Notes: Fem Harry, Humour/Romance (Harry/Fred). Warning for language.

Darling, It's Better (Down Where It's Wetter)

Harry sprinted, heart beating wildly as she Accio-ed an elastic and gathered her dark hair into a messy bun … thing. She knew it resembled nothing so much as a porcupine, but whatever. There was a spell to create an elegant bun at the top of her head, but the finicky twisting motion of her wand was something she had yet to master. Besides, when Hermione did it for her, bits of hair still stuck out from everywhere.

She had no fucks left to give about the state of her hair, however. Even on a good day it could be a right bitch, and today … today was not a good day, not by any stretch of the imagination. The second task was about to start in less than ten minutes, and she was armed with only her wand and Dobby's dubious jar of slimy-looking greyish-green tangles of 'gillyweed'. She was screwed. A chant of fuckfuckfuckbloodybuggeringfuck drummed in her head as she fairly flew out the oak front doors, trying to ignore the growing stitch in her side.

She skidded to a stop beside the judges' table, speckling everyone's robes with mud. "Bloody fu—er, he—er … bugger," she panted eloquently, valiantly ignoring the disapproving looks from Percy, Madame Maxime, and Karkaroff. Cedric was politely trying to cover a smile, and even the hulking Victor Krum looked a bit less surly. Fleur merely turned up her nose.

"Good girl!" Ludo Bagman beamed, looking more than a little relieved. "Got in a few extra winks, eh, Harry? Not a bad strategy at all – better rested and ready, I say." He clapped her shoulder and moved to sit, oblivious to the incredulous looks from Fleur and Madame Maxime at her dishevelled hair and robes. Probably had bags under her eyes too.

Casting a Sonorus at his throat, Bagman's voice boomed over the crowd as he explained the task. "And now, champions, get ready! One … two … three!"

Everyone burst into action around her, tearing off their robes and jumping into the black water. Of course, they were actually prepared, wearing swimclothes underneath. Thankfully, she was proficient in another spell that Hermione had taught her; saying the spell she found herself in her newly bought swimsuit (Hermione had insisted), her robes probably folded haphazardly on her four-poster bed.

By this time, the other three champions were long gone. She slid her wand into the tiny pocket on her side, water lapping at her toes. Laughter was ringing in her ears as she fumbled with the jar in her had. She took out a handful of the gillyweed and stuffed it into her mouth as she waded into the water. With each step, doubt crept into her. Did Dobby really know what he had been talking about? Was she just going to be stranded here looking like a gormless idiot?

As the thought crossed her mind, a sharp pain erupted under her ears, and suddenly she couldn't breathe, a heavy pressure pushing down on her nose and mouth. Gills, she realised, as she ran her hands experimentally over the ache. Well then.

She jumped fully into the water, and regretted it immediately. Morgana's sagging tits, but it was cold. Why, oh why was she in this blasted tournament anyway?

When her chest was about to explode from holding her breath, she swallowed a gulp of the icy water. And promptly did a swirling jig as she realised that, yes, she could breathe! Or at least, oxygen was flowing through her somehow, so she wasn't about to die from hypoxia. And the water was comfortably warm around her, like she'd submerged herself in the prefects' bathroom tub. And were those … flippers … on her feet? Webbed hands, too, fuck yeah! Resisting another celebratory jig, she swam further in and dove down into the dark depths.

Around her was a world of grey. With bugger-all to see in any direction, she continued downward. She didn't know how much later it was, but after a close brush with a grindylow and a motherfucking heart-attack-inducing encounter with Moaning Myrtle (who had the audacity to giggle, the evil would-be-murderer), she was finally in front of the four unconscious figures drifting in gently in the water, surrounded by a whole host of spear-wielding merpeople.

What the fuck? A feeling of absolute confusion washed through her at the sight. When Dobby had said that his 'Wheezy' had been taken, she'd thought it was Ron. Not … Fred?

Fred, who made her laugh when she was fighting tears, looked out for her when she was the school's most hated (yet again), cheered her on through her vicious Snape rants and made suggestions of his own, reassured her when everything seemed downright hopeless …

Fuckity fuck.

She had only very recently admitted to herself that she may or may not have a teeny tiny crush – ugh, how she hated that utterly juvenile-sounding word – on the mischievous twin (oh, who was she kidding, she had drawn bloody hearts on her History of Magic essay around his name), and now the whole Merlin-be-damned school would know. Y'know, what with him being the thing she'll 'sorely miss' and all. Forget Hogwarts – even the students of fucking Durmstrang and Beauxbatons would know.

As panic rose, a sudden thought occurred to her. She could take Hermione! They were practically attached at the hip anway – unless the bushy-haired girl was trying to pound Transfigurations theory into her head (at which point she beat a hasty retreat before her quill could find itself accidently embedded into her best friend's heart).

But then, of course, Krum would be without a hostage. Which wouldn't be so bad, really, except she probably ought to let up on the poor guy, because if Hermione truly was his most important person, then he really did like her – and besides, he had put up with the curly blond hair that had plagued him for a week with not-ill grace (a feat of spellwork she was especially proud of, especially since even Hermione couldn't undo it).

Hmm, what to do …

She could … take Cho? But even as the thought formed, she shook her head. Even though the entire Gryffindor Quidditch team and then some knew of her hopeless infatuation with the Ravenclaw seeker, no one would believe that she meant more to her than Fred, let alone Hermione.

A buzz of activity rippled through the merpeople, distracting her from her thoughts. Soon she saw Cedric swimming over, the large bubble around his head making him look oddly like an underwater astronaut. Within seconds, he had Cho out of her restraints and was swimming to the surface.

Well, there went that option.

She considered the remaining trio of hostages, a frown on her face. And the mersong was really fucking starting to get on her nerves, she thought absently.

So … Hermione or Fred?

She caught another movement out of the corner of her eye and turned. A flash of absolute horror struck her, and she backpedalled furiously, because a monstrous motherfucking shark was heading toward her – and did she mention it was fucking huge? Her mind was frantically trying to grasp some possible route of action that wouldn't culminate in her body being served up as a tartare à la witch … Except, was that a pair of … legs?

Looking closer, she realised that it was not actually a shark, but Krum with a transfigured shark head. Slowly, when she was sure her heart wouldn't hammer its way out of her ribcage, she made her way back over to the hostages.

The Bulgarian was sawing away with a sharp rock at the rope holding Hermione, and was swimming away with her in minutes. Fuck, looked like Plan B was out too. She glided closer. There was really no other way for it – she would have to free red-headed menace. How was he causing mayhem even when he was bloody unconscious?

Liberal wand-waving and threatening glares later, she was advancing steadily toward the glimmer of light that indicated the surface, grumbling bubbles of displeasure at the weight of her 'most sorely missed' possession. Dumping him unceremoniously on the banks, she treaded water as she waited for her gills to disappear. A terrified scream rent through the air, and a hysterical Fleur was pushing through droves of students and professors alike.

"Gabrielle! Où est Gabrielle? Is she safe? Someone 'elp 'er! She is under zere, please!"

A sinking feeling in her stomach, the crowd's murmurs faded as she thought of the little girl, pale and lifeless looking, still drifting in the dark depths of the lake. Sighing in resignment, she dove back into the water for a second time, berating herself all the while.

The merpeople appeared to still be cowed by her previous warning, as she had no trouble retrieving the silver-haired girl. Who thought it was a good idea to put this blonde pipsqueak down here anyway? As she grabbed the girl by her waist, she realised that the water was starting to feel cold again, slipping its icy fingers over her skin. Oxygen was beginning to become a bit of an issue, what with her chest feeling like an elephant was sitting on it. Bloody buggering fuck, this kid better not be any relation of Malfoy – who was the only other non-Fleur person with hair like this – because she was not dying for one of them, no matter how cute and tiny.

Putting all her might into kicking singlemindedly, she almost didn't notice when she broke through the surface. She floated there for a moment, heaving great gulping breaths of precious, wondrous air. When she felt sufficiently rejuvenated, she swam over to the shore with the coughing and spitting girl who was now hanging onto her neck, who was doing a decent impression of a limpet.

"Gabrielle!"

Fleur fell onto her knees by the water's edge, pulling the girl out and onto the land. Hands reached toward her and hauled her out as well, and soon she found herself wrapped firmly in a wonderfully fluffy towel, ears steaming as Madam Pomfrey force-fed her a Pepper Up. Hermione and Ron had made their way over exclaiming excitedly ("Harry, you did it! Gillyweed – oh, I should've thought of it ages ago!") and incredulously ("Bloody hell, Harry, Fred?"), thumping her back without pause.

Her attention was suddenly grabbed by Fleur, who had forced her bodily around. She was about to voice her displeasure at the rough handling, when she noticed that the part-veela was gazing at her almost … adoringly. Well, this was awkward …

"You saved my seester's life," Fleur spoke, sounding awed. "Even though you could 'ave left 'er zere. You could 'ave died, but you saved 'er."

Harry was starting to feel rather hot under the collar. "Er, no biggie, really," she said, smiling weakly.

Fleur lunged forward and hugged her tight, before kissing each of her cheeks. Whispering a husky and heartfelt "thank you," she released her and resumed hovering over her sister.

Hermione and Ron were staring at her; Ron looked a bit jealous, but Hermione's mouth was twitching in amusement. Harry felt the two spots on her cheek burn where Fleur kissed her (kissed her!), and would not have been surprised if it remained red for the rest of the week.

"Not one word," she hissed in warning at a gleeful Hermione, who replied with a wide-eyed 'who, me?' expression – which was hers, dammit. Sniffing, she turned around, only to freeze in her tracks.

Fred, fiery haired, freckled, sparkly-eyed Fred – she was starting to feel a bit dizzy from the heat now – was eyeing her quietly, a strange look on his face. She was barely suppressing the wild urge to scream. He knew! He had to. Oh Godric, where was Lockhart when you needed a swift Obliviate?

"So," he broke the silence, "I'm the one you'll sorely miss?"

She was fairly sure her knees were trembling now. "Fuck. I mean, er, well, you see … About that …"

Merlin knew what she was going to say – something exceptionally stupid, no doubt – but she was saved from her foot-in-mouth syndrome by a pair of chapped lips pressing into hers. Boy, was she thanking all her past selves for the unbelievably amazing karma she must have accumulated for getting her to this point.

With Fred's mouth moulded to hers and his fingers tangled in her dripping, knotted hair, she couldn't help but think that the day was starting to look up after all.

A/N: AND THEY LIVED HAPPILY EVER AFTER. Ahem.

Fem Harry, in all her potty-mouthed glory! I'd wanted to explore a female Harry for absolutely ages, and so this finally happened. Can I just say how much I enjoyed writing this? Because it was ridiculously fun. (Until the very end, at which point my face was burning red enough to rival Harry's - why do I torture myself writing romance anyway?)

Leave comments below and let me know what you thought! And prompts are welcome! :)