Disclaimer: HP isn't mine.
A/N: This was written at 5 AM when I couldn't sleep based on an idea from Foreal The Chronicler, who also took time out of his day to look over this "wake up and write" story. He's the best.
Join us in the Flowerpot discord! That's where I shamelessly stole this idea from. You'll find many more talented and wonderful people who welcome everyone into their community with open arms. You all are the best :)
discord .gg / f4a9Cg8rpB
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"Happy birthday, Hermione!" said the room as Hermione blew out the candles on the large cake, swatting Ron's hand as he attempted to run a finger through the icing, earning a laugh from everyone. A large "25 and Still Alive!" banner hanging behind her. Harry had bought it as a joke, finding a dark sort of humor in the sentiment. Ron had agreed, barking out a laugh when he'd seen it.
Hermione had been, by simple math, outvoted on its inclusion in the room.
After she had announced her promotion at the Ministry, Harry had suggested they throw a big party for her 25th birthday to celebrate both, much to everyone's shock. While Harry had set out to gather all the essentials needed for a successful birthday, it had been Ron who had come through with the perfect venue. A winery, its large balcony overlooking the beauty of the French countryside, rows and rows of grape leaves stretching to the horizon, had been exactly what they all needed. A small little getaway to recharge their energy and forget about the problems of the world for a couple nights.
He placed his glass on the marble railing, palms resting on the cool surface as the gentle breeze rolled through.
"I'll have to talk with my father," an amused voice behind him said, "Seems he's letting little boys into the winery now."
Turning around, he nearly stumbled at the sight.
In front of him stood Fleur Delacour in all her glory. Her hair had been done into a perfect bun and she wore a long, flowing red dress with thin stripes that was the exact color of her lipstick. Her eyes sparkled with humor behind her glasses, stylish with thin frames, as she made her way over, red heels clicking with each step. She had a preternatural glow about her, and it brought back memories of their first meeting all those years ago, a smile crossing his lips.
"I don't know, Delacour," he replied, "Guess I should talk to him as well. He must be some sort of charms master."
She raised an eyebrow as she reached him. "Oh?"
He nodded. "Yeah. I mean, how did he make the place big enough to fit your ego?"
He picked up his glass and took a sip, nearly laughing as her eyes narrowed and he knew she'd picked up the challenge. Once again, his mind drifted back to that year, the constant back-and-forth, the battle of wills he'd thrown himself headfirst into, if for no other reason than to focus on something other than impending doom.
"You're going to let this-, this leetle boy compete?" she cried, pointing at him.
"I mean, they let you in and you've got the advantage of having that stick up your arse you can use to beat people with," he replied, hearing Cedric choking to prevent a laugh.
"It's good to see you again, Fleur," he said, placing his glass back down and leaning against the rail.
"Oui, I know."
He shook his head as the warm glow of nostalgia washed over him, transporting him to when he was much younger, and stupider, when he hid his fear behind a thin veneer of wit with a beautiful French student. He looked at her, the humor remaining in her eyes.
Let the battle of wits commence then.
"Or not," he shrugged, "I honestly kind of forgot you existed until just now."
"Whatever you need to tell yourself to help you sleep at night, 'Arry," came the smug reply as she sipped a bit from her own glass. "Knowing you I'm guessing you've been in shambles without my presence in your life. It's alright, I have that effect on people."
In all these years she hadn't changed a bit, he thought idly.
"Still as humble as ever," he chuckled, "You look good. France treating you well?"
She nodded. "Oui, much better than the frigid land you call home." She settled next to him before raising an eyebrow. "Why do you not join them, hmm?"
"Officially," he explained with a sigh, "I'm the British Ministry representative here to ensure the guest of honor is safe. She is, after all, at the top of the legal ladder."
"Oh, if they have the likes of you watching out for a war hero I do believe she should feel very, very unsafe," Fleur replied as she placed her glass down next to her. "And the unofficial reason?"
He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck, a small frown forming on his face.
"Unofficially," he continued, "If I join in the festivities then it'll inevitably turn towards me. People can't help themselves, it seems, even years after the war. It's Hermione's day, not mine. All I'd do is detract from that."
"Your feats weren't that impressive," she said into her wine glass as she took another sip. Again, the memories came back to him, so vivid he thought he could feel the magic of the castle walls.
"Idiot! Idiot! Idiot!" she said, poking him with each exclamation.
"Stop it, will you?" he demanded, turning his chest away from her. "I've already got a nasty bruise on my side, I don't need another from your bony fingers." The glare he received made him smirk.
"A broom? Really? Against a dragon?" she said, hands on her hips as she glared down at him.
"What else was I supposed to do?" he shot back with a shrug. "I'm not exactly good at anything else and it wasn't responding to my winning smile and sunny disposition."
"Idiot! Idiot! Idiot!" she said again, slapping him lightly with each exclamation. "You could 'ave died! If you'd 'ave been just a bit slower…"
"Then I'd have been toast, yeah," he confirmed. "I told everyone that I didn't put my name in the goblet. I don't want eternal glory! I just want to be boring Harry!" She closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. They'd shot remarks to each other since the night of the selection, their back-and-forth duel of words quickly becoming a staple of castle life, but this was the first time she'd cornered him alone.
"'What will you do now?" she asked softly.
"Guess I gotta figure out this egg thing," he said with a shrug before looking around. "Though you did drag me into an empty classroom." His eyes lit with amusement. "Miss Delacour, are you trying to get me alone to snog me?"
She groaned in frustration before throwing her hands up. "Vous êtes impossible!"
"Huh, funny, because I do believe the French ministry gave me an award for "feats of service to the world" is what your Minister said."
She scowled. "Yes, well, we all make mistakes."
He laughed and could see her facade cracking just a bit, the humor remained in her eyes and he could tell she was having just as much fun as he was with their renewed battle of wits. The sound of a bottle opening made Harry look up as Neville poured several wine glasses and handed them out.
"You know," he drawled, "I actually own a minor stake in this place." Her head whipped around quickly, confusion on her face.
"What? How?" she questioned.
"Turns out," he said with a smile, "I've been getting a small amount of the monthly profits from the Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. They had it sitting with some bloke who did their finances initially, but after the war George asked him to invest it somewhere. Turns out your father was looking for silent partners several years ago so he could expand the business."
He turned towards her with a wicked smile on his face.
"I do believe you work for me, Miss Delacour."
She scoffed. "As if I would work for the likes of you. You don't even know what a proper wine is."
"Have I offended your sophistimicated French sensibilities?" he asked playfully.
"Oui, though your butchery of your own language should offend everyone," she replied with a small smile. They sat there in silence for a few moments as they watched the crowd inside laughing and dancing, their cares having been thrown out the window for the night.
He cast a sidelong glance at her, and his stomach fluttered as another memory pressed into his mind.
Harry slipped out of the ball unseen, which was unusual for him, but a relief. It had been a dreadful evening, though he knew he would likely have to apologize to Parvati for his lousy company and even worse dancing. The calmness of the halls, so very different from the normal hustle of Hogwarts, brought him a sense of ease. Taking a deep breath, he was just about to head back to the common room when he was knocked aside, the sound of heels moving past him quickly.
Looking back up, he saw her, the silver blonde hair swaying back and forth as she stormed towards the castle entrance, not even registering that she had pushed him down. Quickly he picked himself up and followed, his curiosity peaked, rounding the corner until he came upon the open castle gates, the light snow and gentle breeze biting, hitting his face as he passed the warming magic of the castle innards.
Looking around, he saw her leaning over the stone bridge, handings gripping the edge tightly as she stared up at the night sky, the twinkle of the stars reflecting in her eyes. He approached cautiously, feeling the anger radiating from her as he got closer, until finally he was beside her. She made no move to acknowledge his presence.
"Things didn't go well with Roger, I take it?" he asked softly.
She nodded. "'E is, 'ow do you say it? A moron?"
He laughed at the sentiment, and he saw a small smile across her face. Roger had been the one to stutter the least when asking her, she'd told him, so she'd accepted his invite. A small bit of disappointment had settled in his stomach when she'd told him, though he had no idea why. Looking back, perhaps he should have asked her? At least they could have been miserable together.
"Yeah, well, pick your dates better next time," he said with a good natured poke of his elbow. She looked down at him, and he saw something flash across her face before her mask returned, though not fully. He could see the small cracks in it, that despite what she said, she really was disappointed.
"You could 'ave done better then, non?" she asked with a raised eyebrow.
He stood there for a brief moment, playing the question over in his head before making a snap decision. He stepped back and offered his hand.
"Only one way to find out," he said with a smirk.
"I saw you dance, 'Arry. Eet was…bad," she said flatly before he raised an eyebrow.
"I can still sway slowly without stepping on your toes," he pointed out. "What's it gonna be, Delacour? Are you going to let your night end out here, on this cold bridge, looking up at the stars? Or do you want to end it dancing with the Harry Potter?"
She rolled her eyes and she took his hand, pressing herself against him as they began to move slowly. "'Ow very modest."
"I've had months to study the absolute peak of humility, Miss Delacour," he said with a smile.
"It is good to see you though, 'Arry," she said finally, breaking the comfortable silence. "It's nice not having people be intimidated by me."
He looked at her for a long moment, and his stomach fluttered again. Picking up his glass, he drank the last remaining bit of wine before placing it down again. She was just as beautiful as he remembered, no, she had grown, no longer the haughty, insecure teenager she'd been, hiding behind harsh words and even harsher looks.
He'd been wrong, she had changed.
Now, before him, she was radiant, a self-assured woman who was no longer afraid of the world, or simply no longer placed so much stock in the opinions of others. He could see it in the way she carried herself, in her posture, and he knew because he'd seen it in himself.
Another memory passed through his mind.
"I'm-," she stopped as they walked around the lake, the warm morning air providing enough comfort to make the rising sun something worth getting up for. This routine of theirs, started after the second task, at first as a joke, a place to mark their shared stupidity, was now just another fact of life. The two champions walked side-by-side in the early morning hours, watching the sunrise on the start of a new day.
"Scared?" he offered, and she nodded.
"So am I," he said. "I'm terrified, actually. But you? You're Fleur Delacour. You've got nothing to worry about."
She idly grabbed his hand and squeezed it as they continued their walk, the comfort of the touch easing both of their worries. Harry had never been one for physical contact, his extensive childhood experiences being what they were, but the first time she'd taken his hand on one of these walks, talking about uncertain futures, electricity had flown through him.
Her hand was warm, as if an eternal, undying flame burned within her.
And it was comforting.
"I don't zink zat's true," she said, shaking her head. "There are so many expectations of Fleur Delacour, Triwizard Champion, zat I don't zink I can live up to zem. People will be disappointed. I'm-, I'm scared of vat zat will look like."
He stopped walking, looking up at her with a determined look.
"Screw their expectations," he said firmly.
"Excusez-moi?" He dropped her hand and ran his own through his hair.
"Forget everyone else's expectations of you, Fleur," he explained, "I've been disappointing people my entire life, not living up to everyone's expectations of the Boy-Who-bloody-Lived. So what? The question is, who do you want Fleur Delacour to be? That's all that matters. Everyone else can jump off the astronomy tower."
He smiled up at her.
"Besides, you won't have to worry about the tournament for too much longer, what with me being about to beat you and all," he said cheekily before speeding off in the direction they came, her cries of protest filling the air as she ran after him.
He smiled at the memory, at the feelings it brought back, long since buried, long since forgotten. He'd forgotten her smile, the way her nose curled at the end when she found something particularly funny. The way her hair swayed in the breeze, as if each strand was dancing in perfect rhythm.
The way she had made him feel at a time when it felt like there was no hope.
"By the way," he said, breaking his musings, "What's with the glasses?"
She touched the side of her frames as she looked down. "They're just glasses."
"Clearly," he said flaty, "Has your eyesight gotten worse since we last met? I knew I had an effect on women, but being gone from their lives causing their vision to deteriorate? I didn't know about that power." She swatted his arm.
"My vision is perfectly fine," she ground out, not looking at him, though he spied a blush forming on her cheeks. "They're just…cute."
He didn't laugh, his eyes said enough, and she stuck her tongue out at him when she saw the look on his face, a childish gesture, but she pulled it off. Slow music began to filter out of the room and into the night air as the people inside began to pair off. Harry pushed off the stone and stood facing her, a smirk on his face as he offered his hand.
"Would you care to dance, Miss Delacour?" he asked. "I can sway in place without stepping on your toes. I have retained some of the skills I put on display years ago."
She laughed as she took his hand and they began their slow movements, her head lying gently on his shoulder. He took in her scent, cinnamon, and it was as if he were back on the old stone bridge at Hogwarts, swaying in the moonlight.
One last memory played through his mind as they danced.
"Are you going to tell her something?" asked Hermione, causing Harry to scrunch up his nose.
"What are you talking about?" he asked as he stabbed his eggs.
"Fleur," she said, as if she were talking to a child. "Are you going to say something to her? They're leaving today!"
"I'm not sure what you're referring to," he replied and she punched him in the arm. "Ow!"
"Don't try to hide it from me," she admonished, "Ron may be oblivious but I'm not. You and Fleur have something, so what are you going to do about it?"
He took a bite of bacon and played the question over in his mind, a million thoughts racing all at once, nearly overwhelming him. He'd come to care for Fleur, their battle of wits having become legendary throughout the school, but something gnawed at him.
She'd come to visit him in the hospital wing, neither speaking, just sitting together, a shared experience in the maze hanging heavy on their souls, his experiences in the graveyard scarring him at his core. She'd fallen asleep at some point, and she looked peaceful, like the weight had been lifted off her shoulders while she slumbered.
His overwhelming urge to keep those he cared about safe had won out and he'd left the hospital wing without a word, the feelings that threatened to expose him being tightly controlled.
"Nothing," he told Hermione as he came back to the present, pushing away his plate, appetite gone. "I'm not going to say anything."
"What?" she exclaimed softly.
"I-, she deserves to be safe, Hermione, and I'm not safe to be around. We both know that's the truth." Hermione didn't protest, didn't try to fight him, because she knew he was correct. She watched him feed Hedwig a small piece of bacon as the morning post arrived before speaking again.
"I hope you don't regret it, Harry."
The feeling welled up in his chest as the song and memory faded and he broke apart from Fleur.
Regret
For years since the end of the war he'd felt an unusual sensation within him, as if something was missing. He'd thrown himself into work to bury the feeling, but in the quiet moments, when he was left alone with his thoughts, no work, friends, or business to attend to, it always came back. It was hot, like a small flame had burrowed its way into his heart and refused to be removed. He'd never known what it was, and he wasn't sure if it was there before, but he knew it now.
Regret
"Harry, are you alright?" Fleur asked, bringing him back to reality, her hand on his shoulder, a concerned look on her face. He straightened up and nodded his head.
"Yeah, sorry," he muttered, "I'm good, just, think the wine is getting to me is all." The questioning look in her eyes told him she didn't believe him. He put his hands up. "I promise, I'm fine."
"You are still a terrible liar, even after all these years," she said humorously, though the look of concern remained. He walked over to the stone railing and looked out into the night sky.
"Do you have regrets?" he asked as he felt her stand beside him.
"Regrets?"
He nodded. "Yeah, like, do you have regrets about anything in your life?" He looked over to her, and the concern was still in her face, making it hard for him to breathe. Her eyes were wide, and he realized he could get lost in them if given the chance.
"Not many," she said, "But one or two, yeah."
"Any big regrets?" he asked and she nodded. He looked back out to the grounds, the moon above illuminating it in a beautiful pale glow. His mind toyed with the words, batting them back and forth in his brain, testing them to see if they were right. It had been so long, but maybe it was worth the shot?
"I regret not saying something to you that night in the hospital wing," he whispered. "I wanted to protect you, to keep you away, so I didn't say anything. I-, I regret that."
"I regret not saying something to you the day the carriage left." Her words were soft, as if unsure, but they carried warmth and understanding.
His whole body flooded with the sensation of waking up after a long sleep, the world coming in just a bit sharper, sounds just a bit clearer, and for the first time in years, the regret in his heart vanished. He turned towards her and took her hand, that same electric jolt running through him as the first time by the lake, all doubts and fears about his words evaporating as her warmth spread to him.
"Would you like to go on a date, Fleur?"
She squeezed his hand, looking down at their grip before tilting her head back up to look at him, tapping her other finger on her chin.
"Not sure if you're worth my time." Her voice held playful mirth, and he smiled down at her.
"I think so," he replied.
She raised an eyebrow. "And why's that?"
"Because I'm not the one with a big "Did Not Finish" next to their name in the Triwizard tournament results." She gasped and slapped his arm, earning her a laugh as she turned away from him, crossing her arms across her chest. He slid behind her and wrapped his arms around her, leaning down to her ear.
"I'm not worth your time, truth be told," he whispered, and he felt her shiver. "But I'd like to try to earn it."
She smiled and patted his cheek.
"I'd love to go on a date with you, 'Arry."