm one of those people who have good genetics and great metabolism and can pretty much eat whatever without pointing on weight. I've been really blessed like that." Fleur then gave a grimace and added, "I'm one of those women other women hate."

Harry could see that. Most women he knew usually had some kind of body hang-up or other trying to keep up with impossible images in women and fashion magazines. Images that Fleur perpetrated.

"The thing is," Fleur continued as she chomped on another chip. "I just freaking adore food. I don't know if it's because of my Papa's influence or not, but it's just… I don't know, like… air to me. I need it."

"And," she pressed on as she picked up two more chips and dipped them in the puddle of sauce at the bottom of the bowl, "I'm starving all the time, which is why I cook so much at home and wanted an amazing kitchen, which you –" She jabbed a chip in Harry's general direction before popping it in her mouth "-gave me in spaces. No pictures of met at restaurants stuffing myself with a three-course meal down then asking for seconds of dessert. I eat like a supermodel when I am in public and then come home and cook up something amazing in my beautiful kitchen because by the time I get home, I'm so freaking hungry that I'm almost faint with it."

Harry knew that it shouldn't, but Fleur's appreciation for his kitchen and for food in general turned him on. Just talking about how much she loved clearly got Fleur all enthused and excited. She was using the chips to emphasize her points and her cheeks were all flushed and rosy looking. Harry wanted to whip the sunglasses off her to see if her deep sapphire blue eyes matched the waters of the Thames.

There was nothing haughty or spoiled about this Fleur, who was chowing down on hot chips and cold beer.

Fleur chose another chip, before realising there were only five left and she hadn't even offered Harry any. "Oh, God, pardon," she said, picking up the bowl and pushing it towards Harry. "They were so good I got carried away. Do you want any?" she asked him.

Harry chuckled at her half-hearted offer. He couldn't see her eyes, but he'd have to be deaf if he didn't hear the reluctance in her voice. "They're all yours," he said, waving them back.

"Good answer," Fleur said with a grin as she dove for the remaining chips.

Harry's breath caught in his throat. If this Fleur straddled him right now, his powers of resistance would be totally useless.

…

TO BE CONTINUED…

A/N: There! Sixth chapter of this is done and dusted and we got to see a little bit of Harry's past of how he became an amputee. I hope you all enjoyed it and I hope everyone on the Harry/Fleur Discord enjoys it as well.

In other news, I've recently published a crossover not too long ago; a Justice League/Game of Thrones (surprise, surprise LOL) crossover that is also a crossover with the Witcher books/games. The story features Draco of Maribor/Witcher!Aegon VI Targaryen from my official Witcher/Game of Thrones crossover, and is very, very loosely connected to my Witcher/GoT crossover. I'm trying to keep details about the connection as vague as possible because I don't know if anyone will actually read it or even follow it, but we'll see.

Another bit of news is that I've published a prologue chapter of my Fallout/Game of Thrones crossover and I've set up a poll on my profile of which Fallout should be used for the setting. The premise of my Fallout/GoT idea is that some GoT/ASOIAF characters end up in the Fallout universe and form a mercenary company of sorts, but that'll depend on which Fallout will be used. I'm kinda aiming for at least thirty individual voters before closing it and using the one voted highest as the setting, so if there's a Fallout setting you want to see used, then feel free to cast your vote on there.

And that's about it from me, so I'll just leave this here and see you all next time.

Be kind to one another,

Angry lil' elf.