Fleur Delacour had a problem. Well, more accurately, she had a few problems.
But this was by far the biggest one.
She was still single.
Now why was this an issue? Because she was 30, and her younger sister was getting married before her.
It was a horrific travesty, and she would not stand for it!
But there was… one issue.
Fleur Delacour couldn't keep a partner. For some reason or another, her relationships always seemed to fall apart, and it was the weirdest thing. No matter how hard she tried, nothing seemed to work.
But that's a story for another time. For now, Fleur was desperate.
But she had a solution, an opportunity, to make everything right again!
It was a foolproof method that worked every time! Hell, a bunch of her relatives had gotten hitched that way!
And all she had to do was go to Vegas, and get blackout drunk, and she would wake up the next day, married!
Of course, there were caveats. The pool from which her spouse could arrive was…. Well, massive was an understatement. From demon lords, to alien monstrosities, to even the odd angel or two, there were a myriad of people she could end up with, and whether she could get the perfect spouse was a gamble.
But Fleur believed!
And, again… she was desperate.
So Fleur plucked up her courage, and bit the bullet.
Fleur Delacour groaned in pain, clutching at her pounding head as she pushed herself up on the extremely soft bed. Blinking blearily, she glanced around.
She was in a room she didn't recognise, naked, in a bed she didn't remember getting in, with a warm body next to her on the bed that she didn't remember….
Holy fuck, it worked.
Biting back a squeal of glee, Fleur brought her right hand up to her face, and gaped at the gorgeous platinum ring adorning her ring finger. It had worked! She was hitched!
Now, all that was left to do was to find out who her partner was!
Reaching over to the blanket covered lump next to her, she sloooowly pulled back the covers.
Raven hair was the first thing she saw, attached to a decidedly human figure, which was good.
Carefully, she rolled them over.
And felt the blood drain from her face.
Lying next to her, torso bare, was someone she recognised. Someone she was close to.
The Boy-Who-Lived, the Hero of the Wizarding World, Harry Potter.
Her best friend. Her Happily Married best friend.
Fuuuuuuuuuuck.
All of a sudden, Harry groaned, his eyes opening.
Green met blue.
Harry blinked.
Harry Potter was… understandably confused.
He remembered arriving late from work, and cuddling up in his bed with Katie after a very satisfying dinner, the young couple just enjoying each other’s warmth as they fell asleep.
And now, here he was, Merlin knew where, practically naked in a bed that wasn't his, with a familiar silvery blonde who wasn't his wife, with a headache that he really shouldnt have had.
Groaning, he rubbed at his forehead. Then paused.
Why was there another wedding ring on his finger?
He turned to the paling, overly dramatic veela he called a friend, his glare darkening as he growled, “Goddammit Fleur, what did you do this time?!”
Alternate title: A Drunken Flowerpot Marriage..., Kind of.