Flowerpot

A megamatt style formulaic smutfic in which tonks keeps her sex life fresh by using her metamorph powers for Harry.

The Goblet of Fire in a powerful and ancient artefact. The reaction to Barty’s meddling was as unpredictable as it was dramatic. In a deafening explosion all four Triwizard Champions have vanished. The only consolation the gathered witches and wizards had was that an arcane divination ritual revealed them to be all alive and relatively healthy, however, their location remained a mystery. No magic was capable of finding them, it was as if they’d left this world. Everyone was nervous when the term f the first task approached and the Champions were still gone. Yet there was no reaction from the Goblet. So the Champions were safe, wherever they were. None were as nervous as Barty, however, since it was his actions that caused the Potter boy to vanish like that. His fervent insistence on trying to locate the missing Champions was, however, interpreted merely as Moody wanting to solve this particular mystery. It was on the date of the third task when the unexpected happened. On the lawn in front of the Hogwarts castle a portal sparking with eldritch energy appeared and four figures emerged. Though they were difficult to recognize, it was the missing Champions, casually bantering even as the gathered magicals gaped at them. For the Champions were very much changed by their unusual travels.

When he was a child, Harry encountered an injured snake. Moved by compassion, he tried to help it as much as he could. The snake was in fact a mountain veela from Bulgaria, who had escaped from trouble and ended up wounded and exhausted in Britain. She had transformed into a snake to stay hidden.

In snake form, the veela befriends Harry, and eventually reveals herself to the child. Mountain veela typically have the gift of prophecy, and this one is no exception. She recognizes the strands of fate around the child, and decides to stick around to help him.

It is quite a different Harry Potter that meets Fleur Delacour, and the mountain veela is delighted when she hears that the boy whom she now sees as an adoptive son has a crush on another veela.

"In the language of flowers, purple lilacs symbolize the first emotions of love"

Posting this here so I can remember it because I want to write a fic that focuses on Harry giving Fleur flowers, trying to nail the one that she really likes and turns out it's been Lilac all along. She's liked him all along.

PostDH. Might be a cutesy fic. Might be a little slow burn (slight enemies to lovers) but with Harry trying to get Fleur's attention. They eventually become good friends but Fleur definitely tries to hide her attraction to Harry mainly because she thinks she's not sure of how he really feels. He's friendly to everyone and is everyone's rock. She's not sure why he, the boy who lived, the man who ended the war etc etc would like her, a non-human.

Harry and Fleur had been dancing around each other for some time, but then their friends and family breathe out in relief as Fleur invites Harry on a date.

It all goes wrong when the date gets attacked by Death Eaters and Harry and Fleur vanish. The Death Eater involvement remains a secret. The Weasleys and Hermione suspect that Fleur kidnapped Harry, especially after Hermione finds out in a book that kidnapping your partner is an old tradition in Veela marriages.

Things are not helped by Fleur’s grandma Elena cheering that Fleur has “nabbed a good one”.

Another random idea: Harry and Fleur are internationally famous art thieves in the vein of the Saint, Arsene Lupin, and Lupin the Third + Fujiko Min

Told from Hermione's point of view.

They are at the Gryffindor table in the Hall, Hermione off to the side doing some pleasure reading as she hears Ron, Harry, and the rest of their dorm-mates talking about girls and kisses.

They start doing that stupid bet where one of the mates bets Harry to kiss the next girl to walk through the doors. With the cajoling from the rest of the guys, Harry accepts and just as he does, lo and behold walks in Fleur Delacour.

Everybody, in earshot, even Hermione lets out an "Oooh" and watch Harry. Harry is no coward, however, and stands heading to the table where Fleur is seated. He walks forward even as he feels as if he left his stomach behind, with his heart trying to escape from his chest, beating so loudly.

He reaches Fleur and calls out to her, and as she turns he leans down. Kissing her lips; She's shocked and still, giving Harry the opportunity to suck ever so softly her bottom lip. Then he straightens and leaves the Hall so quickly Hermione wonders if the no apparation in Hogwarts ground was a lie. Even so, Hermione enjoys the look of shock on the normally composed girl.

Later in the evening, Hermione is making a trip to the library before it closes to return a book when she hears a voice with a french accent. Curiosity takes hold of her and she peaks through a corner shocked to see Harry being pressed against the wall as Fleur Delacour french kisses the life out of him.

"And that, Monsier, is how you truly kiss a girl. Oui?"

Is the last thing Hermione hears as she turns to walk away, giving her friend some privacy.

When Fleur shows up at Number 4, Petunia warmly welcomes her and invites her in for tea, going all out to make a good impression on Dudley's new girlfriend. Her son managed to find quite the looker after all, and she doesn't want to mess things up for him. She asks all kinds of questions and Fleur gives Muggle appropriate answers. So Fleur tells her how she works in a London bank, has been over in Scotland for an exchange year and so on. Petunia really starts to like this young woman.

Half an hour into the meeting, Harry returns "home" and Petunia's world is shattered when Fleur kisses Harry in greeting.

Overcoming dark lords has always had consequences. And nothing proves that as well as the tragic fate that befell Fleur and her beloved in times when legends lived and myths were true. The supernatural couple of heroes defied a villain that would today be called a dark god, and defeated him, but his final Curse affected them both.

Death cruelly tore them apart, her beloved dying young, but that was not all. The Curse kept them apart and she couldn’t follow him into death. She had to watch as the world around her changed and her family and friends died one by one, while she stood as if untouched by time.

A chance encounter shocked her out of her grief, for she met a young man looking as if her beloved was looking back at her from a mirror. She couldn’t help herself, and fell for him all over again. And thus the Curse’s cruelty was finally revealed.

She would live through falling in love again and again, only to have her love torn away every time.

But she had defied the dark god, and she would defy his Curse. Instead of apathy, she channelled her grief into drive, and delved into research of magic and of the divine.

And the next time her beloved came back, she fell for him again. But she was ready. Using a ritual of her own making, she awakened his memories of his past lives.

The couple reunited and set to defy the cruel fate together. They worked to break the curse, but death struck again.

And again, and again.

But every time, they came a step closer, every lifetime moved them towards finally breaking the Curse.

And now? Now Harry Potter during his fourth year notices a pair of eyes watching him, unlike any he has seen so far. Old, tired, resolute.

Defiant.

The muggle world never separated from the wizarding one. The combined result of the muggle drive for innovation and wizarding resistance to it is that the whole world is steampunk. The muggles built their cities in the sky to avoid destroying the land, and hogwarts is the most respected magical university in the world, positioned as it is on the very edge of the heavens, among the stars. It's great tower reaches down into the thicker atmosphere and acts as a tether to those parts of the world whose power and progress are insufficient to reach up so high. Blood Purity is a lesser factor in society, and prejudice between muggles and wizards is all but non-existent. This changed with World War One. The flying cities battling over ideas of supremacy, and for access to landbound docks and resource deposits. With the combined powers of wizard and muggle society, the weapons were far more devastating. The consequences of using them less permanent by far. This led to war to end all wars, a war in which a man could have his legs ripped off only to re-attach them in hours, or regrow in weeks. The battlegrounds were the skies themselves, and with so little cost of injury or failure, the end of the battles only came when the will to fight ran dry. Tom Riddle saw this, he saw the devastating powers unleashed by the combination of magic and science, and he resolved to divide them. So it was that he launched his own campaign, a campaign to divide and sever the peoples of the earth, to draw lines where there had been none. It was into this world that Harry Potter was born.

Ellinora Trelawney had been blessed by the prodigious gifts that ran through her bloodline, yet she was untouched by the desperately forced air of mysticism that had defined her mother. Self-assured and competent, she conducted her magic with a grace that inspired confidence in those who sought her council.

A young couple, one with wild, midnight black hair, the other graced with the ethereal beauty of starlight, approached her humble residence in downtown London.

"Are you sure this is a good idea, love? I'm sure that I've had enough experience with prophecies to last a lifetime."

"Non, I am not so sure. But we are here, and there must be a reason for this."

Fleur was right. They had received the letter bearing an open invitation months prior, and though they had at first resolved to be content with a future unknown, a nagging feeling at the back of their minds would not let them rest.

Harry nodded and took Fleur's hand in his own as they walked up a set of cobbled stairs. His heart beat with the intensity of a Keith Moon solo that reached a crescendo as he knocked upon the unassuming door to the seer's apartment.

Thunk, thunk, thunk.

Fleur squeezed his hand and sent him a nervous smile that wavered in tandem with his pounding blood.

The door opened, revealing a petite young woman dressed smartly in a white blouse and woolen grey skirt. She would not have looked out of place in a law firm or brokerage house had it not been for the unnatural spark of wisdom in her bright, silvery eyes.

"Ah. The soon-to-be wed Potters find themselves on my doorstep. Would you believe me if I said that I had not been expecting you?" A quiet voice warbling with humor and a tilt of her lips were all it took to break the tension that had been building between the young lovers.

They exchanged pleasantries and Elliora led them into her home. Harry had been expecting the overbearing stench of incense and the garish decor that felt appropriate at a themed casino.

Instead, they were greeted by soft mahoganies highlighted by touches of lush plantlife, and the rich, heady smell of freshly brewed coffee.

They soon settled into a small but cozy sitting room and sat facing one another. Harry and Fleur found themselves at a loss for words, unable to gather the courage to state their purpose.

They were saved by Elliora's gentle beckon. "You came here to have your future read. It's natural to seek affirmation when you're about to be married, so just relax. It's not a weakness, and if my craft has taught me one thing, it's that no future is set in stone."

Fleur leaned into Harry's side. "We are confident in each other, but..." She swallowed, unable to continue.

"We know what society thinks about our kind of relationship. No matter how we feel about each other, we want to make sure that we... our families won't suffer because of the bigotry of others."

Elliora shook her head and her voice gained a hard edge. "Well that's quite stupid, isn't it?"

Harry and Fleur looked at her with eyes wide with shock. "Ex-excuzez moi!"

Elliora laughed, her silver eyes gleaming like the crystal balls her mother had held so dear. "You don't need my magic, but if it makes you feel better, you have a higher possibility of a happy life than most."

Harry looked to his fiance and saw the same confusion he felt reflected in her shimmering blue eyes.

"I don't understand. How could you know? You didn't do, well, anything!"

"Magic often speaks, Harry Potter, yet for you and Fleur, it sings your praises. All that is left is your own choices, your own will. Now look at her, Harry. Tell me, tell her, what does your future hold."

He gazed at Fleur, her soft blond hair glimmering in the halflight, her eyes bluer than robins eggs, mouth slightly opened in a way that captivated him. He absently wondered what she saw in that moment as she gazed back, but he knew his answer. No matter what the future brought, he would have Fleur Delacour by his side.

"My future. Our future. All my futures lie with you."

Pain.

He was aware of little else but that. His very blood burned as it rushed through his veins, running around in a panic, trying to save him, to make him feel alive. He laid on the floor, arm pierced by cruel bone, next to him lay the slain basilisk, a pool of black blood forming around him, flowing freely from the head of his beaten foe.

A small pile of ashes shifted nearby, and from it a mournful cry came. Another form stirred nearby, and soon joined in the laments.

He could see nothing but a blur of shifting colour, hear nothing but a symphony of cacophonies, sounds both real and imagined, remembered and new.

A blur of red shifted in an out of focus as the world darkened around him. He knew everything was about to end, and so he closed his eyes and breathed deep, the pain had not gone, but it was not bothering anymore.

Harry had never thought about death before this moment. Not really, but as he drew that one last breath, he thought there was nothing so sweet as that lungful of musty, damp air, and something deep inside him rebelled against the notion of extinction.

His world faded to black and he breathed out. There was nothing he could do.

Red.

Out of the blackness a cloud of red came, and it took form. He could not see much more than the suggestion of a man, staring down at him.

'Is there not?'

He was confused. His head spun, he could not tell up from down, nor he could tell where his body began and where it ended.

'Is there really nothing you could do?'

The voice sounded like nothing he could describe, beautiful and enticing beyond measure, it sounded like cloudy days and the swish of a speeding broom, like the deep hum of the great hall in the morning, like the rays of sun playing on the curtains of his bed.

'From where I am from, Harry, there is a few things you could do. I would just need a promise from you, do you agree?'

The feeling that came from the voice was overwhelming, and so, with the thought

of a life lost he thought a single word.

'Yes'

And his eyes opened

Harry lived.

His life changed little after his near death experience. He could remember little of that day other than the voice, and even then, he did not remember the words, only the feeling, and the flash of red.

He couldn't help but panic every time he cached a glimpse of Ginny's hair by surprise. Good thing Ron's colouring was lighter.

Apart from that feeling of dread at that particular shade, and the weird horses he could now see pulling Hogwarts carriages, there where little reminders of that day. The scar where the fang of the Basilisk had pierced his arm was very slight, and most of the time he did not noticed it.

Hermione seemed to think that it looked like a scourge, for some reason.

It was October the 30th, and Harry was freezing. The only part of him that was not utterly cold was his right arm. Maybe it was some lingering effect from the poison that had nearly boiled him inside out, but his arm was always warm.

The foreign delegations where supposed to be arriving at any moment, and the sooner the better, as far as he was concerned. Almost prophetically, Durmstrang made a very Davy Jones appearance, and a few minutes later the -Over the top, If you asked him- carriage that carried Beauxbatons delegation landed.

He felt no cold anymore, but only a pleasant warmth. The excitement seemed to be contagious to that degree. The doors opened.

Blue.

A sea spilled from inside, silk shimmering under torchlight. his skin started to heat even more. He started to sweat. From the sea a pearl rose and his veins burned with such strength that he must be about to steam. He was paralyzed at the feeling, remembering memories that did not exist anymore.

He caught a glance of indescribable eyes and his blood bursted into fiery song.

The excited chatter of the crowd was indistinguishable, barely a bee's hum, but with each step of the stranger a loose word reached his ears.

'...Remember...'

Noise, voices mixing. A whisper.

'...You said...'

Drops of water hit the floor as the snow melted

'...a promise...'

The neighing of hungry and tired horses

'...price...'

Water lapping in the distance

'...life...'

The crackle of fire

'...love...'

"Such a cold place," said the lips below blue eyes.

She's all contained fire and passion. Harry can see it from the moment they meet. A girl in a boys club, she's tougher than nails and harder to get through than a wall of steel. Even then, she's the first to introduce herself when Harry walks into their common space.

She talks him down from the inevitable beating of a lifetime Charlie deserves with eerily practiced ease. It's a puzzle that fits into place. She always knows the right thing to say, at the right time.

It works both ways too. When they're tens of thousands of meters in the air, the tiniest voice he's ever heard from her, "I don't think I can do this, Harry." Charlie being a prick is the only thing that could shock Harry from the impossibility that is Fleur Delacour, afraid.

But it's natural, more natural than anything he's done before to talk her up to making that jump. And even when they're inches from the ground, holding on for dear life and their roles right themselves, him afraid and her fearlessly guiding them to perfectly land in the kingsman shaped circle.

She has his back and he's got hers. Forever

The Man-Who-Won has decided to participate in the Triwizard Tournament!

Harry encountered a scaly surprise in his first year. His second included his parent’s “killer” breaking out of prison. His third was spent attempting to stop a possessed teacher, who ended up reviving the Dark Lord. Fourth and fifth year was spent throwing himself into magic and hunting Horcruxes. Sixth year and Harry officially joins the battlefield alongside Dumbledore and using Tom’s hubris against him, they win. Seventh year is spent trying to mend public relations and boost national morale with the return of the Triwizard Tournament. All eyes will be on the Man-Who-Won.

After the war, Fleur notices that her boyfriend/husband Harry is still missing Hedwig. She decides to do something about it, but is unsure on how to proceed. Gabby, in her tween wisdom, suggests getting Harry a new animal friend.

But what animal to get? Detective Gabby to the rescue!

Cue cute hijinx as she tries to find out which animal Harry thinks is the cutest, so she can report it to her big sister.

What surprise will Harry find under the Christmas tree?

A red spider lily.

At first he didn’t know what to make of it, unaware of the symbolism and meaning behind the seemingly-innocuous flower sitting on his bunk. Harry thought nothing of it, even going so far as to tucking it into his hair as he went downstairs to the common room. It was only after Hermione saw the flower that he understood the purpose and wishes behind the beautiful piece of forestry.

Suddenly, Hogwarts didn’t seem like home anymore.

Standard Harry/Fleur fic starting in GoF, no OP/Indy Harry, no fancy additions to canon, just a relationship piece focusing on Harry and Fleur falling in love and getting together, supporting each other through the war. What is there to make it unique? Fleur is aesexual. In a world where Veela are simultaneously looked down for being "less than human", and also fetishized for being the peak of femininity, Fleur struggles with an entirely different set of issues on top of everything else. Harry is there to support her and to teach her that love is more than merely physical, while she is there to teach him that it's just as important to love oneself as it is to love others.

Harry: "Fleur? I thought we were going to the beach?"

Fleur: "We are." <>

Harry: O.O "Oh..."

Flowerpot Dumbles makes an appearance, glaring at Harry and screaming, "What the fuck!"

He grabs Harry by the arm and starts dragging him towards a portal. Narcissa runs into the room and sees the commotion. She fires off a spell, sending Flowerpot Dumbles back through the portal, releasing Harry.

"Oh, no," Narcissa Whispers into an utterly confused Harry's ear. "That crazy old bastard won't ruin my happy ending!"

Meanwhile, back in his own time...

Flowerpot Dumbles lands in an undignified heap on the floor of his office. Fawkes stares at him and starts laughing.

Foiled Again, Flowerpot Dumbles thought to himself.

Flowerpot Dumbles looks around and starts throwing a fit. "Goddamnit, that idiot boy is going to fuck up my happy ending!"

For as long as Harry has known about it, Harry's selfishly, perhaps even egotistically, believed his magic was cooler than everyone else's. Harry's magic brought life to art. The first time this occurred, Harry was four and doodling with crayons in his cupboard. Tired, he rested his eyes against his new creation. When he awoke, Mr. Pips the Dragon was alive breathing fire across the paper. And when he brought it to Aunt Petunia, thrusting the paper towards her in excitement, fire expelled from the paper in an explosive cloud. Harry couldn't really blame his relatives for hating him.

"Are you wanting ze bouillabaisse?" An enchanting and airy voice broke the cloud of Harry's recollection.

Harry was stunned; struck dumb by beauty unlike any he'd ever seen. Embarrassed by his staring, he remembered to reply.

"Have it. It was quite good."

Hours later at the canvas he'd snuck into the Room of Requirement, he needed to attempt to capture even a fraction of the beauty he'd seen earlier. Closing his eyes, wand lightly touching the canvas Harry dove into his mind in search of his core. Once finding it, He gave it a mental hug. Bright light expelled through his heart traveling up and over to pass down his arm into his wand. Excited, Harry opened his eyes eager to see those azure eyes assessing his soul once more. But nothing came out. His wand had not moved from it's previous position. Not a single drop of color was on the canvas.

In which Veela cannot be magically painted and an emotionally stunted Harry must learn to confront his repressed emotions using art (not his magic creating art). Good thing Fleur Delacour is an excellent, all consuming muse.