Disclaimer: Don't own Harry Potter
AN: Welcome to a new AU story. This one, just like my college AU story, popped up in the Flowerpot discord and grabbed my imagination until I wrote it.
Thanks to Foreal the Chronicler for the initial idea.
A big thank you to my awesome beta readers. x102reddragon, Proctorb_32, Palkey, Ajjaxx, and Foreal the Chronicler.
Most of all, a massive shout out to DJKopper. In addition to beta reading, his creativity helped shape large portions of this fic and it wouldn't have been anywhere close to what it is without him. Thank you so much for helping me pull so much potential from this idea. It would have been lost without you.
You can find all of these amazing people, and more, in the Flowerpot discord. Come hang out with us!
discord .gg / f4a9Cg8rpB
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A chime rang overhead as Harry entered the shop.
It was all the more jarring riding the coattails of post-portkey wooziness reverberating through his entire body, though the effects were lessening with each portkey trip. He preferred apparition, even if he'd long since gotten the hang of landing a portkey on his feet. Unfortunately, this particular journey, just outside Fontaine-de-Vaucluse, was outside the bounds of his limits to apparate, especially with the precious cargo he carried.
"Puis-je vous aider?" A voice called from the back.
As he made his way further through the shop he came to a counter, noticing there were no brooms on display for sale. All of the shop's walls were lined with workbenches, various half-empty bottles and brushes strewn about, telltale signs of broom maintenance and care. Scattered throughout were a handful of carving tools, some small, some large, but not a single Cleansweep, Nimbus, or Firebolt product to be found. It was odd to Harry not to see lavish displays and shop keepers peddling the latest, and noticeably more expensive, models from all the major manufacturers.
The soothing scent of birch and polishing oil relaxed him as he looked around, the tension he didn't realize he'd been carrying in his shoulders slipping away. It was the first time he'd been to a broom shop that didn't just sell brooms, but one that actually made and adjusted them. "Delacour and Family" was the name he'd been given.
"Er, bonjour? Do you speak English?" Harry called back.
"Oui, 'ow can I 'elp you?" A woman began emerging from the back of the shop, dusting her hands on her overalls.
"Do you do broom adjustments? We…er…We don't have those in England but my friend Luc recommended you. I…It feels like she's pulling a little to the left out of deep-"
He paused as the woman finally made her way to the counter. Grease and tiny wood chips coated her platinum locks, haloing the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen. Her long hair was held up into a messy bun and thin rimmed glasses framed her face. A small smear of soot ran along her cheek, apparently unnoticed by the effortlessly enchanting woman.
"...dives."
"Oui. I know exactly which enchantment 'as weakened. May I see your broom?" she continued with a small tilt of her head, politely ignoring Harry's too long pause.
He held it up, two hands gripping the handle carefully, eyes screaming to the woman that this broom meant the world to him.
She softened.
"She loves you too, you know. It's written all over your bond."
"E-Excuse me?"
The woman took the broom gently, pulling it from his reluctant grasp with a small placating smile as he relinquished it.
"I can see that she cares just as much about you as you do for 'er."
She placed the broom down on the counter, a solid block of brown wood that ran the length of the back wall, unbroken apart from two small entrances on either side. She pulled her wand from the front of her overalls and he flinched for a brief moment, relaxing as she began to run her wand over the length of the handle.
"These are not just for show," she said, tapping her glasses and whispering spells to herself as she worked. After several moments she pulled a muggle pen from her overalls, writing several mathematical symbols onto the parchment already present on the counter. "Brooms 'ave a…unique magic about them. These, along with my family's magic, allow me to see it."
Harry smiled.
"I assume that would make you 'Delacour and Family' then?"
She nodded, not moving her eyes from the parchment.
"Oui. I am Fleur Delacour. It is nice to meet you, 'Arry Potter."
Harry rubbed the back of his neck in embarrassment, he'd hoped to be inconspicuous. He was, after all, playing in the English league. His play was hardly recognizable to the remainder of the Quidditch world, especially internationally, though his performance at the last World Cup had earned him some renown. He'd hoped being in southern France would have given him some level of anonymity.
"What gave me away?" he asked with a small laugh.
She stood back up to her full height and tilted her head slightly to the side once more, as if his question had been an odd one.
"You look like 'Arry Potter."
She leaned back over, running her wand the length of the broom and writing several more numbers down before she spoke again.
"And she feels unique, as if she were made specifically for you. Only a 'andful of people in the world would 'ave commissioned such a work. One of the best Seekers in the English league would be among such people."
"How can you tell that she's unique?" he asked, curious as to how she knew so much in such a short time.
She was right, the broom had been personally made for him by Randolph Spudmore. The man who created the Firebolt had practically burst into tears when Harry asked him to design a custom one for him. They'd spent hours going over exactly what he wanted and several weeks later Harry had been presented with the greatest work of art he'd ever seen.
"Every broom in the world gives off its own unique magic. Even widely produced ones such as the standard Firebolt. My father and I 'ave seen many Firebolts, and they all shared some of the same basic foundations. This one is different."
She looked back up at him.
"And she 'as bonded with you strongly. A normal broom would 'ave some bond, but not like this. It would be odd to see such strength in something that wasn't made with specific intent."
"Specific intent?" he asked. Fleur nodded.
"Oui. Magic, especially broomcrafting, is largely intent, though you do need skill to match. The greater the intent, the greater the result. The intent behind this broom's craft was distinct. Focused. The broom, in turn, 'as bonded to the one who cares for it with such passion. The one who's determination led to 'er creation."
Harry furrowed his brow.
"So you can see the bond between me and my broom?"
She shook her head as she muttered more spells, though this time the broom gave off a faint, pulsing glow for several moments. As the glow died she stuck the pen she'd been writing with behind her ear.
"Not exactly, non. I can see 'ow 'er magic reacts to you. It changes when you're 'olding 'er. Like it's safer in your 'ands than anywhere else."
Fleur picked up a small pair of scissors that Harry recognized as bristle trimmers. She cut several frayed tips off the end of the broom before flicking her wand. A small container of broom polish and a stained rag floated from the back. She opened the bottle and quickly tilted it over and back up with the rag covering the top.
She ran the rag down the length of the broom, covering the entire surface in the liquid. Briefly, it appeared to give the wood a darker shade, almost as if she'd been applying a stain, but just as quickly it returned to its normal color. She flicked her wrist again causing the bottle and rag to float away towards the back.
She gestured down towards the broom as she wiped her hands on her overalls. Idly, he noticed they were slightly darker where she was wiping, indicating it was a well practiced habit.
"I've coated 'er in a light protectant. It will protect against wind and rain damage, but also 'elps the wood breathe. That should 'elp extend 'er life, though I would recommend reapplying regularly. It does nothing for speed or durability, so it's all fully legal for matches."
Harry picked up his broom and smiled at the feel, a faint warmth briefly touching his hand before fading.
"You've fixed the issue?"
Fleur nodded.
"Oui, I believe I 'ave."
"What was it?" he asked with a raised eyebrow.
For an instant he saw a mistrustful look enter her eyes, but just as quickly it vanished.
"Are you truly interested?"
Harry nodded.
"Of course," he said enthusiastically. "I need to know if I did anything wrong. I don't want to be the one who causes something like that to happen again."
She smiled at him and Harry swore that the lighting in the room changed, as if a ray of sunshine had pierced through the ceiling and was directed at her.
She gestured down at the broom and waved her wand in several intricate motions. Eight golden circles appeared around the broom as he held it out. They looked to be moving along the length of it, all rotating at different speeds.
"This is a basic visual representation of the enchantments in your broom. Not the actual enchantments, of course, but it's the best way to show them. This one," she said as she flicked her wand, causing all but one of the circles to disappear, "was weakening. It is a common enough occurrence, especially in the Firebolt line. Only someone truly in tune with 'er would 'ave noticed."
She flicked her wand again and the final circle disappeared.
"Should I be worried about the rest of them?" he asked.
She shook her head.
"Non. Randolph Spudmore does good work, and the rest of 'is enchantments are solid. I can re-enforce them later if they become a problem."
Harry cocked an eyebrow.
"Why not do that now?"
Fleur looked almost offended, but her gaze softened immediately.
"Many are too aggressive with specialized broom maintenance or repair. It takes an understanding of the broom and a deft 'and to do correctly." She paused and looked as if she were trying to find the right words. "Disturbing the enchantments that weren't weakening may cause instability in the future. It's better to let 'er tell us when something is wrong than try to fix what isn't broken."
There was a fondness to her tone, something that sounded almost loving to Harry's ears. Fleur Delacour was passionate about her work, and it showed in her knowledge and understanding of her craft.
"How much do I owe you?" he finally asked after a long, stilted silence.
As he handed her the galleons she gave a small laugh, a sound that made him slip further into comfort around her in a way he didn't often do with people. There was something oddly compelling about her, but he had yet to put his finger on it.
"I almost feel like I'm betraying my country," she said with a smile.
Harry laughed.
"Why's that?"
"Because England knocked France out of the world cup last time. I believe you were the one who caught the snitch."
Harry nodded but looked down, a faint blush forming on his cheeks. She laughed again, causing him to look back at her.
"Don't get me wrong, we'd 'ave never made it past Bulgaria, just as you didn't, but it still stung."
"Yes, well, Victor Krum should watch himself," Harry said confidently, determination in his eyes. "We're all still quite bitter about that and want our revenge when the Cup comes around again."
Her eyes sparkled with mischief.
"I dare say you'll 'ave the best broom on the pitch now. I look forward to your rematch when the time comes."
Harry smiled and held up his broom. "Thank you, for fixing her up."
Fleur waved her hand dismissively.
"It was my pleasure. It is always nice to work with a broom as lovely as yours. Tell Luc Bennet I said 'ello."
Harry gave a short chuckle.
"How do you and Luc know each other anyhow?"
She looked out the window, a far away look entering her face.
"We went to school together, though 'e left for England just a few years after entering the Quidditch world. It was a great blow for the French league. I'm glad childhood grudges aren't still floating around."
Harry gave her a questioning look.
"I used to best 'im at dueling all the time. Ask 'im to tell you about it. I'm sure you'll find 'is memories amusing."
She made a shooing motion.
"But enough about that, I'm sure you're very busy and portkeys can be terrible, so away with you. It was truly nice to meet you, Monsieur Potter."
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Fleur ran the small chisel gently down the entire neck with the lightest of touch, an almost impossibly thin layer of wood falling to the table beneath. She exhaled, letting out the breath she had been holding and wiped her forehead. She could do all of this with magic, she knew that, so did every broom maker in the world, but there was no replacement for the fine details her own hands could provide.
She picked up her wand and muttered a few words, the glow at the tip indicating she needed to shave another layer. She sighed. This broom was proving to be difficult, but that's simply how it was sometimes. Each one was unique, with its own quirks and personality. This one had chosen stubbornness.
She bent back down and hovered the chisel back over the neck. Just a few more layers and her work would be complete.
"Fleeeeeeur. Yoo hoo," she heard. Looking up, she smiled as Gabby poked her head through the doorway from the front of the shop.
"Good, someone who speaks French," Fleur said. Gabby laughed and plopped down onto the stool at the end of the workbench.
"Had another foreigner?"
"Yes," Fleur growled as she looked back down. "A tourist. She couldn't understand why we didn't carry the Twigger 90 broom."
Gabby laughed.
"And what did you tell her?"
"I told her we don't carry any brooms in this shop as this is not a broomstick shop," Fleur said. "I told her if we did carry brooms they wouldn't be such gimmicky crap as the 90. They would be proper broomsticks."
She bent down and ran the chisel down the neck again, shaving another thin layer of wood from the broom. She grabbed a tiny brush and brushed the length of the broom lightly, a small bit of sawdust blooming into the air before settling on the bench, not a spec of it on the broom itself.
Fleur stood up and dusted her hands on her overalls, nodding at the broom. She looked up at Gabby with a smile.
"What brings you here?"
Gabby rolled her eyes. "As if you don't know."
"Ah," Fleur chuckled, "Papa sent you to check on me. Again."
"He's worried about you after your fight with maman. You're both being very stubborn and it's putting him in an awkward position."
Fleur clicked her tongue.
"He should have thought about that before accepting me as his apprentice years ago."
She looked down at her diagram before grabbing a pair of bristle trimmers and meticulously snipping bristles to begin the process of shaping the broom head into the necessary shape. This had always been her favorite part of the process, even as far back as when she was a child watching her papa from the stool Gabby now sat on. There was no magic involved, no charms or enchantments needed to shape the head, just a steady hand and an eye for detail.
She'd been helping her papa do just that when he'd given her the official letter from the Guild letting her know she'd been accepted as Richard Delacour's apprentice.
"What's that, papa?" Fleur asked, lowering the trimmers she was holding. Richard approached her and held out a letter, withdrawing it just before she could grab it. She saw pride in his eyes, a look she'd seen several times over the years she'd been helping him in the shop.
When she'd trimmed her starter broom to a more aerodynamic shape.
The first time she properly put the cowl on a broom.
The first time she'd successfully added all enchantments to an unfinished piece.
Each time his eyes had gotten wide before softening, his coarse hands, worn from years of plying his craft, coming to the sides of her face before pulling her into a tight hug.
"This is a promise, my flower," he said. "For me and you. This letter comes with certain stipulations, however, and they are non-negotiable."
He handed her the letter and she tore it open, her eyes growing wider and wider as she read it before letting out a squeal of delight and launching herself at her father.
"You must promise me now, Fleur," he said as she pulled away from him and picked the letter back up, eyes already scanning its contents again. "Promise me that you will finish school."
Fleur raised her head and gave him a questioning gaze. "Why? I am your apprentice now. An apprenticeship can be substituted for time spent at Beauxbatons."
"Because your mother is already furious enough and this was the compromise needed to win her over," he said, guiding Fleur into the stool just behind the bench, sitting in the one next to it as he gave her a serious look. "I had to submit your apprenticeship paperwork now or you would have had to wait another two years. You've only got a year left at school. It would have been unfair to make you wait that long."
"I don't-"
"Fleur, what's the first rule of being here?"
Fleur huffed.
"Honesty is the key to ensuring our work is worthy of the Delacour name," she recited.
"Exactly," Richard said, nodding his head. "So know that I am being honest when I say this: you will be the best broom maker our family has ever known. I can see it in your eyes every day when we work side-by-side. Do this last favor for your old man and I will teach you everything that this family has ever known about brooms."
"And maybe he shouldn't have retired," Fleur added, breaking free from her reminiscence.
"He also wanted me to check to make sure you ordered more hazel wood. The supplier-"
"Is having a bad year, yes I know," Fleur interrupted. She sighed, looking up at the ceiling and counting to ten. "He doesn't have to keep sending you here to check on things. I've been running the place for years. The only difference now is…"
She trailed off and her shoulders slumped as she sank into the stool behind her.
"The quiet?" Gabby asked tentatively. Fleur nodded.
"Yeah. It's so quiet without him. Anytime we were working he'd either be humming something or we'd be arguing over technique. Hell, I even miss the corny jokes he'd tell when he knew I was in a bad mood. I swear, sometimes I think I hear him, but then I'll look up and remember that he's back at home with mother."
Gabby sighed and stood up, approaching the bench to hug her sister.
"Have you tried asking him to come back?"
Fleur recoiled at the thought, pushing Gabby away quickly before standing up.
"Absolutely not. I've been running the shop for years and he always said he would retire early. I won't give mama any more reasons to fight with me."
Fleur bit her lip in uncertainty.
"How is she?"
Gabby laughed lightly. "Still fuming, but I think it's mostly out of pride at this point. She told me-"
A tapping at the window interrupted. Fleur went over to the large glass window and opened it, letting the owl in to drop off its letter. Reaching into her overalls she pulled out two owl treats, feeding them to the bird before it took back off.
"I'll never understand how you always seem to have exactly what you need in those," Gabby quipped before she raised an eyebrow. "Who's it from?"
Her name was written on the front and turning it over revealed the seal of the Puddlemere United quidditch team. Her eyes went wide as it clicked in her mind.
"I think it's from Harry Potter," she whispered.
"What? Harry Potter? Famous Quidditch player Harry Potter?"
"Is there another Harry Potter that I'm unaware of?" questioned Fleur.
"Why would he be writing to you?"
"He came in here last week and I helped him adjust his broom."
"What?!" Gabby exclaimed. "A famous Quidditch hunk comes in here and you don't bother to tell me?"
"It didn't seem important at the time," she responded as she opened the letter.
Gabby gave her a devilish smirk.
"Did you polish his broom when you were done?"
Fleur looked at her sister with a deadpan expression, which only caused Gabby to wink at her.
"Well? What's it say?"
Dear Fleur,
Luc helped me write this in French, though I think he's having me for a laugh. I apologize for the poor grammar and spelling.
Fleur paused and chucked. "He wrote 'spelling' in English. Seems Luc didn't tell him how to write that one."
I just wanted to thank you for helping me with my broom. She flew better than ever after visiting your shop. It was like she was out to prove something. Turns felt sharper. Accelerating and decelerating was quicker. Best of all, she didn't drift once while diving. We had our biggest win of the year thanks to you.
Fleur shook her head and looked at Gabby. "Luc has him using the feminine and masculine versions interchangeably. I suspect he's correct about being led on."
Your insight while I was there was invaluable and I think I can learn even more.
Thank you again. I'd like to stop by in person to thank you as well. Please let me know if that would be bothersome to you.
Sincerely,
Harry Potter
"He wrote it in French," Fleur said before tilting her head slightly to the side. "Poorly, but it's the effort that counts, I guess?"
Gabby snatched the letter from Fleur's hand, a cry of protest escaping Fleur's lips before the younger sister pushed her away to read the contents. As she finished she looked up, that devilish look on her face again.
"Merlin, he likes you," she said as she broke out into a fit of giggles. "I'm guessing he hopes you'll polish his broom again."
"Stop it!" Fleur demanded, her face flushing at the thought. She wasn't a prude, especially not considering what she was, but broom maintenance was no laughing matter. It was just as serious as construction. They were two sides of the same galleon.
"He is quite handsome, so don't feel bad for blushing."
Fleur growled and picked up the chisel.
"If you're finished tormenting me then I've got work to do. I have to finish this broom before tomorrow afternoon. The client put a rush on it and they're paying extra."
Gabby laughed, giving her sister a squeeze before making her way towards the front of the shop, throwing a wave behind her.
"Let me know when your new boyfriend stops by again!"
