Everyone expected him to join the aurors, or to become the defence professor, or maybe even a loose-cannon bounty hunter. No one expected him to become a chef.
Everyone expected her to go far, to be an enchantress, a researcher, maybe even a ward breaker. No one expected her to take a job in a book store.
Harry didn't need much, he'd learned enough magic to take care of 90% of his physical needs, which meant that his ridiculously low income from giving cooking lessons was more than enough to support him.
Fleur couldn't cook. She'd tried, she'd struggled, she'd burnt a pot of water. Fleur couldn't cook. It wouldn't be much of a problem, except that she liked good food and didn't earn enough money to buy it.
Harry stared down in bemusement at his schedule for the week. There was Mrs Fawcett, there was Mr Slyte, but there, at the back, as a name he had never expected to see on his calendar. Friday, three o'clock, Fleur Delacour.