Harry sighed, his head dropping back as he stared at the ceiling, slowly breathing in and out while counting to ten as he gripped the door handle. She had been a wrecking ball since she got home from work, all twisted and frustrated with their newest curse breaker and his “idiotic, mind numbling, unbelievably small amount of critical thinking skills.”
Her words, not his.
Once he’d found out what was wrong, the idiot had apparently tripped two curses that even a novice would have noticed, he had tried to cheer her up. He’d made her favorite dinner, a small nicoise and simple Coq au Vin, and that had helped…right up until the owl from Gringotts came that blamed her for the new guy. The letter had burst into flames in her hands as she shook with rage, and he could feel the heat radiating off her.
“Ah, don’t let what they say get to you, love,” he’d said. “You know the truth.”
A glare was all he’d received.
She’d taken an early bath and gone to the bedroom, to “be alone” she’d said. He opened the door quietly and slipped in, the only light in the room coming from the lamp on either side of the bed. She was sitting on her side of the bed, quill in hand, writing on a piece of parchment, several discarded pieces at the foot of the bed.
The speed and ferocity with which she was moving the quill indicated she was probably writing something she would regret.
Slipping onto his side of the bed, he crossed his legs and sat facing her, a warm smile on his face.
“Honey, perhaps you should…”
“Do not tell me what I should or should not do, dear,” she spat, giving him another withering glare before returning to the parchment, resuming her cutting pace. He sighed.
“I’m only saying…” he started, before she interrupted again.
“I don’t care. Unless you’re going to tell me another way to call someone a stuck up, useless cow, then I don’t care, ‘Arry,” she said. He growled in frustration, her biting anger sinking deep into him like a nail into wood. He’d tried cheering her up with hugs, her favorite meal, kisses, and encouraging words, but the stubbornness that was known as Fleur Potter was rivaled by none. Without thinking, he made his move.
Plop
Instantly, all movement in the room ceased, the air growing so thick that Harry thought he would suffocate. After a few moments, or perhaps minutes, she finally looked at him.
“Did…did you just hit me with a pillow?” she asked, her voice venom, the look in her eyes slowly morphing into that of a predator. He nodded.
“Yes, well, you were writing that letter and I just wan…”
Plop
He froze, the pillow impacting the side of his face and falling down to the bed, shocking him in its sudden arrival. They stared at one another, neither blinking, neither moving, both waiting for the other to have some reaction.
Then, chaos.
They both moved quickly, Harry grabbing the pillow she’d hit him with, her grabbing the one she had been leaning on, a cotton and feather war breaking out, fits of laughter and the occasional giggle the only thing interrupting the onslaught of pillow impacts. He went low, slapping the pillow against her side, right where he knew she was ticklish and she went high, hitting the side of his head in an attempt to knock off his glasses. Neither would give an inch, both wanting to be victorious.
He let his guard down and she capitalized, getting in a good hit that knocked his glasses off. Moving in for the kill, she hit him again, so he did the only thing he could and lunged forward, wrapping her and tossing her to the bed.
Before she could say anything, he kissed her.
She ran her fingers through his hair as they kissed, pillows now forgotten, the war over with no decisive victor. Finally, they broke apart, both gasping for air. She bit her lip and smiled up at him, a small giggle escaping. He smirked.
“Feeling better?” He asked. Fleur nodded, a seductive look in her eyes as she ran her finger down the length of his chin.
Plop
A small throw pillow hit him on the side of the face, his reaction breaking Fleur’s resolve as she let out a full laugh.
“Oh, that’s it…” he said, his hands moving to her sides and grabbing, her squeal of laughter filling the room.
The war had started again, and neither intended to lose.