Humongous shout out to gamer0890 and DavidTheAthenai for betaing, writing a fair bit of this, and generally dealing with my troubles to eek out more than 500 words. Without the two of you, I know for a fact this would have never made it out of my folder of drabbles.
This fic starts based off a music video, YouTube . com watch ?v= mbotgq5X5S0 and is my entry into the first date collection for the flowerpot discord (which you should definitely join! discord . gg / flowerpot )
On to the fic…
If he were honest with himself, the pool game wasn't all that interesting. Neither was the half drunk, lukewarm beer in his hand. His coworkers had invited him yet again for drinks after work. He was rapidly regretting finally submitting to joining them. Nothing about the dim lights with bright LEDs, pool tables, or bass heavy music spoke to him.
There was little else to do when the echoing of force across the felt surface was the most captivating activity. Harry, instead, fell back to the age old practice of people watching.
"Harry, mate. You want a go?" Ron yelled out, tapping the bunt of his pool stick against the floor.
Harry turned back towards the table.
"Thanks mate but I'm good. You guys continu-" A luminescent argent vision in his periphery captured his attention, gliding across the acrid fuchsia hue of the shoddy interior. She looked. Searching. Floating to a seat, she took in the space clearly waiting for someone.
Her eyes met his, an eerie azure; he looked away, burned. The echoes of the unbothered gaze boring into his being.
His ears swam.
Turning back to the game, he desperately hoped no one would notice the slow rise of heat painting his cheeks. He risked a glance back and caught the curve of a leg against a stool, elbows resting unconcerned atop polished wood, a chin high and unconcerned. The world blurred against her, unimportant.
He shifted his head to look at her, his eyes peeking over his left shoulder as the final whispers of his courage combusted. She'd been looking, intensely. Her lips flickered upwards, his shivered against the coolness of the glass.
A glass clunk, accepting its seeping condensation onto a forgotten table. A foot dropped from the stool, fabric eagerly following its owner in a cacophony of color and elegance.
He heard the step, somehow.
His eyes rose, blush lazily following as pale skin swayed before them, and steel held them. Her eyes locked on to his.
A moment of portent hesitation.
He stepped forward, barely registering the thump of music radiating through the bar; the swish of a falling sleeve catching his eye, the stumble of his feet, is awkward in the face of the ever firm stalk of her own gait.
The connection flickers as shimmering lips flicker on his hunched form. A question
Silence.
She exudes sexuality. It was in the way she moved, the way she smelled, the way she spoke.
It is the way she is.
Same as flying.
The absolute medley of agility, intuition, athleticism, and gut feeling that make flying effortless for him.
Same for her.
Yet for him, sensuality is not effortless, so he sees the parts, but cannot comprehend them.
A graceful spin, relaxed fingers reaching for the sky before falling, falling with a thump. Painstakingly slow tightening against dainty ears, bust, hips as thumps resounded within him. Eyes rose, beckoning once more; he fell into the empty air she once was. Mesmerized, hips swiveled, slotting into place guiding adventurous fingers, tugging at his hair playfully. Excited puffs of strawberry breaths dizzied the very air.
A ceaseless synchronicity. Her heat, tugging the at his cardigan.
An arm flailed. Another followed. Playful and kind fingers assisted. Pale shoulders hid behind the cardigan now.
It could have been hours, could have been minutes but the finality of her face, sharper than his eyes had tried to map her before, came in lips pearlescent in their shine, his own lips opened, skin caught and pulled slowly; achingly, eyes shutting slowly.
"Thank you," She whispered.
The wind wrapped the hallowing words as he blinked. A wan but kind smile greeted his hazy mind.
A hand hanging in the air. Why was it raised?
He ran. He ran and crashed through the heavy metal bar doors, stumbling into the alley outside, there was nothing to greet him but the waning sirens of a police car and the shocking brightness of streetlights bouncing off brick and metal.
He blinked, fingers ruffling through his hair.
Did that really happen?
The brush of wheat, sun beating across his closed eyes combined with the whisper of the smell of home cooked British cooking always took a weight off Harry's shoulders.
It was Charlie's birthday and the Weasleys were assembled in full force. Walking around the house, he came upon a thick wooden table impossibly long and yet filled with Weasleys.
"'lo everyone."
"Harry!" Happy shouts rang.
Ron stood up first, coming in for a big, single-tapped bro hug.
"Alright mate?" He smiled.
"Yeah."
And when it seemed like he'd hugged all of Ottery St Catchpole, he managed to find his seat.
"So Harry! How was your trip to New York?" Angelina, Fred's Wife and fellow Gryffindor quidditch player from Hogwarts asked.
"Amazing! I mostly stuck to the muggle spots but the Alley in Hell's Kitchen was as cool as you said. The shop with an indoor pitch for testing brooms really was wild."
"Right!?"
"But I think my favorite part was walking over the Brooklyn Bridge. Very peaceful." A slow smile spread across his face remembering the tranquility of the open sky and sea shuffled between spires of concrete and glass.
Wine and cheese were had as conversation flowed. Harry was surprised though. Normally meals at the Weasleys were a million dishes all laid out in one go, family style. But now there were appetizers?
The crack of apparition answered his question. At least slightly.
But who else would be invited?
As the figure's hazy shape glided forward, The halo of silver was unfamiliar to Harry.
He shifted his eyes back to the table.
"So Bill, any new exciting excavations coming up?"
"Actually, yes! We found these tombs in Jordan housing wizards from the Mesopotamian era. There were some crazy traps in there. There was this one-"
Harry's mind stopped processing.
He'd taken a quick peek, noticing out of the corner of his eye the new person had taken a seat across from him. He was shocked, first by the familiar green cardigan no longer in his closet and then by the angular face that noticed his staring.
"-you haven't met yet! This is Fleur, my best friend." Angelina's voice rang through his echoing ears.
Perhaps for too long he could not respond. This was the woman he'd danced with not even a week ago.
"Nice to meet you," he managed to squeeze out.
"Oui. A pleasure." She sang out.
She's french!?
Bill's elbow accidentally digging into his side was the anchor he desperately needed to be able to handle this conversation.
Harry cleared his throat. Does she remember?
"That's a nice cardigan. Where'd you get that?"
"This?" She pulls it up to her face and he can't be certain, but he's almost sure she inhaled, eyes glassy for a split moment before she returned.
"I can't even remember."
Oh. So it was to be that way. The game was on.
"Angelina tells me you just got back from New York. Was eet to sight see, or you just needed a break from ze stress here?"
"Bit of both, I think," Harry replied calmly.
"Oh? A lot of little stresses? Or one big one?"
"A big one, definitely."
"A girl, maybe?" She smirked.
"No."
Harry couldn't keep the likely constipated look of discontent from filling his face. Especially in the face of her unflappable beauty highlighted by the sexy smugness radiating from her.
"You'll get a kick out of this Charlie. Harry! Explain to Charlie how we found that drunk guy 2 weeks ago," Ron shouted halfway down the table. Thank Merlin, Ron interrupted.
"The guy was passed out on the ground, legs in the air, his torso swapped with a nearby beer barrel but still breathing. Had to take him to St. Mungo's to get it settled."
"And the best part? Harry tries to pick him up off the ground and he starts rolling," Ron laughs out.
Remembering there was food, he filled his plate to the brim resigning himself to a quiet time. It was turning out to be a shitty day.
"You're an Auror then?"
Fleur's voice pierced his spiraling thoughts. He looked up, into her eyes, questioning if she'd asked him. She said nothing, just waited.
"Yeah. What of it?"
"Nozzing. It must be very dangerous."
"It can be, but most days it's just paperwork. What about you? What do you do?"
"Enchanting."
"Obviously," Harry muttered.
"Obviously?" Fleur's eyebrows raised.
Oops.
"Yeah," He desperately searched for an explanation that wouldn't anger her.
"Your magic seems particularly suited towards charms."
Her brows rose further.
"You're a smooth one aren't you, Mr. Potter," She gave him a delicate smile.
Harry coughed. "On occasion. That must be interesting… enchanting, I mean."
She sighed, "It eez not all I thought it would be. I thought that the forever snow globes would be a bore and the experimental high priced work would be what I live for. But, most days the high priced work is a rich pig wondering if my hourly price comes with a bed." She paused. "But the joy on a child's face making a globe's snow fall forever is precious."
"Touching..."
"And you'd know all about touching, wouldn't you 'arry," She took a swig of her red wine, painting her already captivating lips a darker rouge. The casual swipe of her tongue catching the last of the color against her top lip burned Harry's cheeks.
He fought against the rising heat of his blush, but he knew it was a losing effort.
She clearly remembered.
He hadn't blushed in years, not since he'd graduated from the academy, but there was something that she did to effortlessly push past all his skills and defenses. As his cheeks flushed he pushed his chair back suddenly and stood.
"Please excuse me," he mumbled to the table, making a hasty retreat to the washroom. He'd need a cold shower when he returned home, but for now a splash on his face would have to do.
Splashing water across his face, Harry exited the bathroom tired. He was done with today, with Fleur, and especially with the fact that even though she kept skirting the line to insult, he was interested.
When he discovered Fleur waiting in the den at the bottom of the stairs, he couldn't hide the fatigue her presence invited.
"Haven't you had your fun?" He sighed.
"Fun?" She replied with an annoyingly cute tilt.
"Then and now. I'm done. I've had enough of our little back and forth."
"That's good," she purred. "So 'ave I."
"Uh huh." Harry started walking again.
"'Arry." She reached out, grabbing his hand.
He couldn't repress the shudder of how special hearing her lips caress his name in a way he'd never heard before. He ripped his hand from hers.
"No, Fleur. I'm serious. I'm not interested in a quick roll in the hay. I need to know this isn't a game for you or some fun for a weekend. Do you want to go on a date?"
A flicker of a smile ran across her face before becoming neutral once more. She reached up, hands twining between his unruly locks. Face unbearably close. His eyes closed.
"Yes."
With a delicate peck to his cheek and the ghost of her thumb across the top of his palm, she went back out to join the party.
The beaming smile that shot across Harry's face was a balm to the stress of the day.
By some unspoken rule, they didn't speak to each for the rest of the meal. But that didn't stop their eyes from wandering. A popped button on Harry's shirt, a tongue darting to catch the last bits of Fleur's wine causing hearts to race.
Harry tried, really, to focus on the Weasleys but the constant distraction of Fleur Delacour rang through his mind whenever he had a second of clear headedness. It was made all the worse by the fact that she seemed to be completely unaffected, effortlessly animating and delighting the Weasleys with some odd story of her time interacting with Goblins.
With their now more pleasant game at a fever pitch, the dinner party came to an end.
"Eet was a pleasure to meet you 'arry" Fleur opened her arms for a polite hug.
"Ze Nest, Diagon Alley, In 2 hours" He shivered. Her body so close, whispering into his ear causing his to react.
Stumbling through the Floo, his landing was disrupted by the totally unexpected shove. Eyes opened wide, he braced for a hard impact, but only found a comfortable couch embracing his weight. He could only be relieved for a moment, as a blonde bombshell torpedoed towards him, intent on capturing his lips with such passion he lost his breath.
Panting "Fl–Fleur. Fleur!-Don't you think–ugh—We should—take it slow?" Constantly interrupted by intent lips and sneaky tongue, he could barely form the sentence.
"I'm Fleur. You're 'Arry. Zis is my 'ome. We're about to be very naked."
With a breathy sigh, she ground her hips into his own, leaning up to release the single most arousing groan Harry had ever heard.
He was incapable then of forming any thoughts about stopping her.
It was the first of many times. A passionate Fleur Delacour stops for no one. Not even her beau.