AN: For more Flowerpot, come check out the FP discord!
discord .gg / f4a9Cg8rpB
.
.
.
The leather helmet slammed into the far wall, tumbling to the ground harmlessly just before a forearm guard followed.
"What the hell was that out there, Harry?" yelled Luc as the team filtered into the locker room.
Harry ignored him, roughly tearing off his shin guards in disgust. He'd played like crap again, he knew it, but he didn't know why. His head just wasn't in the game and it unnerved him unlike anything. Quidditch had been his life for so long, something that he'd found comfort in and, more importantly, excelled at with an ease that had never come naturally to him with anything else.
"Leave it, Luc," he warned, glaring at the taller man as he approached.
"No. I've let it go for three series now," Luc shot back hotly. "We barely squeaked by the Bats, nearly lost to the Falcons, and now you let the Harpies catches the fucking snitch. We're wearing ourselves out running up the score because we don't know if you'll show up or not. We won by two goals today, and that's only because their Seeker didn't realize we'd scored just before they ended the match."
Luc gripped the front of Harry's jersey.
"Maybe stop dreaming about your after-match activities and put your head in the actual game. Or did you forget we're playing for keeps here?"
Harry shoved him back.
"Piss off."
"Enough!" yelled Angelina as she stepped between them.
She sent looks to each, sharp glares that let them know she was in no mood to be questioned. When neither spoke she took a deep breath before exhaling slowly. The air was charged with tension as the two men continued to glare at one other.
"Everyone out," she commanded.
Oliver raised his hand, opening his mouth to protest but she shook her head. A silent conversation played out between them as the tension in the room permeated every corner. Oliver was the captain, but Angelina had been the one to lead Harry's conditioning when he first entered the professional league. She'd gotten him into shape to play in the big leagues. Oliver and Harry got along, but Angelina knew the younger Seeker better.
Their team dynamic had always been a bit different than most, less rigid structure and more open collaboration, so everyone filled out at Angelina's command. Harry made to leave but she stepped in front of him.
"Not you dummy."
The door closed and Harry turned his attention back to Angelina, his eyes heavy with exhaustion. He felt tired, as if he were a rookie again and he'd underestimated the amount of effort that was required. Angelina looked up at him with a single raised eyebrow.
Before he could react she reared back and punched him in the mouth.
He staggered backwards, more out of shock than pain, falling back into the stool that sat in front of his locker. His hand went to his mouth and he tasted blood as he pressed his fingers to his lips. When he pulled them away, a small amount of crimson accompanied them.
"That hurt," he deadpanned, looking up at Angelina.
She sighed before going over to her locker to retrieve her wand, grabbing her own stool on her way back. Sitting in front of him she swatted his hand away from his mouth.
"Sit still."
He raised an eyebrow.
"You're going to hit me then heal me? Sending mixed signals here, Angie."
She glared at him as she grabbed his chin, waving her wand over his lip as she muttered a healing spell. Instantly the pain began to vanish and the cut closed, leaving nothing behind to indicate there'd been any violence. She sat motionless in the stool across from him.
"The punch was for being terrible on the pitch. Luc's right about one thing, your head isn't in it." She gave him a concerned look. "I healed you because I'm worried about my friend. We've known each other since we were kids, Harry, I know when something isn't right."
She laughed as she leaned back a bit.
"Do you remember that time in your first year when you caught the snitch and made us lose? Oliver was furious but you just kept shrugging and saying, 'I caught it, didn't I?' Remember that?"
Harry chuckled at the memory of Oliver's face, twisted with rage as he tried his best not to lay into an eleven year old kid for doing what he'd been told to do.
"I spent the next two weeks of practice being told not to catch the snitch," he said with a smile. He looked back at Angelina. "What's that got to do with anything?"
"Because even back then you were hyper focused," she explained with a sigh. "Nothing got in the way of Quidditch. Classes, school drama, hell, not even the line of girls you dated as you got older."
"Hey!" he protested.
She looked at him with an unamused expression and his protest died. She was right about that one.
"What I'm saying is that Doctor Angelina is in the office and I'm here to help."
He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. Angelina and Katie, though especially Angelina, were protective of him, always feeling some sort of obligation to help him. When he'd had a string of bad games early in his career, they'd defended him fiercely in the press and to team management. When his relationship with Ginny had ended they had been there to distract him.
It was nice, the two unofficial sisters who'd adopted him, but it also meant they knew him well. Sometimes better than himself. More importantly, though, was that it meant Angelina wouldn't drop it until they talked about it.
He took off his remaining pads and turned around in his seat, removing his dirty jersey and rising to grab his wand. As he ran his wand over himself to clean up he could feel her eyes on him. He didn't need to turn around to know they held concern. He'd seen the look enough to know what it felt like to be under it.
"I…," he started before stopping to gather his thoughts. "For the first time in my life I'm unsure of what to do."
"With Fleur?"
He turned to look at her.
"Has it been that obvious?"
Angelina shrugged, a sly smile on her face.
"You've been different ever since she came to that match. You come out with us but you leave early. Or you rush out of here after a long day, shoulders all tense and knotted, only to return as if you'd just gotten back from vacation. You've never been like that, not even when you were dating Ginny. It's been a boost to your play, so I didn't mention it, but ever since the playoffs started you've been out of it."
She stood and put her hands behind her back, swaying slightly.
"What about her has you so out of sorts? George said she was sweet, and that she watched you the entire match. You keep going back. What was it last time? A picnic, right?"
He nodded.
"So, what's the issue? You've never been one to hesitate in relationships before."
"I didn't care about screwing those up," he said with defeat. He plopped back down onto his stool and looked up at Angelina. "She's brilliant, you know? Like, way too good for me, and more importantly, she doesn't give a shit about the fact that I'm Harry Potter. You know how long it's been since I've met anyone who didn't eventually brag about knowing me?"
Angelina laughed and ruffled his hair, just like she used to do when they were younger. He swatted her hand away, glaring at her. She laughed again but pulled her hand back before she walked back over to her locker. For a long moment she didn't speak as she began removing her pads.
"Remember that time during our third championship run when we were playing the Harpies in the finals? You and Ginny hadn't yet gotten together but you'd been flirting with her all year, so people were questioning if your head would be all in it. Thought that you'd let little Harry do the thinking and tank the match. What did you do in that match?"
Harry pulled his shirt over his head and adjusted the collar.
"The snitch dove straight down just as I was about to catch it. I wouldn't have been able to turn Hedwig in time so I-"
Angelina turned back around, a wide smile on her face.
"...Jumped off your broom without a second thought and caught the snitch. Luc and I then caught you before you hit the ground."
She winked at him, and for a moment he felt like they were back in the Hogwarts locker room, decked out in red and gold, about to face Slytherin for the house cup.
"So jump, Green Eyes. We'll be here to catch you before you hit the ground."
.
.
Fleur stared up at him from behind the wire frames of her glasses, eyebrows furrowed as she tried to find the right words.
"I can't 'elp you."
He looked taken aback by her words, as if they'd stung, but he hid them quickly enough that she almost didn't notice. It was clear something was bothering him, it didn't take a genius to determine that. His visits had become more frequent as of late and the jobs she'd been tasked with less critical since her visit to the stadium.
They'd had a picnic last week, and after they'd taken a casual walk through the nearby muggle village. It had been nice, the time they'd spent together, however, something was eating away at him. His renewed interest in bringing Hedwig to her was proof of that.
It was the second time he'd been to her shop in less than three days. He usually put a match between visits, but something had changed recently. They'd barely advanced in the playoffs, and he didn't catch the snitch, so she wondered if he was struggling with that.
"Why not?"
She sighed.
"There is nothing wrong with 'Edwig. There is nothing I can fix. I won't even polish 'er in the state she's in." she softened her gaze. "What's going on 'Arry?"
He looked as if he wouldn't say anything as his face dropped into a practiced mask. She'd seen it before, mostly on the front of what few English papers she'd seen with his face on them. Like he was glossing over the real Harry with a thin sheet to protect himself from the outside. However, just as quickly as the mask slotted into place it fell, leaving nothing but worry and resignation.
He dropped into the stool behind him and his shoulders sagged.
"I just…It's all become so much."
His voice was low, almost a whisper, but there was something else behind them that she was picking up. He was looking at her and she could see the bags beginning to form under his eyes, but she also saw determination in them.
"I've lost the plot a bit, I think," he said with a small, humorless smile. "These last few matches are more stressful than anything that's come before. I'm nervous."
"Why?"
He shrugged.
"I don't know." He shook his head. "No, that's a lie. A lie I've tried to tell myself and hoped that I would eventually believe. I'm nervous because, for the first time in my career, I'm doubting myself."
Fleur raised an eyebrow.
"You are incredibly talented, everyone knows that. Your team has won the league multiple times, non? What 'as changed that makes you question yourself?"
"The World Cup," he confessed, though his words came out strained, as if they were difficult to speak. "It…It was my fault we lost. Our Chasers were more talented than Bulgaria and our Beaters were more accurate. Everything was always going to come down to me beating Krum to the snitch. It's all anyone talked about leading up to the match."
He let out a chuckle as he looked over at her.
"I was so arrogant, so confident, that I would be better than him. Everyone knew we should have won the league the last two years, that we would have if there weren't injuries around the playoffs, and I had played so well during the run up to the World Cup quarterfinals. It didn't even cross my mind that I might lose."
He sighed and rubbed his forehead.
"So when it happened people started questioning. It's been a constant theme this season. Did I lose what it takes to win? Has Victor Krum gotten into my head? Every single match, win or lose, the press has asked, and now that I'm playing like shit, it's…it's as if I'm back in the World Cup stadium right after the match. I'm staring at my locker and I'm lost."
He stood up and began to pace. The way he spoke, his body language, it all screamed that he'd never shared these thoughts with anyone. Fleur understood that, the secret doubts. The worry that you weren't good enough or that things couldn't work. She understood that well, and it pained her to see him so torn up by something that was clearly manufactured by outside forces.
"We're within spitting distance of the championship, the team is looking to me to keep my shit together, and we've got this team thing that I have to go to. It's all hitting me at once and I feel like I'm drowning. They expect me to bring a date, and I don't-"
"I'll go," Fleur said, standing up and moving around the counter to stand in front of him. His eyes were wide, as if he'd been shocked by her words, but she held his gaze with determination.
"You don't have to," he said, but she shook her head.
"I want to," she said, taking both of his hands, looking down at them as he stroked the back of her thumb. He let out a long sigh as he looked up at the ceiling, eyes closed.
"Are you sure?" he asked, looking back down at her.
She nodded.
"I'm sure. You're stressed, even a blind witch could see that, and if going with you to a silly team event will 'elp, then I think it's only right that I do so."
She could feel her heartbeat as he gazed at her, not with questioning or mistrustful eyes, but ones filled with appreciation. She thought back to that first time, months ago, when he'd come into her shop looking for help. She remembered how she'd initially thought him a bit of a fool, just another Quidditch player with more money than appreciation for the object that allowed them to play. Yet, he'd taken an interest in her passion, in her work, and had threaded his way into her life in a way she'd long since accepted was good for her.
The air shifted around them, the magic swirling quickly as she smiled. She leaned up, on the balls of her feet, and planted a kiss on his lips.
It was quick and without fuss or circumstance, but to Fleur, it felt right. As she leaned back down she saw him smile.
"Friday," he said, his face full of happiness, "I'll pick you up around seven?"
She shook her head.
"Non. I can portkey to London. You don't have to come get me."
"I insist," he tried, putting as much firmness in his voice as he could. "Let me pick you up. I promise, there will be great wine. It won't all be pints and meat pies."
She raised an eyebrow and smirked, reaching up and patting his cheek lightly.
"There might yet be 'ope for you to develop some sensible tastes after all."
He laughed, and she knew it was genuine, not forced or practiced. That he had finally stepped back from the ledge he'd been dangling precariously close to slipping from. He hugged her briefly before stepping away and heading towards the door.
"I'll pick you up around seven. Dress classy!" he called without a look back, his steps filled with purpose.
.
.
He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, looking out over the landscape that the shop front sat near. The area was truly beautiful, a stunning display of nature just far enough from everything to be quiet but not so far as to feel isolating. He wondered if Fleur or her dad ever sat out front to enjoy the songs of the birds or watch the sunset. If her family chose this spot for its beauty or some other, unknown reason.
He shook his head, clearing his thoughts. It was time to go. He had no interest in being more than fashionably late, lest he get an earful from Oliver about proper etiquette. As if he needed lessons after this many years.
He opened the door to the shop, the familiar chime ringing and stepped in.
"Fleur?" he called as he stepped further in, the bench to the left distracting him briefly. She'd hung up her tools and cleaned up. "I'm here. Are you read-"
He stopped as she came into view. His eyes were wide and she wore a matching expression.
There she stood, behind the counter.
At her full height.
In the exact same overalls she wore daily.
"I…think there's been a misunderstanding," she said as she stepped around the counter. "I thought this was a normal team event. Like the ones you normally invite me to? Drinks with friends and family?"
He shook his head.
"Nope. It's a sponsor event. Big money. Very classy. Very formal."
"Clearly, considering, well, that," she said, gesturing at his attire. "Why are you wearing a muggle suit?"
Her question held humor but there was a combination of laughter and attraction in the way her eyes lingered on his suit. He looked down and smiled. He was wearing a tailored muggle suit, nothing fancy. Simple black shoes, slacks, tie, and jacket, accented by a crimson shirt. His wardrobe had even given him an "hmm, not terrible" once he'd finished getting dressed, a step up from the usual sassiness.
He felt a small shift in the air surrounding them, faint and almost impossibly subtle, but briefly he got the impression that the room was warmer.
"It's an old joke," he explained, running a hand down his tie to smooth it out. "The first year I was on the team Angelina and Katie told me it was fancy muggle attire. So I got a brand new suit and showed up, only to realize they had lied to me. The entire place was dressed in their best robes, all looking at me oddly when I showed up. Everyone thought it was incredibly funny, and being the good sport that I am, I've kept the tradition alive ever since."
He looked at her overalls, noticing a fresh patch of soot on the left hip, and raised an eyebrow.
"It, sadly, is a fancy formal event. Do you need to go home to change? Or would you like me to come back later?"
She shook her head and stepped back, looking at herself in the mirror on the right wall as she pulled out her wand.
Instantly her overalls changed and morphed into something more appropriate. His mouth fell open as the faded, baggy clothes were replaced by a long, flowing backless black dress, ending just above the ankles, a long slit down the middle showing the amount of leg she deemed appropriate. Her dirty shoes changed to classy black heels, bringing her nearly up to his nose.
Another complex wave of her wrist and her hair, contained within its usual messy bun, began to weave itself into something more classic and elegant. The hair stick that held her hair righted itself, holding the intricate bun in its place.
A quick twist, this time over her mouth, and her lips were painted the same deep crimson as his shirt. He didn't know how long he stared, likely longer than necessary or appropriate, but at some point she deemed her new look acceptable as she reached up and slipped her wand into the bun of her hair.
The world faded and sound seemed to come from a great distance. For Harry, he'd never seen anyone more beautiful than Fleur Delacour was in that moment.
"What do you think?" she asked as she twirled around.
He recovered quickly and a smirk formed on his face.
"Eh, I think I prefer the overalls."
"I can change it back," she teased. He quickly put his hands up and shook his head, taking a half step towards her.
"Dont," he said, looking down at her. "You look, well, you always look amazing but you look stunning."
A strand of hair had fallen in front of her face and she pushed it back behind her ear as she looked down, cheeks flushing slightly. She smiled as she looked back up.
"You look quite dashing yourself," she commented as she stood next to him, wrapping her arm around his. "Shall we?"
He nodded.
"Luckily, it's here in France. One of the major stakeholders in the team is some rich potion maker. Her husband is French. They maintain a small home here in France. And by small home I mean a small mansion. You know, rich people things. Ready?"
She nodded, and with a wink they popped away, appearing in a wide hallway. It was garishly decorated, gold with red accents covering every inch of the place. Fleur eyed it with a tense gaze before looking back at Harry.
"It's a bit…"
"Ostentatious?" he offered. "Yeah, everyone knows it, but hey, the whole event helps orphans both here in France and back in England."
"How so?" Fleur asked as they began walking towards the wide double doors, laughter and music playing beyond their solid oak protection.
"All the sponsors give the team money to be here. Enjoy free food, drinks, and for some…excitable ones," he grimaced, "rub shoulders with the players. All the money gets split between two charities."
"That's actually very kind," she admitted as they reached the doors. Harry shrugged and jerked his head behind him.
"Wash rooms are back that way if you need them. Ready?"
She nodded and he pulled the door open, letting her in before slipping in behind her.
It seems the party was in full swing. There were people dancing to the music, some with drinks in their hands. Several people were milling about the selection of food, chatting excitedly with one another or engaged in what appeared to be heated debates. Straining his eyes, Harry caught Luc's figure posing for a photo with an older wizard, no doubt some relative of an important sponsor.
"Ah, good, you're here," a voice called. Harry turned towards his left and saw Oliver approaching quickly. He was, as usual for these events, decked out in simple dress robes, team colours of course, but moving stiffly in them. Harry smiled. Oliver was many things, a great Keeper, fantastic friend, and, from what he'd been told, a wonderful husband. Yet high society was never in the cards.
"I've been told that a new sponsor wants to meet you," the taller man said. He looked over at Fleur and nodded, offering his hand. "Ms. Delacour, I presume?"
She nodded and shook his hand.
"It's a pleasure to finally meet you." He looked back at Harry. "Management told them they could meet you as soon as you arrived."
Harry sighed.
"Alright, so where are they?"
Oliver shook his head.
"Private meeting. Didn't get any more details, but I'm guessing they're one of those reclusive old money types. There's a private room on the other side of the wing where they want to do the meet-and-greet."
Harry looked down at Fleur. He felt bad that this was her first impression of the night, but such is the way of things.
"Do you mind making a bit of a detour?"
"Er, actually," Oliver interrupted, a frown plastered on his face, "they want to meet you alone. I wasn't given more details."
"Oliver, I'm not just going to leave Fleur alone by herself."
"Don't worry, Green Eyes. We'll look after her."
Harry turned to his right and saw Angelina and Katie standing next to Fleur. It was as if they had appeared from nowhere, sporting matching smiles as they looked at Fleur.
"You are absolutely gorgeous," Angelina said as she hooked an arm around Fleur's, squeezing it tightly. Fleur smiled, though Harry could see that it was practiced.
"Thank you. I'm sorry, I don't know your name…" Fleur replied, trailing off.
"I'm Angelina Johnson-Weasley."
"And I'm Katie Bell."
"It's nice to meet you both." Fleur gave a laugh. "'Arry says you two are quite protective of him."
Katie looked up at Harry with a raised eyebrow.
"Telling her about us, Harry?" She placed her hands over her heart dramatically. "How very touching."
Harry rolled his eyes before looking back at Fleur.
"I'll be back quickly. These meet-and-greets will go on all night, but the rest will be out here, I promise."
He looked at Angelina and Katie.
"You two behave."
He turned around and gestured for Oliver to lead the way. They made it quickly across the wide room, giving a quick wave to Luc as he passed, before entering a small hallway off that led off to another part of the wing. He sighed for the second time that night. Fancy rich people's houses were never something he understood. Why have something that you're never going to use fully? What's wrong with something small, in a quiet place, where you know your neighbors?
They stopped in front of a set of double doors and Oliver gestured.
"Here we are. I'm going back to the party. Spudmore will want to speak to you at some point tonight. He's here."
Harry groaned.
"Is he pissed that I'm having someone else look after Hedwig?"
Oliver shrugged.
"Dunno, but he seemed his normal cheerful self. Don't take too long, you know how the rest of the sponsors get when they can't have a conversation with their favorite Seeker. Nice suit by the way."
With that parting jab, Oliver turned and left, walking slowly back towards the party. Harry took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. He'd done this hundreds of times. Make nice, have some small talk, then go back to the party to do it all over again. He let the mask drop into place, his easygoing smile turning his lips upward as he opened the door and entered the room.
The mask slipped for only a second upon seeing the waiting occupant. He'd never seen her before, at least not in person, but there was no mistaking the individual in front of him casually leaning against the desk. Long blonde hair. Piercing azure eyes. The way she stood to her full height as he entered, head held high, gazing at him as if measuring his worth.
He smiled and nodded politely.
"You could have joined the party if you wished to see your daughter, Madam Delacour."
.
.
Fleur sipped the glass that Katie had passed to her, letting the flavour wash over her mouth as her eyes widened.
"It's good, innit?" Katie said as she leaned casually against the bar, a motion that was protested by her green dress as the fabric bunched up against the edge. "They might be tossers, but they've got good booze. All things considered, these French know how to throw a party. No offense."
"None taken," Fleur replied before looking down at both Katie and Angelina's attire. "Though I do wonder why you're both wearing dresses. Everyone else is wearing robes."
"Same reason as you," Angelina replied, taking a sip of her own wine, though Fleur would have classified it as a gulp.
They'd ushered her to the bar, each one linking an arm through hers, before ordering a glass of wine each. Fleur didn't know who's home they were in, or what vineyard the wine came from, but it was good. So good that Angelina was on her second glass and Katie was just about done with her first.
"After Harry continued the joke of wearing a muggle suit, taking all of the fun out of it by the way, we decided to get in on the act." She placed her glass down and stepped away from the bar, motioning to her sky blue dress and she twirled around. "The two of us wear muggle dresses each year. Eventually we'll convince everyone to do the same."
"She means wear muggle clothes, not everyone wearing muggle dresses," clarified Katie as she reached for the wine bottle to pour herself another glass. Angelina rolled her eyes.
Fleur smiled and took another sip. These two had an easy banter that was reminiscent of her own relationship with Gabby. The way two sisters communicated was unique, and these two had clearly adopted each other long ago. Fleur's smile dimmed as she felt the sensation again. She'd felt it a few times since Harry had left and she used every ounce of willpower not to look around to find who was looking at her.
"You alright there?" Angelina asked, looking down at her with concern. Fleur nodded sheepishly.
"Yeah, I'm alright. I just…don't do well in crowds."
"Because of the Veela thing?"
"'Arry told you?" Fleur asked, causing Angelina to shrug.
"He told us you were Veela. Don't really have any Veela in England, so not really sure what all that entails, other than you've an allure."
Fleur sighed and placed her glass down. She resisted the urge to wipe her hands on her dress. Such an old habit from years of muscle memory was hard to break. She looked at both the women with her and the air around them shifted slightly. It wasn't noticeable to anyone but her, she'd felt it happen so often that it was second nature, but she could almost feel the concern in their postures.
Were they always like this? Comforting those around them? Or was there something different because of who she was?
"I've never been very good at controlling my allure. At least not like my maman and sister. Crowds make me nervous. There's a level of uncertainty in crowds, because it can overwhelm the senses, at least for me. My sister loves it, the attention, that is. So she thrives. My maman learned to control it completely."
"And you never did?" asked Katie.
Fleur shook her head.
"Not fully, non. I learned enough during schooling to join my fellow students, but there are times when it's difficult. Especially when…"
She trailed off, suddenly unsure of herself. She hadn't been to a formal event in years, the last one being a small dinner party with a man she'd dated several years ago. She'd kept a tight grasp of herself then, making extra sure that her control was iron-tight, but it had been exhausting and had made her feel cold. Isolated. She'd felt the air around her shift constantly the entire night, as if magic was trying desperately to find some connection that she refused to allow.
Katie handed her another full glass and she accepted it graciously, sipping its contents as she looked out over the room. Before she could look further she felt the tension next to her grow, could feel Katie's eyes looking at her intently.
"You have questions," Fleur stated, as casually as if saying there were stars in the sky. She looked between Katie and Angelina. "You both do."
Angelina downed the rest of her drink before smiling.
"Me and Braids over there have heard about you for a long time. Didn't know what you looked like, sounded like, or acted like. Hot damn if my mental image wasn't completely off, Blondie."
"Do you give everyone nicknames?" Fleur questioned with a raised eyebrow.
Angelina shook her head, the smile never leaving her face.
"Only those I think are important," Angelina explained. "Harry dated a model two years ago. She was smoking hot, but you, Blondie? You're next level. Our man isn't so shallow as to care about looks alone, though. No, I can see why he's smitten with you. There's something about you that tells me you're exactly who he needs."
Fleur blushed, but held the taller woman's eye. She wasn't so young or naive to deny what was between Harry and her. She wasn't some muggle university student who refused to put a label on things. Their dates were undeniable, and the way they both relaxed when around each other was something she wanted to continue, but to hear others speak of it with such certainty made it more real. Tangible.
"What is it that you see?" she asked.
"He's played like shite recently, but before it was the little things, really. Not grand gestures or anything like that, that's not Harry's style. Before the playoffs he was smiling more. When he practiced there was this new determination in the way he moved, as if he'd found something he'd been searching for. He's always been talented, but it's like he'd found a new source of inspiration to draw from."
Angelina smirked.
"He's been different recently, stressed out, but all week he's been back to his normal self. It just so happened to be right after you agreed to come tonight."
She turned fully towards Fleur and her face shifted from the casual smile to business.
"We've known Harry since he was eleven. Be good to him, alright? Not saying you have to marry him, but try not to hurt him. He deserves happiness outside of Quidditch."
"Ugh," groaned Katie, draping an arm around Fleur and sending her a huge smile. "Angelina's always so serious. Look, Harry will be back soon, so how about we leave the hard hitting conversations behind and focus on the important stuff? Like pointing out who everyone is so you're not blindsided."
As she began pointing to various people in the crowd, Fleur's mind stuck on Angelina's words. She had no intention of hurting Harry. She thought back to their conversation in the shop, when she'd told him about her struggles, how he'd helped her feel like there was someone outside of her family who could understand. That maybe his fame was just as much of a burden for him as her struggles with her allure were.
She would never hurt Harry, because she suspected she would hurt herself in the process.
.
.
She smiled at him, the polite smile of a seasoned professional that had dealt with political rivals her entire career. Yet he was no rival. No political opponent that threatened her position. No roadblock in the way of her latest agenda.
He was simply a man who had become entangled in the life of her daughter.
Fleur and her mother may not be on the best of terms, but he supposed it was natural for her to want to know who was in her daughter's life. Fleur spoke with no small amount of love and adoration about her parents, especially when talking about her childhood, but he wouldn't lie and say this was expected. Was her mother playing a game with the team?
"I apologize for the nature of our meeting, Mr. Potter," she said. "My name is Apolline Delacour, though you have already worked that out."
He held up his hands.
"Please, just call me Harry. Mr. Potter makes me sound far older and wiser than I am."
She nodded.
"Very well, Harry."
Her accent was nearly non-existent, though he wasn't shocked. He'd met many foriegn delegates in his time and several had an impressive mastery of English that he didn't even know if he possessed. She was a powerful figure in the French Ministry, so it only made sense that she be able to converse with little hassle. Fleur had told him that her mother was the smartest person she knew.
"Does the French Ministry have an interest in Puddlemere?" he asked casually.
"One of my duties at the Ministry," she explained, "is to seek out new opportunities to increase profits. Puddlemere is always looking for new sponsors, and I've been around the game long enough to know a fit when I see it."
Harry tilted his head slightly before nodding.
"It makes sense when I think about it, yeah."
She raised an eyebrow.
"It does?"
He nodded again.
"Yeah. We've won the English league five times since I joined the team, and with the exception of the last two years, have at least made it to the semi finals. I'm confident enough to know our team is good and the organization has benefited financially from our success. Everyone involved is coming out on top at the moment."
She nodded, the barest hint of an approving smirk tugging at her lips.
"That's very observant. I'll be honest and say I didn't expect that from a player."
Harry laughed.
"I'm not the highest paid player in Europe, but the organization pays me well and the company that manages my finances keeps me updated on the situation." He paused briefly and sent her another winning smile. "Regardless, I think you've asked to meet with me for something else."
"You're not wrong," Apolline said with a sigh, the first crack he'd seen in her facade since their little game of polite words had begun. He had no intention of antagonizing her, however, there was no point. When she looked back at him she was no longer the career politician he'd seen upon entry, but a concerned mother who deeply cared about her family.
"I…I had to meet you, though Fleur would be incredibly upset if she knew I'd set all this up." She sighed again. "It really is a good business investment, but she would care little of that. She would see this as an act of war between us."
"Are things that strained?" he asked tentatively.
"Our relationship is not what it used to be. We've been at an impasse for so long that I've been unsure of where to even begin to try and change that."
She walked over to the window and stared out at the night sky.
"I had to meet you to see if you would be that beginning."
Harry's eyes opened wide.
"Me?"
She nodded, though she didn't elaborate immediately, opting to continue looking out the window. He felt no need to interrupt her thoughts, letting a stilted silence settle in the room. Just as it was beginning to become uncomfortable she turned and looked at him.
"I won't ask you what your intentions are. My daughter is a grown woman who can make her own decisions. Merlin knows she's told me that often enough," she added with a chuckle. "But if I could ask one question?"
He nodded.
"What does she mean to you?"
He smiled, not the practiced, fake smile he'd given her before, but a real one. The ones he reserved for those in his life that knew him beyond the fame. Those who bothered to look past the accolades and trophies.
"She's got this thing about her that I can't explain," he said, thinking back to earlier in the week when she'd kissed him, the hint of buttercream she left on his lips, and it nearly overwhelmed him. "When I'm around her it's as if I'm safe. Even if she's working and I'm just watching her, I feel myself relaxing without thinking. Everything that comes with Quidditch? The fame, the pressure, the expectations? None of it matters when I'm around her. She sees me for who I really am."
Apolline smiled, and he thought he saw some sort of acceptance or approval, but then it was gone. She walked towards the door and opened it, looking back at him as she did.
"Some call what you're describing love. Whatever happens between you two, don't hurt her."
"Never," he replied without hesitation. He was confident in his skills as a premiere Seekers. Willing to move mountains for those he considered family, but there was nothing he was more sure of than the fact that he would never intentionally hurt Fleur.
Apolline smiled again.
"Have a good evening, Harry."
.
.
"I still don't understand 'ow you keep track of everyone's names," Fleur said, causing Katie to laugh.
"It's easy once you do it enough time," she explained. "You only really have to know the big sponsors' names, but I like to go the extra mile because everyone loves me."
"I think you would get along well with my sister, Gabby."
"Is she adorable like me?" Katie teased.
"You're not adorable, you're a pest," Harry said, coming up alongside Katie and sending Fleur an apologetic look. Accompanying it was a brief glance of her up and down, and her neck heated at the quick motion. There was something in the way he looked at her that made her feel alive. "Sorry about that. Meet-and-greet took a bit longer than expected."
Fleur nodded in understanding.
"I understand. Angelina and Katie were just pointing out everyone to me."
Harry narrowed his eyes at Angelina.
"Tell me you weren't giving her incorrect names."
The tall raven haired girl gasped in mock offense, placing a hand over her heart dramatically.
"You wound me, sir. Wound me deeply. I would never."
"Except that one time you did," he replied deadpan as he slipped in between Fleur and Katie.
Angelina shrugged.
"Your date was a bimbo and she was only there because you were famous. I was doing you a favor."
Katie winced.
"She did a scathing interview in Witch Weekly not long after that, so I'm gonna doubt that you helped much."
Angelina huffed and Katie laughed before grabbing the other woman's arm.
"Now let's go and rub shoulders with the money people," she said, giving Angelina a pointed look. "Poor Luc looks like he needs a break."
She waved to them, leaving Harry and Fleur alone. He looked down at her and smiled.
"I hope they weren't too intimidating. Or say anything too terrible. You know, I'm just gonna apologize for them just in case," he chuckled.
"No no," she said, shaking her head, "they were nice. I can see why you get along so well. Angelina even gave me a nickname. I'm told those are rare."
He froze, and she watched as he looked over the room at Angelina. The tall woman waved and blew him a kiss. He shook his head before turning back towards her and she could see something new in the way he looked at her. As if the news of Angelina's words had changed the way he saw things. He jerked his head out to the floor.
"Are you ready to get through with mingling? Sadly, I have obligations to shake hands and be delightfully pleasant."
"You do the talking, I'll look pretty?" she asked playfully as she wrapped her arm around his.
"Sounds good to me."
So they got to it, going from person to person, and she saw him in his element. He was all smiles and good natured laughs, asking about people, remembering their names, making them feel welcomed. She watched him, cutting in when needed to offer her opinion, and marveled as he worked the crowd in the exact way they needed, all without a hint of arrogance or disdain.
As the night wore on it was difficult not to reflect on how different it was to her sparse and distant attempts at dating. Harry wasn't bothered by the eyes that fell upon them as they moved throughout the room. He wasn't bothered as people glanced at her while they ate, giving her hand a gentle squeeze when she tensed at the feeling of being watched, because they glanced at him just as often. He was used to the eyes of many being upon him and he shrugged it off with ease.
People didn't press in on them either, crowding in for a better look or unwatched touch, because that wasn't how professional Quidditch players were treated. At least not in this setting. That made her mind wander as he spoke to another guest, to what her future could look like alongside him. It was a far different picture than the one she'd imagined while watching the game.
Bodyguards or box seats as a buffer between her and the crowd, her place as the perpetual unwanted center of attention routinely stolen by him for his prowess and feats on the pitch. Eyes not falling solely upon her, but to him, that roguish smile capturing minds and hearts alike, all while she stood by him.
The thought made her flush.
"Are you alright?"
She looked up and smiled at him, seeing the concern in his eyes. She'd caught him looking at her all night, just briefly whenever she wasn't speaking. Stolen glances that she couldn't interpret, but there had been an underlying note of heat in his eyes. She knew her own held the same.
"I'm fine," she replied and he nodded.
"Let me know when you want to get out of here," he said before looking over her shoulder. He frowned briefly before looking down at her.
"You're about to meet the man who owns seven and a half percent of Puddlemere. His company makes the official broom polish of the team. Don't tell him…" he trailed off and looked down, sighing.
"Go on," she whispered teasingly, feeling bold, "say it."
"Seriously? You're going to tease me about this now?"
"If you don't say it I'll just blurt it out when 'e gets over 'ere."
He sighed.
"Evil witch," he mumbled before looking her in the eyes. "Don't tell him you polished my broom."
A spark lit in her eyes and she patted his cheek.
"Knew you 'ad it in you."
As the rotund man spoke with Harry, waxing poetically about their latest product, she kept glancing at him and could see his patience growing thin. She smiled. It seemed that even Harry Potter, Seeker prodigy, had his limits. That limit, it appeared, was talking for nearly a half hour about broom polish. The conversation gave her clarity, however, and she felt the air around her fully settle for the first time all night. She sighed with contentment.
Without effort, her allure was acting as if it no longer existed.
It was an odd feeling, but then she felt the familiar sensation of eyes upon her. Yet she instinctively knew who was watching her. She looked up and they locked eyes. He was deep in conversation, nodding his head to whatever was being said, but his eyes remained fixed on her.
They were burning with desire and she let it continue because she wanted it to continue.
For the first time there was no invisible force that could potentially be drawing his eyes towards her. No thin coat of Veela magic permeating the air. His look was purely for her, no tricks or unintended manipulations involved.
Harry extracted himself from the conversation and she pulled him by the hand before another could draw him in. They both nodded to one another, realizing that they'd had enough of the place for one night, but there was something electric in the air as they moved. He waved at Angelina and Luc as they left, the Frenchman giving a wink for good measure, and they walked to the apparition point. Before he could open his mouth she popped them back to her shop, landing just inside the entryway.
It was dark, though the glow of the moon and the magic lamps hanging above gave off enough light to see him clearly.
"I had a good time tonight," he said. "I don't normally have fun at these things."
They looked at each other for a long moment, she didn't even respond, just looked him in the eyes, searching. Checking to see if what she felt was mirrored. Another beat passed.
Silence.
Suddenly they were upon each other, kissing with a ferocious hunger that exploded in the air. The looks, the not-so-subtle glances over the past several hours, it all culminated in what they'd both wanted all night.
Her allure flared to life, as if brought forth by the call of something primal, and if felt like the air hummed with excitement.
She pressed him back against the shelf, the distinct sound of tools clattering to the floor echoing around them as she deepened their kiss. He tasted equal parts sweet and salty, neither overwhelming the other, and she needed more. She tore at his jacket, ripping it off of his shoulders and tossing it to the ground, kissing him again as she led him towards the back of the shop, pulling at his tie.
They crashed into the back wall and the sound of shattered glass rang around them. A problem for another day. She kicked off her shoes and he pulled her closer to him, biting at her neck as she gasped. She kissed him again, biting his lip softly in retaliation, leading him towards the stairs that made up the apartment above the shop. It was messy, unclean, but she didn't care.
"You know-" he said as he pressed her against the wall of the stairs, capturing her lips in another kiss. "I was thinking-" she pulled at his shirt, leading him up the stairs. She opened her mouth to speak when they reached the small landing but he silenced her with his own. Breaking apart, they were both breathing heavily. "A vacation in France sounds lovely."
When they made it to the apartment he was already dropping his shirt, the tie long since lost on the steps. He was guiding her towards the small couch when she stopped him, redirecting them towards the bed with another kiss.
"Not the couch. Bed," she said breathlessly.
She pushed him back towards the bed and he collided with the frame. She watched him for a moment. He was shirtless, looking at her with a hunger she'd not seen before. Of course, she'd seen hunger in the eyes of others before, she'd even seen it in her lovers, but never as clear eyed as he was in that moment.
Her allure roared around them, the magic permeating the air almost electric, but it didn't touch him at all.
She walked to him, letting her dress fall as she did. As she stood in front of him she felt his hands caress her body before lightly moving his fingers down her side and gripping her bum. She let out a soft purr of pleasure as the sensation swept across her skin, ending in a rising heat within. She leaned up, gripping the hair in the back of his head to pull his face towards her, placing a gentle kiss on his lips. She savored the moment before leaning into his ear and whispering words that made him shudder in anticipation.
"I want you."